
August 1998
Please note that under the title I have written "The Inevitable, Part Three". Although each of my stories stands on its own as a complete tale, they also work together to create a much larger picture. If I continue to write beyond this particular installment, I will continue to do so within the reality I have created. So please keep in mind as you read this story that as much as I may refer to things that have actually occurred within the TV series itself, I may also refer to things that have happened in my previous two stories as well. Hope this makes sense to everyone.
As always, Megan Conner does not appear in my story. Although I think Anna Galvin is a fine actress, I do not see the purpose for her character in the show and thus, cannot write for her. (Two people make a partnership in my opinion--not three.)
I am eternally grateful to all my internet buddies. I know no one personally who watches the Sentinel (their loss) so without all of you, I would have no outlet for this stuff. A special hello to Caroline, Danae, Paula and Sandy.
Okay, without further delay....
The Unsuspecting
by Beth Manz
Cascade slept. But in the stillness of the night, something stirred...someone searched.
He drifted over the city, able to move through time and space with a single thought. He was seeking the one whose presence he had felt for the last year. The one who would shape his destiny, give him renewed life. The wind shifted and he moved with it.
Something's changed.
Three nights ago, the life force of the one he needed had suddenly glowed strong. The powers he possessed sparked to sudden life. And that resurgence would be his downfall because it would pinpoint his location.
Near. So near.
The dark presence floated through the loft, shifting within the shadows. Upstairs? With that single thought, he was there hovering, scrutinizing. But this man was not the one. There was something about him, something...special, unique. But he was not the one he was seeking.
Breathing, whisper soft drew him and he knew. He had found him -- below... And then he was there, floating, watching. The young man lay sleeping, completely unaware of the presence above him, his face peaceful, his long curly hair spilling over his pillow. He was perfect. So full of life. So strong of spirit. Exactly what he needed. What he had sought for so long.
He reached toward him...and touched him.
Something awakened him.
Jim Ellison sat upright in bed, cocked his head to the side and listened. Nothing. The loft was silent. No sounds from below. Not even--
"Blair." The name came out on a tense breath. He shoved back his blankets and rushed to the stairs. But even before he was one step down, he saw him.
Blair sat lotus-style on the couch, his hands rested on his knees palms up, his eyes closed. He wore his sweats and a T-shirt, the standard Sandburg sleep-wear. Jim's brow furrowed. So Sandburg had gone to bed. But why had he gotten up to do this? And when?
Jim sent his senses out again. Yes, now he could hear it, Blair's heartbeat. But it was not the steady rhythm Jim was used to. This one was slower, deeper. He's meditating. That happens when he meditates. Jim knew that was true. But it didn't explain why he hadn't heard him when he woke. Or heard Blair get up in the first place.
Something's wrong.
The two words whispered through his mind, crawled over his skin. Snatching up his robe, Jim started downstairs, his whole focus on his partner. He'd seen Blair meditate before but this was somehow different. And that difference was clutching at his gut.
"Sandburg," he whispered, as he approached, not wanting to startle him. Nothing. He didn't stir. "Blair?" he tried next. Still, nothing. Reaching out, he laid a hand on his Guide's arm. His skin was ice beneath Jim's fingers.
"Sandburg," he said again, louder this time and shook him slightly. Blair's head lolled back and forth with the movement but his eyes did not open. His breathing did not increase. There was no visible sign of waking.
Jim grabbed him by both arms, hauled him to his feet and shook him hard. "Blair!" The name echoed off the walls around him. "Blair! Dammit! Come on!"
Blair spasmed in his arms. His eyes snapped open. His body arched backward. He drew in a deep shuddering breath. His knees collapsed and he would have crumpled to the floor if Jim did not have a strong grip on him. Blair fell against his partner, struggling to breathe, his hands fisted into Jim's robe.
"Okay, buddy, just relax. You're okay," Jim soothed. Slowly, Blair got himself under control.
"I'm okay." He pushed back from Jim, straightening up. But Jim did not release his grip. He could still feel his Guide trembling. Still hear his racing heart. He eased Blair back to the couch, then grabbing the throw blanket, laid it over him.
Without warning, his mind flashed back to the last time they'd played out a scene like this. The first night Blair had returned to the loft after Jim had kicked him out. The night before Alex and Brackett abducted him. Before he was shot.
He shuddered as the memories went through him.
"Jim, what's going on?" Blair's strained voice drew him back to the present. He could see the small beads of sweat on his Guide's forehead. Hear the catch in his voice.
"I was going to ask you that," he said softly. Crouching down before his friend, he rested a hand on his knee. "Why'd you come out here?"
"I don't know." Blair ran his hands through his hair, brushing it back from his face. "I don't even remember doing it."
"What's the last thing you do remember?"
Blair closed his eyes. Concentrated. "I went to bed," he began, his voice low as he went through each step. "I was so tired and I remember thinking that I was glad to be home. Glad to be in my own bed."
Jim's hand tightened on Blair's knee with the words, silently telling his partner that he was glad for the same thing.
"I fell asleep and..." His voice trailed off. His brow creased. "And..."
"What?" Jim prompted.
Blair's eyes opened. He rubbed a hand over his chest where the still healing bullet wound was. "I don't know. It's more a feeling than anything else."
"What feeling?"
"It was like I was being watched." He turned his gaze to Jim, his blue eyes filled with sudden fear. "Like someone was calling to me and then...something touched me." He shivered visibly and pulled the blanket more tightly around him.
"It was just a dream, Blair. No one was here."
Blair nodded but did not look convinced. Reaching up, he rubbed a hand across his cheek, as if trying to brush away the feeling of that touch. "It just seemed so real, man."
"Is there a face that goes along with all this?" Jim couldn't help but wonder if Blair's sleeping mind was somehow flashing back to his abduction. "Maybe Alex or Brackett?"
"No, I don't think it has anything to do with that." There was something in his expression. Something that told Jim he was holding back. Sandburg knew or at least had some idea what had caused the nightmare but he didn't seem to be willing to share.
"Blair, is there something--"
"Jim," Blair cut-in. "We've done this up all night discussion thing before. Can we skip it this time? I just...I don't feel that great and I'm tired." He rubbed his forehead but dropped his hand back to his lap after just a few moments, as if even that simple movement was too exhausting for him. "I just don't have it in me tonight."
Jim studied his friend's pale face, resisting the urge to put his hand on his forehead to check for fever. He didn't want to drop this but he couldn't force Sandburg to stay up and talk if he didn't want to. Besides, whatever it was could wait until morning.
"Sure, Chief." Standing, Jim helped Blair to his feet. "Go back to bed...and stay there this time."
"Hey, man, that was the plan last time." He laughed but the sound was nervous, tense.
Jim watched as Blair made his way on somewhat shaky legs to his room.
Jim sat on the couch and dropped his head back against the cushions. My nightmares have stopped and Blair's have begun. Not the trade-off Jim wanted. When are we going to catch a break? Because Jim sure as hell felt that they were entitled to one. Three days. Blair had only been home from the hospital three days and already the problems were beginning. Again.
What the hell is going on?
And then it hit him. While Blair was in the hospital, he had finally accepted the fact that he was a Shaman. Or at least needed to find out what the title Incacha had given him meant for him. Meant for both of them, he corrected. Because they were a team and what affected Blair, affected him as well.
Could his nightmare tonight have occurred because although Blair had decided to accept his role as Shaman, he still hadn't taken any steps toward it? Well, hell, doesn't he get one week of peace? A little down time for someone who's been through as much as he has?
It seemed that for the past few weeks, all they did was stay one step ahead of something bad. When Blair was shot, Jim had thought the worst was over. There was nothing else that could happen that could compare to the pain Jim had felt when he'd realized he'd shot his Guide. But now...
There was something lurking in the back of Jim's mind. Something that was telling him this could be even worse. He'll be fine. There is nothing in the darkness waiting for him. Yet Jim could not shake the feeling that was crawling over his skin and whispering a warning in his ear.
He rubbed his eyes. He was getting carried away. Thinking the worst because of everything they'd been through lately. Blair had had one...episode. Nothing had really happened.
The kid's been through a lot. Maybe all the stress is manufacturing itself by way of nightmares or sleepwalking.
He didn't know if that was actually possible but it gave him some peace of mind.
Right now, what he needed to do was follow his own advice and go to bed. But as he stood, his gaze shifted to Blair's room. He could hear his partner's slow, steady heartbeat, his even breathing. Blair was asleep. Jim hesitated a moment longer before crossing to his Guide's room. He looked around the edge of the French doors at the figure lying in the bed. He knew Blair was right about accepting what Incacha had made him, Jim just wished they had some idea of what to do. Especially if this latest episode with Blair had anything to do with that acceptance.
Jim resisted the urge to go into the room, to wake Blair again. He's just sleeping this time. But as he made his way back up the stairs to his own bed, he stayed tuned to Blair's heartbeat...just to be sure.
Jim woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of fingers typing on a computer keyboard. His brow furrowed. He hadn't heard Blair get up. Again. Sure, Blair always tried to be quiet when he got up in the morning but Jim always heard him. Sometimes it was just a fleeting sensation that drew him only an instant before he'd fall back asleep, other times it was a full-fledged now-I'm-up-and-there's-no-way-I'm-getting-back-to-sleep sound. But no matter what, it was always there. Until now. Now, Blair had managed to get up twice and Jim had been completely unaware of it.
Am I just that tired? Or is there something more to it?
Pushing back his blankets, he slid from the bed, grabbed his robe and headed downstairs.
Blair sat at the kitchen table, glasses on, eyes intently focused on the laptop open on the kitchen table.
"What're you doing, Chief?" Jim walked past him to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup.
Blair sat back in his chair, his gaze lowered. "Jim, I'm sorry about last night." He pulled his glasses off and tossed them onto the table before rubbing his eyes.
Jim leaned against the counter, his gaze locked on his Guide's slumped shoulders. "Forget it. It was no big deal."
"No, man, I know you wanted to talk. I just couldn't last night." He looked at Jim, his face drawn in concern. "I know you wanted to figure out what was wrong and I think we both had a pretty good idea what might be involved." He paused momentarily. "I think it has to do with the whole Shaman thing and I just couldn't face that last night. I didn't have any answers and I just didn't see how staying up half the night talking about it would help."
"You were probably right." He took a sip of his coffee. "So what's changed today? Why are you willing to talk about it now? Did you suddenly find answers?"
"No, but I've decided that I need to try. Jim, one of the big things that's always held me back from finding out about Shamanism is the how. I thought I'd have to go to Peru and spend the next ten years being taught by some tribal elder But I don't think that's the case anymore." Snatching up his glasses up, he slipped them back on. "I think I can find out a lot right from our own home."
Jim crossed to him and leaning over his shoulder, looked at the computer screen. "You're hooked into the Internet?"
"Yeah. There's all kinds of information out there."
"Sandburg, do you really think you can learn how to be a Shaman through the Internet?"
Blair looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "What'd you think? I could just sit down, meditate for a while and suddenly the secrets of Shamanism would come to me?"
Jim shrugged one shoulder, straightening. "Something like that."
"Jim, come on, man, think about it. When you first found out you were a Sentinel, you didn't just suddenly know everything, did you?"
"No, I had you," Jim said simply.
"And I had books that taught me about you. I mean, yeah, some of it's instinct but I would have had no idea what you were if I hadn't read all about Sentinels first. I helped you by learning about Sentinels. I thought I'd help myself by learning about Shamans."
"Makes sense, Chief. Have any luck so far?"
"I've found a couple of books that sound good. I thought I'd run down to the library this morning and see if I can pick up a few of them. But most of the stuff I've been reading..." His voice trailed off, his expression thoughtful.
"What, Chief?" Jim moved to the table and sat across from him.
"A lot of it already sounds like me," he said softly. He shook his head, his gaze dropping to his lap. "I know that probably sounds arrogant--"
"No it doesn't," Jim said, surprised by his partner's sudden self-consciousness. "Blair, if we're right and this has been a part of you all along then it should sound like you." He tapped the top of the open computer. "Tell me what it says."
"Well, from everything I've read so far, most people consider Shamanism the oldest spiritual path. It's practiced by people from all walks of life." He typed for a minute, bringing up the screen he needed then taking a deep breath, focused on the words before him. "According to this, a Shaman defines himself in terms of who he is becoming, not who he has been. He is a healer and keeper of tribal history. One quote that I've seen referenced several times says that 'a Shaman walks gently upon the Earth and believes in the right of all life to walk their soul path in peace and harmony'."
Jim thought about the words, especially the last part. Early in their partnership, Jim had asked Blair to think about learning how to use a gun so he could carry one to back him up. Blair had refused. Over the years, Jim had come to admire Blair's non-violent approach to problems. They both knew it was not always possible to talk your way out of a bad situation but Blair tried every time.
