Friday
Bolco woke, sat up, smiled, thinking of Lilac, and looked out the window. But the previous day's chaos did not ignore him for long, and in a moment he had recalled all that too. He remembered that he had another appointment this afternoon, and his heart sank.
Jake stirred, and sat up, and looked at Bolco, and saw Bolco's restlessness.
"You okay?"
"Not really, Jake."
"No."
"No, I'm not."
"What can I do?"
Bolco stared out the window, and Jake got up, put his robe on, and came to look out over his shoulder. Bolco was staring at the shrub where he had tried to hide yesterday. Softly, he began to tell Jake the whole story, from the time he had come back from the woods and heard voices.
Abruptly, he stopped "I'm sorry; you've just woken, and you've had no coffee."
"Let's get ready for breakfast," Jake said, "and you can tell me more then. All right?"
"All right."
They ate slowly, Bolco relating yesterday's events, beginning from what he had come to think of his capture, and one interrogation following the next. At times he grew emotional, sad or angry or frustrated or confused, but never belligerent.
Anne and Janiece and Jake listened as Bolco poured out the story. When he told them that he had explained the location of the Shire in terms of elf and dwarf settlements, Janiece sighed. "Bolco, darling, that may not have been wise."
He sighed. "I don't think that they believed me."
"No, dear, I'm sure they wouldn't have."
"So they think I'm crazy not just for chasing elves, but for believing in them at all?"
"Yes, dear."
Bolco's shoulders slumped.
"Then I suppose when I mentioned the dragon..."
"Oh, dear, " Janiece groaned.
Bolco nodded glumly. "That's what I was afraid of. So they do think I'm crazy." Then he laughed, and shrugged, and visibly cheered up. "Well, that's nothing new. I've been called crazy for over half my life."
Janiece frowned sadly. "Bolco, crazy in the Shire is not the same as crazy here. They won't laugh at you, at least not much. But they will try very hard to help you, and they won't let you go as long as they think they haven't succeeded."
"But how can they? What if I just don't want their help?"
"Unfortunately, you asked for it. Didn't you?"
"But I thought I was asking for help in finding the Shire." Bolco's voice was strained.
"I understand, I think, " Jake said. "But what they heard was, I'm lost and I want to get home, but I don't know how to get there."
"Well, yes, that's true."
"Bolco, they take being lost very seriously here."
"They do?"
"Yeah, they do."
Janiece agreed. "More seriously than you can easily imagine, Bolco."
"What do you mean?"
"Several things. They are determined to find out why you think that you came from an imaginary place where there are elves and dwarves and dragons; they wonder where you really came from, and who is missing you, and what your past is, and why you can't read as well as they think you should; and why you believe in elves, dwarves, and dragons at all-- which nobody here does." Jake fidgeted and looked at the table, and Janiece frowned at him and went on. "And they also want to know why you don't understand some common things about our country, like the way it's run, and what the laws are."
Bolco shrugged, wide-eyed with exasperation. "How would I possibly know all that?"
"The point is, Bolco, that they think that you don't know those things because you are either sick or not very smart. And if you are sick, they are determined to help you; and if you are not very smart, then you need to be kept safe so that you don't hurt yourself."
"Hurt myself... What is that all about, and why do they keep harping on that? Why would I hurt myself? That's absurd."
"Well, for one thing, they're worried that you'll get sick from going barefoot in the winter. That's a big thing for them, Bolco. In fact, that and the amnesia-- what they think is amnesia-- worry them even more than the delusions about elves and dragons."
Bolco shook his head. "What business is it of theirs?"
Janiece sighed. "Bolco, darling, if we were actually blood family, then we would have some say in what is going on. But they want to reunite you with your blood family if they can find them. And they are looking, very very hard, to figure out where you came from."
"Janiece, I thought you believed me now that I come from the Shire."
