Author: Scribe
Title: Kindergarten Cop, 8/19
Email: poet77665@catlover.com
Disclaimer: I did not create, and do not own, the recognizable characters of
either The Sentinel, or Kindergarten Cop. I have not made, do not seek, and
will not accept any profit from this fiction. The story is not meant to reflect
in any way on the real lifestyles of the the actors/actresses involved in the
show, and I have nothing but affection and respect for them.
Summary: Jim begins picking out a adults and children who might be his target,
and he begins to get to know his students a little better in the process. And
during a fire drill, Blair becomes aware of Jim's problem with his senses.
Acknowledgments:
Notes: DNA testing for paternity was only just getting started in the 1980s.
Websites: http://www.scribescribbles.com

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Kindergarten Cop, 8/19
by Scribe

Eight

The next morning, Jim parked in the staff lot. He just sat there for a moment,
hands gripping the wheel, staring at the building. From here he could see a
steady stream of children entering at the front. There were a few parents
gathered on the sidewalk, gossiping after dropping off their children. There
was a squeak, and Sid, who'd been curled up comfortably beside him, looked up
with a questioning mew. "Huh? Oh, sorry, Sid." He flexed his fingers. "Just
the leather steering wheel cover, no mouse." He sighed. "I haven't dreaded
going to school this much since my last physics exam. Oh, well. Can't put it
off." He exited the car, settling Sid in his favorite position across the back
of his neck.

The mothers of three of the kindergarten class were chatting on the sidewalk in
front of the school entrance. "I'm not sure about this new teacher," said one
woman. "What's wrong with Hagley? I can't get anything out of them. All the
office will say is 'personal problem'. That could be anything from anxiety
attacks to being under house arrest."

"I guess we ought to give him a chance," said another parent, "but it //does//
seem a little odd for a man to be teaching kindergarten. High school I can see,
but kindergarten? What sort of man is he?" She smiled slyly, and waved her
hand, limp-wristed.

The other two giggled, but the third said, "My Samantha calls him 'the giant'.
She says..."

Samantha ran up, tugging on her mother's hand. "Mommy, Mommy! There he is,
there's Mister Ellison." She pointed.

The three women looked. Strolling toward them was something that looked like
he'd just stepped off the cover of a romance novel. He looked like he should
have his shirt half open, and be bending over a busty, breathless heroine. All
three of the women, having their hormones in order, briefly pictured herself as
the heroine. "Holy cow! //That's// the kindergarten teacher?" gasped the first
mother.

The second woman, the one who'd made the fey joke, turned around quickly,
saying, "Oh, God, I can't let him see me like this!"

"Why not?" asked Samantha's mother.

"I'm not wearing any make up."

"So? None of us are."

"Yeah, but I'm not married!" She hurried away.

~*~

The first part of the day went with relative quiet. Jim had warned the children
that if they were unruly, he'd have to send Sid home, so they behaved
themselves. They still took a lot out of him. Naptime came after lunch, and
the kids spread out their pads, but protested that they weren't sleepy. To
encourage them, he sat at his desk and put his head down, 'joining' them. He
intended to do it for a couple of minutes, then spend the time studying them
while they slept, hoping to spot some physical clue.

He didn't realize that he'd actually dozed off till someone touched his
shoulder. He brushed at the touch. "Leave me alone, Sid."

"The name's Julian, not Sid."

Jim sat up abruptly. There was a man standing beside the desk, looking slightly
amused. He had bright blond hair, and he was wearing mirrored sunglasses. For
an instant Jim felt a stab of exaltation, but then the man took off the shades,
and he realized that the resemblance to Alexander's photograph could be more
imagination than fact. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so. Don't look so suspicious--I'm not that out of place." He pointed
to one of the little boy's sleeping nearby. "That one's mine--Sylvester."

Jim looked. Sylvester was the budding voyeur from yesterday. "Yes, Mister...?"

"Carlin, but call me Julian. Got a minute for me, Mister Ellison?"

