Chapter 8:
Thursday morning, after a peaceful breakfast, Jake headed off to class and Janiece left for work.
Bolco's new tooth filling tasted strange, and it distracted him, and he tasted it repeatedly as the morning wore on, thinking back on the process, shuddering occasionally. But he tried to put the whole experience out of his mind.
Bolco opened the living room window and sat near it, breathing the fresh air, which had a springlike quality to it that silently tugged at his soul as he drank it in. He listened to two CDs, ate second breakfast, and then went to the back door and looked out. The woods past Mrs. Chattam's house beckoned him again. He opened the door and went out onto the deck.
The day was warm for February. Any of the Scotts could have explained to him that New England almost always had either a January or a February thaw, and that in another couple of weeks, the yard and the woods would be under a foot of snow again. But for now, the moist breeze carried the scent of grasses, decaying leaves, the soil, and cold moss, and held all the heady and intoxicating promise of spring. It had lured him out of the house before. The Scotts would have warned him against it, had they known what a powerful draw it held for him.
He knew Jake and Anne would walk with him at night. He was grateful for it. But now, today, with the slanting rays of the sun beaming down into the woods and the moisture-drenched, musky-scented breeze caressing his face as he gratefully inhaled all he could, the thought of waiting til nightfall was intolerable. He closed his eyes, savoring one fresh lungful after another, smelling, tasting.
Oh, Creator, he thought with a sudden wrench, I miss the Shire so much. I miss the earthiness of it, I miss the good soil, I miss the healthy trees and fields and hedgerows. I miss the gardens. And I miss Lilac terribly. I wish I was at home. Can I please go home?
The heartache was more than he could bear, and the house seemed like a prison again. In another minute, he was back inside putting his jacket on, locking all the doors, and climbing out of Jake's basement window.
Hunter snuffled him as he carefully pulled the window and the screen shut behind him, without locking them. Bolco was confident that Hunter would keep any intruders away from the one unlocked window. With only a passing thought that he was missing elevensies, he headed out through Mrs. Chattam's back yard and into the woods.
Three hours later, he returned. As he walked through Mrs. Chattam's back yard, Hunter erupted into ferocious barking. Bolco tensed, and immediately considered the back yard. He could go from bush to bush, unseen, and then there would be a quick dash to the window which was sheilded from the road by the yew bush. Hunter would warn him of any strangers. He began working the perimeter of the yard. Hunter stopped barking. But Bolco heard voices. He stopped and looked; he saw no one, but there were voices out front.
He was sorely tempted to stop, and climb the pine, and wait there til the voices went away. And indeed, he felt that that was what he should do. But the Scotts had made it plain that he was safest inside the house with the doors locked, and that was where they wanted him.
Arriving at the final shrub near Hunter's doghouse, he looked out towards the road. To his horror, he saw a lady come around the corner, glancing this way and that. He shrank back behind the bush, and waited. Hunter did not bark at the lady. Bolco wondered why.
Then around the back of the house, to his utter terror, Bolco saw Evangeline Burroughs marching determinedly towards him. In a moment, Hunter saw her too, and he erupted into a fit of barking and snarling.
The other lady spoke softly to Hunter, and slowly succeeded in calming him down, at which point the lady said, "My goodness, Ms. Burroughs, he certainly reacts strongly to you."
"He's a terrible barker, " Burroughs complained. "Such a nuisance. The animal control officer is sick and tired of hearing from me. I can't imagine how you have tamed him so quickly, Ms. Fairfield."
The lady laughed kindly. "One learns, when one visits houses as often as I do, how to get along with dogs. Especially such a good dog. Aren't you?" Ms. Fairfield smiled at Hunter, who relaxed, and wagged his tail at her.
A tall man came around the corner from the front of the house, and Hunter growled, and Ms. Fairfield calmed him. Bolco, completely trapped, waited in silence, heart pounding. The man was silent, dressed in dark, austere clothing, and very intimidating.
And suddenly, Hunter turned, walked straight to the bush, and snuffled Bolco. The ladies gasped in surprise, and surged forward. The man watched, face impassive. Hunter turned towards Ms. Fairfield, wagged his tail, and sat down by her ankle.
"That's the one, " Burroughs announced. "That's the little boy." The man stepped sideways to where he had a clear view of Bolco, and stood silently watching him.
Bolco shrank back, heart pounding and thoughts racing, foremost of them all being, "Jake is going to kill me."
Ms. Fairfield knelt down in the cold wet grass and spoke softly to Bolco. "Hello. Don't be afraid. We won't hurt you."
She was easily likable, and Bolco understood why Hunter had trusted her, and not the other two. He could begin to believe her, but Burroughs was still there, and he shrank from her.
Ms. Fairfeild glanced meaningfully at the man. The man approached Ms. Burroughs, saying firmly, "Thank you for your assistance, Ms. Burroughs. We can handle this from here."
Suddenly the picture of modesty, Ms. Burroughs replied, "Why thank you, Agent MacBride; of course."
She graciously excused herself. A car door opened and closed, and then her sleek silver car pulled out and she drove dwn the street and pulled into her own driveway and out of their sight.
Bolco immediately breathed a sigh of relief. Hunter relaxed too.
Ms. Fairfield smiled, and thought the boy had a bit of common sense about him. "Hello, " she repeated.
Bolco looked back at her, watching her.
"We're here to find out more about you ane to see if we can help you. I'm from the Department of Social Services; my name is Gina Fairfield." She showed him a shiny badge with embossed picures and runes.
The tall man quickly pulled out another, different badge, and flashed it at Bolco, and rapidly said, "Agent MacBride, Federal Bureau of Investigation." Bolco didn't understand any of it, not even catching his name. He found the man more and more intimidating, and shrank further into the shrub.
Fairfield saw that and tried to set him at ease. "Don't be afraid. We won't hurt you. Are you cold?"
I'm not, but you must be, dressed like that, he thought. But he shook his head.
"Have you been outside long?"
He shook his head. She considered his bright cheeks and the reddish tinge at the edge of his nose, and thought otherwise.
"Is this your parents' house?" she asked kindly.
He didn't answer.
"Where are you staying? " she asked him, and he glanced towards the house.
The man in the dark suit spoke firmly. "Come on out, son. Step out from behind the bush."
Terrified of him, Bolco did not dare disobey. He stepped slowly out, and moved forward.
The man's face remained impassive. But Fairfield looked, startled, at his bare feet, and felt her anger rise, which she hid from him. He was well dressed enough; if these people had provided him with decent clothes, why couldn't they give him a pair of shoes and socks? She carefully kept her face gentle, and asked softly, "Why are you barefoot?"
He didn't answer, but looked down.
"Are your feet cold?"
He shrugged, and nodded a little.
"You poor dear. Come around to the front of the house, and we'll sit on the steps and talk."
Bolco hesitated, but the man motioned to him. "Come on, son. Around to the front."
He obeyed. They walked around, and the woman sat gingerly on the front steps, while the agent positioned himself where he could see both the steps and the road, and listened.
"Is this your parents' house?" she asked Bolco again.
He didn't answer.
"Do you belong here?"
This time he shook his head.
"Are you sure you don't belong here?"
He shook his head firmly, and steadily returned her gaze, studying her. He saw only compassion there.
She studied him, and thought he looked troubled. She wondered if he had any memories of his parents at all. She hated this part, hated stirring up painful memories, but the questions had to be asked.
"Do you know where you belong? Where you should live?"
Distress and longing crossed his face, and he did not answer. Her heart ached for him, and she wished he would talk.
"Do you remember where you grew up?"
He nodded.
"Do you know where you belong?"
He nodded again.
"Do you remember your father and mother?"
He nodded.
"Has it been a long time since you saw your father?"
He nodded.
"Do you wish that you could see your father again?"
He slowly nodded again, and softly hope began to rise in him. He wondered what this woman knew, and if she could possibly help him.
"What's your name?"
He hesitated, thinking, and then slowly replied, "Nathaniel."
Her eyebrows went up. "Do you have any other names?"
He watched her, and she waited patiently. He studied her. She was kind, and trustworthy; he could sense that. She wanted to help him; he could sense that too. He liked her. And she was waiting very politely.
"Took."
"Nathaniel Took?" She waited. "Do you remember any other names you've ever had?"