"Bolco, " she sighed, "The point is, they don't. And when you say that you come from the Shire, they think you are crazy. So they think that somewhere you have a family, or at least a history, that you have forgotten, and instead you are imagining that you are from the Shire. And they want to know why you can speak our language but can't read it, and why you don't understand... well, some other things."
"What things?"
Jake sighed. "Like what year it is. Bolco, it's 1999. Not fourteen-eighteen, like in the Shire reckoning. When you said fourteen eighteen, they thought you were over five hundred years off."
Bolco put his chin in his hand, and stared at the table. Jake continued, more gently still.
"And the president. His name is Clinton, and he runs the country, more or less, along with some judges and the Congress. You would know that if you had lived here for a while. "
"Clinton."
"William Jefferson Clinton. He hasn't been good to his wife, but he runs the country 'til next year sometime. And also there's the Congress-- which is made up of the Senate and the House of Representatives-- they're sort of like a council, that makes the laws."
"So, President... what did you say his name was?"
"President Clinton. He's elected. Like the Mayor of Michel Delving."
"Will Whitfoot."
"Yeah."
"So to make them happy, do I have to learn all about your mayor-- er, president-- and how to read your runes?"
"Um... well, that's part of it."
"What else?" Bolco controlled his temper with an effort.
Janiece raised her hand. "Slow down, Jake. We don't know for sure what will make them happy, and we don't know for sure what they want. Let's not burden Bolco with a big list of things to learn and study, until we find out what is necessary. After all, that's not why God sent him here, is it?"
Jake heaved a sigh. "Right. Learn about God, learn to swim, learn about the people of God. Better than learning about the seamy side of American politics." He laughed grimly. Remembering Clinton's faithlessness to his wife always put him in a bad mood.
Anne guessed that, and hastily changed the subject. "So Bolco goes in for testing today, and then we take it from there."
Janiece nodded. "One step at a time, and let's not jump to any conclusions. Each day has enough trouble of its' own, " she said, pushing back from the table. "Why don't you two just try to relax, and enjoy the morning? Maybe worship for a while and then go for a walk."
"Sound good?"
"Worship, " Bolco sighed happily. "That," he pointed to the stereo, "or the... what did you call it?" he asked. Anne smiled as Bolco played an air-guitar.
"Guitar. I can get that out. Sure."
There, thought Janiece, that cheered him up. Relieved, she put her coat on. Anne did likewise, and they departed, Anne for class, and Janiece for work.
They worshipped for three hours, Jake ignoring the pain in his fingertips for the sake of the peace on Bolco's face. Finally the pain halted him. They ate elevensies, and went out for a walk, and came back and ate lunch.
Bolco pushed his plate away with the bagel half-eaten, and put his face into his hands. "And now I've got to go back. I promised that I would. But, oh, I don't want to."
"Sorry," Jake said, and he meant it.
Bolco put his shoes on, the picture of reluctance, but Jake assured him that the building he was going to was public and it was a requirement.
"They didn't punish me yesterday."
"They spoke to us about it."
"They did?"
"Yup. Part of taking care of you. I'm required to make you wear shoes."
"But--!"
"I'll take you for long walks in the woods, barefoot. We'll work it out. But when we go to your appointments, you've got to wear them, or I'll get in trouble."
Bolco shook his head angrily, but he put the shoes on.
*********
Jake alternately sat, paced, fidgeted, or stood behind a glass window, watching, wondering, while Bolco was put through hours of tests. He stacked blocks to match pictures, he analyzed inkblots, he drew pictures, he related memories, he answered questions about pictures and stories and numbers and letters. As the afternoon wore on, his patience grew thinner and thinner.
Finally Jake stepped inside and softly called the counselor.
"May I help you?" she said, in a voice of steel; he was not supposed to be interrupting.
"Just a question, please, Ma'am. Hey, Nathaniel, you hungry?"
"Starving!"
"Right. Here." In addition to the apples he had brought from home when they left, Jake had been to the machines. Out came an apple, and a package of crackers, and a small bag of peanut m&ms. He had a can of juice awkwardly stuffed into his pocket.