"Jim?" Blair's questioning voice drew his attention. "You okay, man?"
"Just thinking about what you read." As Jim stared into his partner's intelligent eyes, he felt almost as if he were seeing him for the first time. That the words Blair had just read had given Jim a deeper glimpse into his friend's soul. A soul that had enriched his life, taught him about family and loyalty, made him see beyond his once narrow view of the world. In that moment, he thanked whoever or whatever had brought Blair Sandburg into his life.
A Shaman walks gently upon the Earth and believes in the right of all life to walk their soul path in peace and harmony.
"You're right," Jim said softly. "It does sound like you."
"I also found references to Animal Spirit Guides." Blair's gaze dropped back to the computer screen as he typed in another quick command. "There are certain characteristics that are attributed to the person who has each one. For the wolf they include intelligence, outwitting enemies, steadfastness, guidance and death and rebirth." He looked up, his eyes wide. "I almost flipped when I read that last part. I mean, death and rebirth. If that's not me, what is?" He laughed but just as the night before, there was no humor in the sound. Just tension, worry.
"Blair, I think this is all good."
Blair nodded as he spoke, but the lines of worry remained around his eyes, pulled at his mouth.
"So why do you look so miserable?"
"I don't know." He stood with some effort, his hand going without thought to his still tender abdomen, and began pacing, his energy playing itself out in the steady crossing of the kitchen floor. "Last night really freaked me out. If whatever I felt has something to do with this." He shook his head. "Whatever it was did not feel good. It felt...wrong. Bad." He stopped and stared down at Jim. "I'm scared that there could be something dark that I might tap into by mistake. That I might have already tapped into."
"Did you read anything that talks about that possibility?"
"No but with my luck, I'm not ruling it out." He laughed again and this time, Jim thought it sounded genuine.
"Look, you go, get your books and the two of us will pour over them. If there is something you're not suppose to be doing, we'll find it."
Blair nodded. "You're right. Whatever it was that happened last night...it's over. There's no reason to think it's going to happen again."
"Exactly." Jim pushed up from the table. "I'm going to grab a shower and head to work." He started toward the bathroom. "You'll see, Sandburg, once we have a better understanding of all this, it'll work out fine." But as he stepped under the hot spray of the shower, Jim wasn't certain who he had been working harder to reassure, Blair or himself.
Blair ran his fingers along the spines of the library books, checking the numbers against the computer printout in his hand. He'd spent the last two hours pouring through countless books about Shamanism ranging from ancient rituals to urban living to secret ceremonies. He'd found three books that looked promising. This last one, The Way of the Shaman, was proving to be difficult to locate -- and it was the one he wanted most. It was written by an anthropologist who had lived among the Indian tribes of Peru for ten years cataloguing their customs. Just as he was about to give up, deciding it must either be checked out or just misshelved, he finally came upon it. But as he pulled it down, he heard a disappointed sigh behind him. He turned and found himself staring into the softest brown eyes he'd ever seen.
"I'm sorry. We're you looking for this?" he asked, offering the book to the young woman before him.
She smiled, a dazzling, grab his heart and squeeze it, smile and said, "Yes, but it's all right. You got it first."
He shifted the books he already had, his still sore shoulder protesting, and tried again. "Really, I've got three. You take it."
"Thanks." She accepted the offered book and he was rewarded with another killer smile. "I really came here just for this." She hugged the book to her chest. She was about Blair's height with dark brown, shoulder length hair. She wore it straight, one side tucked causally behind her ear. He guessed she was his age or just a little older. She had a natural beauty that attracted Blair instantly.
"So you're into Shamanism." He nearly cringed. Good opening line, Sandburg.
"Not really," she hedged. "It's for my father. He's been a practicing Shaman for most of my life. Used to lecture on the subject. He's retired now but likes to keep up on the latest works." She held out her hand. "I'm Rebecca Lowry by the way."
He shook the hand, surprised by the strength of her grip. "Blair Sandburg."
"Well, Blair Sandburg, you certainly don't look like someone who would be interested in Shamanism." Her fingers lingered on his hand, stroking his palm. "I don't usually do this," she began, her voice low, uncertain, "but would you like to get a cup of coffee or something?"
Blair checked his watch. He was supposed to meet Jim at the station in an hour. He looked back at the woman before him, her expression expectant. Hell, he had time for a quick cup of coffee.
Frank Croft stepped from behind the shelf of books and watched as Rebecca took the arm of the stranger beside her and led him from the library. His gaze lingered on the long-haired young man. Could he be the one they'd waited for? The one they'd sought for so long?
His eyes narrowed as he considered the questions. If he was, then he would be easy prey. He suspected nothing. Trusted easily. Was completely open to attack.
They would gain his trust...then take his life.
Jim knocked on Simon's door before poking his head inside the captain's office. "Sir, can I talk to you for a minute?"
Simon held out a hand, indicating the chairs before his desk. "Have a seat."
Jim closed the door and crossing to the desk, sat down. "Sir, didn't you tell me once that Darryl used to sleepwalk when he was younger?"
"Yes. Still does sometimes when he's stressed out. Why?"
Jim hesitated. He didn't know if this was something Blair would want him to share with the captain but Jim needed answers. Needed to know what he should do if tonight proved to be a repeat of the night before. "Blair was sleepwalking last night. At least, that what I think it was. I found him out in the living room and when I woke him, he couldn't remember how he got there."
Simon's brow creased. "He's never done this before?"
"No. Not that I know of." He paused before continuing. "Simon, I couldn't wake him at first. And then when he did..." His voice trailed off as the memory of that moment hit him. "It was bad. It was like he couldn't breathe for a second, his knees buckled and he just collapsed."
"Is he all right?" Simon asked.
"He's fine," Jim said, touched by the genuine concern in his captain's voice. "I'm just worried that if it happens again tonight, I'm going to end up hurting him because I don't know what to do."
"Don't wake him, Jim. You don't need to. Just get him back to his room."
Jim nodded, that sounded easy enough. Only... "How do I do that?"
"When someone is sleepwalking, it's almost a trance-like state. They're in there, they're just not aware of their surroundings. If you just talk quietly and lead them back to their bed, in most instances, they just lie down and go right back to sleep, many times not even remembering any of it the next morning."
Jim hoped that what Simon was telling him was true and it would be that easy if it were to happen again. Although, I'd just as soon skip it. "Sir, would you mind not letting Sandburg know I spoke to you about this. I think it might embarrass him."
Simon waved a hand, dismissing Jim's worry. "No reason to mention it." He leaned forward on his desk, his hands clasped together tightly in front of him. "Do you think he's up to this stakeout tonight? I could reassign the case?"
The case involved a serial arsonist who had moved into Cascade and was taking great pleasure in burning out the abandoned buildings on the outskirts of town. The case had been bumped up to Major Crimes when a homeless man died in the last blaze. Simon had assigned four separate teams to watch different sections of the city, hoping to catch the guy in the act. Jim and Blair had first shift for the next four nights. It was nearly unprecedented to have first shift, the easiest shift, so many days in a row. Jim knew Simon had done it on purpose. Blair had been back to work only two days and the captain didn't want him overdoing it. Simon would never admit it out loud and Jim would never call him on it, but they both knew this was the captain's way of watching out for Blair.
"I already told Sandburg about the case, Simon. If I tell him now that we aren't going tonight, he'll know something's up. Besides, I think he needs to get back to his normal routine. We both do. It's the only way we're going to put all this behind us."
"You know his limits better than I do," Simon relented.
"Thanks, sir. I just--"
A knock sounded on the door. A minute later, Blair came in. "Hi, Jim. Simon. Sorry I'm late. What'd I miss?"
Jim looked up, startled by his partner's sudden appearance. "Blair?" His brow creased. He hadn't heard him arrive. Usually, he knew the minute Blair stepped off the elevator or at the very least, the instant he reached the doors to Major Crimes. It was nothing conscious, just the sudden realization that he could hear the familiar beat of his friend's heart in his ears. But today... "I didn't hear you?"
Blair took the seat next to him, rubbing absently at his left shoulder. "You guys were talking," he said, not understanding the significance of Jim's statement.
Suddenly Jim had a sobering thought. Was it possible that Blair's acceptance of his Shaman gifts had somehow put a block between them? Jim hadn't even realized just how much he tuned into Blair until he couldn't do it anymore. If he was right and this was something that came with his Shaman abilities, what did it mean to Jim? Would that bond he had come to rely on so strongly be lost to him?
Anxiety stiffened his back, settled in the pit of his stomach. He needed to talk to Blair about it. Needed to tell his Guide what was happening. But how would Blair react to the news? Would he decide to give up the whole Shaman thing just to make Jim happy? He didn't want that. Couldn't ask that. Yet--
A hand touched his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. "Jim, you with us, man?"
He blinked several times, his gaze shifting from Blair to Simon and back again. They both looked at him with furrowed brows. "Sorry," he muttered.
"Did you zone?" Blair's voice was edged with concern.
Jim shook his head. "No, just thinking." He turned to Simon. "Sorry, sir."
Simon's eyes were dark with worry but it was no longer just directed at Blair. "Jim, are you sure you're up for this tonight? I'm feeling less and less certain about sending you two on this assignment."
Jim glanced briefly at his partner. Blair sat stiffly in his seat, his gaze lowered and Jim knew that he was blaming himself for Simon's sudden lack of confidence in their ability to get the job done. "We'll be fine, sir," he said with a certainty he didn't completely feel.
Jim sat in the cab of his truck and watched as Blair lifted the binoculars and scanned the front of the vacant warehouse they'd been assigned to watch. He could have told him it wasn't necessary. Jim had just finished doing that himself. But it never hurt to have a fresh perspective and Blair certainly had that.
"So did you find anything good at the library?" he asked.
A slow smile crept onto Blair's face. "Yeah, man, I did." He lowered the binoculars. "I met a girl."
Jim rolled his eyes. "Only you, Sandburg."
"What?" he asked, putting on his most innocent expression.
"You're supposed to be trying to find out about Shamanism. Somehow you get a date out of it." He shook his head. "I don't know how you do it."
"All we did was go for coffee. She was at the library to get some books for her father. It turns out he's a practicing Shaman. Can you believe my luck?" He shifted in his seat and Jim couldn't help but notice the slight cringe that crossed his features. He knew Blair was still sore from the gunshot wounds he'd sustained. The doctors had told him it was best to get up and out. But Jim was afraid he was overdoing it -- like he always did. You're sleeping in tomorrow, Chief. Blair had classes tomorrow starting at one but Jim was going to make sure he stayed home and rested until then.
"I'm going to see the guy first thing in the morning," Blair said, completely blowing apart Jim's plan.
"Don't you think you might be overdoing it a little?" Jim asked, unable to keep the worried tone from his voice. "Maybe what happened last night is your body's way of telling you to slow down. You did just get out of the hospital."
"I'm fine, Jim, really. I mean I'm sore. My shoulder still--" His words cut off abruptly. "I'm fine," he finished softly.
And Jim suddenly realized why Blair hadn't complained at all about his injuries. Why he insisted on doing all the things he'd done before he was shot. "Blair, you don't have to pretend that your shoulder doesn't bother you because of me. I know I shot you. You not talking about it doesn't erase it from my mind, believe me."
"Jim, you didn't shoot me. I jumped in front of your gun. There's a huge difference. But I don't bring it up because I know you and I know you feel guilty about something that wasn't you're fault."
"Blair, if you had died--"
"I didn't die. I'm right here and I don't plan on going anywhere. At this point, I'm more worried about you."
Jim's brow creased. "Me?"
"The entire time I was with Brackett, he kept talking about his 'superiors'. Whoever those guys are, they know about you, Jim. They know what you are and what you can do. With Brackett still out there somewhere..." He tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear, his eyes troubled. "The whole thing scares the hell out of me."
Jim shifted his gaze back to the warehouse automatically scanning the entire area before turning back to his partner. "Blair, I'm a cop. I've got a lot of guys out there who'd like to kill me just for that."
"Gee, Jim, thanks for easing my mind."
"I'm not trying to ease your mind."
"That's obvious," Blair muttered.
"What I'm trying to say," he continued, ignoring his partner's remark, "is that no matter what we do, there will always be someone out there who might want to hurt me or you or both of us. I'm a Sentinel. The Watchman of my tribe. My job is dangerous which in turn, makes your job as my Guide dangerous." Jim paused, trying to figure out how the conversation had led to this point, had become so serious. But as he looked into Blair's anxious eyes, he knew this was a conversation they needed to have. Should have had long before now. "What gets us through it over and over again is our partnership. Blair, I'm not worried about Brackett or anyone else because I believe, as a team, we can defeat whatever comes our way. I trust you to back me up. I trust that you'll be there for me. And I hope you feel the same way."