He hesitated again, and then slowly replied, "Bolco."
Her head swam. Jackpot! she thought. Ms. Burroughs had done an excellent job of matching a twelve year-old face to a five-year-old child's picture. Bolco Nathaniel Took-- seven years ago he had been Bobby Nathaniel Tucker, kidnapped at age five. She sat back, relieved, hope springing up in her even as she fought back tears. He was quite small for twelve, but malnutrition or stress would do that. One tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. She wiped it away, the on-file picture of Mr. Tucker's face suddenly springing to her mind, and connecting the curly brown hair and the Irish good looks. Bobby's brown eyes had come from his mother. But the pale ruddy skin and the curly locks were all Irish. He was lovely. She wiped away another tear, and composed herself.
"Are you hungry?"
He nodded firmly, expecting her to laugh and be set at ease, but she only looked sadder. Suddenly he wanted to cheer her up. But he remembered Josh's warnings, and so after a moments' thought, looked down shyly at the ground.
"There are no cars in the driveway, and nobody answered the doorbell when we rang. Are you here alone?" Ms. Fairfields asked.
Bolco nodded hesitantly, wondering if he should admit that, but knowing that he had nobody to call to prove otherwise.
Once again Mrs. Fairfields hid her anger. But she looked at the man, who had been silently listening to the whole conversation, and he quietly said, "Bring him in."
She got out her cell phone. Softly, so as not to upset the boy, she spoke. "Reopen the Tucker case, arrange for foster care and get a warrant. We'll be in shortly." She hung up.
Bolco looked fearfully up at her, and she reassured him. "We're going to try and find your home. Are you willing to help us as best you can?"
"How do you know where my home is?" Bolco asked her, wide-eyed and wondering.
"We'll do our best to find out, " she gently promised him, and Bolco knew that she meant it with all her heart.
"How?"
"We'll need your help. Will you come with me, and help us?"
He looked up at her, and his mind reeled. She meant what she was saying; she was completely in earnest; she believed she could help him find his home.
That was something that he had missed ever since he first asked Josh that Friday evening a whole week ago. He never got the sense from Jake, or Josh, or James, that the Shire could be found. They loved him with all their heart, but they clearly didn't believe his home was findable.
He studied her eyes, searching. She waited, and compassion welled in her as she watched him struggle. He was afraid of the man, he wanted to trust Ms. Fairfields, he wanted to find his home. He thought and thought, and then slowly he nodded. She silently reached her hand out to him, and he took it.
The man spoke. "Son, tell me when the Scotts are expected home."
Bolco went wide-eyed with terror. Why did the man want to know? "Jake will be home at three," he said in a small, frightened voice.
"Youngest son, " the agent said to Ms. Fairfields.
"What is this family like?"
"Three well-behaved sons in college, father deceased, mother works. No records. Not a kidnapper's profile in the lot."
She led Bolco out to where her car was parked out by the side of the road. He hesitated, slowing.
"We'll take good care of you. You don't need to be afraid," Ms. Fairfields reassured him. "You'll be all right."
He turned and looked back at the house. His mind reeled again, and a flood of doubts assailed him. Was it too soon to be thinking about going back? He still had so much to learn. There were still so many stories about the Creator that he did not know. He still had so much to learn from Josh. Was it too soon to be going back? What would he say to Jake, and Josh, and James and Janiece?
But if he passed up this chance, would it come again? And if he didn't take the chance, what would he say to Lilac? What if this were his last chance to return to her?
He looked at Ms. Fairfields, and thought, If you can get me back to the Shire, I will be all right. He went to the car's rear door, got in and put the seatbelt on, and she started the car and they drove off.
*****************
Bolco arrived at Ms. Fairfields' office, and discovered that he did not like her co-workers nearly as much as he liked her. There were several not-so-subtle comments about his furry bare feet, and repeated insistence that he should have a pair of shoes and socks. He repeatedly refused. Ms. Fairfields wondered at his refusal, but set it aside, thinking instead of Mr. Tucker, and wanting to reunite the two.
She turned towards one colleague, and said quietly, "Contact Michigan DSS, and have them notify the Tuckers. Find out their flight information as soon as it's available."
"How are you going to find The Shire?" Bolco asked Ms. Fairfield, and she suddenly smiled at him happily.
"The Shire?"
"Yes, the Shire."
"Westshire?"
"Yes. The West Shire."
"Oh, it's amazing you remember that, " she crowed. "Your father's old address!"
"But he lives in Long Cleeve, " Bolco protested.
She shook her head. "He moved back last month, " she replied. "He lives on Westshire Drive again, now. Not far from where you used to live!" Then she wondered what Bobby had meant by Long Cleeve, and why he would have known where his father lived. She paused and studied him.
Bolco's head spun. His father had moved back to the Westfarthing? He thought hard. Why hadn't he heard? But then again, why would he have heard? He hadn't spoken with his father for ten years, and he never did keep up with the town news. And he had been out walking all winter, night after night, or studying alone in his room. "Father moved back to the Westfarthing?" he muttered, wondering how this woman knew. No matter. As long as she could find out how to get him home. "But how are you going to find The Shire?"
She smiled reassuringly at him. "Westshire Drive, Lansing, Michigan. We know where it is."
"You know where it is? "
She smiled, and nodded happily. "Michigan. It's not as rural as when you lived there, I'm afraid."
"No?" Bolco replied weakly.
"No, they're building more houses."
He frowned. "Houses." That was too bad, but perhaps not surprising.
"It's amazing to me that you remember your father's address. You were five years old."
His patience ran out, and despite Josh's warnings he was suddenly sick of being mistaken for a human boy. "I'm not a child."
She chided herself. Of course he doesn't want to be coddled. "No, of course not." But she was busy checking phone messages looking to find whether they had placed him in a foster home for the night.
He let it go, and waited, daydreaming about Lilac and the field-hands and Pippin and his room at the Smials, while she searched through papers, and made several phone calls. She finally hung up, satisfied.
Meanwhile, he looked outside, and stood. "It's getting dark. I should be going back to the house."
Ms. Fairfields shook her head. "Nathaniel, we've got more work to do to make sure that we can get you home. It's cumbersome, I'm afraid, but we've got to do it all. Are you still willing to help us?"
He sighed. "What must I do?"
"You'll be fingerprinted first, and then interviewed to verify some more basic information. Then we'll get you to a foster home for the night."
"I have to stay here overnight?"
"With a foster family."
"But why?"
"Those are the rules, " Ms. Fairfields replied. "You'll be all right, Nathaniel. We'll take good care of you."
"But I need to speak with the Scotts, and let them know I'm all right! They'll be worried!"
She considered that, and thought if he wanted to let them know he was all right, it shouldn't hurt anything; but it was unusual and under these particular circumstances she would have to check and see exactly what the policy was. "I'll have to make sure that that is all right. Meanwhile, you've got to get fingerprinted. Ah, here we are. Feet too, please, Barry." His records had baby-feet imprints and no fingerprints, but they might as well get the fingerprints while they were at it.
"Right this way, Nathaniel," said a deep voice. Bolco spun and saw a large, imposing man in dark blue clothing. His belt and hat and shoes were shiny, and he had a large, strange black metal and leather thing strapped to his waist, and a large shiny metal badge on his shirt, and runes on his breast and shoulders. He waited good-humoredly for Bolco. "Come along, we haven't got all day." The officer hustled him along, and Bolco found his hands in clamped in the officer's firm grip, rolling his fingertips on a strange wet black object, and then rolling them again on white paper.
"What is this for?" Bolco asked.
Intrigued by the lad's innocence, the policeman launched into a pleasant explanation of fingerprinting, and Bolco was entertained until the process was completed and the policeman helped him clean the ink off of his hands.
"Feet next, " the officer said, frowning. "You're gonna have to wash up. Why were you barefoot--"
"Because I hate shoes, " Bolco snapped. "I know everybody here wants me to wear them, and this is probably a public place and maybe I'll be in trouble for not wearing them. But I hate them. And so when I don't have to wear them, I don't."
"But you do have a pair?"
"Indeed, yes. The Scotts insisted on buying me a pair. But when Mrs. Fairfields invited me here, I had been outside in the woods. I was not in a public place. "
"Hmmm, " said the police officer. "The Scotts insisted that you have a pair of shoes?"