Bolco visibly relaxed, and stood. "Can I eat them outside?"
The counselor was tempted to be annoyed, but she was getting worried about his irritability level. "Well, it's cold outside, but--"
Bolco accepted the apple and the peanut m&ms from Jake's right hand, pocketed the m&ms and took Jake's hand. "Let's go."
"You're not finished!" the counselor objected.
Bolco glared at her.
"I think he needs a break, " Jake suggested gently.
"I've got to finish this evaluation by five o'clock."
"How much does he have left to do?"
"One more test. Vocabulary."
"His vocabulary's pretty good, I think, " Jake smiled. "Could you ask him his questions outside?"
The counselor stood, irritated, but snatching up her clipboard and coat. "We'll give it a try."
Jake hooked Bolco's jacket on a finger as he went past it, and then caught up his own on the way through the waiting room, and the three of them went outside, getting lots of curious glances as they did so.
Bolco visibly relaxed, heartily wishing that he could lose the shoes and run around barefoot, but at least there was food and fresh air, and trees to touch. He put on his jacket, munched an apple, and wandered around the grounds, touching shrubs, bushes, trees.
The counselor asked him a battery of questions. Jake was right, his vocabulary was superb-- with notable exceptions. His understanding of current events was nil. He knew nothing about politics or economics. He knew a great deal about rustic farming but didn't know what a tractor was, or a combine. She shook her head, and made notes, and filled in his responses. It was a long test.
He munched his way through the m&ms and the crackers, and drank the juice, and then meandered through the trees, as she followed him with the clipboard. Eventually she lowered the clipboard for a moment.
"Why do you like trees?"
He looked at her, skeptical and not willing to trust her with something so near his heart.
"What are you looking for as you look at them?"
He stared at her, silent.
"Why don't you tell her, Nathaniel?" Jake asked softly.
Nathaniel shook his head.
The door opened, and Carla came out. Nathaniel glared at her, torn between liking her, and resenting her for putting him through all this.
"Shoes today, " she said approvingly.
"I hate them," he replied.
"They keep your feet nice and warm in the winter, don't they?"
"My feet stay warm enough. I don't need shoes."
"You need to learn to take better care of yourself, Nathaniel, " she admonished.
"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
Jake placed a hand on his shoulder, and Bolco looked up at him, resentful. Jake knelt down, and met his eyes. "Easy, Nathaniel. Carla's just trying to help."
Nathaniel's' mouth twitched with his effort to control his fury, but something deep inside him stirred. He's right, Creator, isn't he, Nathaniel thought. Oh, how I hate this; but Jake knows what he's doing, and I should listen. Help me listen. And help me not to lose my temper; it only makes these people more convinced that I'm crazy.
His free hand strayed to his chest, and he willed himself to trust Jake, and let Jake guide him.
Carla watched as he struggled.
Jake kept talking. "I had to promise to keep you safe and healthy. I meant it. And you agreed to work with me, right?"
Nathaniel nodded, miserable, but feeling the Creator still stirring deep within, he relaxed, waiting, holding onto that gentle presence.
"Okay."
Carla nodded, slowly, approvingly.
The counselor continued asking the vocabulary questions and Nathaniel continued exploring the trees.
"How did this morning go?" Carla asked Jake, turning him aside.
"All right."
"Emotions? Agitation?"
"Not much. Occasional annoyance and disappointment."
"Delusions?"
Jake shrugged. "Normal conversations with me and mom and Anne, about dinner, and prayer, and yesterday's events and questioning."
"He seems fairly well adjusted around you. You seem to be able to work with him."
"Yeah. We get along just fine. And he listens." Most of the time, anyway, Jake mentally hedged.
"If he can maintain an even keel emotionally I'm hoping that we won't have to hospitalize him."
"Hospitalize him?" Jake repeated, aghast.