"You know I do," he said softly. "I've known you'd be there for me ever since Lash." He shook his head, his fingers nervously playing over the binoculars. "You shouldn't have been able to find me, Jim. Believe me, I've thought about that fact a lot over the years and I know you shouldn't have. It was a shot in the dark at best."
Jim had never told anyone, but he had had the exact same thoughts. When Lash abducted Blair, they'd had no idea where he'd been taking his victims. Jim had managed to put it together from the barest of clues. And if he were hard pressed to say what really led him to his partner, he'd have to say instinct more than anything else. Deep down, he'd just known where Blair was. He could see that now, three years later. Then, the relationship between them had been too new. "I think you're right, Chief."
"I know I'm right, Jim. From that day on, I knew you would always be there for me. That was why I called you my 'Blessed Protector'." He laughed at the memory. "Man, I barely knew you and I blurt out that I expect you to be there to save my life for the rest of your life. I thought that was going to be it right there. End of partnership. Pack your bags and get out time. But you didn't even blink an eye. You just took it in and went with it."
Jim had to admit he had been surprised when Blair made the statement. But something in him had liked the idea of being 'responsible' for Sandburg's well-being. It hadn't even occurred to him to hit the panic button at those words. Which would have been the natural Ellison instinct with anyone else. "So what have we determined?"
"That we are unbeatable and every bad guy in Cascade should run for the hills because they're just wasting their time," Blair said in his most serious voice.
Jim cuffed him on the side of the head. "Remind me of that next time we get our asses kicked."
Blair was still laughing when the second shift arrived to relieve them a few minutes later. After filling the two detectives in on what they'd seen so far -- nothing -- Jim and Blair headed home.
A sound grated against his mind, pulling him from sleep. Jim sat up in bed and listened. It came again, only this time he recognized the sound -- one of the locks turning on the front door. Grabbing his weapon from his night-stand, Jim slid from the bed and made his way quickly but quietly to the stairs. But as his sight zeroed in on the now open door, what he saw stopped him cold.
"What the hell," Jim breathed. He took the steps two at a time, pounded across the living room and out the front door.
Blair shuffled down the halfway heading straight for the elevator. He wore no robe. No socks. Just his sweats and T-shirt.
He's sleepwalking again.
When they'd gotten home from the stakeout, Jim had thought that Blair would be so exhausted that he'd fall into bed and stay there the entire night, deeply and utterly asleep. He had been wrong.
Jim rushed around the front of his Guide, blocking the younger man's path. Blair stopped. Jim reached out to touch him and hesitated. If he touched him, would it wake him and produce the same kind of violent reaction as last night? Jim dropped his hand back to his side. "Blair?" he whispered.
The grad student blinked but otherwise did not move. Did not acknowledge Jim in any way. He just stood there, his face expressionless, his gaze locked forward, his eyes vacant, unfocused. Jim swallowed hard. It was disconcerting to look into those eyes and not see his friend behind them. He remembered Simon's advice. Prayed it would work.
"Blair, I need you to go back into the loft," Jim said, using a tone he hoped would get his partner to move on command.
No reaction. Just the same blank stare. What had Simon told him? That he should just lead him back to bed? So he could touch him -- just not wake him.
"Blair, we're going back inside now, okay?" Taking him gently by the shoulders, Jim turned his Guide back toward the loft. Just as it had the night before, Blair's skin felt ice cold to the touch. Colder than it should, Jim thought. Blair did not protest as Jim led him through the living room and into his bedroom. Jim tensed as he sat Blair on the edge of the bed, afraid the more forceful movement might wake him. But the second Blair touched the mattress, he stretched out on his side, pulled the blankets over himself, closed his eyes and fell into a deep slumber.
Jim crouched down next to his sleeping friend, listening to his soft breathing. "Where were you going, Blair?" he whispered. If Jim hadn't heard the locks turning... He reached out and brushed the hair back from Blair's face. Why didn't I hear you get up, Chief?
And Jim realized that although Blair's sleepwalking worried him, the fact that he hadn't been able to sense Blair for the last several days absolutely terrified him.
Blair cringed as he rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. He wondered how much longer it would be before the constant ache in his shoulder and chest would be gone. It was the worst in the mornings, maybe because of the inactivity of sleep. But each day when he woke, he felt stiff and sore for at least the first hour. After that, he could function almost normally except for the occasional twinge when he overdid it.
Well, at least I managed to stay in bed all night this time.
But even as the thought went through his mind, he realized that Jim was asleep in a chair beside his bed. He closed his eyes. Dammit! The only reason Jim would be in his room was if something had happened last night. Blair searched back through his memory but the last thing that played through his mind was going to bed. So what had he done in the middle of the night to make Jim play baby-sitter? And why couldn't he remember it?
Pushing back his blankets, he sat up, wincing as his shoulder and chest protested. He had to stop for a minute before actually standing and he was grateful that Jim slept through the whole thing. He knew his partner's guilt would just multiply if he saw how sore Blair was each morning. Moving slowly, he made his way to the bathroom and took a quick shower. After shaving, he slipped on his jeans and a deep blue pull-over shirt.
He stepped out of the bathroom expecting to smell coffee brewing. But the kitchen was empty. Blair went back to his room and looked around the French doors. Jim was still asleep. His brow furrowed. Jim had to have heard him, heard the shower at least. So why was he still sleeping in the chair? Even if he didn't want to get up yet, why wouldn't he at least move to his bed instead of staying down here in this uncomfortable chair? He shook his head. It didn't really matter. Jim was getting sleep that he obviously needed and Blair was not about to disturb him. Softly, he pulled the doors shut and went into the living room. He was supposed to meet Jarred Lowry in an hour and he wanted to be as prepared as he could beforehand.
Jim groaned. His entire body ached from the awkward position he'd spent the night in. He shoved away the blankets covering him and stumbled to his feet. Damn, Blair was up and once again he hadn't heard him. He trudged from the room, scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair.
His partner sat on the couch, glasses on, reading from one of books he'd gotten from the library the day before. He looked up as Jim came into the room. "Hey, man, you okay?"
"I was just going to ask you that."
"I'm fine." Blair pulled off his glasses and set the book aside. "Jim, what happened last night? I mean, something must have if you spent the night sleeping in my room but I don't have any idea what."
Jim moved to the chair across from his partner and dropped into it. "I found you out in the hall this time. You were heading toward the elevator."
"The elevator," Blair repeated, visibly shuddering. "Do you think I would have actually left the building?"
"I don't know, Chief. Do you remember any of it?"
"No, nothing."
"Did you have that same feeling again? Like someone was watching you?"
He shook his head. "There's just nothing, Jim. When I woke up, I was relieved because I thought I'd gotten through the night fine. Then I saw you and ..." His voice trailed off. "Man, what is going on?"
Jim leaned forward in his chair, his hands clasped before him. "Blair, there's more." He didn't know if this was the best time to finally bring this up but he couldn't keep it to himself anymore. "I didn't hear you get up last night."
Blair raised an eyebrow. "You were tired. You just didn't--"
"No, that's not it," he said, his voice overriding Blair's. "It's not the first time it's happened." He pushed up from the chair, needing to move. "The last few days, you've gotten up and I didn't hear you. And when you arrived at the station yesterday, I didn't know it until you were right in front of me, talking to me." He turned and faced him. "I always know when you're there, Chief. And it's not just your heartbeat, it's your presence." He hesitated. This was something he hadn't told Blair. Something he hadn't told anyone. "The day I found you in that fountain, I was heading inside, going to your office and then I just knew where you were. I think that's why even after they... pronounced you that I knew they were wrong. Because I could still feel that connection between us. I didn't even realize how strongly I felt it until it was gone. But now...now there is something missing that was there before."
Blair stared up at him, his eyes confused. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"
Jim hesitated, still not sure he wanted to reveal this but seeing no other choice. "I thought maybe your acceptance of the Shamanism might have put up some kind of block. Some kind of protective circle around you that I can't penetrate. I was worried if I told you, that you'd want to drop the whole thing because of how it was affecting me."
"Jim, man, if anything, my acceptance of all this stuff should have strengthened the connection we have." He dropped his gaze, shaking his head. "I don't know. I think something's just wrong. That maybe I've done something wrong."
Jim crossed to the couch and sat on the opposite end. "Blair, all you did was accept the idea of becoming a Shaman. Nothing more. There is no way that entitles you to guilt over what is happening." Blair nodded but his expression remained sullen. "That girl you met in the library yesterday. What was her name?"
"Rebecca."
"Rebecca," he repeated. "You're still going to see her father today, right?"
"I'm leaving in a few minutes."
"Good. I want you to tell this guy what's been happening and see if he can help. Who knows? Maybe this retired Shaman has all the answers we need."
Blair pulled his car to a stop in front of a small, ranch-style home. Looking out his window, he frowned as he took in the weather-beaten house with its weed-choked lawn and closed blinds. It had a deserted, unlived-in feel. Was this the right place? He checked the address Rebecca had given him. They matched. Apprehension tugged at him. For an instant, he wanted to start the car and drive away. Put as much distance between this house and himself as he possibly could. He shook his head, dismissing the ridiculous thoughts. He was just stressed because of the events of the last few days. He'd been waiting for this meeting all morning. He wasn't about to leave now.
Stepping from his car, he headed toward the house. The front door opened before Blair reached it. Rebecca stood in the doorway, grinning widely. "Hi, Blair. I'm so glad you could come. My father is really looking forward to meeting you."
"Same here." He stepped over the threshold, his nose wrinkling at the stale smell that seemed to permeate the air. He had expected the house of a practicing Shaman to smell of herbs or incense, not this foul, something died under the house smell. Rebecca glanced at him and he forced a smile. Fleetingly, he wished that he had thought to give Jim a copy of the address to this place. All his partner knew was that he was meeting the father of a girl he'd met in the library yesterday. He hadn't even told Jim Rebecca's last name.
Okay, Sandburg, just relax. You're getting all worked up because the guy's a rotten housekeeper.
He forced his shoulders to relax and followed Rebecca deeper into the house. Books and papers covered most of the open surfaces. Mismatched furniture took up all other available space. I don't think I'll bitch as much when Jim tells me he likes the loft neat, he thought as he sidestepped a pile of molding newspapers. He would meet the guy, listen for a few minutes then find a polite way of getting out of here because this was just not where he wanted to be.
"Please don't be put off by the house," Rebecca said as if reading his thoughts somehow. "Father's been ill for some time now. I try to help out when I can but he's a real handful." She gave him a sad smile.
Guilt shot through Blair. She'd offered to help him and here he was judging her and her father by appearances. When did I become so narrow-minded?
Rebecca stopped before a half open door and turned to Blair. "Just give me a second." She slid around the door into the darkened room and, as Blair stood alone in the hallway, listening to the whispered voices coming from inside the room, he once again wanted to run. He shook off the feeling and stood his ground. Seconds later, Rebecca was back. She took his hand in hers and led him inside.
Heavy curtains hung over the only window in the room, shrouding it in darkness. Shadows hugged the walls and crawled across the floor. Blair could hear a deep wheezing sound coming from the lump on the bed before him.
"Blair Sandburg, I'd like you to meet my father, Jarred Lowry."
Blair licked his lips as he approached, his heart beating heavily in his chest. He stopped beside the bed. "Thank you for seeing me, sir."
There was no movement from the bed.
"Father?" Rebecca leaned close and Blair had to resist the urge to pull her back, get her away from this dark lump and its heavy breathing. "Father, the young man I told you about is here to visit with you."
The lump moved, shifted, groaned. A pale face appeared from beneath the blankets, the wrinkled skin hanging slack around the jaw. Eyes blinked open and focused on Blair. There was something in that gaze. Something... He shuddered and took an involuntary step backward. Rebecca slipped behind him, blocked his way.
"It's okay, Blair," she said close to his ear, her hot breath sending shivers down his back. "He can't see you if you're so far away." She pushed him closer to the bed.
It's just an old man.
"Hello, Mr. Lowry." His voice sounded strained to his ears. "I'm really interested--"
A hand snaked out and caught Blair's wrist. A current of energy seemed to leap from the old man into Blair. He gasped, yanking his hand away. The man laughed, the sound harsh and cold. "Afraid of an old man," he wheezed and laughed again until he was coughing.
Blair rubbed his wrist, his gaze shifting from Rebecca to her father and back again. They were both laughing now and the sound unnerved him. Something about all this just wasn't right. He began backing toward the door.
"Blair?" Rebecca came toward him, her face scrunched up in anger. "Where are you going?"
He kept moving. "I have to go. I have classes to teach today and--"
"You told me that you had the morning free." She rushed around him and stood before the door, blocking his exit. "My father wants to talk to you."
"Another time." He shifted to his left to go around her. She shifted with him, still blocking his way.