"Absolutely, " Bolco said. Janiece always worried that I would get cold and sick if I didn't wear them."
So she's not quite the monster she was made out to be, the policeman thought. "Did they take good care of you?"
"Absolutely. Janeice cared for me like I was her own son."
"Oh?" Kidnapping as an easy adoption method, perhaps? But something else was bothering the policeman. Now that he had a good look at those feet, they were awfully hairy. "You have very hairy feet, " the policeman said.
"I'm a hobbit, " Bolco replied wearily, with some irritation. "What do you expect?"
"A hobbit, " the policeman echoed. "Really."
"Yes, " Bolco replied, not caring whether the policeman believed him or not. "And Mrs. Fairfield said that she would help me to find my way back home. And as long as I can get to the Shire, I'll put up with all this. Except that I see no reason that I should not return to The Scotts this evening. They'll be terribly worried about me."
"The Shire." The policeman was trying not to smile.
"Yes. The Shire."
"Well, let's get you to the men's room and you can scrub those feet in the sink. Get them good and clean. Come on. Here's the soap. I guess you can sit up here on the edge of the sink. " The policeman watched Nathaniel as he scrubbed.
"So you came from the Shire," the policeman mused. This was more fun than he usually had on the late shift.
"Tuckborough," Bolco replied, scrubbing. "Ever heard of it?"
"Mmm-hmm, " the policeman replied.
"Do you know how to get there?"
"No, lad, sorry, " he replied, with a sardonic chuckle. "Can't help you there. How long since you've seen the Shire?"
"Two weeks, " Bolco replied.
"Two weeks! Oh, is that all?" This was intriguing. "How did you come here?"
"I was sitting by the fire, in the parlor of a hobbit-hole in Tuckborough," Bolco replied, scrubbing, " and I fell asleep. And I woke up on a train, with no ticket. And the conductor made me get off."
The officer nodded as though it sounded completely reasonable, and wondered whether Agent McClure would let him read her final report on the little fellow. Delusional? he wondered; drugs? Agent McClure would figure it out. "So, do you know Bilbo?"
"He seems awfully well known, " said Bolco, pausing suddenly and looking up. "And rather well respected. I had no idea that his travels took him to these lands. But I suppose few of my people really know where he went. How do you know about him?"
The policeman chuckled and said, "Oh, my children are fond of his story. The dragon, you know. And they love the dwarves."
"Really, " pondered Bolco, with some surprise. "So it's true about the dragon. I'd always wondered."
The policeman burst out laughing, and said, "All right. Good enough. Rinse them and dry them off, and let's go."
The foot printing was over quickly, and after Bolco had cleaned the ink off of his feet, the policeman hustled him back to Ms. Fairfield's office and handed her the prints.
She accepted them gratefully, and glanced at the clock. "Agent McClure is ready for him. Can you take him up there?"
"Oh, I sure can, " replied the officer, tossing Bolco his jacket. As he steered Bolco out the door, Officer Barry turned to Ms. Fairfields, and bugging his eyes, tapped his forehead. She frowned at him, but decided that it was a good thing that Agent McClure had had an opening. Then he followed Bolco out the door, and Bolco got his first ride in a police cruiser. He asked a lot of questions, and the ten-minute ride went quickly for them both.
*****************
Jake arrived home, but Bolco did not come to greet him. He tried the back door to the deck, but it was locked. He went to his room to put his books away thinking that Bolco would be asleep, but he was not there. On a hunch, thinking about Tuesday, he tried the window. It was unlocked, and just a fraction of an inch ajar. So was the screen.
Jake shook his head, laughing, and trying hard not to be angry. My friend, the hobbit-escape-artist, he thought. Bolco Houdini. It struck him as ridiculous, and he burst out laughing. They were picking up Anne for ice cream at seven, and Jake knew that Bolco wouldn't miss Anne for anything. He relaxed, with an effort. It was still light out. He would check the woods, and bring Hunter. Maybe he could find Bolco before Mom got home. And this time, he wouldn't be mad at Bolco, he resolved; he'd find him cheerfully and in good fun.
He walked out the door, dressed for a long walk in the woods, and was astonished to see an intimidating man wearing a dark suit step out of Bolco's favorite thicket in the middle of the driveway semicircle, and approach him. He stopped about eight feet away, held up a badge, and replaced it. "FBI. MacBride. Mr. Scott, I would prefer that you not leave your house at this time."
Jake's blood ran cold, and he tried not to panic. "I'm looking for... Nathaniel, " he struggled to say. "I can't find him. I expected him to be here when I got home."
"I'd like to ask you some questions about Nathaniel, " the agent replied. "When is Mrs. Scott expected home?"
Internally, Jake panicked in earnest, praying "oh, God, oh God oh God," while externally desperately trying to stay calm. He took a deep breath. "About five o'clock, sir. Normally. If she doesn't shop or anything. Is Nathaniel okay, sir?"
"We have him in custody. He's unharmed."
"But... but why is he in custody?"
"Why don't we go inside, and sit down, Mr. Scott. I have some questions I'd like to ask you."
Jake's mind reeled, and he wondered whether they would need a lawyer.
*****************
"Agent McClure , this is Bobby Tucker. Goes by Nathaniel. Nathaniel, this is Agent McClure . She'll be asking you some questions." Barry dropped a folder of papers that Bolco hadn't noticed because Barry had been carrying it out of sight on his other side. Bolco wondered what the papers said.
"Thank you, Barry. Hello, Nathaniel, " Agent McClure replied. Her voice was level. Barry raised his eyebrow at her, stepped closer and spoke softly to Agent McClure so that Bolco could not hear, and then withdrew.
Barry thinks this is a good one, all right, Agent McClure thought, hastily scanning the pages in front of her. Inwardly she shrugged. Barry could jump to conclusions sometimes. She thoughtfully swung around to face Nathaniel.
"Hello, Nathaniel, " Agent McClure said again.
"Hello, " Nathaniel replied. "Officer Barry did not tell you my name correctly. My name is Bolco Took. I don't know why he calls me Bobby Tucker."
"If Ms. Fairfield is correct, then that's what your parents named you," Agent McClure replied.
"I beg your pardon? They most certainly did not, " Nathaniel corrected her firmly.
She took out a notebook as she replied, "Then tell me what your name is, exactly, so that I can write it down correctly. "
He spelled it out for her. "B-o-l-k-o N-a-th-a-n-ye-l T-u-k." She glanced up at him, noting he did not use English alphabet names.
She looked up at him. "Nathaniel, what is your father's name?"
"Bunco Took, of Long Cleeve."
"Bunco?"
"B-u-n-k-o." She wrote that down. "Would you like to know the names of the rest of my family?"
Agent McClure nodded smilingly. "But first spell the name of his town for me. "Long--?" He spelled each one out for her patiently.
"Long Cleeve, is the town; Banco; Dondo; Songo, are my brothers. My mother was named Lavender." Agent McClure looked up at Bolco seriously, and said, "Nathaniel, I think it will be much easier on both of us if I record this. But I need your permission to do that. Do I have your permission to record this interview?"
"I don't know, " Bolco replied. "What does that mean?"
Before she answered, Agent McClure scribbled hastily in her notebook again, "doesn't know what recording is." Then she proceeded to carefully explain and demonstrate the little tape recorder.
Bolco was impressed. "Is this how they record music on a CD?"
He makes good connections, Agent McClure thought. He's quite bright. "It's similar. They use better equipment."
Bolco agreed to let her tape the session, and so things went more smoothly after that.
"Tell me about The Scotts."
"What about them?"
"How did you meet them?" she replied, waiting.
"I arrived there a week ago, Friday."
"You've stayed with them a week, " Agent McClure prompted.
"Janiece heard me drinking water from -- from the faucet at the back of her house, and she came out, and offered me breakfast, and a chance to wash up. And then she called her son Jake, and he and I have been good friends ever since. And his two brothers, too, Josh and James. Josh is teaching me how to swim. And James teaches me about The Creator, and his book. Jake was the one that gave me the name Nathaniel."
"He did?"
"Yes, because I love trees so much. Jesus saw Nathaniel under the fig tree, and called him by name. That reminded Jake of me."
Agent McClure smiled. "So do you want to be called Nathaniel, or Bolco?"
