Disclaimer: I do not own the characters Jamie, his father, his mother, Graham, or Joe. In fact, Enfant De
Dimanche does. I am her so-called beta reader, and I have gotten
permission from her to post this, and if you review this, your review
will be forwarded to her. Enfant De Dimanche and I, Vintage Fade
worked on Chapters One through Four, but, unless indicated, the rest
will be written by me. I am putting this up, because I believe that
Enfant De Dimanche deserves credit for her story idea. And be sure to
read her stuff! It all good.

Author's Note: I really like this story, and hope you do too. So
please, enjoy! As always, if read, review! Everyone knows how nice it
is to get them. Which is why, if you review this, I will read one, or
any, of your stories you'd like me to. Just give me the name, and I'll
review. Now... read!

The Call. [{Part One}]

About midnight. Pitch black. And that's when the phone rang. Like a siren in the silence. He shot up, straight in bed. As the dark haired boy fumbled for a shirt, he could all ready hear his mother padding quietly down the steps, in the silent fashion she usually sported. He slid on the grey T- shirt anyway, following. Sleep barely reached him, it seemed that the Sandman had forgotten where Jamie lived for the past few months. Squinting in the dark, he made his way down the stairs. It was eerily quiet. The house had never been graced with the presence of a father figure. He'd moved to Oregon with just his mother, his father still located in New York. His father.. A man who Jamie despised beyond reason.

In the half light, provided by slanted moonbeams, he could see the figure of his mother. She was weary, he could tell, and she looked incredibly aged. Moving.. Finally, getting away from the grasp of his father.. It'd taken it's toll on her. He could see the wrinkles that shrouded her pretty face. She wore them with grace. Her figure was slumped, he could see tears slipping down them. "Ma.." He finally said, standing by her side. The phone hung slack in her hand, which trembled. He could hear the metallic voice of the operator... "Please hang up..."

He took the phone from her hand, placing it inaudibly where it belonged. He stared down at her, looking into the blue eyes that he had inherited. The telephone sat on a wooden desk, and next to the desk was a chair which his silent mother sat. The next room was a small, tidy kitchen, a dining table across it. To the left of desk area was a living room. His mother made a modest living, just enough to keep them floating. Her wedding ring, which she wore out of habit, glinted as a moonbeam hit it.

"Your father passed," she finally said, voice hollow.

Millions of emotions hit him, magnified times a thousand, and his knees buckled. He braced himself on the table, staring at her. He expected elation; after all, hadn't he wished death on the man so frequently? A breeze rippled the curtain, the window had been left just slightly open, most likely by mistake.

"He.. He passed at 25, 12:00 AM." She finally said, voice raspy. A hazy thought reached him through the thick film that was forming in his mind. Christmas. . Today was.. Christmas today, wasn't it? Merry Christmas, Jamie, he though bitterly. Like a damp cloak the news weighed him down. He curled his arms around his mother; she still loved him, through all of what he'd done. "Ma..." He finally whispered again, closing his eyes. He could feel his lids burn. "It'll be okay.. Ma, please don't cry.."

He could not stand the tears, he could not react. He felt disconnected from what was happening, he'd no idea what to say or do.. The impact of it all still didn't hit him, he was shocked into numb. "Ma, go to sleep.. We'll sort this in the morning.. I promise.."

She slowly walked, the stairs creaking as she traveled up the stairs. He sunk into the seat she had vacated, staring at the watch, glassy eyed. It was 12:29 AM now. He stared at the clock before his eyes closed, and he drifted into jagged sleep.

Waking up the next morning, he could feel the silence. He needed to get out, as much as his mother was miserable, he could not console her, he could not grasp it fully, yet. He showered, a blast of scalding hot water that left his skin raw. Dressing, he remembered arranging to meet Kate at the Town Square. Uncertain, he stared out the window, drifting in and out of thoughts. "Go," he turned, staring at his mother. She seemed much calmer now. She gave a wary smile. "Go, Jamie. Don't worry." He turned to stare at her, blue eyes dim and cloudy. She needed him and he needed her, but he also needed Kate.

So with one last look, he left, leaving his mother to wait.