"When?" she demanded.
"Soon." He moved to his right. So did Rebecca. "I have to leave," he insisted.
From behind him, Blair could hear the creak and groan of the mattress as the old man rose from the bed. His breathing increased as he heard the slow, dragging steps approaching him from behind. He turned sharply as a gnarled hand fell on his shoulder. Blair backed away, his hands held up in front of him. No matter what, he did not want this man touching him again. Because he knew that touch, recognized it the instant it was on him. "Listen, I really have to go."
"No," the man rasped. His eyes had a predatory glare to them. A demanding that made Blair take another step back.
"I'll come back when I have more time," he babbled. "Maybe next week."
"But Blair." Rebecca came toward him, her mouth turned down in a sad pout. "I thought we were getting along so well." She leaned in close to him, pressing against him. "I thought we could have lunch." She said the words with a suggestion in her eyes.
"Another time," Blair said, no longer interested in having lunch or anything else with this woman. All he wanted to do was get out of here. Escape. He turned and headed for the door. This time, Rebecca did not block him. He wove through the mess of the house and slammed out the front door. He didn't stop until he reached his car parked at the curb. Only then did he turn and look back at the house. Out here in the sunlight, he almost laughed at his reaction to the old man and his daughter. "Overreaction is more like it," he muttered. But as he slipped into his car and pulled away, he was relieved to be going.
Frank Croft watched as the young man sped away from the house. Blair Sandburg, that was the name he'd gotten from the librarian. He was a graduate student at Rainier University, well-liked by both the staff and students from what the woman behind the reference desk had told him.
When Frank first saw Sandburg pull up to the house, he'd debated going to him, trying to convince him to leave before going inside. But then the young anthropologist had seemed to come to that conclusion himself. Frank was sure he was going to drive off when he suddenly got out of the small car and headed up the walk. Then Rebecca was there and it was too late.
He'd sat outside tensely watching the house. Praying the young man would exit soon and unharmed. Just as he was about to get out of his car and force his way inside, Sandburg had come out. It was apparent from his pale features that something had happened. Frank just wished he knew what.
Did Jarred touch him?
He needed to know. Because if Jarred Lowry had managed to physically touch him ...
Frank had to talk to Sandburg, warn him before things went any further. While there was still time to save his life.
Blair stared down at the tests before him. The class had finished early, each student handing in their paper before exiting the lecture hall. Now he was alone. And Jim still wasn't due for another twenty minutes. He'd told his partner to meet him here, thinking he'd be stuck with the few students that always lingered over their answers, using every second he would give them. No one had lingered today.
"Maybe the test was too simple," he muttered. But as he checked yet another incorrect answer, he knew that couldn't be true.
Normally, Blair liked the empty lecture hall. He could work here uninterrupted, his office usually an invitation to every student to stop in and ask him questions. But today... Today, it felt empty. Deserted. He knew it was just the residual effect of his meeting with Jarred Lowry. The old man had left him with a creeping uneasiness. He looked up for the third time, checking the room.
You're alone, Sandburg. Concentrate on the work. Jim will be here any minute.
He'd debated calling Jim right after leaving Lowry's house. Had even pulled out his cell phone. But just as his fingers touched the speed dial, he realized there was really nothing to tell. Nothing that couldn't wait until he saw him later that night. The old guy had been weird but nothing really happened.
Except what you felt when he touched you.
Blair pushed the thought away. It had been his imagination, nothing more. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly and directed his attention back to the papers before him. But he had hardly read two words when the feeling returned. The feeling of being watched. He looked up again. A man stood silhouetted in the doorway at the top of the lecture hall.
"Can I help you?"
He was a big man, about the same size as Simon but older by at least ten years. As he moved down the steps, drawing nearer, Blair could see the hard lines around his eyes and mouth.
"Are you looking for someone?" he asked, swallowing against the sudden dryness in his throat.
The man stopped at the end of the chairs. His gaze never wavered from Blair. "You have to stop." His voice was deep, almost melodic in tone.
Blair stood, wiping his now sweating palms down the front of his jeans, but did not move around the desk. He liked having the big solid object between them. "I have to stop what?" he asked, not sure he really wanted to know the answer.
The man stepped to the front of Blair's desk and resting the palms of his hands on the top, leaned toward him. "I know what you are," he said so softly Blair had to strain to hear him. The realization of his words and what they meant send a jolt through him. This man knew he was a Shaman. That's what he was telling him. But how? He'd never met this man. Hadn't told anyone but Jim about any of this.
"You don't know what you're doing." The man pushed off the desk and came around the side, closing in on Blair. "You're opening yourself up to attack. Making yourself vulnerable." He stood directly in front of Blair now, glaring down at him. "You have to stop or you'll end up getting hurt...or worse."
Blair didn't know if the man was warning him or threatening him. It didn't matter. The man was in his face and he would say just about anything to get him out of it. "Thanks for the advice. I'll do that."
The stranger's eyes narrowed as his gaze traveled over Blair. "Did you let him touch you?" He reached toward Blair.
He flinched away, taking a step back. "I don't want any trouble." Blair backed up again but hit his chair. Reaching behind him, he shoved it up against the desk, opening an escape route behind him. But before he could make his move, the man caught him by the left wrist and pulled him back around to face him. "Hey man." Blair cringed as a jolt of pain shot through his still healing shoulder.
The man inhaled sharply at the touch. "You did," he breathed. "You let him touch you."
Blair twisted his wrist, trying to free it from the man's tight grip. "Listen, you let go of me and we can and talk. But this--"
"You're not listening to me!" He yanked hard on Blair's wrist, sending another jolt of pain up his arm and into his shoulder. "You have to stop!"
"Okay, I'll stop," he blurted out, ready to say whatever this guy wanted to hear. "Just let go!" He pulled at the man's beefy hand, trying to loosen the crushing hold.
"You don't understand what you've done!" The grip increased, grinding his bones together.
"You're going to break my wrist!" Blair shouted.
The man released him so suddenly that Blair staggered back and nearly fell. The man caught his arm, kept him upright. "I'm sorry."
Blair pulled out of his grip and stepped away, rubbing at his sore wrist and shoulder. "What is your problem?"
"I'm just trying to help you."
"By breaking my wrist?"
The man scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. But it's already gone so far."
"What has? Who are you?"
Reaching into his pocket, the man pulled out a card and handed it to Blair. The grad student stared down at the block lettering: Franklin Croft, Teacher of Shaman Studies.
"You need to learn," Croft said, his voice low. "But not from Jarred Lowry."
Blair looked up sharply at the words. "You've been following me." It was not a question but a statement of fact. "What do you want?"
"I want to help you." His voice sounded sincere but Blair's throbbing wrist and shoulder told him otherwise.
"You're a Shaman?" he asked with obvious doubt.
"I practice Shamanism. Host retreats, teach classes." Croft took a step toward him. Blair backed up. The man held his hands up as if to show he meant no harm. "Please, just tell me you won't see Jarred Lowry again."
"I don't plan to," Blair admitted.
"Good." He seemed genuinely relieved. "Then I'll go. You keep my card. If you want to talk, please call me."
"Why don't you want me to see Lowry?" Blair called after him. But Croft did not stop. He retreated up the stairs, passing Jim as he came into the lecture hall.
"Who was that, Chief?" Jim asked as soon as he had reached his partner.
"I have no idea." Blair tossed the card on his desk and dropped down into his chair. "He offered to teach me the ways of Shamanism," he said, rubbing absently at his sore wrist. "Said I'm opening myself up to attack. Making myself vulnerable."
"What's wrong with your wrist?"
Blair glanced down at the tender skin, the bruising already showing. "He really wanted me to listen to him."
"He did that?" Jim looked back over his shoulder, anger setting his jaw. "Why didn't you say something? Dammit, Blair, I would have stopped the guy."
Blair shook his head. "He left his card. I think if he were planning to do something to me, he wouldn't have come here and introduced himself first."
Jim snatched up the card from the desk. "What else did he say?"
"Told me I should stay away from Jarred Lowry."
Jim looked up, his brow furrowed at the name.
"It's the guy I went to see this morning," Blair supplied.
Jim's scowl deepened as the implication of the words sunk in. "He followed you there? Sandburg, I can't believe you just let him walk right past me without saying a word." He pulled out his cell phone. "I'm having Taggert run his name through the computer."
"Have him run Lowry, too," Blair said before he could stop himself.
Jim hesitated. "Why? What happened with Lowry?"
Blair hesitated. He hadn't meant to say anything. The meeting with Jarred Lowry had been odd but nothing that Jim needed to worry about. But as he sat staring up into his friend's expectant expression, he knew it was too late to turn back now.
"Man, Jim, this has been the weirdest day." He spent the next several minutes filling his partner in on his very short, very strange meeting with Jarred Lowry. He told him everything from his first impressions of the house to the sense of dread he'd felt before meeting the old man to the absolute feeling of panic he'd experienced when the guy touched him. The only thing he left out was the way the touch had felt, what it had reminded him of. Because that just was not possible.
"I don't like this, Sandburg," Jim said when he was finally finished. "Why the hell would Croft come all the way over here to warn you to stay away from Lowry? I mean, the old guy sounds weird but I don't see how he could be dangerous to you. And what is the connection between those two?"
"I wish I knew. Croft left before I could get any details from him."
Jim glanced back down at the card he still held. "I think tomorrow we're going to pay a visit to Frank Croft and find out exactly what is going on."
Jarred Lowry lay on his bed. Eyes closed, he concentrated on his breathing. With practiced ease, he let himself slip into the trance. Within seconds, he was floating above himself, out of himself, had become one with the air and wind. He could see his body below, the crippled up, aging torso disgusting him. But that would all change soon. He could already feel the renewed life within him, the surge of increased power.
He shifted his focus to his goal.
And suddenly he found himself moving, drifting above the city, the way he had so many times before. It had taken him nearly a year but he had found the one he searched for. He and Rebecca had made mistakes in the past. Never finding what he really needed. Never even coming close. Until Blair Sandburg. He was the one. The spark of energy Jarred had felt when he touched the young man had convinced him of that.
And he needed to touch him again.
He slipped into the loft and drifted toward his prey. Just as the night before, the young man slept in the bedroom downstairs. He drifted above him, letting his gaze linger over him. He'd been better in person than he could have imagined.
He'd established a connection that first night. Made it stronger today when he put his hands on him. Now all he needed to do was bring him to them. Drifting down, he reached out with his essence and flowed into the young man.
He was uncomfortable. Jim shifted where he lay on the couch, trying to find a better position. It didn't do much good. He was just too damn tall to stretch out on this thing.
But it's better than the chair.
He'd argued with Sandburg for nearly forty minutes about where he would sleep tonight. Jim had wanted to spend the night in the chair beside Blair's bed again. Blair told him that if he insisted on sleeping in his room, then Blair would take the chair this time. Jim had pointed out that that would be impossible considering he was still recovering from two gun shot wounds. His Guide then offered to sleep on the floor.
So Jim had compromised. He would sleep on the couch. That way if Blair did get up and try to leave the loft again, Jim would be sure to hear him. He'd even stuck one of the kitchen chairs under the handle of the front door just for good measure. He figured if he just put enough obstacles in his path, Sandburg wasn't going anywhere.
The stakeout had been as uneventful tonight as it had been the night before. But unlike the night before, they had spent most of the time in silence. Jim had asked Blair again about his meeting that morning with Jarred Lowry. He knew there was something Blair was holding back, something that was still bothering him. Yet, the more Jim pressed, the less Blair said until they were sitting in the cab of the truck, both utterly silent.
So Jim had changed the subject. They'd passed the time talking about the Jags, the weather, problems at the precinct, the university. In other words, nothing.
Jim shifted again, lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
What could Lowry have possibly told Blair? And why didn't he want to share it with Jim? Was it possible Blair had somehow opened himself up to some dark force and Lowry had confirmed that? No. Blair would have told him that. Would have needed Jim's help. It had to be something else.
A low moan drifted through the loft. Jim sat up, his gaze shifting toward Blair's bedroom. A second later, the sound repeated. Grabbing up his robe, Jim sprinted to his partner's room. He stumbled through the door, his heart pounding in his chest, but came to an abrupt halt when he realized that Blair was asleep in his bed. He lay on his back, his right arm flung over the side, his face turned away. Jim stood for a minute watching him, listening to his breathing, his heart rate. They were both slow and steady. Blair was sleeping.
Crossing to him, Jim gently lifted his arm and shifted it back onto the bed. Unlike the last two nights, Blair's skin felt hot to the touch. Jim's brow furrowed. His gaze shifted to his partner's face. Sweat stood out on his brow, dampened his hair. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut. His forehead creased as if he were in some kind of pain.
Nightmare.