"Either, " Bolco replied, smiling.
"And you see them as your friends."
"Absolutely."
"Have any of them ever hurt you?"
"Never!"
"Have they ever touched you in a way that you did not want them to?"
"No. Never. They're quite polite."
"Made you uncomfortable in any way? Uneasy? "
He hesitated.
She waited.
"Sometimes Jake is just so-- so-- protective, " Bolco said apologetically, "that he makes me feel a little bit boxed in. He seems to forget sometimes that I'm not a little boy."
"You've been staying with the Scotts for a week."
"Yes."
"And you say that you want to go home."
"Yes."
"Do you know where your home is?"
"The Shire."
"The Shire?"
"Yes. Tuckborough, in the West Farthing. I live in the Smials."
Agent McClure smiled, writing fast. "Wait. Tuckborough, West Farthing. And you live in the Smiles."
"Yes, " he replied. "I have a room on the north side."
"How do you spell that?" she asked him. "Smiles. Spell that for me."
"S-m-i-a-l-s."
"All right. Now, you live in the Shire, in Tuckborough-- is that the village?"
Bolco nodded.
"And West Farthing is-- what?"
"That's the west quarter of The Shire."
"And how big is The Shire?"
Bolco responded with rough estimates. "It's about one hundred miles east to west, a little more, and about two hundred miles north to south. It's west of Bree, and south of Lake Evendim. And the sea is to the west of the Shire, past the Tower Hills."
Agent McClure nodded thoughtfully. "Bolco, what country is The Shire in?"
He shrugged. "The Shire is the country. That's its name."
Agent McClure frowned. She had never heard of it, and she didn't think her geography was that bad. "What continent? Africa? South America?"
"I-- I don't know."
"You don't know what continent that the Shire is located in." "No."
Agent McClure continued. "So, you come from The Shire, from Tuckborough, we've got a description of the place, and its surroundings, and you've said that you want to go back there. Now, you've listed your family as Bunko, Lavender, Banko, Dondo, and Songo Tuk."
Bolco winced, and added softly, "Lavender is not there now; she is dead."
"How did she die?"
"A fever, " Bolco said. "She grew steadily weaker, and died about five days after she took ill. I only got to see her a little bit each day, and then briefly on the last day when she was very weak. My father wouldn't let us near her; he was afraid we would weary her, somehow. He waited on her and took care of her."
"Didn't he take her to the hospital, or call 911?" Agent McClure asked.
"What's a hospital?" Bolco replied. "No. I don't know what you mean."
"Where do people go when they are sick, in The Shire?"
"They don't go anywhere. They stay home. People don't get sick very often, " Bolco replied.
Agent McClure studied him. "When did she die?"
"When I was twelve. She was a wonderful woman," Bolco replied, suddenly missing her terribly. "I have never met her like."
"When you were twelve. Nathaniel, how old are you now?"
"Twenty-six. Twenty-seven on Midsummer's day."
Agent McClure wrote that down. "Do you realize that Ms. Fairfield believes that you are twelve years old?"
Bolco slumped in his chair, and replied, "I'm sorry. I hate letting people think that."
"You hate letting people think that?"
"Yes, " he replied. "Somehow it's-- it's like lying. And I hate that."
"Did you think that she thought you were young?"
"I-- I was afraid that she did. And yet, she seemed so certain that she could help me to get home. And I do so want to get home. I'm... I'm sorry."
"Did you tell her that you were twelve?"
"No! No, I didn't!"
"All right. Her mistake, then. But Nathaniel, this does change everything. If you are not twelve years old, then you cannot be Bobby Tucker, and this is no longer an FBI case. This is very important. Can you prove that you are over eighteen years old?"
He sat back in his chair, baffled and overwhelmed. "Why?"
"If you are over eighteen years old, then all of the charges against the Scotts will be dropped."
"What?"
"They're accused of abducting you, and of leaving you without supervision, and not providing adequate care for you while you were in their charge."
"But they've treated me like family! They've been terribly kind! They've cared for me and watched over me and protected me!"
"I understand that you feel that way," Agent McClure said, "but you've still got to prove that you are over eighteen years old if you want to be treated as an adult, and also for the charges against the Scotts to be dropped. Think. What proof can you come up with?"
"Look, " said Bolco, pleading with her, "they did not abduct me. They graciously offered me food and hospitality when I had nothing to eat and no place to get warm. They bought the clothes that I am wearing now. And they provided more care than I needed."
"That is all good to hear, and I'm very glad you told me all that. But it still makes it your word and the Scotts' word against the DA, and that means a hearing. But if you can prove that you are over eighteen years old, and legally an adult, then the FBI involvement in this whole thing is all over, and I turn you back over to the local authorities. All right? Now, calm down, and try to think. Stay calm."
Bolco sat back, silently panicking, and thought and thought and thought. He could think of no way to prove his age, and the thought that The Scotts were in trouble completely overwhelmed him.
Suddenly he wondered why he had not prayed earlier, and in his heart he dove toward Iluvatar. Creator, how do I prove my age? he begged, and thought, Please, please help me.
Agent McClure saw him close his eyes, and relax, and she wondered. His hand strayed to his chest, and he withdrew in silence. She waited.
His eyes flew open. "The dentist!"
"What dentist?" asked Agent McClure .
"I don't remember his name, I only remember wanting to hit him, " Bolco burst out, and Agent McClure laughed out loud. "Janiece insisted that I go. It's the only unkind thing she's ever done to me, only I suppose she was trying to do the right thing. It was awful. But he guessed that I was in my mid-twenties."
"So Janiece would know the dentists' name," Agent McClure replied. Checking the number, she picked up the phone.
********************
The phone rang. Jake and Anne looked up fearfully from the chairs where they had just sat down holding hands. A strong, professional female voice on the other end asked for Janiece Scott.
"Speaking, " she replied, trembling.
Jake and Anne could hear the woman's voice on the other end, and Janiece suddenly went from worry to hope. "Dr. Jacobson!" she blurted out. "Yes, Dr. Jacobson. Yes, I have his number, " she continued, but now her hands were shaking, and Jake lunged towards her and put his arm around her.
She pointed to the chair she had been sitting on. "Purse."
He dodged to the chair, seized his mother's purse and brought it to her, and she pulled out her address book, and handed it to him. He opened it. "Under D for Dentist, " she said, still shaking. He flipped the pages, and found it; she handed the phone to him, and he read the number out loud.
"What? Yes, that's his office number-- oh. No, we don't have his home phone."
"Yes. One filling. Back lower left-hand side. I was there. ...Yes, he could tell when he first looked into his mouth. Mid-twenties, was what he told Mom."
(She glanced at Agent MacBride standing quietly in the hallway, and said, ) "We're not going anywhere, apparently. We'll be waiting for further instructions. "
*********************
Bolco studied Agent McClure . "Thank you. May I go now?"
Agent McClure smiled at him. "You're welcome. But it's not over yet," she said, and dialed another number rapidly.
"Officer Barry? We need to locate Nathaniel's dentist. No, his name isn't Robert, " she stated, "And he's not twelve, either. No, she guessed wrong. He sounds and acts like an adult, as far as I'm concerned, and he and the Scotts agree that the dentist guessed his age at mid-twenties. This is not Bobby Tucker, and we have no other evidence of a kidnapping at this time, so as far as I'm concerned the FBI's involvement in this case is finished as soon as the dentist signs the affidavit concerning his age. I've added some notes concerning the interview that your evaluators should check. See you shortly."
"He'll be here in ten minutes, " Agent McClure said, smiling wearily at Bolco. "Let me try one more thing."
Agent McClure dialed the phone again, and listened, and took notes. Then she opened the phone book, and searched the pages, and made another call.
"Hello, Dr. Jacobson. This is Agent McClure , Federal Bureau of Investigation. I hope that I didn't wake you." She explained the situation, and listened briefly, and then replied, "Thank you. We'll bring him to your door, if you don't mind. He'll be with Officer Barry. Certify his age and sign the form."
She quickly typed several things into the computer, and printed out two pages.
"We'll send you back to the local police force. They'll have you assessed and decide where to go from there."
"What about The Shire? Didn't anybody that you called know where it is? Ms. Fairfields knew where it was."