"Sure, they'll nap for another ten minutes." He indicated a kitchen timer that
was quietly ticking away on the corner of his desk. "Have a seat."

Julian looked at the Lilliputian chairs, then hoisted himself up to sit on the
edge of the desk. "I have a problem with Sylvester, and I was hoping you could
help me. I'm raising Sylvester without a mother, and I don't have anyone to
discuss parenting with. I've considered talking to some of the other parents,
but the fathers are suspicious, since I'm single, and the single mothers think
I'm on the make."

He was keeping significant eye contact with Jim. //I'd imagine that the fathers
are also suspicious that he's on the make.// "I'd be happy to help, if I can.
What's the trouble?"

"Well, lately Sylvester has been spending a lot of time playing with dolls. I
wouldn't think anything of it if it was GI Joes, or Star Wars action figures,
but it's not. I give him an allowance, and you know what he bought with it last
week? A Malibu Barbie. I think he might be developing... tendencies. Not that
I have any problem with that, you know," he gave Jim a bland smile. "But I'd
hate for him to make a major life decision so early in his life, and deny
himself a full range of possibilities."

"I don't think you have anything to worry about, Mister Carlin. Well, not in
that direction, anyway. He's using the doll to distract little girls so he can
look up their skirts."

Julian Carlin smiled. "Yeah? I knew he was a smart little nipper--now I know
he's going to put it to practical use."

//He's a distinct possibility,// Jim thought. //Let's see if I can get a hint
of his background.// "Curiosity about women is natural in a boy, if there's no
woman in his family environment. Does your ex-wife have much contact with
Sylvester?"

Julian stood up. "Not since she ran off with my sister."

Jim was saved having to come up with an answer for that when the timer went off.
The children immediately began to get up, folding their mats and stacking them
neatly. The classroom door opened, and one of the children appeared, holding
his mother's hand. "Randy!" Jim was relieved to have something other to
concentrate on. "I was wondering where you were this morning."

"I went to the dentist," said the little boy. "See? I got a badge for being
brave." He pointed to a gold plastic badge pinned to his shirt.

"I hate making him miss class," said the mother, "but I have to get him set up
with a regular dentist, and this was the only time he had available. Go give
Mister Ellison your excuse note, hon. Be good, don't forget what I told you,
and I'll pick you up this afternoon."

Randy trotted briskly up to the desk as his mother left. Handing the note to
Jim, Randy said, "Mister Ellison, are you married?"

Startled, Jim said, "No."

"Do you got a girlfriend?"

"Uh... no."

Julian raised an eyebrow at Jim as Randy turned and ran to the door. Throwing
it open, he leaned out and yelled, "*Mom! He's not married, but he's flirting
with Sylvester's dad.*"

Jim dropped the note. Julian smirked at him. "Welcome to Astoria, the single
parent capital of America."

~*~

Jim, who prided himself on coolness under fire, was too flustered to do any more
probing that afternoon.

The next day things went fairly smoothly, except for the lunch incident. He had
followed a trail of opened and ravaged lunches to a plump boy named Locksley
Pewter. Jim had a feeling that if his name was Locksley, he might have drowned
his troubles in something, too, and when you're in kindergarten, you head toward
snack foods instead of alcohol.

Locksley had most of both a Twinkie and a Yodel stuffed in his mouth when Jim
caught him. Jim picked the startled boy up, glared into his face, and said,
"Are you eating other people's lunches?" Locksley nodded. "Well, //stop it!//
Right now."

Locksley obliged, literally. He spat his current mouthful out. Jim decided
that snack cakes were never meant to be viewed after consumption had begun.

That was a low point, but he wasn't going to get side tracked, like he had the
day before. After naptime, he gathered the children on the Listening Carpet.
Sid, replete with the treats the children had fed him from what was left of
their lunches, was dozing on his back in a boy's lap, all four feet in the air.

"Okay, children," said Jim. "We've made a good start in the last couple of
days, but I want to get to know more about you. We're going to play a new game
today. It's called 'Who's My Daddy, and What Does He Do?' You..." A hand was
up. "Yes, Rachel?"