Well, the kid was entitled after everything he'd been through. But as Jim stood staring down at him, he knew he couldn't just leave him like this.
"Blair," he said softly. He reached toward him but before he could touch him, Blair convulsed upward on the bed, his back arching, before slamming back down against the mattress. His arm once again slipped over the side of the bed and a low moan escaped his lips.
Understanding surged through Jim. Was that what had caused the moans earlier? Had Blair been lying in here convulsing like this for God knows how long? Jim sat on the edge of the bed and placing a hand on his Guide's right shoulder, shook him. "Sandburg, wake up," he said using his most authoritative tone. Blair's head lolled from side to side on his pillow but his eyes remained closed. Jim's hand moved to his cheek. "Come on, buddy." He smacked him lightly, trying to revive him.
But instead of waking, Blair arched up again, fell back, then convulsed three more times. When he finally collapsed against the bed, his breathing was shallow, barely audible to the Sentinel.
Panic clutched Jim's heart. "Sandburg, come on! Wake up!" Drawing back, Jim did the only thing he could think of. He slapped his best friend hard across the face. Blair's head snapped to the side. He moaned. But still did not open his eyes. "Dammit, kid, come on!" Hand shaking, he struck him again. This time, Blair's eyes fluttered, once, twice then opened.
"Jim?" he breathed.
Jim hugged him tightly against his chest, relief shaking through him. "Thank God." Blair trembled in his grip, made no move to return the embrace. Simply hung in Jim's arms, weak, unmoving. Slowly, Jim lowered him back to the bed. "Blair?" he said softy.
Exhaustion filled eyes turned to Jim. "Is he gone?" he asked.
Jim brushed damp hair back from Blair's forehead. "Who Chief?"
"Lowry. He was here, Jim. He was..." His eyes blinked and then closed.
"Blair," Jim said, shaking him lightly. "Stay awake, Blair. Come on."
Blue eyes opened again. "Is he gone?" he asked again.
"Yeah, he's gone, Chief." Jim's hands tightened on Blair's shoulders. "Do you know why he was here?"
"Was calling me," Blair whispered. "Wanted me to go with him."
Jim pulled Blair back against him, holding him close. "You're not going anywhere, kid."
Rebecca slammed her hand against the steering wheel of her car. Dammit! Blair hadn't come down yet which meant something had gone wrong. She looked up at the windows of the loft above. They were still dark but it didn't matter. She knew they had failed. It was last night all over again.
Just as the thought went through her mind, her cell phone rang. She flipped it open and pressed it to her ear. "What happened this time?" she demanded.
Jarred's tired voice came over the line. "The kid's will is too strong. And with that cop hanging around--"
"So you're just going to give up?" she asked, her voice shrill. "Try again."
"No. I have to take him too deep to control him. I think I almost killed him this time."
"Fine." She slammed the phone shut and tossed it aside. She took one last look at the windows above before pulling away from the curb. "We'll just have to do this the old fashioned way."
"Okay, Chief, I'm done being subtle. I want to know what you're holding back about Lowry."
Blair glanced at his partner as Jim steered the truck toward the house of Jarred Lowry. After the "incident" last night, Jim had decided he wanted to have a face to face meeting with the man Blair was sure had come to him in his sleep.
A chill raced through Blair at the memory. Last night, he had been completely convinced that Jarred Lowry had somehow came into his room and tried to get him to leave the loft. Now, in the bright morning light, he wasn't so sure. Was it just a nightmare? His mind putting together what he'd thought he'd felt when the old man touched him with some weird dream?
"Blair, talk to me."
Blair looked at Jim, at the hard set of his jaw. He knew his partner just wanted to help. But he hadn't even been able to voice this to himself. How could he now say it out loud to Jim?
"Come on, Sandburg. I need to know what's going on in that head of yours."
Inhaling deeply, Blair tried to sort it all out for himself before answering. "The other night," he began slowly, "when I was out in the living room and you woke me up, I told you that it felt like something had touched me."
Jim nodded for Blair to continue.
"I think now...I think it was Lowry back then too."
"You hadn't even met him yet."
"I know but when I went to his house and he grabbed me..." He closed his eyes, letting that moment play through his mind, knowing as it did that he was right. "Jim, it was the same feeling as that first night."
"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Jim asked, his voice tinged with impatience.
"I couldn't even admit it to myself. But after last night..." He rubbed his eyes. "I know it sounds nuts but I swear both nights it was like Jarred Lowry was in my room with me."
"Blair, with everything that's happened to us, I'm pretty much open to anything so next time, don't hold back."
Blair nodded. "I'll remember that."
"And as far as Lowry goes, I think he's been playing you all along."
"What do you mean?"
"I called Taggert while you were in the shower and had him run Croft and the Lowrys through the computer."
Blair tensed. "And..."
"No record on Frank Croft or Jarred Lowry." Jim cocked an eyebrow. "Now, Rebecca, she's another story. She had a record for burglary, fraud and assault." He glanced at Blair. "Lowry is her married name, Chief. I don't think she's Jarred Lowry's daughter. I think she's his wife."
"Oh, man." Blair felt suddenly ill.
"I think your little chance meeting with Rebecca was a set-up right from the start. She probably followed you to the library."
"What is their game?"
"I don't know but I intend to find out." He stopped in front of the house Blair had given him directions to.
Blair stared out his window at the rundown home, a sense of foreboding settling over him. Is Lowry in there now? In that dark room? Waiting for me? He closed his eyes at the thought. Don't get carried away, Sandburg. He's just an old man.
"Do you want to wait out here, Chief?"
Blair opened his eyes, turning his gaze to his partner. He knows I'm afraid. Yet there had been no judgment in Jim's voice, just quiet concern. Blair knew if he decided to stay behind, Jim would not think less of him.
But that wasn't going to happen.
"There's no way I'm letting you go in there alone." He pushed open his door and stepped out of the truck. He waited for Jim and the two of them walked up the drive together. "Jim, you need to dial back your sense of smell," Blair said as they approached the front door. "This place is pretty rank."
Jim nodded, automatically doing as he was instructed. They reached the front door and he pounded heavily against the thick wood. "Police! Open up!" He tilted his head to the side and Blair knew he was listening, trying to pick up the sounds of anyone inside. "They're not home, Chief."
Blair nodded, not really surprised.
Jim pulled out his cell phone. "I think they know we're on to them," he said, hitting the speed dial. "So I don't think they'll come back. But I'm going to ask Simon to post someone outside just in case they do."
"What're you going to tell him?"
Jim shrugged one shoulder "I'm gong to tell him that they threatened you. Believe me, after everything that's happened lately, Simon's not going to refuse this."
Blair was taken aback by Jim's statement. Would Simon really do this for him? But as he listened to his partner's half of the conversation, he realized the captain was agreeing readily to Jim's request. Blair turned and scanned the neighborhood as he waited for Jim to complete the call. He knew Rebecca and Jarred were gone but as he ran his gaze over the surrounding area, Blair couldn't shake the feeling that they were still somewhere near. Watching him even now. Planning to follow him. Wait until he was alone and--
A hand dropped on his shoulder. Blair spun around, sucking in air as the sudden movement sent a jolt through his sore muscles.
Jim backed up a step, his hand falling away. "Sorry, Chief. Didn't mean to startle you."
"No, man, it's me. I'm getting myself all spooked." He ran a shaking hand through his hair. "Let's just get out of here."
Rebecca watched as the two men made their way back to the truck.
"You were right," Jarred said from the passenger seat of the car. "He did bring the cop here."
Her eyes locked on the big detective. She needed to get him away from Blair. As long as they were together, she would not be able to get near the younger man again. She frowned. How did an anthropologist end up living and working with a cop? When she'd first found out that little bit of information, she'd thought they'd have to scrap everything. But Jarred had been insistent and deep down, she hadn't really been willing to give up Blair. No, she wanted him too badly to give up without a fight.
Her fingers drummed against the steering wheel of the car. She knew from watching them that the two men had spent the last couple of evenings on some kind of police stakeout. She let that fact roll around in her mind, knowing it was quite possible that could work in her favor.
"What are we going to do, Rebecca?"
She turned toward her husband's worried voice. "Don't worry, my love," she soothed, as a plan formed in her mind. "I'll have him tonight. I promise."
Jim pounded on the door. "Open up! Cascade P.D.!"
"Maybe he's not home?" Blair suggested from beside him.
Jim looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "I can hear him in there, Chief. He's home." Jim pounded again. "Come on, Croft. Open up!"
Slowly, the door drew back. Frank Croft stared out. His gaze shifted quickly from Jim to Blair. "Mr. Sandburg, did you decide to take me up on my offer?"
"It's Blair and no, not exactly."
Jim pulled out his badge and flashed it at the man. "I'm Detective Jim Ellison with Cascade P.D. I need to ask you a few questions."
Croft's eyes widened. "You went to the police?"
Blair stepped in front of Jim. "No. I'm a consultant to the police department. I work with Detective Ellison." His voice lowered. "Something is happening to me and I think you know what. I need your help."
Croft hesitated only a moment before allowing both men into his house. As Jim walked through he thought of Blair's description of Lowry's place. If only half of what Blair had told him was true, then Frank Croft's home was about as opposite as it could get. The walls were adorned with paintings of landscapes and sea shores. The furniture, stylish and inviting. And the only aroma Jim could detect in the air was a combination of cooking spices and after shave.
The older man led them to his kitchen and poured a cup of coffee for each of them before sitting at the table beside Blair. Jim remained standing. He leaned against the counter behind his partner and crossing his arms, put on what he hoped was his most intimidating glare. Croft seemed completely oblivious. His entire focus was on Blair.
"What can I do for you?" he asked the grad student.
But it was Jim who answered. "Why did you tell Sandburg to stay away from Jarred Lowry?"
"Because I know the man." He flicked an irritated gaze at Jim and the Sentinel knew that if this man could have his way, he would be here alone with Sandburg. Well, that's not about to happen. Croft returned his attention to Blair. "I know he won't help you."
"You were upset because he touched me," Blair said and Jim could hear the strain behind the words. "Why?"
The man's gaze sharpened. "Something changed for you a year ago, didn't it?"
"Yes." Blair glanced briefly at Jim before continuing. "I was told that I was being given the way of the Shaman."
Croft nodded as if he had expected this answer. "That awakened what was already inside you. What lay dormant. My brother and I both felt it."
"Brother?" Jim cut-in. "Jarred Lowry is your brother?"
Croft flicked another irritated gaze at Jim. "He's my half-brother," he clarified. "Same mother. Different fathers."
Jim's jaw clenched. This guy was playing games with them, providing whatever information he wanted to share, holding back things Jim couldn't even begin to guess.
"What about Rebecca?" Blair asked and Jim could hear the same distrust in his partner's voice that he was now feeling. "She said she was his daughter."
"His wife," Croft admitted. "He used her to lure you to him."
"But why?"
"Blair, he's been searching for you for a year. Ever since that first day he felt your presence. But he never came close to finding you until four days ago. We both felt a sudden surge of energy from you."
"He finally accepted what he is," Jim said, the timing of the two events unmistakable. "Up until then, we had never even talked about it."
Blair shook his head. "I don't understand how just talking about Shamanism could suddenly make me a target."
"Blair, when we first met, you asked me if I was a Shaman. I told you I practice Shamanism. There's a big difference between those two things," Croft explained. "Every person studying Shamanism hopes to someday tap into the powers within themselves, tap into their inner energy source. Most never attain this. Instead, they find a meditative inner peace and that's enough. But in very rare circumstances, there are people who possess this ability naturally, it is just a part of who they are. Their energy force is strong and powerful. Blair, you are that rare circumstance. You are a true Shaman."
"Is that how Lowry found him?" Jim asked, Croft's words confirming what he had suspected for some time. "Through this inner energy source?"
Croft nodded, his eyes never leaving Blair. "The moment you accepted your role as Shaman, my brother was able to hone in on you, find you because you finally allowed what's been inside you all along to grow and expand." His hands were clutched together on the table top, his knuckles white from the tight grip they had around each other. "Has Jarred come to you in your sleep?"
Blair paled. "Yes. The last three nights."
"That's when you're most vulnerable. He can slip more easily into your subconscious mind. Bend your will to his own."
"How is that possible?" Blair asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Jim wanted to shout at his partner that it wasn't possible. That this guy was as crazy as his brother. But he didn't because he had been there when Blair awakened. Had seen the fear in his eyes when he asked if Lowry was gone. Some part of him knew Croft was telling them the truth.
"My brother and I both possess some special abilities. Neither of us is a Shaman but we have been able to hone certain powers after many years of practice. Jarred has the ability to separate his life force from his body and project it to wherever he chooses. It's a kind of astral projection. It's not easy to do but many who practice Shamanism can eventually attain this ability. It's supposed to be used as the ultimate commune between earth and the soul. Instead, Jarred has used it to find you." Something in Croft's face changed. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the young man before him. "But there's more to you than just this, isn't there." He reached out and before Jim knew what was happening, had grasped Blair's hand in his own.