Carla shot him a stern glare. "Look, Jake. So far his diagnosis includes disorientation, amnesia, retardation, social dysfunction, delusion, and escapism. That's a big list. My instinct is to hospitalize him at least until we ascertain where he came from and why he showed up here. But so far, Missing Persons has turned up nothing whatsoever. We're extending the search into Mexico and Canada."
"I don't think he's from Mexico, " Jake said wryly.
"There's no knowing, and we can't afford to leave any possibilities unexplored."
"You know he's not retarded."
"No, Jake, I don't. He can't read, and his math skills are sorely lacking. He has no knowledge of current events."
Jake shook his head. "He's had no need to. He's bright enough."
"Jake, he's twenty-six, speaks fluent English and can't write a word of it."
"Would it convince you if he learned?"
"You're that confident."
Jake smiled.
"Don't agitate him or antagonize him."
"Of course not. Hey, Nathaniel."
Nathaniel turned.
"I think you're smart enough to learn to read our runes. You want to try?"
"Yes. It'll help me to operate the remote."
Jake smiled at Carla, and she raised an eyebrow.
***************
They went back inside. While Bolco took a vision test and a hearing test, and after further discussion with Carla, Jake signed a set of papers indicating that he was willing to act as a caretaker for Nathaniel, and Jake signed up for the associated training. Carla lectured him a bit, and there were articles to read and questions to answer, and more forms to sign. Never having been fond of paperwork, Jake hated the thought of going through the process, but it was that, or have Bolco checked into the hospital. He was worried enough about the drugs.
There were two. He could hardly pronounce the names, and as Carla explained to him what the drugs were for, his stomach sank. One was for the disorientation and amnesia, and the other was for the delusions. She warned him that he could go on a third if his agitation got any worse. She lectured him extensively on how important the combination of drugs and counseling would be to his recovery.
Jake's soul churned as much as his stomach did. He knew that Bolco needed none of the drugs, and he was very afraid of what would happen if he actually took them. And since Bolco wanted none of the counseling, he worried about that too. What good would any of it do him?
"Can I have some information on what he's been diagnosed with, so I can be better aware of what to do? How do we know whether he's improving?" Jake asked.
"Well, when he stops being so disoriented, and so belligerent, and starts remembering who is really is and where he comes from; and stops building fantasy worlds; and when he starts taking better care of himself, we'll be well on our way. But that's a big list, and it won't all happen in a day. We can talk more about that on Monday. For now, I want you to be ready for whatever happens this weekend. And if anything happens that you can't handle, bring him to the ER. Understand?" Carla handed him some papers, and promised him a few more; she went online and started printing some things.
Thank God, Jake thought, that today is Friday, and they don't expect him back until Monday. At least we have two days off. He took several deep breaths, and began praying that by Monday, they'd be better able to deal with all this chaos, and help Bolco out, instead of standing helplessly by and watching things get worse.
They were startled by a sudden outburst in the room next door. Bolco had had enough. He unleashed a wild torrent of exasperation and injured dignity on the counselor. Jake froze, holding his breath; the counselor yelled out an order.
Carla frowned. "That's not necessary, " she said, standing, and opening her mouth to object. But two nurses converged on Bolco, a needle flashed, and Bolco cried out in surprise. Jake jumped up too late, cursing under his breath. He ran to him anyway. "Bolco. Listen. Bolco!"
Bolco, surprised by Jake's use of his Shire-name, was jolted back to his senses, and Jake verbally soothed him, again, as he had so many times.
"I want to go home."
Carla, following Jake into the room, surveyed the situation. She would not have called for the drug, and she was angry that the other counselor had; she did not approve of the injection; she did not approve of the counselor's overall handling of the situation, and she did not like the look on the counselor's face. Her lips tightened and she decided Bolco needed somebody else for long-term counseling. Jake gently reached for Bolco, and the nurses looked at Carla, who waved away their concern. The boy definitely had a way with the patient.