"I think my Mommy and Daddy play that game. Sometimes when they go in their
bedroom, I hear Daddy yelling 'Who's your Daddy?'"

Jim blinked. "Well, maybe, but I think that's a different game. This is how
*we* will play it. One at a time, each of you will stand up here in front of
the class and tell what your daddy does, and maybe a little about him. Won't
that be fun?" There was a doubtful murmur of agreement. Jim sighed, and rubbed
his head.

"What's wrong?" one of the pupils asked.

"Oh, nothing. I have a headache."

Benjamin piped up, "It might be a tumor."

"It's not."

"Sometimes people get tumors in their brain, and they die."

"Benjamin, it's not a tumor, it's just a headache, and I'm not going to die.
Okay, who wants to be first?"

Kindergarteners had yet to learn the old 'never volunteer' philosophy, so it
wasn't hard to get things going. The first up was a little girl. "My name is
Marilyn Clark. My daddy is a mick-canick. He fixes lots of cars that have been
broken by women pinheads."

//Careful what you say at home, people. Your kids repeat it in public. Good
luck on developing your sense of self in that house, kiddo,// Jim thought, a
little sadly.

A little boy said, "My name is Shawn Williams Worthington. My dad doesn't do
much of anything since he was sized down. He watches wrestling on television
and drinks beer."

"My name is Nicollette Brittany Burrows. My daddy is a loan officer," declared
a little girl. "He helps make this country great by helping people get their
dream of owning a home at low, low interest rates."

Benjamin went next. His voice was so quiet that Jim was glad for his sharp
hearing. Benjamin stared at the floor and almost whispered, "My dad lives in
New York now, and he drives a taxi. My mom hopes that he'll die soon. A lot."

"My daddy has his own 'puter company," said a little girl named Glenna. "And he
has brown hair, and glasses, and, um, a beard. And he's really, really smart,
and all the bozos who made fun of him in school eat his dust now. That's all."

Matthew said, "My Daddy is a gyno-co-loligist. He looks at ladies' bah-ginas
all day long."

Brittany Nicole said, "My daddy is a doctor, and he helps peoples who are hurt."
She thought a minute, then said, "He helps them when they hurt here," she
touched her head, "and here." She touched her hear. "He's a loligist, too.
He's a psycho-loligist."

The twin girls, Brittany and Nicole, who went next spoke in stereo. "Our mother
says our father is a real sex machine." Jim had a coughing fit after that one.

Finally the little boy who had offered the critique of Jim's teaching skills on
his first day took his turn. "My name is Joshua Sandburg. My dad is in
France." He blinked, then said quickly, "I mean he //went// to France, when he
was in school. He's a teacher. He teaches third grade across the hall."

//So,// Jim thought as Joshua sat down. //*That* Sandburg. Interesting.// He
noticed that one of the boys had left the group. He was sitting at a table,
back half-turned toward the rest of the class, rolling a toy truck back and
forth. Jim consulted his mental class roster. All he could come up with was
Sullivan, and the first name started with a M. "Mark?" Another boy started to
stand up. "No, I'm sorry. I meant the boy in the back. Uh..."

"Max," volunteered one of the children.

"Max. Max, why don't you join us?"

"He won't," said a girl. "Max doesn't like anybody."

"Yeah," said another. "He doesn't like anybody to even talk to him."

"Max is a poo-poo head!"

There were giggles. Others chimed in. "He's a doody head." "He's a
poopy-poody head."

"That's enough," said Jim sharply, and the children stopped immediately, staring
at him with wide eyes. "That isn't nice, children. Think about how you'd feel
if someone said the same thing about you."

"But I'm *not* a poo-poo head," someone insisted.

"That would make it even worse, wouldn't it?" Jim got up and went back. The
boy didn't glance up at him, but Jim knew he was aware of his presence. The
boy's body tensed, and his heart rate sped up. "Hello, Max. You know, it's all
right to want to be alone sometimes, but this is together time."