"Hey, man." Blair tried to pull back but Croft's other hand snaked out and latched on, holding tightly.
Jim pushed away from the counter and crossed to his partner. "Let him go, Croft." He slipped a hand under Blair's arm, ready to pull him away. But the instant Jim touched his Guide, Croft released him.
The man gasped. His face flushed. He stood so suddenly his chair fell over behind him. His eyes darted to Jim. "You're a Watchman," he said, his voice filled with amazement. His gaze slipped back to Blair. "And you're his Guardian. No wonder the powers within you are so strong." He made a move to touch Blair again but Blair stood and backed away. Croft moved with him, his gaze locked intently on the anthropologist, his hand reaching toward him. Without hesitation, Jim shifted in front of his partner, shielding him from the approaching man. Croft stopped, disappointment creasing his brow. He dropped his hand to his side. "I'm not going to hurt him," he said. "But if I touch him again--"
"What does Lowry want from Sandburg?" Jim asked, keeping himself between Blair and this man. Making it clear that he was not going to put his hands on his Guide again.
"Jarred wants his life force," Croft answered simply, the words directed at Jim. "My brother is sick...dying. He thinks he can take some part of your young friend here and make himself well again."
"This is nuts," Blair said from behind Jim, his voice trembling.
Jim consciously tuned in to Blair. Instantly, his partner's racing heart rate and quickened respiration filled his ears. He turned toward his Guide. "Relax, Chief." He put a hand on his shoulder and reminded himself to keep his senses tuned in to Blair. Because he couldn't do it any other way now. The moment he stopped concentrating on it, stopped specifically tuning in, the sounds slipped away. It'd been that way ever since--
Sudden realization raised the hairs on the back of his neck. His gaze cut to Croft. "You said Lowry thinks he's can take a part of Blair. Is it possible he's already done that?"
"Oh man, Jim. You don't think...?" Whatever color was left in Blair's face drained away.
"Yeah, Chief, I do." He looked back at Croft. "Normally, Sandburg and I have this...connection. For the last three days, it's been gone. Is it possible your brother is responsible for that?"
"It's quite possible. My brother may sense what you are on some unconscious level. He may be blocking you from Blair in order to leave him more vulnerable."
"Can I stop him?" Blair asked, the question sounding desperate to the Sentinel's ears.
"You can't change what's been done," Croft said, his words edged with guilt. "You can only stop him from gaining any more of you."
"Wait a minute," Jim said, unable to believe he had heard the man correctly. "He can't get back what's been taken?"
"There are only two ways to regain what was lost," Croft said, his gaze shifting from Jim to Blair and back again. "Jarred would have to give it back willingly which I don't see happening or upon my brother's death, it would be restored to Blair automatically."
Jim stared unbelieving at this man. He was telling him that the connection he and his Guide had shared for the last three years was now gone and they could do nothing to get it back? No. He would not accept that. There had to be some way to regain it.
"Jim?" Blair's voice drew his attention. "Don't worry. We'll get through this." He smiled at Jim and there was such hope in that smile that for a moment, Jim actually believed him.
"I know we will, Chief." He returned his partner's grin but didn't think his quite measured up.
"I can teach you some meditation that will help you tap into your inner power." Croft grabbed a book from the table and began flipping through the pages. "I marked some passages earlier. I was going to try and see you again."
Blair moved to him and pulling out his glasses, glanced at the book over Croft's shoulder. "This will help me?"
Croft nodded. "If my brother does try to attack you again, you'll at least be in a better position to defend yourself."
Blair looked up at Jim. "Do you mind? I think I'll sleep better tonight if we do this."
"Yeah, Chief, go ahead. We've got some time here." Jim sat at the kitchen table and watched as the two men began working on the meditation exercises. He only half listened as they went through each step, his mind turning back over and over to the same inescapable fact, to the very real possibility that the connection he'd had with his Guide might be lost forever.
Blair lifted the binoculars and scanned the empty warehouse. He could sense the tension coming off his partner. They'd been sitting in the truck for nearly an hour and Jim had barely said two words no matter how hard Blair tried to engage him in conversation. He knew what was causing his friend's uneasiness. He just didn't know if talking about it would help or just cause more damage.
"Jim, are you still thinking about what Croft told us? About not getting back what Lowry took from me?"
"Aren't you?" Jim rubbed his forehead in obvious agitation. "Blair, when we're out on the streets, I count on that connection we have to keep track of you, to know where you are all the time. It's the only way I know to keep you safe."
"I'll just have to watch out for myself a little more," Blair said, keeping his voice light, hoping to alleviate some of Jim's anxiety.
"It's not just that." Jim's gaze shifted to his window. He stared out at the night, silent and brooding. Blair waited knowing Jim would speak again when he was ready, willing to wait however long that took.
"Blair," Jim began after at time, his voice barely audible in the small cab of the truck, "it's like they've taken you from me." He kept his face turned away. Blair could see the muscles in his jaw flexing. Knew he was working hard to keep himself under control.
Blair felt his own emotions well to the surface. Never in the three years that he had known Jim had they ever been this close to each other...or this far apart. Even with everything that had happened with Alex, some small piece of him had still been with Jim. It was not something Blair could put his finger on, just a sensation that for him usually only presented itself in the most dire of circumstances. But he knew for Jim the loss was more profound. Jim's ability to hear Blair's heart beating, to know his Guide was near without making any effort to locate him, had been cut-off. Jim had confided in Blair just recently that his heartbeat was familiar to him, that to a certain degree the sound kept Jim level, calm. Now that sense of constant connection was gone and Blair knew exactly how that loss was making his Sentinel feel.
Reaching out, he gripped his partner's shoulder, squeezing tightly. "You're not alone, man. I'm still right here."
"I know, Blair." Jim turned to him, his eyes dark with fury. "I just can't accept the fact that we're never going to get back what Lowry took from us."
"I don't expect you to accept it." He shifted in his seat, pulling his left leg up and resting his back against his door, facing his partner straight on. "Jim, if Croft is right and I'm some kind of rare circumstance then I think I have him and Lowry beat hands down in the Shaman department."
The anger in Jim's eyes lessened. A small smile pulled at the left side of his mouth. "You think so, huh?"
"Yeah, I do." And Blair realized in that moment that he truly believed what he was telling Jim. He felt it deep within him, a certainty that he couldn't deny. "So whatever Lowry did to me, whatever he took, I'm telling you right now that I'm going to get it back."
Jim's smile widened. "I believe you will, Chief."
"Damn right I will." Blair nodded then lifting his binoculars, scanned the warehouse again. "Give me a week and I'll have this whole Shaman thing working overtime for me," he said with exaggerated confidence.
"Well, Sandburg, I hope it doesn't put a damper on your new found talents as Super Shaman but I asked Simon to put out an APB on Rebecca and Jarred Lowry."
Blair laughed. "Hey, man, I'll be humble and accept the help."
"Seriously Blair, maybe after tonight we should just lay low until the Lowrys are picked up."
Blair lowered the binoculars. "What would you tell Simon? Sorry Captain but Blair and I can't work for the next few days. Seems Sandburg has some evil Shaman stalking him in his dreams." He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that'd go over real big."
Jim cuffed him on the side of the head. "I think I could manage to explain it a little better than that, Sandburg."
"You're serious? You really want to tell Simon about this?"
"Don't you think it's time we brought him in on it?"
"No, I don't." He settled back against his door, hugging himself against the night's chill. "Jim, you tell Simon any of this and he'll assume it's all just some crazy theory I've cooked up. He won't believe it for a minute."
"He's accepted what I am, hasn't he?"
"This isn't the same. What you do, your Sentinel abilities, they're right there. Simon can see them so he can believe in them. But me? You try to tell him that I've got some Guide / Shaman destiny? He'll never buy that."
"You underestimate yourself," Jim said. "Simon values your input at the station."
"As a graduate student of anthropology who's worked with cops for three years, yes. But something more than that?" He shook his head. "Jim, he doesn't see me the way you do. No one does. What you think about me, what you feel...it's just that, your feelings. You and I know there's something more going on here but even we don't really understand it so how can we explain it?" He paused trying to think of the best way of making Jim understand the position this put him in. "It took me a long time to gain Simon's respect. You tell him about this and I get bumped right back down to 'goofy Sandburg' status. I can't go back to that."
"Okay Chief." Jim trained his gaze on the building before them, doing a slow sweep. "This is your call. I won't say a word."
"Good. So let's just sit out here, watch this empty building and rack up some hours." He pulled his jacket more tightly around him. "Now that I'm getting paid for this, I'm more than willing to stay out here all night."
Jim gave him a side-long look. "Didn't I tell you? Stakeouts aren't covered under your new arrangement."
Blair narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I knew there was a catch."
"You should have read the fine print before--" His words cut off abruptly. He tilted his head to the side and Blair knew he was listening to something in the distance.
"What is it, Jim?" he whispered.
"I think it's our guy." Jim grabbed the handle of his door. "Call for backup and send them in when they get here."
Blair grabbed Jim's arm, stopping him. "I'm coming with you."
"No, you're not."
"Jim--"
"Blair, I can't keep track of you so I can't have you in there. All I'll end up doing is trying to watch out for you and I'll end up risking us both."
"Then at least wait for backup."
Jim shook his head. "The guys already putting down the gasoline. I can smell it."
"I don't--"
"Blair, we're wasting time here."
Blair released his hold. "Be careful, man." He put in the call for backup, tracking Jim until he disappeared into the warehouse. Lifting the binoculars, he scanned the front of the building. Nothing. No movement. He shivered, his gaze sweeping the rest of the area around him. Because suddenly, he no longer felt alone. Suddenly, he felt as if someone were watching him. As if--
"Ellison, report in." Simon's voice boomed through the truck cab.
Blair jumped, spinning toward the radio. "Damn," he muttered, snatching up the microphone. "Simon, it's Blair. Jim's gone into the building. He thinks our guy is in there. I've already called in backup." Blair let go of the button on the side of the mic and waited. No response. His brow furrowed. He had expected Simon to tell him that he and half of Major Crimes were on their way.
"Sandburg, are you alone?"
He blinked, taken off guard by the question. "Yes."
"Lock the doors of the truck and stay put until backup gets there."
The hairs on the back of Blair's neck stood on end. Icy fear slid through his veins. There was something in the captain's voice. Something... "Simon, what's going on?"
"We caught the arsonist, Blair. I was just getting ready to call and tell you and Jim to pack it in when I heard you'd called for backup."
As Simon's words registered in Blair's mind, his gaze swung to the warehouse. A set-up. Someone had lured Jim inside. No, not someone. Jarred and Rebecca Lowry. They wanted Jim out of the way. Had lured him inside so they could...
"No," he breathed, his mind playing out the worst case scenario -- playing out Jim's death.
"Sandburg, stay in the truck!" Simon's voice spilled from the radio. Blair ignored it.
Shoving open his door, he started toward the warehouse. He was less than ten feet from the truck when he heard someone behind him. Before he could turn, he felt pain on the back of his head and his last thought before everything went black was that his life had fallen into a grim pattern.
Jim sent out his senses. When he'd first entered the warehouse, he could hear the perp moving around at the far end of the building. Could smell gasoline. But now... Jim cocked his head to the side, listening. Now, he heard nothing.
What the hell? A strange feeling began to grow in the pit of his belly. Something wasn't right about all this. In all the other cases, there had been small incendiary devices set up throughout the building. So far, he'd come across nothing. Just an empty shell of a building that looked as if no one had been in it for years.
He rounded a wall and saw a pile of rags burning in the far corner. Rushing to it, he stomped out the flaming debris. The pile was relatively small, easily extinguishable. Yes, if left unattended it could have burned down the building. But this was obviously not the work of their arsonist. So who had been in here? Why had they bothered--
"Oh God." Sudden understanding ripped through him. Blair! His partner's name exploded through his mind. Even as he turned and sprinted back toward the truck, he knew he was too late - Blair was gone.
In the distance, he could hear sirens approaching. He reached the truck only to confirm Blair's absence. Damn! How could he be so stupid! Rebecca and Jarred Lowry had set them up. Had managed to snatch Blair while Jim was less than two hundred yards away.
A black and white pulled up. Simon bounded out the passenger door. "Jim, what the hell is going on?" His gaze swept the surrounding area. "Where's Sandburg?"
Jim slid into the truck, grinding the engine to life. "Simon, I don't have time to explain. I'll call you when I know something." He roared out of the parking lot toward the only person who could help him save his partner's life.