Jake led him a few steps away from the nurses and the annoying counselor, and watched him, worried, calming him again. Sure enough, the drug gradually took effect, and Bolco's eyes began to glaze. Jake's heart sank.
"You're done with him anyway, now, " Jake said. "Why don't I take him home."
"As agitated as he is, I think we should hospitalize him, " said one of the nurses.
Jake shook his head. "He's agitated because he's inside, with strangers. He calms down outside, or with people he trusts."
Carla pondered, and slowly nodded. He did seem to calm down, significantly, when he was outside. And there were still no beds at the hospital; she wondered why, but it meant that something else had to be done. "I'll give you some instructions. We'll continue him on that third medication. Be sure he takes all of his meds on time; schedule is important. And if anything happens to agitate him that you can't handle, you need to call us right away."
"Sure, " Jake said, nodding. "Whatever." God, please, forgive me, for lying through my teeth, he thought; have mercy on me, but there is no way I'll give him those blasted pills. His heart felt like it had been wrung out like a sponge.
Bolco began to sway, and Jake picked him up, and carried him to Carla's office, where he had left the forms.
"Wait here, " Carla ordered him, and he waited, feeling half like a traitor for cooperating. But the alternative, as far as he could tell, was for Bolco to be hospitalized and drugged, and Jake was afraid he would become lost in the system. As far as he knew, his family had no legal claim on Bolco at all.
Bolco's head sank heavily onto his shoulder as the medication took effect.
Carla returned, and Jake nodded, smiled, and accepted everything she gave him, and bundled it all up together and got out of there as gracefully as he could. Walking through the parking lot, he bit back tears as Bolco grew steadily more relaxed in his arms. By the time he got to the car, Bolco was asleep. Jake laid him flat in the back seat and wrapped the seat belt around his waist, and put his jacket over him like a blanket. He drove out of the hospital parking lot and into the night, grateful to put some distance between Bolco and the source of the drugs. Several blocks further away, he pulled into a large supermarket lot and found a dark corner, and stopped the car and turned it off, reached back and nervously checked Bolco's pulse and breathing-- slow and steady-- and then Jake put his forehead against the steering wheel, and sobbed.
********************
Anne was waiting on the steps in the dark when he got home. "What happened?"
They sat down on the cold steps, and the beginnings of the story poured out of him, but he stopped. "Here are the keys. Go inside-- please?-- and get the warmest blankets you can find. Get two."
Anne came back out with two heavy quilts, and Jake stood while she wrapped one around them both, and then she wrapped the next around the three of them. Jake finished the story, quickly. They both prayed like blazes, taking turns, storming the throne room.
Janiece pulled up and they went inside, Jake telling the story again. Janiece was horrified that Bolco had been drugged.
Anne shook her head. "This is crazy, " she said. "He's being drugged for conditions he doesn't have, and now he'll be counseled for problems he doesn't have. He's not insane now, but he will be."
"We've got to get him out of this mess, " Jake fretted.
"I've got friends majoring in psych, " Anne replied. "I'll start finding out as much as I can. Maybe Josh and James can learn some things at Amherst. And maybe the pastor knows some counselors that can help us somehow."
"I can go online and find whatever I can there, " Jake said. "But I don't even know what I'm looking for. I guess I'd better start by reading all the stuff she gave me."
"One thing I recall, " Janiece said, "is that the patient has input into the choice of counselor. The patient can decide to change counselors if they want to."
"How can he decide anything if he's pumped full of drugs?"
"I wonder how long that injection will last."
"Do we know what it was?"
"Same as the pills..." Jake rummaged for the bottle. "We can look it up online, I hope."
"Let me hold him, " Anne said. Jake carefully placed Bolco in her arms, and she kissed his forehead and held him gently. Janiece got up, drew close to Anne and Bolco, ran her fingers through Bolco's hair, and then headed into the kitchen; none of them were particularly hungry, and after listlessly staring into the fridge for several moments, she closed it and decided to order pizza.