Max grabbed a toy car with his free hand, and smashed them together. //Well, I
hardly need to be a child psychologist to know that's a stress indicator. This
kid has something big bothering him.// "You like car crashes, Max? Is that a
game your father taught you? Is it one you play together?"

The boy looked up at him, and whispered, "Leave me alone, please."

Jim wasn't sure exactly how he was going to reply to that, but he didn't have
to. A bell started clanging out in the hall. Several of the children clapped
and squealed, "Fire drill!"

Jim's nerves were a little stretched to start with, and the sudden clangor of
the bells hit him like a sledgehammer. For a couple of seconds it was all he
could do to keep from passing out. By the time he'd gotten a grip again, all he
heard was what sounded like the student's screaming, and 'Fire!'.

He reacted immediately and instinctively, jumping to his feet. "Fire!" Well,
having a man Jim's size yelling fire was a little more than the children could
handle. They'd been trained in how to react to a fire drill, but that went
right out the window. Actually, //Sid// went right out the window, too. The
cat was no fool, and he figured he stood less of a chance of being trampled
outside.

In front of the school, the rest of the classes were filing out in a calm and
orderly manner, gathering in their assigned spots. The principal watched them
with satisfaction, glancing occasionally at a stopwatch.

Near her, Blair Sandburg stood in front of his class, chatting with Wanda Curry,
who taught fourth grade. As Blair looked back at the school again, Wanda said,
"What's wrong, Blair?"

"Wanda, did anyone tell the new kindergarten teacher where he's supposed to
bring the children for fire drills? They should be out here by now."

The sound of childish screams was rising over the still ringing bell. "I think
they're coming now."

A group of shrieking, excited kindergarteners burst out of the school and began
to run hither and thither. Blair watched in astonishment as Jim Ellison exited
the school. He was carrying two tiny students (one of them upside down, but he
seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the ride), and he was shouting, "Fire! Fire!"

Everyone--teachers, principal, students, and even Sid (who had wisely taken
refuge on Jim's car)--gaped. The first to react was Principal Schlauskill who
calmly tapped her stopwatch, then lifted a bullhorn to her mouth. "Well, it's
nice that the kindergarten class could join us, at..." she checked the watch,
"four minutes. Oh, really, children, that's shameful." The kindergarteners had
stopped panicking, and now they shuffled sheepishly. "You're going to have to
do better. I know you can. Remember, some day it might be a //real// fire,
instead of just a drill." Jim had deposited his load, and was now leaning
against his car, clutching his head miserably. Ernestine was caught between
triumph that he was being shown how unprepared he was for this job, and pity.
The man looked like he was in real pain. "Back to class, everyone."

Blair was watching Jim Ellison in concern. He clapped his hands. "Listen up,
class. We're about to institute a mentoring program. I want each of you to
pair up with one of the kindergarten students. If there are too many, join up
with two--if there aren't enough, then some of you will have to share. Once you
do that, I want you to lead the kids back into the school, and take them to
their classroom. You know where it is. When you get there, I want you to play
with them quietly until I come and get you. Everyone gets five extra credit
points for social studies."

The older children had been looking a little reluctant, but this last bit of
news cheered them up. They bustled over and began to herd the littler children
back inside. Blair walked over to where Ellison was just now beginning to look
a bit less green. "Hey, man, you okay?"

"Yeah. At least I will be once I fit my head back together."

"Migraine?"

"Not exactly. It's just... I have a problem sometimes with sudden
things--noises, bursts of light--and that bell..." Jim shook his head. "Where
are the kids? I have to take care of the kids."

"Relax--they're fine. They have a one-to-one ratio of babysitters right now,
and believe me, with credit points hanging on it, my kids are going to be
diligent. C'mon, let's go find a water fountain. I have something that might
help that headache."

As they walked inside, Sid trotted along beside them. Blair paused and reached
down to stroke him. "Hey, Sid."

The cat chirped at him, and Jim said curiously, "You two have been introduced?"

"Not formally, but I feel like I know him. Joshua has told me all about him."
In front of the water fountain, Blair reached into his pocket. "If I had the
facilities, I'd make you some peppermint tea--that's good for headaches."