The first thought Blair Sandburg had as he dragged himself back to consciousness was that his throat was incredibly dry. He swallowed and tasted oil and dirt. A moment later, he realized it wasn't just a taste in his mouth but something more. A rough piece of cloth had been stuffed into his mouth and knotted at the back of his head.
He opened his eyes slowly, the lids feeling heavy. The world around him was dark. The air still, quiet. He was outside but could not focus beyond that simple fact. It was another moment before he became aware that he was...upright, his knees slightly bent, his feet barely touching the ground.
Blinking, he turned his gaze upward. His hands were cuffed above his head, the steal links running through a hoop that was attached to a pole which his numb body hung limply against.
Wanting to stand, he moved his legs, trying to drag his feet beneath him. Pain sliced through him. It started at his wrists and slashed down his forearms. Into his biceps. Straight into his shoulder. He cried out through the gag in his mouth, the sound muffled and hollow.
A sudden dizziness threatened to overwhelm him. He shuddered and let himself go slack again. Sweat stood out on his body. His muscles throbbed. He closed his eyes against the dizziness and willed himself to stay awake...alert.
He struggled to clear his mind, to think, to remember.
How long had he been unconscious? Not too long he guessed. He wasn't hungry and his thirst came more from the dry rag in his mouth than any actual need of water. It was dark so more than likely it was still the same night.
He opened his eyes and squinted into the blackness around him, trying to make out his surroundings, trying to figure out where the hell he was. He wiggled his fingers, afraid to move too much but needing to bring some feeling back into his numb joints. As his vision adjusted to the darkness, he realized he was in some sort of campsite. A lopsided picnic table and a rusted out grill sat to his left. Moonlight spilled across the tops of six small cabins, three on each side of a narrow dirt lane. Squinting, he could just make out the details of the cabin closest to him. No windows, the door hung at an odd angle to the frame and spray paint decorated the front and side. Abandoned.
He shifted his gaze to the trees beyond the clearing he was in. No lights. Just thick, oppressive darkness.
"Hey! Someone! Help!" The rag in his mouth muffled his voice and garbled the words, making them indistinguishable even to his own ears. He cocked his head to the side and listened. No footsteps. No one coming crashing through the brush to his rescue. No cars on a nearby road. Just the sounds of crickets and frogs. A feeling of dread pressed in on him.
For the first time in three years, he was completely on his own.
There was no feeling in the back of his mind like there had been with Lash that somehow Jim would find him. Whatever connection he and Jim shared had been severed. There was only Blair, handcuffed to a pole in the middle of nowhere. Helpless. Alone.
Terror beat in his heart. The pounding filled his ears. His mind. Threatened to overwhelm him.
Get a hold of yourself, Sandburg.
He closed his eyes. Breathed deeply through his nose.
This is not helping you. And it's not helping Jim.
He knew his partner had to be feeling the same panic. The same sense of helplessness. He would be damned if he would let Jim go through the rest of his life blaming himself for Blair's death. Because he knew Jim would. He would spend the rest of his life hating himself for not being able to somehow perform the impossible and find him.
So he had to survive. Escape.
He looked once more to his confined hands above him. He pulled on his wrists, hoping maybe he could slip his hands through the metal ring that encircled each one. He twisted and pulled, ignoring the constant ache in his shoulder and chest. Maybe...if he just bent his fingers...he could just pull...
Dammit!
Warm blood trickled down his arms as he struggled but the cuffs held tight. He could not pull his hands free. But maybe... He studied the ring that the cuffs were looped through. It looked old, rusted. Was it possible--
He hesitated another moment before making up his mind. Biting down hard on the rag between his teeth, bracing himself for the agony he knew would follow, he inhaled deeply through his nose, grabbed the ring the cuffs were linked through and yanked down hard. Razor-sharp shards of pain pierced his arms and stabbed down his back. He gasped, a muted cry escaping his lips. The ring did not budge. Closing his eyes, he gritted his teeth and waited for the throb in his muscles to subside.
"You shouldn't move around so much."
Blair's eyes flew open. His gaze locked on Rebecca. He hadn't heard a car drive up so wherever this place was, it needed to be accessed by foot. Blair tensed as she walked toward him, stopping only inches away. He blinked through the sweat that trickled down his forehead and into his eyes.
"I'm sure moving around like that only increases your...discomfort. You must be very sore by now. I can't imagine it myself." Blair stared into her eyes, shuddering at the pleasure he saw there. She was enjoying this. "Sorry I had to leave you for a while but I needed to go pick up Jarred."
Blair shifted his gaze and found the old man, sitting at the broken picnic table, his gaze locked on the helpless grad student. "I knew you could get him for me, Rebecca."
She grinned, the look predatory, hungry. "I always get what I want." Reaching out, she ran her fingers through the curls of her prisoner's hair. "It's strange. I thought I'd have to wait until that warehouse was burning down before I'd get a chance at you. But the minute I started that fire, your partner was inside that place." She looked at Blair with growing curiosity. "Don't you think that's strange?"
He stared into her cold eyes, keeping his gaze neutral, giving up nothing.
She shrugged one shoulder. "I guess it really doesn't matter does it. After all, I did get what I wanted." Her fingers left his hair and trailed to the cloth in his mouth. "Now, Blair," she said, her voice soft, patient, "I'm going to remove the gag, but when I do, you will not cry out. You will not yell. You will not make any sound over the volume of normal speaking voices. In fact, you will not speak unless asked a question. Do you understand?"
Blair nodded once, almost imperceptively.
Her hand slipped to his left shoulder and squeezed. Blair gritted his teeth against the spasm of pain that rocketed through him. "I said do you understand?" She squeezed again. Blair cried out and Rebecca laughed, releasing him. "Yes, I think you do."
Blair panted through the cloth in his mouth. Sweat trickled down his back. The muscles in his arms grew rigid. His hands fisted as his eyes locked on the woman before him.
Rebecca's gaze shifted to Blair's bound hands, her expression one of amusement. "I know what you're thinking right now. If only you were free," she said wistfully. "The things you'd do to me." Her gaze returned to Blair's face, any hint of amusement gone, replaced with a look of malevolence. "Just keep in mind you're not."
Reaching out, she wrenched the rag from between Blair's teeth and left the dirty cloth dangling loosely around his neck.
Blair licked his parched lips but remained silent.
"Very good," she said quietly. "You managed to keep from asking any questions. You follow directions well."
"Come on, Rebecca, let's get this done," Jarred complained.
She shook her head, then leaned in toward Blair and said in a conspiratorial tone, "My husband can be so impatient." She leaned back from him, her eyes widening. "You did figure out that he was my husband right?"
"Yes," he breathed.
"Very nice. Answering the asked question without saying anything more. I'm impressed." Moving away from him, she lit several small torches he hadn't noticed earlier. As the glow of the light illuminated the clearing, he could see more details...and found himself wishing once more for the darkness. On the far side of the clearing, he could see a raised platform with a large rectangular board secured atop it. Leather straps had been nailed into each of the four corners of the thick section of wood. They hung over the sides, flapping in the night breeze. Blair's mouth went dry as his mind finally put a name to what he was seeing -- a ceremonial altar.
Rebecca followed his line of vision. "I prepared that earlier today. Didn't want to leave everything until the last minute." She crossed to the altar and grabbing one of the leather straps, pulled hard, testing its strength. "I'm surprised you haven't asked about the ceremony we have planned."
"If you're going to kill me, I don't want the details first."
She was on him in an instant, her hand fisting into the cloth that still hung around his neck. "Didn't I tell you not to speak unless I asked you a question?" Her hand twisted to the left and the cloth tightened around Blair's throat. "Did I ask you a question? No, I did not." Two more twists. "Until I do, you say nothing." One last twist, her teeth gritted against the effort. "Nothing!"
Blair gasped, fighting to draw in breath as the cloth cut into his neck and savagely cut off the air supply to his windpipe. Panic laced up his back. His mind raced. Do something, his mind screamed. Do something or this nut is going to kill you!
"I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper.
The pressure on his neck abated instantly. He gulped greedily at the air, coughing with the effort to draw breath back into his lungs.
"That's better." She smoothed the cloth where her fist had wrinkled it. "All I want is a little respect. That's not too much to ask, is it?"
A light sheen of sweat covered Blair's body. His heart beat an irregular rhythm in his ears. Was that a question? Was he supposed to answer her? If he didn't, would she choke him again? "No, it's not too much," he rasped out.
"You are bright, Blair. I knew that right from the beginning." Her fingers traced a line across the now tender skin of his neck. He flinched against the probing but remained silent. "That first day we met, in the library, I watched you for a long time before I approached you."
His mind flashed back to that first moment with her. He'd turned and his initial thought had been that she had the softest brown eyes he'd ever seen.
She raised her eyes to his but there was no softness in them now. Just an eagerness that sent a chill through him. "You were going from shelf to shelf," she continued, her fingers leaving his neck to travel up his throat, over his chin, "pulling out books, reading from each one before deciding if you wanted it or not. You had those cute little glasses on and I thought you looked so smart." She sighed, her gaze dropping to his mouth as her fingers traced lightly over his lips. "I really liked that, watching you when you had no idea I was there."
"You better not have done any permanent damage to him," Jarred called from his perch at the picnic table.
"He's fine," she yelled over her shoulder. "I'm not going to damage the goods."
Confusion mixed with Blair's fear. Damage the goods? What the hell were they planning?
"Don't worry, Blair. It will all be over soon." She stood back, her hands on her hips. "You really want to ask something, don't you? I can see it in your face." She sighed heavily. "Okay, you've been good. I now give you permission to talk. You can ask whatever you like."
"What are you going to do to me?"
"We're not going to kill you if that's what you're worried about." She stopped, her brow creasing slightly. "Well, that's not exactly true is it. I mean, no, technically we're not going to kill you but you won't be you anymore." She frowned. "I'm really not explaining this well. You see, we're not going to kill you. Jarred's going to become you."
"He thinks he can what?" Jim blinked several times, sure he had heard Frank Croft wrong.
"My brother believes he can trade places with your young friend. That his soul will leave his body and enter Blair's." He crossed to his bookcase and pulled out an ancient looking text. "There's a ceremony," he said, flipping through the pages. "Very old. Very dangerous."
Jim crossed to him, rage pounding through his body. "You've known all along this was a possibility?"
Croft nodded, his eyes never leaving the book. "In theory, it could work," he said absently. "It's just--"
Jim knocked the book from his hands and grabbing him by the front of his shirt, slammed Croft hard against the wall. "Why the hell didn't you tell us this earlier? I would have never left Blair alone if I thought for a minute they would try and abduct him."
"I didn't know for sure," Croft said, his eyes wide with fear.
Jim released him, shoving the man away. "Where would they take him?"
Croft pulled his shirt back into place. "If I tell you where they are, my brother will go to jail for kidnapping and attempted murder."
"If you don't tell me and Sandburg dies, I'll lock you up as an accessory to murder."
"He's my brother."
"He's a murderer!" Jim shouted. His hands fisted at his sides. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to reach out and beat the information he needed from this man. "How can you continue to protect him when you know what he's planning to do to Blair?"
Croft stared at Jim, regret etched in the older man's face. "He hasn't always been this way. My mother died when I was four. Jarred was only twenty but he took me in, raised me. I owe him my life. I can't just betray him."
"Your brother needs help," Jim said through clenched teeth. "I can get that for him but not if he kills my partner."
"No, you don't mean that. You'll say anything if it'll help you find your friend."
"That's true, I will. I don't think Blair deserves to die like this. Do you?"
"Please, just go," he begged. "I can't help you. I'm sorry but I just can't."
Frustration gnawed at Jim. He had no idea where Blair was. Whether or not he was even still alive. The connection he had with his Guide was gone and he had never felt so alone, so helpless in his life. But this man had the answers he needed, was the only hope he had of finding his partner. Jim struggled to come up with a way reaching Croft, making this man see the true value of Blair's life.
"How old is your brother?" Jim asked as a new tactic sparked in his mind. "Sixty? Sixty-five?"
"Seventy-two," Croft whispered.
"My partner is only twenty-eight. Twenty-eight," he repeated, hoping to drive home his point. "You've met him. Don't you think he deserves a life beyond that?" Jim could see the war behind Croft's eyes. Knew he was listening, debating. "Blair told me that a Shaman walks gently upon the Earth and that he believes...he believes..." Jim struggled to remember the rest.
"He believes in the right of all life to walk their soul path in peace and harmony," Croft finished for him, his voice whisper soft.
"Does that describe your brother?" Jim asked matching his quiet tone. "Because it sure as hell describes my partner." He took a step toward him, closing the distance between them. "Please, you must have wanted to help him. That's why you tried to warn him." He reached out and placed a hand on the man's arm, squeezing tightly. "Help him now."
