Disclaimer and notes: not mine, never will be. Warnings: angst quotient factor: high. Written for my October 2009 Sentinel Angst List dues.

Not Good Enough

By Raine Wynd

Nosing his truck into a space along the sidewalk of the old, tree-lined neighborhood, Jim parked, deliberately focusing on the mechanics of parallel parking with far more care than he normally paid to the action. Fog curled around him as soon as he stepped out, and the night was cold with the promise of rain and frost. Ignoring the fact he wasn’t wearing anything warmer than a thin sweater, Jim made his way across the street to the park. A low brick retaining wall formed the only barrier between the park and the nearly sheer hillside. Ignoring the houses that clung precariously to the near landscape below, Jim looked out to the Sound and watched the port traffic. He kept his sight normal, aware that even from five hundred feet up, he could see more detail than he cared to know.

Sometimes, he let himself wonder what it would be like if he just chucked it all and joined a trawler, made a living on the sea, but he knows himself better, knows that his aversion to deep water makes him more a landlubber than most.  Sometimes, he even manages not to think about Blair. Tonight, however, it all slams through his mind – how wrong he was, how stubborn pride blinded him. How he kept pushing for something Blair couldn’t be, would never be, even when Blair pointed out no jury would believe a fraud, no matter how many retractions and apologies were made.

Tonight, Jim remembered the happier days, the days when nothing anyone could throw at him seemed so insurmountable that he couldn’t use his senses, skills, and some of Blair’s inspired genius to solve the mystery, save the city, and sometimes get the girl…even if she turned out to be bad news. Tonight, Jim grieved for the friendship he’d been terrified to need, but had realized far, far too late he couldn’t live without.

Blair had been gone for three months, pursuing the career he’d chosen once all the settlements had been brokered. A university in Tennessee had been in need of a research associate to follow up on work in Mayan epigraphy that a leading professor had left undone in the wake of her sudden death. Since Blair’s professional credentials as an anthropologist had been restored and all his references validated, there had been no problem with his application. The position had all sorts of possibilities, none of which Jim had wanted to hear Blair enthuse about.

All Jim could think about was himself. Thanks, Dad, he thought sarcastically, I learned how to look out for number one so well the only place I ever learned to forget your lessons was when I was in uniform. Can’t cut it in civilian life.

He wasn’t sure why he bothered anymore. He was at the max of his rank for his position; unless he wanted to be a leader of men again, there was nowhere for him to go. His union rep was telling him he wasn’t going to get promoted anyway because he was considered a risk -– capable of great things, but too unpredictable, too much of a cowboy, too often in the middle of the biggest, messiest, most notorious crimes to hit the city. If Jim quit being a cop, he’d instantly lose more than half of the stressors in his life. There’d be no need to be a Sentinel, either -– maybe if he just turned it all down to normal, they’d fade away again. They weren't much use when the criminals treated the halls of justice as though as they had revolving doors, legally found evidence be damned.

He snorted. If. He’d had enough; he was spinning his wheels. The resignation was on Simon’s desk. Tomorrow, Jim would go to his father and take the position he’d been groomed to take all those years ago. At least then, Jim would know he’d pleased someone.

He’d already resigned himself to never being good enough for anyone.

Finis 9-4-09

Comments welcome! Read the sequel