"Couldn't handle it right now. If one of the senses spike, I have to watch out
for the others."

Blair had pulled a capsule out of a small tin, and handed it to Jim. "So it
isn't just the hearing and vision that's giving you trouble? What other senses
are involved?"

Jim stared at the pill. "This isn't aspirin."

"No. I avoid that stuff as much as possible--too many possible side effects."

"What is it?" He gave Blair a skeptical look.

Blair smiled. "It's the hair, isn't it?"

"What?"

"The hair. You're wondering if it's anything, um, controlled. For some reason,
people look at the hair and think I'm a good source of information about where
to find the best pot. I can direct them to a good wine bar, but that's it."
Blair tapped the pill sitting in Jim's palm. "That's all natural. It's
feverfew, good for headaches." Jim studied it, then shrugged, popped it in his
mouth, and took a sip of water. "That'll take a few minutes to take effect. I
suggest you do something quiet--pass out paper and crayons, and have them draw
the fire drill."

They went to the kindergarten classroom. Blair's class was doing an admirable
job. The smaller children were once again calm and quiet. Blair clapped his
hands for attention, then said, "I'm proud of you--//all// of you--kindergarten,
too. Okay, my class--back to our room. You guys lucked out--you get an extra
day to study for your math exam." The kindergarteners were regarding Jim with
worried expressions. "Don't worry, kids. Mister Ellison just had a headache."

Benjamin said, "Mister Ellison has a lot of headaches. Maybe..."

"He's not going to die, Benjamin," said Blair firmly. Joshua was at the front
of the class, and Blair said, "Josh, don't dawdle today. Remember, we promised
Mrs. Larkspur we'd pick up Teeny at the vet's." He patted Jim on the shoulder,
and followed his class out.

Jim and his class stared at each other for a moment. Finally Jim said, "I'm
sorry, kids. I wasn't prepared. That won't happen again. I'm going to take
good care of you." There were a few tentative smiles. "Okay, art time.
Everyone get paper and crayons, and no hogging of the good colors."

The rest of the day went quietly, but Jim thought that it would have been less
taxing to spend the day unloading heavy freight. When the final bell rang, he
stood in the hallway, children streaming around him, and cocked his head from
one side to the other, trying to loosen muscles that seemed to have been
clenched since the first time he stepped into this school.

He spotted Blair and Joshua at the end of the hall. Joshua was talking
animatedly, and Blair was listening with a smile. He looked up, and caught
Jim's eyes. His gaze was questioning, and Jim gave him a silent nod, indicating
that the headache was gone. Blair smiled, then looked down, laughing at
something Joshua had said.

Jim went out to the front of the school, but the two were gone by the time he
arrived. Samantha was passing, and she stopped, tugging at his pants. "What's
wrong, Samantha? You don't need to go to the girl's room again, do you?"

She shook her head, then suddenly gave him a hug around the knees. "I'm sorry
your head hurts, Mister Ellison."

"Thank you."

Samantha started toward her mother, a pretty blonde woman. There was a strong
family resemblance. Just as she reached her mother she turned and called back,
"Tell your wife 'not tonight'. That's what Mommy always tells Daddy when she
has a headache." Samantha's mother turned scarlet, and herded her daughter away
quickly.

Jim noticed Max Sullivan making his way down the sidewalk. The boy's demeanor
outside the class wasn't much different than it had been. He shuffled along,
head down, ignoring everyone and everything around him. Jim followed at a
discreet distance. The boy went to an expensive looking, well-kept car. An
expensive looking, well-kept soccer mom type was waiting for him.

//There's something wrong here,// Jim thought. //They're not touching, they're
scarcely looking at each other. And her body language... I've seen SWAT cops
waiting to take down a drug house look more relaxed.//

The two got into the car and drove away. Jim scribbled the license plate number
on his palm, then looked down to where Sid was leaning against his leg. "He's a
possibility, Sid." Jim sighed. "It's been quite a day."

The cat gazed up at him. //Oowr.//

"You said it."