"Ms. Fairfields was not thinking of a country called the Shire; she was thinking of a street called Westshire."
"What about Officer Barry? He had heard of it."
"He doesn't believe in it, Bolco. He doesn't believe in dragons, either," she said bluntly.
"What? But he said-- he asked me if I knew Bilbo Baggins, and I said that I didn't know that his journey had taken him here..." Bolco faltered, looking up at Agent McClure . "You... you don't believe me either."
Agent McClure looked at him, smiling. "Well, there are parts of it that I find a little challenging to accept." She laughed, with a good-natured shrug. "Maybe it will all seem a little better after a good nights' sleep."
He couldn't help but like her, even if she did think he was crazy. Most people, he reflected, did.
She stood and gestured for him to go. He put his jacket on, gave her a wry smile, and turned and headed for the door.
Officer Barry was there, and Agent McClure handed him a paper with Dr. Jacobson's name and address and phone, and The Scotts' name and address and phone, and another paper for Dr. Jacobson to sign, and then Bolco and Officer Barry departed.
Dr. Jacobson met them at the door-- dressed much more casually than the day before-- and said, "Hello Bolco, we meet again. This time, I hope it doesn't hurt a bit."
Bolco laughed wryly, and Dr. Jacobson turned to the officer. "I'll fax you the record tomorrow if you send me a fax number. He's mid-twenties, all right. And a very brave, patient fellow."
"Dr. Jacobson, if you'd just sign this to indicate you certify he's an adult."
Jacobson flourished a pen, signed, and then pointed at the officer. "You call me if you need anything else for Janiece or for Bolco." He turned to Bolco. "Stay out of trouble, lad."
Bolco nodded, and Jacobson nodded and went inside.
********************
"So now what do we do with him?" asked Officer Barry, glancing over at Bolco, who was seated, slumped in a chair, in the waiting area morosely swinging his dangling bare feet, and thinking, Please, Creator, I never should have come with these people. I'm so sorry. Please get me back to the Scotts; I just want to be back with Jake again.
Officer Drengel shook his head. "We still don't know where he came from, or even where he was two weeks ago, or if he's delusional, or retarded, or drugged or kidnapped as an adult. Time I started asking some basic questions, I guess. I'd like to know who he thinks his father is, and what kind of place he thinks he came from. Bring him into the other office, and I'll see what I can find out."
Officer Barry called, and motioned Bolco over.
"Nathaniel, this is Officer Drengel. He'll be asking you some questions."
Nathaniel nodded at the officer, but his patience was wearing very thin, and he was only getting hungrier.
Officer Drengel scanned the papers in front of him, and Bolco wondered how many people would look at those papers and add their own to the collection; the folder was getting thicker by the hour.
"All right, Nathaniel, now that we have a little more information about you, that's opened up some more areas that we need to ask you questions about , so that we can help you find your home."
"My home is The Shire, " Nathaniel said, wearily. "Don't you know where it is?"
"Well, no. But we're going to try and learn more about, ah, about your home, and whether we can locate it after all. Whether we can find out where you really belong. Now, it says here that your father's name is Bunko, your brothers are Banko, Dondo, and Songo, and your mother is Lavender. Can you tell me more about them?"
Nathaniel was too weary now to argue, and thinking of his family was less painful than thinking about The Scotts, or that nobody knew where The Shire was after all.
"My mother, " he began, "was the most gentle, refined, patient person I've ever known. And the kindest. She could read, and write, and she always knew the right song to sing when you were sad. She was always patient with my brothers, and with me, and she could always make my father smile. She could always calm him down. And she was wise. She understood..." he struggled. "She understood us. She understood me." Suddenly he looked away.
"When she was gone, was there anyone else that understood you?"
Bolco thought a moment, then replied simply, "No." And there was silence for a while.
Officer Drengel studied him quietly. "When your mother died, how did your father respond?"
"He removed everything from the house that reminded him of her," Bolco said in a level voice. "And then he spent as much time at the Inn as possible."
"At the Inn?"
"Drinking with his friends."
"Oh. And how did your brothers respond?"
"By staying out of my father's way."
Something was nagging at the back of Officer Drengel's mind, and he decided to say it. "Nathaniel, how tall is your father?"
"He's a good-sized Proudfoot hobbit, " Bolco replied, absentmindedly.
"I beg your pardon?" Officer Drengel asked, genuinely puzzled.
"He's much taller than I am, " Bolco replied vaguely.
"So how tall is your father?"
Bolco waved his hand above his head vaguely.
"Only a little taller than you are."
"I always felt that he towered over me. But I suppose to you that sounds silly."
"He's also quite short."
"He's quite tall for a hobbit."
"Hobbit."
"Yes."
Officer Drengel nodded, eyebrows rising. "Tell me about... hobbits." He pronounced it carefully.
Bolco studied him. "What would you like to know about Hobbits?" He did not feel comfortable about this. But he had already said too much, and there was no backing out now. He had an odd feeling that he would not quite believe what he had to say.
"What's a hobbit?"
"What you see I am."
"Sooo... Short, for starters." Officer Drengel seemed a bit lost. "Your whole family is... short?"
"My mother was about the size I am now. The rest of my brothers take after my father."
"Which is, you say, about, oh, five inches taller than you?"
"More, I think." Bolco stood, thought, and then carefully placed his hand about nine inches over his head.
"I'd guess about four feet?" Officer Drengel shrugged.
Bolco shrugged in return.
Officer Drengel wrote down "brothers' and father's height est approx 4 ft"
"So, what else can you tell me about hobbits? Do most hobbits have, ah, fuzzy feet like you do?"
"Yes, but rather larger. I have small feet for a hobbit. Even for a short hobbit, I have small feet." He sighed, and Officer Drengel made a quick note about the small feet.
"All right. What else?"
"The ears." Bolco pulled his hair back, and Officer Drengel's eyebrows went up again. "All hobbits have ears like you do?" Bolco nodded, and he wrote more notes.
"And?"
"Well, all the hobbits that I know live in or near the Shire. Buckland, Bree. Elsewhere, there are settlements or kingdoms of dwarves, elves, or men."
Officer Drengel paused, and gave Bolco the blankest look he had seen from him yet. "Elves."
"Yes. They're hard to find, generally speaking, " Bolco said wryly, "but I'm quite sure that they are out there somewhere."
"Elves hard to find, " Officer Drengel repeated thoughtfully, writing. "And... men, and dwarves."
"Elves toward the sea, " Bolco replied, "That land is called the Grey Havens. Dwarves to the north of that in the Blue Mountains. And more elves in Rivendell, but that's extremely hard to find."
"Men?"
"Some in Bree, and lots more the further east and south you go, or so I'm told. I've never been there myself."
"Never been to the east or the south before?" Officer Drengel repeated, half lost in thought.
"No. Does any of this help you in locating The Shire?"
Officer Drengel studied Nathaniel. "We'll see."
Bolco sat back, and said, "There's something that confuses me quite a bit, Officer Drengel. Mrs. Fairfields seemed to know about The Shire. Officer Barry knew about The Shire, enough so that I thought everyone here must. Yet you do not. Wasn't I sent here for counsel on how to find my home?"
"Partly, " Officer Drengel replied. "But partly for other reasons as well. You said that Officer Barry knows about The Shire?"
"Yes, he said he did. And he knew about Mr. Baggins, and the dragon, which I found very surprising indeed."
Officer Drengel opened his mouth, carefully shut it again, and looked down at his notebook, and wrote some more. "Mr. Baggins--"
"B-a-g-i-n-s, " Bolco spelled, still phonetically.
"And the Dragon--"
"D-r-a-g-o-n."
Officer Drengel shot him yet another wry look.
"Right. Bolco, who is the president?"
"I-- I beg your pardon? The what?"
"The president of the United States."
"I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean."
"Do you know what the United States is?"
"N-- no."
"Do you know who the president is?"
"No."
"Do you know what a president is?"
"...no."
"What day is it?"
"Friday."
"Of what month?"
"February."
"What year?"
"Fourteen eighteen."
The officer sighed heavily, and wrote that down, running his fingers through his hair, and wondering how complicated this was going to get.
"What year were you born?"
"Thirteen ninety two."