But first she called Josh, and filled him in on everything that had happened. "I'm coming home, " Josh said. "I'll find James, and see if he can come too."
"Honey, don't let school slip, " Janiece replied instinctively, knowing that she was going to be overridden, saying it anyway.
"Extensions can be had, Mom, " Josh replied. "If I need one I'll get one. So far I'm all right. I'm coming home."
She hung up, relieved, and grateful.
James and Josh arrived two hours later, scanning as they came in the door. Bolco was wrapped up on the couch, still asleep, and Janiece and Anne sat by him talking, while at the Kitchen table, Jake feverishly read the documentation Carla had given him.
Josh knelt close to Bolco and observed him carefully, but a moment later, James reached around Josh and swept Bolco into his arms still cocooned in the blanket, and holding him close, buried his face against him.
Startled, Josh studied James. "Whoa, easy, guy. You okay?"
"Why did they-- aw, damn, damn."
All right, so, he wasn't okay, not at all. Josh took James by the shoulders, and Anne stood by him too; he struggled, biting back anger and tears. Janiece came and joined them, and quietly began to pray, and they all turned inward; James held onto Bolco, suddenly as protective as Jake had ever been.
Jake, having arrived at information overload, stacked the papers and came and joined them; Josh gave him a bracing hug, and they prayed some more.
Janiece finally stepped back, and said, "There's pizza on the counter; have some. I want everybody to eat, whether you're hungry or not."
"I'm hungry, " said a muffled, groggy voice from within the blanket.
"Oh, thank God, " said James, his voice breaking, burying his face against the blanket again.
Bolco peered groggily at him, squinting. "James?" He blinked. "Josh? Hello." He squirmed, weakly. "I'm hot."
James hurried to unwind him from the quilt. "Thank God. Bolco, are you all right?"
"Jake?" Bolco peered about.
"Here. How are you feeling?"
Bolco struggled to focus. "Ugh. Weak... hungry."
"Want some pizza?"
Bolco frowned. "What's that?" He churned, unable to get comfortable. James looked at him, full of concern. "Do you want to get down?"
"No." Bolco leaned restlessly against James. He looked hopefully at the pizza, sniffed, and suddenly his stomach turned, and he buried his face against James again. "Ugh..."
"Bolco, what would you like?" said Jake, full of concern.
"I don't know."
"Better get him away from the smell?"
"Yeah." James stood again, and drifted into the living room.
"Sorry," Bolco said, muffled.
"It's okay, guy. It's okay. Just relax, okay? You'll be okay."
"What does okay mean?" Bolco groaned.
"All right. It means all right. You'll be all right."
"You think so."
"Yeah. Yeah. You'll be all right. You'll be okay."
There was an edge in James' voice, and they knew he was trying to talk himself into believing it. Josh wolfed his second piece of pizza, chugged some soda, stood, and came to stand beside James. "I'll take him. Come on, James, eat." Josh met his gaze, and took Bolco out of his arms. Jake stood too, and drew James toward the table.
"Hey, I'm really sorry," Jake said to James.
"What?"
"That I didn't get there in time to prevent that injection."
"Not your fault."
Jake put several pizza slices on James' plate; James stared at his plate, and put his head in his hand, and tears rolled again. Jake sat silently beside him. Josh kept Bolco turned away from the table, and tried not to worry about James; softly, Josh started to sing.
It anchored them. Anne joined in, as did Janiece. Jake put his hand on James' shoulder; James let go and cried in earnest 'til his tears stopped, halfway through the song.
Bolco looked towards the kitchen as the song ended, and said, "Maybe an apple."
"Can you sit?" Josh gently set him on the couch, and headed for the fridge. Bolco glared at his shoes, but didn't have the energy to lean forward and untie them. He felt groggy, and nauseous, and weak, and helpless. And beneath it all, there was a simmering anger. He writhed, listlessly, unable to get comfortable. He tried to kick off his shoes.
