Nemo Resideo

Part I

Jay reversed into the parking space parallel to the curb and turned off the engine. He closed his eyes and leaned forward in his seat, resting his forehead against the knuckles of his left fist, hoping the pressure would quell the heavy pounding in his skull. But it was to no avail. Just like the two Advil he'd dry-swallowed before leaving the district half an hour ago, it provided no pain relief whatsoever, the pulsing throb a ruthless reminder that if he had been smart, he would have gone to the ER, or at the very least would have allowed the paramedics on scene to check him over. While he didn't need anyone to tell him that he had a concussion – he'd had plenty of those to know what one felt like – but it wasn't just the headache bothering him. Much rather it was his cheekbone thumping in sync with his noggin.

He hadn't been smart though; his pride and dourness had gotten in the way. Again. Which was why he found himself parked outside the Corson's two-story townhouse, sitting in his car, stalling to go in, wondering why he hadn't just politely declined their invitation to join them for their little celebration family reunion dinner. After all, he hadn't felt like celebrating before he'd gotten his ass kicked by a drugged-out-of-his-mind drug lord earlier that evening and he certainly didn't feel like celebrating now. Sure, he loved the Corson's, but still... why had he agreed to this?

"Because you can't say no to my parents, that's why," Allie had retorted cheekily when he'd asked the same question out loud that morning. She wasn't entirely wrong. He did feel guilty. For many reasons too. Not for enlisting, which had been a deciding factor as to why he and Allie had parted ways all those years ago. Not for breaking up with her either because their life aspirations were just not compatible and would have ended with them both endlessly miserable. No, he felt guilty about everything that had happened with Ben and that he hadn't been able to prevent it. He should have made more of an effort to get Lonnie Rodiger behind bars right after that pedophile monster had assaulted and murdered him. Hell, he should have locked him away the second they had caught that scum jerking off behind a school.

The guilt still weighed heavily on his mind, the images of Ben's body still haunting his dreams. He may still have been a wet-behind-the-ears rookie beat cop back then, but he had been the one to find the boy. Moreover, he had known him, was almost like an older brother to the kid. Therefore, he should have protected him. At the very least, it had been his duty to solve that crime and see that justice was served. He hadn't though. He had failed Ben; it was something he carried with him ever since. Thus, he'd forever be deeply indebted to the family. Joining them for dinner, a dinner dedicated to the eight-year-old now that his perpetrator had finally been brought to justice, was the very least he could do for the Corsons.

Halstead let his eyes wander to the picturesque brownstone, the white stairs leading up to the aged wooden door with the old-fashioned ornamented glass windows and the washed-out golden 1961 on black marble above it. He'd ascended these stairs and walked through this door hundreds of times, had probably spent more time here since his teenager years than in the shabby run-down bungalow home he'd grown up in. He'd most definitely spent more time here since he'd left the Army, at least after his mom had lost her fight with cancer.

At this point, the Corson residence felt more like home to him than his own childhood home ever had. The house was full of love, laughter, and harmony, nothing at all like the cold, cantankerous, downright vitriolic atmosphere that occupied the bungalow these days. Tragedy and grief over losing a loved one had forced a wedge between the three Halstead men, anger, resentment, and animosity had torn them apart to a point where they barely spoke to one another outside of the mandated calls on their respective birthdays, for Thanksgiving and for Christmas. It was different here, though. There had been no room for hostility or bitterness here, not even after Ben's murder. Sadness, sure, mourning and tears o' plenty. But the warmth? The endless support and solidarity? Those had never disappeared. If anything, they had only gotten stronger.