"Sign your name." The officer thrust a paper and pen at him. Bolco wrote out five runes, and seven, and three. The policeman accepted the paper, and added it to the steadily thickening folder. Then he thrust another paper at him.
"Read this."
"I-- I can't.
Officer Drengel sat back, thinking, and then picked up the phone, and Officer Barry came in.
"Psych workup. Take him to the ER. He's at least delusional, maybe more. I expect he'll require hospitalization, but let them check him out first."
"All right, lad, " Officer Barry said, not unkindly. "Let's go. Got that jacket? And why haven't we found him any shoes yet?"
"I don't want any, " Bolco snapped. "Why can't I go back to the Scotts? Why do I have to stay here? Why do I have to go anywhere else?"
"Okay, easy, easy, lad. Let's not get all riled up. Come on now, put your jacket on. The sooner we get you all checked out, the sooner we can get you settled somewhere comfortable. Come on. Out we go."
Bolco sighed. The man was kind enough, and friendly enough, but Bolco was hungry, and that made him irritable; and he was getting very very tired of the endless questioning. He donned his jacket, and officer Barry steered him out the door.
They drove for about ten minutes and arrived at a large, forbidding, cold-looking building, and Bolco didn't like the looks of it at all. Officer Barry brought him in and motioned him to a seat, and spoke with the lady behind the glass for quite a while. Then she called him over, and wrapped something around his arm which got very tight, and Officer Barry told him to just sit and wait, it would be over soon.
But before the triage nurse finished, Bolco had tears in his eyes, not from pain, but from frustration and weariness and fear and hunger.
The triage nurse thought if anybody could cheer him up, it would be Carla. "Take him on in, " she said. "Through those doors, take a left, and then go straight; third door on the right."
Officer Barry sat with him and waited, and soon Carla asked them to come in.
She was pleasant and homey, with dark hair and smiling brown eyes, and an easy grin. She wasn't very tall at all, and that helped set him at ease. She reminded him of Ned's wife Violet, and he wondered if she was as good a cook. Violet made a superb Mutton and Mushrooms. He shook himself; he was half starving, he realised, and tried to forget his empty stomach.
"Hello, Nathaniel, " Carla said cheerfully. "How are you today?"
"Hungry, " Bolco replied through gritted teeth.
"Well, let me ask you some questions, all right? We won't keep you hungry for long though."
His lips pressed into a tight line, Bolco waited, occasionally fighting tears of weariness and frustration, which he dashed away.
Carla faced him, smiling cheerfully. "Let's ask some orientation questions, all right? Do you know who you are?"
"Bolco Nathaniel Took."
"Do you know where you are?"
He looked around. "I'm in another strange room being asked another list of strange questions."
"Do you know what kind of building this is?"
"No. An ER, whatever that means."
Disorientation or amnesia, Carla pondered, writing. "Do you know why you are here?"
"I thought it was to help me get home."
"Do you know what state you are in?"
"Mass-- Massach-- I can't pronounce it."
"What year is it?"
"1418."
Her eyebrows went up. "Fourteen eighteen. You're sure about that."
"Yes, of course."
"What day is it?"
"Friday."
"What month?"
"February."
"How old are you?
"Twenty six. Twenty seven on Midsummer's' Day."
What year were you born?"
"1392."
Well, she thought, subtracting in her head, at least it's mathematically consistent with his answer for current year and his age. "How much schooling have you had?"
"Schooling? I'm not sure what you mean. Do you mean studying? Lore, history, poetry?"
"All right, studying. How much studying have you done?"
"Well- Pippin taught me my runes. But I'm not a particularly good reader."
"How did you learn to spell?"
"Pippin, mostly."
"Was he your private tutor?"
"I don't know what you mean. He helps everybody that he can at Tuckborough."
"Who lived at Tuckborough?"
"Lots of people. All in the same halls."
"What were those people like?"
"Hobbits like me."
"Hobbits like you."
"Yes, of course. Officer Drengel asked me all about Hobbits and wrote down my answers. Look at his page."
Carla took notes, and scanned back several papers, and made more notes. Officer Drengel suspected amnesia, retardation, social dysfunction, escapism, and delusions. Carla nodded; she had come to some of those conclusions herself. As she turned pages, her eyebrows began to climb, but she took hold of herself and disguised her amusement. Elfs, dwarfs, dragons. A regular Disneyland.
She looked back at Bolco, and studied him.
"How's your memory?"
"Fine. Why?"
"Let's check. Repeat back these numbers, all right? Ready?"
He nodded.
"53498."
"53498, " he echoed correctly.
"259831."
"259831, " he said.
"6352413."
"6352413. I don't see the point, or how this will help me get home, " he said.
"It's all right. For now, just repeat the numbers back to me, all right? 97498328."
"97498328."
"463524138."
"463524138."
"9384760299."
"938476... " he stalled, and could not finish the list. Oh, please, Creator, just let me go home to the Scotts.
"Good, that's about normal, " Carla said cheerily. "Now, about your long term memory. So do you remember when you were seven years old?"
"Let me think. Yes, I suppose so, " Bolco relied uneasily.
"Tell me about what you remember. Just a few things."
"That was when I got my first pony, " Bolco began, and she nodded.
"You had a pony. Good. What was his name?"
"Barley."
"Good. Do you remember the house that you grew up in?"
"Yes, in Long Cleeve."
"Who did you play with?"
"My cousins. They lived on the next hillside over. We used to pick berries together, and chase rabbits through the fields, and all sorts of things."
"Do you remember when you were five?"
"Five. I-- it all blends together, I don't know. "
"All right, do you drink?"
"Well, not beer. I don't like it much."
"Liquor or wine or mixed drinks?"
"Not much, if I can help it."
"Do you take drugs?"
"What do you mean? I don't understand."
"Pills or medicines or injections, or anything like that?"
"N-- No."
"Have you ever tried to hurt yourself?"
"Why would I do that?"
"Just answer the question, Nathaniel. Have you ever tried to hurt yourself?"
"Not-- I don't think so. No."
"Have you ever hurt someone else?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Have you ever been abused?"
"What do you mean?"
"Has anyone ever hurt you?"
Bolco frowned, and hesitated.
"Has anyone ever struck you or beaten you?"
Bolco winced.
"You can tell me, Nathaniel. It's all right. Who hurt you?"
Bolco winced again. "When... when I was thirteen, and fourteen, well, til I was sixteen."
"Who hurt you?"
"I used-- I used to talk back to my father. He didn't like it."
"And he hurt you?"
Bolco tried to evade the question, but eventually nodded. "Then he, he threw me out of the house when I was sixteen."
"All right, Nathaniel. Then where did you go?"
"To the Smials. I got a job working for the Thain, the Took. In his fields. He let me work for him as a field hand, and gave me a room in the Smials."
"What are the Smials?"
"Where the Tooks live. The ancestral home of the Took family."
"Hobbits?"
"Of course."
"Lots of other hobbits, just like you."
"Well, they're all different, just like everybody is different. I don't know what you mean."
She studied him. "Lots of people your size, barefoot, pointed ears. Lots of people like you."
"Of course."
"And you felt at home there, and safe?"
"Well, yes."
Carla nodded, taking notes: fantasy retreat into an imaginary, comfortable and safe environment filled with similar people, after traumatic separation from father and loss of mother. "Bolco, do you feel at home and safe around tall people?"
"Only around The Scotts."
She wrote down that he felt safe around the Scotts. "But not around other tall people."
Why would I, after all this? he thought, and replied, "No."
"How did you get from The Smials to The Scotts' house?"
"Well," Bolco hesitated, weary beyond belief and hungry and hoping that Carla would understand, "I'm not sure. But I think-- I think the Creator brought me there."
"The Creator brought you there."
"Well, " Bolco continued, "I think so. I was out, stargazing, hoping to see the elves, and I was looking at the path of stars-- you call it the Milky Way, don't you? And I wanted to swim in it, to swim among the stars. And I asked if I could. I didn't know who I was asking; I just asked. And the next day, I woke up on the train. I traveled for four days, and on Friday I asked for a friend. And Janiece found me that day. That night, Josh promised to teach me to swim. And that Sunday, I went to church with them. And so I think that... that that's why I'm here." He studied her, and her face was thoughtful and carefully neutral. "...You don't believe me." His heart sank.