Anne joined him and gently untied the shoes, and he blushed. "I'm sorry." Tears started, and he bit them back. Josh took over removing Bolco's shoes, after handing Anne the apple; she sat down by Bolco, and offered it to him.
He stared at it, and his stomach turned, and he twisted away. And at the same time, he thought how hungry he was. He buried his head against the couch.
"Clear liquids," Janiece ordered. Jake found a bottle of clear soda, and brought him a glass.
He sipped at it, grimacing. Josh and Anne sat on each side of him, and encouraged him to keep at it, which he did, struggling, fighting to keep it down. Anne and Josh exchanged very worried glances. Hobbits weren't supposed to be unable to eat.
Meanwhile, at the table, Janiece, James, and Jake were brainstorming.
"We need real advice. It's got to be from someone we can trust. And it's got to be from someone that will understand who and what Bolco is, " said James.
Janiece sighed, wondering where they would find a Christian counselor who was against medicating patients and believed in hobbits. It didn't see very likely.
"What have we got at church?" said Jake.
"Pastor Mike; Pastor Derek; Courtney Donaldson; Ingrid Weaver," listed Janiece.
"Courtney Donaldson is out. Way too legalistic for me. Same with Pastor Mike, " said James.
"I think you're misjudging Pastor Mike, " Janiece argued. But not Courtney Donaldson, she thought.
"I'd rather start with Ingrid or Derek, and see where that takes us, " agreed Jake.
"What about friends? Anne mentioned having friends that were psych majors. Do any of you boys know any psych majors?"
James and Jake frowned at each other. "Not that I'd trust with Bolco. We'll ask Anne who she knows."
"Well, " James said, standing, "it's still an acceptable hour for phone calls, and I'd rather get started."
Jake frowned, and then nodded. "Yeah. But-- let's pray first."
Janiece breathed a sigh of relief, and James nodded, and sat back down again. The three joined hands. They were suddenly joined by Josh and Anne, Anne having given Bolco a quick kiss on the forehead. They prayed fervently, wandering in and out of Bolco's safety, his health, needing help and advice, being able to keep him home with them un-drugged and un-hospitalized.
Josh added, "And please, don't let all this distract him, or us, from the reason that he's here in the first place."
Janiece looked up at him, and thought to herself that unless she was very much mistaken, Bolco was about to be thrown into the depths of church life, with a vengeance. But she said nothing.
James stood, and called Pastor Derek at his home. Jake cringed, hoping that the man wasn't still eating dinner or doing family devotions. James kept it brief, asking if Derek would have time tomorrow to get together and discuss a family crisis.
Pastor Derek's surprise was palpable even through the phone lines. "Certainly. What time?"
"Would you like to come for breakfast?"
"How about eight-thirty?"
"Sounds perfect. Thanks."
"All right. Can I be praying for you and your family in the meantime?"
"Please, sir. Yes. Wisdom, and guidance, and understanding, and help in time of need; ah... safety... and, well, peace would be good. And hope."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Should I come over this evening?"
James hesitated. It was tempting. Janiece reached for the phone. James gave it to her.
"Pastor Derek?"
"Janiece. Is everything all right?"
"I and my boys are fine. Well... my three boys are fine."
"Is it the small boy that was with you on Sunday?"
"Yes."
"We'd wondered where he came from. What's going on?"
"Well, Pastor, he's homeless. He's been staying with us since last Friday. And we've run into some serious roadblocks in caring for him."
"What kind of roadblocks?"
"Well, the FBI thought he was a kidnapped child from Michigan. They've changed their minds and dropped the case. But in the meantime, they've done lots of probing and feel that he has a lot of problems and needs a lot of professional help. The problem is, we don't feel that he needs nearly as much help as they think he does. Personally, I think he'd be better off with some biblical counseling and plenty of prayer and family life."
"I see."
"If you could pray for him, Pastor Derek, we'd be grateful. He's very uncomfortable about everything that has happened, and the drug isn't helping."