"Don't worry, " Carla replied. "I might not believe everything that you say. But I like you just fine. And you'll be okay." Now she gave him a genuine warm smile. She did like him; she never had been one to remain detached from her clients.
Carla was busy thinking. While he was clearly delusional, hoping to swim in the sky and thinking that God transported him around from place to place, still, Carla approved of prayer; she understood the comforting nature of faith, and the security that religion could give. She thought that Bolco needed something to anchor to and hold fast, and as wild as his story sounded, it was no wilder than his previous stories of elves, dwarves, and dragons. And at least it had led, in the end, to some sort of grounded reality, at the Scott's house, learning to swim and going to church. That would be worth observing, and she wondered if furthering his interest in religion and in swimming might be beneficial in the long run. The religion especially would bear watching; it could seriously backfire, as the whole concept was still based in elves and strange flights of fancy. She made some more notes.
She began wondering which medications they would put Nathaniel on, and prioritized a list of her own recommendations.
"Have you ever had to go to the hospital?"
"You mean, a place like this?"
"Yes."
"No, I haven't, " Bolco replied. Today is the first time I've ever seen one."
"Have you ever attempted suicide?"
Bolco raised an eyebrow, now having the foggiest idea what she meant. "I don't know what you mean, " he replied.
Denial, Carla thought, writing.
"Have you ever tried to hurt yourself or kill yourself?"
"No, I said that before."
Complete denial, she wrote. "How about now? Do you feel like you would want to hurt yourself now?"
"What? No. But I would like something to eat. I'm very hungry. And weary."
Carla sat back, studied him, realised he was indeed hungry, and laughed. If these were evasive tactics they were effective. "All right. We'll take a short break. Follow me, and we'll see if we can't find you something to eat." She stood.
"I had assumed that I would be back at home by now, and so I didn't worry about bringing any food, " Bolco began, getting up to follow her.
"You assumed you would be back in The Shire by now? We certainly can't move that fast, " Carla said.
"I meant-- I meant the Scott's house, " Bolco said, feeling confused. "I suppose it's like a second home to me now. Well, I know it is. They've been so kind. They've become like a second family to me. If it wasn't for Lilac, I'd be content to stay here with them, I think."
"Who is Lilac?" She waved him out the door of her office, and led him down the hall.
"My cousin, " he replied, with a large mix of emotions, and she suddenly gave him a hard look.
"Your cousin. What kind of cousin?"
Bolco blushed. "Fourth cousin once removed."
Carla nodded, fairly satisfied.
"This is the lounge; the machines aren't too bad. I don't usually feed my clients, " she laughed, "but you do look like you need a meal. Let's find something. Come on, take a look." She held a fistful of ones, and gestured at the machines.
"I'm so sorry to impose, " Bolco said, seeing her brandish the money, and caught completely off guard by it. He had expected to be brought to a kitchen or pantry.
"You're too polite. I'm buying, come on and choose, " Carla replied pleasantly, and Bolco turned to the machines, rather baffled and more embarrassed still.
She watched him. "I'm sorry, " he said, "I've never seen anything like this before. I don't know what to do."
She considered him, and wished she had her notebook handy. "When was the last time you ate something?"
"Second breakfast."
"You had two breakfasts," she chuckled. "I like you. Well, you need something a little more substantial than this. But I'd just as soon ask a few more questions, and see if we can settle where you are going to spend the night. So let's see if you can get by a little longer on something here, all right?"
"What do you mean, where I will spend the night?"
"We'll try to settle that as soon as you have eaten something. How about a package of crackers? And a can of apple juice?"
"I'll try it, " he replied. He was actually a rather finicky eater for a hobbit, and inwardly he panicked that he might not like the strange fare. He hoped that he would like it. He was so hungry he felt lightheaded.
"Come over here, " she said, and handed him one of the bills. He looked at it, baffled, and back at her. She took another, and demonstrated carefully. "The picture of George goes this way, like it shows here." He mimicked her. "Then you choose the letters and numbers for the crackers, " she punched them in and Bolco watched bug-eyed as the crackers fell, "and then you reach in the door this way--" she stretched, having short arms too, and produced the crackers.
"If you haven't eaten since this morning, you're probably very hungry, so go ahead, and get another. Go on. You saw what I did."
"Your runes, " he said, bordering on panic. "I can't read them."
"It's okay. I'll help you with the runes, " she smiled, liking him more and more, but also more and more open to the possibility that Officer Drengel's list of guesses had been more correct than not. "Go on."
He fed the dollar bill in, and then tentatively pointed to a combination of numbers and letters, and she nodded. He pressed them, and retrieved the fallen cracker package through the door.
"Okay, good. Now for the juice. Same thing, over here."
She quizzed him on the type of juice, and they settled on apple, and then she showed him how to open the can, and had him sit at one of the lounge tables.
"But what about the crackers?"
She laughed at him. "Are you trying to tell me you've never opened a plastic wrapper before? Really, Nathaniel?"
His baffled expression, and his sudden grief that she doubted him, convinced her. "All right; here, like this." She started a tear on one package, and handed it back to him. "You can tear it with your teeth if you have to. Now, in case you are still hungry, here's two more dollars. Shout if you need help. Don't buy any caffeine though." She laughed, and sat down to watch him eat.
"Thank you," he replied, inspecting the torn wrapper and gingerly removing the first cracker. "What's caffeine?"
"Stick with the juice, and avoid the soda, " she said, pointing.
He devoured both packages of crackers and guzzled the juice, and looked longingly towards the machines again. She laughed.
She watched as he choose a bag of peanuts and another juice, and they returned to her office while he ate them. They walked past Officer Barry, and Carla said, "Not much longer. Have the nurse find him a bed here, and get him checked in."
"Here?" Bolco panicked, mortified, and Carla nodded. Officer Barry headed out to the desk.
"I think that's best. We can give you something to help you relax and sleep."
"But I want to go home! To the Scotts! They'll be worried!" And stricken with dread by the idea of spending the night in this cold and dreary place, Bolco burst into tears.
Carla spoke soothingly to him, but to no avail. "I want to go home, " he cried. "To the Scotts. Please let me go home!" Nothing that Carla said would comfort him, and he only grew more agitated. She waited, realizing that she was only making things worse, and after he had wept for a while, he turned inward, pleading with the Creator; his hand drifted to his chest, and he began to calm down.
"Are you in pain?"
"What? No. " He withdrew further.
"Why do you have your hand on your chest?"
"I-- I think you call it praying."
Carla nodded pleasantly. "What are you praying about?"
"That I want to go home. And that I don't want to stay here, " he whispered.
"Do you pray often?"
"I-- well, more lately." He began to calm down, and Carla watched carefully. This part of his spirituality seemed healthy, and she approved.
She gave him time. Officer Barry was waiting while the nurse checked for beds, and Carla thought it was taking a long, long time. The minutes ticked by, as Bolco prayed desperately to be allowed to go home.
Officer Barry reappeared. "No beds. They're all full."
Carla sighed, and studied Nathaniel.
"Please, please, " he said. "Let me go home. I just want to go home."
"What will you do?" she said. "Will you try to leave? Will you run away?"
"No, " he pleaded. "I promise."
"Will you try to hurt yourself?"
"No. No, I won't."
She sat back, thinking.
"Nathaniel, I think I can trust you, to send you to the Scott's tonight. But you must understand that you need to stay there, and come back tomorrow."
"Why do I have to come back tomorrow?"
"I need your word that you'll come back. I need to do some psychological and cognitive assessments on you, at least. We're not done yet, " she said cheerfully.
"I don't want to come back, " he replied truthfully.
"Do you want to go home?"
"Yes, " he replied, realizing that he was trapped.
"Then I need your word that you will come back when we can get you scheduled for the assessments."
He put his head in his hands, and thought back on the moment that Mrs. Fairfields had assured him that she would do her best to help him find his home. He did not doubt her intentions, even now. But he bitterly rued that he had trusted her and gone with her. He thought about the man in the dark clothes, who had seemed to actually be making the decisions, and wondered what had become of him, and whether he could have simply refused to come along with them. He did not think so.
If only he had never gone outside, to be spied by Evangeline Burroughs! To be imprisoned in the house was torment. But he looked around, at the hospital walls, and thought that to be imprisoned here would be far, far worse.