"Drug?"
"Yes, they injected him with something to control his temper."
"Was that necessary?"
"We don't think so. We'd like to look into other counseling options, other avenues of help."
"I see. Have you thought of contacting Courtney Donaldson?"
"We were thinking of Ingrid Weaver, " Janiece replied tactfully. "We need to learn what our options are, and find out what kind of help Bolco really needs."
James' eyes bulged in horror.
"Is that his name?"
"Oh, " Janiece stuttered, "Nathaniel. We call him Nathaniel."
"Nathaniel."
"Yes."
"Well, I'll be praying for him. Would you like me to call Ingrid Weaver and see if she can join us tomorrow?"
"That would be wonderful!"
"I'll see if I can get a hold of her. Let me go ahead and make that call."
"Thank you!"
"I'll call back once we settle on a schedule we can both manage."
"Pastor?"
"Hmm?"
"We'd like to have something in place, if we could, or at least have a plan, by Monday, if that's possible. We really don't want Bol-- Nathaniel to continue with the current treatment."
"I'll do my best, " Derek replied, slightly taken aback. "If she's not available tomorrow, I'll come for breakfast anyway."
"Thank you!" Janiece hung up, relieved, but shaken.
Jake shrugged. "Mom, the counselors and cops all know his name is Bolco Nathaniel."
James's eyes popped. "They do?"
"Yeah. He told them all about the Shire, Bilbo, elves, the dragon."
James put his head in his hands.
"I'm sorry, " said a voice at his elbow. Bolco was on his feet, unsteady, but vertical. He had clung to the couch and the wall to get to the table. They helped him sit down. He was still nauseous, but he had finished the drink, and kept it down.
James met his gaze, and Bolco winced at the sorrow in James' eyes. "What made you tell them?"
"They said they needed to know in order to help me to get home. That if I wanted to get home, I had to answer their questions as best I could."
"You miss the Shire, I know."
"Terribly, " Bolco replied.
"I wish we knew how to get you home, " James said, tears filling his eyes.
"They didn't either, " Bolco replied. "Doesn't anybody know where it is?"
James wept in earnest. "Bolco, the problem isn't where it is. The problem is when."
"When?"
"Yes, when."
"I don't understand."
Josh took a deep breath. "Bolco, what if you came from the past, and you belong in a place that existed thousands of years ago?"
Bolco gave him a blank stare.
"Bolco, there's no place in the world, right now, called The Shire, bordered by Buckland and Evendim and Bree and Tower Hills. If there were, we'd take you there. But there isn't. I think maybe thousands of years ago, there was. But it's gone now. If you are going to get home, you've got to go back in time, and I have no idea how to do that."
Bolco shook his head, baffled. He was still nauseous, and overwhelmed.
Jake reassured him. "We can't fix that now. We need to try and get you out of the fix you're in, so you can go back to swimming and learning about God. I still think that when God thinks it's time for you to go back, you'll go back. So we need to get you doing what you need to do, to get ready."
"I'd like that, " Bolco said softly.
"What say we pray some more, and then worship a bit, and then all get some sleep?" Josh said.
"You play, " Jake replied, pointing at the guitar case still sitting in the corner from that morning. "My fingers are still sore." At the word "worship", Bolco had perked up visibly. Josh smiled and got the guitar out.
"Heh, " said James. "Time you got your calluses back."
"It won't take long, " Jake replied, glancing at Bolco, who despite his misery was completely focused on Josh and the guitar. Josh played softly while Janiece prayed. Bolco curled up where he could hear every note. When Janiece had finished praying, the whole family sang softly for an hour. James noticed that Bolco was softly tapping out rhythms with his fingertips as he sang.
At nine-thirty, Anne drove home. Bolco had fallen asleep during the last song; James carried him downstairs and then gently woke him so he could get ready for a comfortable night's sleep. The house was quiet by ten.
*******