"I don't want to come back, " he pleaded, through tears.
"Nathaniel, we can't release you. You need care. You can either go home to the Scotts with the promise to come back, or I can make other arrangements, " Carla said firmly. "Which will it be?"
Oh, Creator, help me, he thought, waiting, turning within and looking for God through his seething inner turmoil; but there was nothing else to do. The seconds ticked by as Carla waited, and Bolco waited on God, for an answer, for an alternative, for an escape. But no answer came to him. He pleaded with God, he begged for escape, but still Carla waited.
Through his tears, he finally replied, "All right. I promise. Only let me go home."
Carla nodded. "I'll call the Scotts." She picked up the phone.
***********************
The FBI agent had left the Scott's house as soon as he had been notified that Nathaniel's age had been confirmed. Now unsupervised, Janiece answered the phone. Anne joined Janiece in the kitchen. Jake bounded upstairs and picked up the other line.
"Nathaniel needs to come back in as soon as we can get him scheduled for some assessments, " Carla was saying. "He's very reluctant to return. And he is interested in returning to your house. If that is agreeable with you in principle, then there are several things I need to find out before I can release him to you. I need your assurance that you will return him here for those assessments as soon as we can schedule him. If you can give me that assurance, I would like you to come in and see me now, tonight, for an initial screening."
"Of course he can come home, " Janiece exclaimed. "We miss him terribly! Of course we will come in."
"Why don't you come now, and we'll discuss the possibility of him staying with you, and what the requirements will be, " Carla replied.
"All right, " Janiece replied. "Of course. We'll come." Carla gave her directions, which Jake wrote down, and Jake, Anne, and Janiece drove immediately to Carla's office.
"They're coming?" Carla held up a finger, and said "Wait, " and finished her directions as Bolco grew steadily more eager, and when she hung up, he asked again. "They're coming?"
"Yes, they're coming-- Sit down. Bolco, wait!"
Wild with anticipation, Bolco stood and ran towards the door. Carla called Officer Barry , and he stepped in front of Bolco, who tried to dodge around him, and Barry caught him by the arm. "Whoa, there, son. Slow down."
"But-- but--"
"Wait. You're not done yet, " Carla called.
"Sit down right here, and don't move, " Officer Barry said, and pointed to a set of chairs by the door.
"The Scotts are coming here. They're to come back and speak with me; he's not released into their care until I clear them, " Carla said, and Barry nodded.
"Take a break, Carla; looks like you could use it. I'll watch him, " Barry said.
She nodded, grateful, and retreated back into her office to clean up some paperwork. Bolco certainly had his ups and downs.
Bolco gazed up at Officer Barry, and squirmed, fidgeted, and wrung his hands in anticipation. Barry laughed.
"Tired of being here, lad?"
"Yes. I'm tired of answering questions, " Bolco replied, "Tired of being inside, tired of ... oh, I just want to go home. I just want to see Jake and Janiece." Please, Creator, please, let them hurry. He wrung his hands some more.
Officer Barry made some small talk, but Bolco's eyes glazed over, and Barry realised how exhausted the lad was, and came and sat down between him and the door.
Minutes ticked by; a car pulled up, and Bolco came vibrantly awake.
"Wait, " Barry said.
Car doors slammed, and then there was a brief agonizing silence; but finally the door opened, and Jake came through it.
Bolco launched himself at Jake, and was immediately and smotheringly engulfed in Jake's over-protective bear-hug. Only this time, Bolco hung on tightly, and drank it in, and did not mind it in the least, and held on even after Jake was willing to let him go. Anne and Janiece came to Jake's side, and caressed Bolco's hair, and rubbed his shoulders, and still he clung to Jake.
Finally Bolco loosened his grip, and Jake gently released him, and Bolco stood close to Jake, and looked up at Janiece and Anne. Janiece stooped and kissed his brow.
Carla stepped out into the corridor and motioned at Janiece. Janiece proceeded to her office, but Carla waited for Jake and Anne to follow. Bolco was glued to Jake's side.
They filed into Carla's office, and sat down; Bolco stood beside Jake's chair, leaning against his shoulder, and would not budge. He was numb with relief that Jake was here, but desperate to get outside all the same. Eventually he began focusing again, and understanding the conversation going on around him. Carla was speaking.
"We have a lot of questions about his mental health, his cognitive abilities, and his emotional health, and we want to do much more testing to see how we can help him out. So we need your assurance that he will be returned here for all of his appointments, and that you will cooperate fully with all our testing requirements. In the meantime, he needs constant surveillance. If you can't provide that, then we can make other arrangements," she continued, watching Janiece and Jake's faces carefully.
"I'll watch him, " Jake asserted. "No problem."
"Jake, " Janiece replied gently but firmly, "Your classes."
"If it comes to that, I'll take the incompletes, " he stated, quietly but with finality; and the look of steel that he turned on her left her cold for several moments. They locked eyes, and he waited. But then to her own surprise, a new pride welled up in her, and she realised that he understood the extent of the sacrifice he was making; and that she couldn't hold him back from what he wanted to do. Slowly, he saw her soften, and nod back at him letting that pride in him show just enough for him to see it.
"If that's really what you want, " she said, knowing now that it was.
He nodded.
"I have your assurance he'll return for his appointments as soon as they are scheduled."
Janiece and Jake both turned and studied Bolco. "We've got to do this, " Jake said quietly, "or you can't come home with us. You understand?" He brought his hand up to Bolco's shoulder.
Bolco nodded, miserably. "I know."
"We'll bring him back, " Jake said, sadly, but firmly.
"Now can I go home?" Bolco pleaded.
"Yes, once the form is signed."
They waited while Carla printed out yet another piece of paper, and handed it to Janiece. She signed it, and then Carla checked her appointment book, penned in several blocks for the next afternoon, and handed her a card indicating the times.
Bolco put on his jacket, and Jake, Anne, and Janiece followed his example. Carla worried that Bolco would bolt for the door, like he did last time; but she was wrong. He stood by Jake, and taking his wrist, urged him forward, and never moved from Jake's side. Jake grasped Bolco's wrist as well, and when they were out the door, Jake detoured onto the grass, and passed several bushes. Bolco brushed them with his free hand, grateful, but did not let go of Jake's wrist.
Jake sat in the back with Bolco, and cracked his window until his mother complained of the cold.
**************************
They arrived home, and Bolco said, "Can we please stay outside? For just a little while?"
"You bet, " Jake said. "Could one of you bring me a hat?"
"Be careful, honey, " Janiece warned him.
"They said he'd have to be under constant surveillance. They didn't say he'd have to be inside."
Anne stepped inside to get the hat. Janiece followed her inside to call Anne's parents, and caught them up to date on the news. They were very supportive, and curious about the short homeless man, and about the level of involvement and interest that Anne had expressed. Janiece explained what she could, without delving into The Shire or hobbits, and the parents expressed their sympathy for Nathaniel, and offered to help in any way that they could.
Janiece was grateful, and honestly replied that Anne's support of Jake was a great boon, and asked if Anne could possibly stay the night, sleeping in Janiece's room. Her parents gladly agreed. Janiece thanked them, and spoke with Anne, who gladly agreed. Janiece thanked Anne's parents and hung up, and went to fetch the air mattress, which she arranged up in her room, meanwhile offering Anne her own bed. Anne indignantly refused, and insisted on taking the mattress.
"All right. You go out, and walk with Jake and Bolco. I'll have this ready for when you come back. And the kettle will be on, too."
Anne threw her arms around Janiece's neck and kissed her cheek, and found Jake's gloves and three hats, and ran out the door. They were back within an hour; Bolco was emotionally exhausted, and it was enough for him to just breathe for a while, and feel the ground beneath his feet. He remained anchored to Jake's side the whole time.
Janiece sighed with happiness through tears of relief. Her son would test the boundaries, she knew; she hoped that he would stay out of trouble, but she had no confidence of that. She prayed, for sense, for wisdom, for understanding, for good judgment-- all for both herself and Jake both. And, almost as an afterthought, for Bolco too. Assessment? What did that entail? What would it mean for Bolco? And what would it mean for Jake?
But that was tomorrow. She put it out of her mind. For tonight, Bolco was back home. Jake was himself again, almost, and Anne was there to help. And the charges were dropped.
************
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