Croft turned moisture rimmed eyes to him. "There is an old camp," he began, his voice shaking. "We used to take students there to train them. That's where he's taken your friend."
Insane. That was the only word to describe not only the two people before him but the entire situation Blair now found himself in. Rebecca had moved to the picnic table and now sat beside her husband reading through an ancient looking text.
Desperation gnawed at Blair, mingling with his fear.
Rebecca had outlined for him what they planned to do. Through a ceremony Jarred had found, he and Blair would trade places. Once Blair's "soul" was inside Jarred's body, they would kill him, bury the old man's corpse and she and her "new" husband would run off together to a better life.
Blair tried to think...tried to come up with something he could say or do that would get him out of this.
"My partner will never believe I just took off," he blurted out, the words sounding lame even to him.
Rebecca looked toward him. "You're young. Impulsive. That's what young and impulsive people do." She returned her attention to her work.
"He'll look for me until he finds me."
She shrugged, unconcerned. "So he finds you. So what. It'll be Jarred and he'll just tell him to get lost." She giggled at that. "In fact, maybe we'll just do that. Maybe when this is all over, we'll go to your friend and tell him to get lost." She laid a hand on Jarred's hunched back. "Wouldn't that be fun? Wouldn't you just love to see his face?"
Blair swallowed hard. He didn't like the idea of these two getting anywhere near Jim. He didn't believe for a second that they could actually do what they claimed, yet he didn't want to take any chances where his partner was concerned. "You go to Jim and he'll know it's not me."
Rebecca looked at him again, her eyes narrowed slightly in thought. "You're that close?" Slowly, she rose from the table and crossed to him. "Like...brothers?"
"Yes," he said, his throat constricting around the word. Brothers, yes but so much more.
"Then we won't go see him. If you're as close as you say you are, then I like the idea of him going crazy wondering what happened to you." Rebecca ran her fingers along the side of Blair's face, tracing his jawline. "I was thrilled when I first saw you. Did I tell you that?" He remained utterly still, his nerves stretched taut. "Those blue eyes, knowing I'll be looking into those for the rest of my life." She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. "You're the best one yet."
Cold realization settled in Blair's stomach. "You've done this before?"
"Three times," she said with casual indifference. "First there was Tom. He was older, almost forty. I had my doubts about him from the beginning. Next was Sean. He was younger than you but in the end, he just didn't have the stamina. He died before we were even a quarter of the way through the ceremony."
Blair shuddered at her words. At the thought of the ceremony. His gaze shifted once more to the altar. What were they going to do to him?
"And just two months ago was Bill," Rebecca continued almost wistfully. Blair dragged his attention back to her. "I just didn't like him," she said, her fingers playing with a lock of Blair's hair. "He just wasn't my type. Too serious. Too reserved." She turned and glanced over her shoulder at her husband. "Maybe that's why it didn't work before, my love. Deep down, I don't think I wanted it to." She turned back to Blair, her eyes shining with excitement, anticipation. "This time I do though."
"It didn't work because none of them were right," Jarred rasped. "I told you that each time but you wouldn't listen."
"I chose all the others," she confided. "Jarred chose you."
The old man pushed himself to his feet and limped toward Blair. "You're the one," he whispered. The sour, rancid smell of the house drifted around Lowry, clung to him, was a part of him. He stopped in front of the helpless anthropologist, his wet, rummy eyes tracing over every inch of him. "I knew it the first time I saw you. Then when I touched you..." Gnarled hands reached toward Blair.
He held his breath. Pressed himself flat against the pole. Wished to be anywhere but here.
Dry fingers slid down Blair's cheek. "So young," the old man rasped. "To be so young again." He dropped his hand to his side and turned to his wife. "Let's finish this." Jarred shuffled to the altar and leaning down, straining from the effort, lifted a small duffel bag onto the thick plank.
Rebecca gave Blair a quick peck on the cheek before moving to her husband's side. "I just don't want to rush through it this time," she said as she began pulling what looked like surgical instruments from the bag. She held up each one, inspecting it before laying it out before her. "I think last time, with Bill, we went too quickly. He passed out before I even got to the blood letting."
"You damage their bodies too much," Jarred complained.
"You've read the text," she protested, the tone of her voice the same as if she were discussing a problem with her car. "I have to do some cutting."
Fear clenched Blair's gut. Okay, this is not going to happen to me.
He looked wildly around. There had to be something that he could do to get out of this. Some way... Then his mind flashed on a possibility. When they moved him to the altar. Rebecca would have to uncuff him to get him over there. So far he hadn't seen either one of them with a gun. Hell, even if they did pull a gun on him, he'd prefer getting shot while escaping to being butchered on that altar.
Rebecca strode casually toward him. "Time to move on to phase two." She reached above him and undid the cuff to his left wrist then stepped back.
Before he knew what was happening, Blair's arm dropped like a lead weight to his side. The cuff, now free, slipped through the ring dropping his other arm. His knees buckled under the sudden weight and he collapsed to the ground. Excruciating pain sliced through his body and the earlier dizziness returned.
You're free! Get up! Run!
But he couldn't. All he could do was kneel on the ground, head dropped against his chest, panting through the pain.
In his daze, he realized that Rebecca had, at some point, re-cuffed his left wrist, locking both of his hands in front of him.
"Come on, Blair, we don't have all night."
He felt a foot nudge his side. They wanted him to get up. To move to the altar they had prepared. But if he did that, if he let them secure him to that thing, he was dead.
Find your inner strength.
The words from the meditation exercise he had practiced earlier that day came to him. Feel only your breath going in and out. In and out. Let it draw you to a place of peace. A place of power. He let the words flow through his mind. Settle into his soul. And then he felt it. A warmth from deep within him. It spread through his body, taking away the pain, clearing his mind.
And escape suddenly seemed possible...even easy.
Rebecca leaned down toward him and hooked her hand around his arm. He let her pull him to his feet, but the instant he was up, he locked his hands together and swung hard hitting her across the jaw. He did not wait to see her fall. Instead, he turned and sprinted toward the covering of the trees.
Zig-zagging over the rough terrain, he ran blindly. He ducked low under branches. Jumped overgrown roots. Avoided sharp edges of tree limbs. He stumbled once, almost going down, but gritted his teeth and managed to stay on his feet. The full moon overhead lit his path, helping to guide him and give him precious light.
He glanced back over his shoulder, trying to see his captors. He saw nothing.
As he ran on, he tried to think. Plan. He studied the path before him. Could he find some place to hide? No. He didn't need to hide. He needed to get out of here.
He stopped running and pressed his back against a large oak tree. Leaning forward, he tried to catch his breath, to clear his mind. Think. His shoulder throbbed. His chest ached But his mind was clear. A road. He needed to find a road because where there was a road, there were cars. Help. He ran cuffed hands over his face, wiping away the sweat, sweeping his hair back from his eyes. He looked around unsure which direction would take him where he needed to go.
Use the knowledge within you. Trust your inner voice.
Blair licked his lips. What choice did he have? Once again, he took a deep breath and concentrated. He felt the inner peace within him expand, grow. West. He needed to go west. He opened his eyes and looked to his right. That way, he was sure of it. Just as he pushed away from the tree, he heard movement behind him. Close, too close. He ran on, ducking, dodging, jumping whatever lay in his path, hoping he was heading west. At least he no longer heard the sounds of his pursuers closing in behind him. He might even be going in the right direction. Yes. It felt right. Over this small hill and--
He burst through the trees and come out on a hard-packed dirt road. He turned to his right and saw...a car. It was parked on the side of the road only about forty feet away. Rebecca's car? Probably. He started slowly toward it. Maybe she had left it unlocked. Maybe the keys were in it. Or a phone. His steps increased as each thought went through his mind until he was running, his feet matching the rhythm of his pounding heart.
He'd get to the car, get inside somehow and then--
A sharp pain shot through his left shoulder, driving the thoughts from his mind. He pitched forward, slamming to the ground. Skin peeled from the palms of his hands. His chin smacked against the gravel, sending pain through his jaw and neck. Above him, he heard a deep, cynical laugh. The sound shot icy tentacles of fear through him. He rolled sideways. Seconds later, a tire iron cracked against the hard ground inches from his head. The harsh blow sent up a cloud of dirt and leaves. Blair pushed up but before he could get his knees beneath him, he felt the tire iron connect with his ribs. The force of the blow sent him sprawling backward. The world around him dimmed momentarily then came sharply into focus. He lay flat on his back, gasping. Each breath jostled his now broken ribs sending bursts of pain through his body.
Rebecca stood over him, the tire iron held high over her head, poised to strike a deadly blow.
"Anything you do to me, you do to your husband!" he cried out, his cuffed hands raised in front of him as a shield.
Rebecca hesitated. She lowered the tire iron, her eyes sparkling wildly. "That's good, Blair. And it'd work...if I believed any of that crap."
Blair's heart jack-hammered in his chest. She didn't believe...had never believed. She'd killed those other men because...Oh, God, just because she'd wanted to.
She's going to kill me! The words slammed through him, stealing his breath. But it wasn't just the fact that she was going to kill him that was making breathing difficult. It was the fact that she would enjoy it. He could see it in her eyes, a savage look of fulfillment...tinged with lust.
"Jarred believes it," she said, grinning down at her helpless prey. "And because he believes it, I get to kill. I knew none of those other men were what he wanted but it didn't matter. They were what I wanted." She rested the tire iron over her shoulder, like a baseball player waiting for the next pitch. "I slept with all of them first. Told Jarred it was to see if we were compatible. Actually it just made their deaths that much more enjoyable for me." She sighed heavily. "I would have liked to have that with you too. It would have made this moment so much more meaningful."
Blair scooted backward on the ground, trying to put as much distance between himself and Rebecca as possible. "There's still time for us to get to know each other," he said, using his most soothing tone of voice. "Just put that thing down and the two of us---"
"Do you think I've gotten away with this for so long because I'm stupid!" she screamed. She advanced on him again, the tire iron swinging high. "I don't think so."
"Rebecca stop!"
Blair looked over his shoulder. Jarred Lowry limped toward them, his face a mask of incomprehension. "What are you doing?" He moved past Blair and stopped directly in front of his wife. "He's the one I've been waiting for. You know that."
"No," she said, her voice gentle. "He tricked us, my love. He's not the one."
She made a move to go around him, her hard gaze once more finding Blair. But Jarred moved with her, blocking her. "He is the one. I know it." He reached for the tire iron. Rebecca held it away from him.
"Jarred, honey, you're making me angry." Her voice shook with barely controlled rage.
Jarred gripped the tire iron, tried to wrench it from her hands. "I won't let you do this!"
"Leave me alone!" She swung high and hit him hard on the side of the head. The old man crumpled to his knees. Blood poured down his face. She raised the tire iron and, grunting with the effort, hit him again and again and again.
Blair turned away, trying to block out the sickening sound of metal hitting flesh. He rolled onto his knees, gasping as the broken ribs tore at his insides, and focused his gaze before him. Gritting his teeth against the almost overwhelming pain, he dragged himself forward. There was a tree only a few feet away. If he could reach it, maybe he could pull himself upright. Then he'd at least have a chance of getting away.
Behind him, the sounds of the beating stopped. Rebecca's harsh breathing filled the night. She was done with Jarred.
She was coming for him.
Blair reached the tree and began to pull himself up. The sound of approaching footsteps echoed in his ears. He resisted the urge to turn and look. Concentrated only on getting his feet beneath him. Then he heard it. The whine of the tire iron as it cut through the air. It struck him high on the right side of his head.
Only as he was falling did his mind register the sound of the approaching vehicle. Blinding headlights swept over him as he hit the hard-packed ground.
Jim felt the almost physical reconnection to his Guide seconds before the headlights of his truck illuminated the horrific scene before him.
"Jarred!" Frank Croft screamed as the bloodied corpse that had once been his brother came into view. He was out of the truck before Jim could put it into park. Rushing to the body, Croft hugged his dead brother against his chest.
Croft's actions registered only fleetingly in Jim's mind. His focus was on one thing and one thing only -- his Guide. Blair lay on the ground, his hands cuffed before him, his hair matted with blood. Jim didn't know if he was still conscious, only that he was alive, the familiar beating of his heart pounding through the Sentinel. But Blair would not stay that way much longer if the woman looming over him had her way.
Jim shoved open his door, pulling his weapon even before his feet hit the ground. "Don't move!" he yelled and locked his aim on the woman who held his partner's life in her hands.
Rebecca Lowry's cold gaze snapped to Jim. The tire iron remained over her head, ready to strike.
"Drop it!" Jim ordered.
On the ground, Blair moaned. Rebecca's gaze fell back to the helpless young man at her feet. The tire iron shook in her hands. A slow, satisfied grin pulled at the corners of her mouth. She licked her lips.
Jim stepped closer, his gun aimed at her heart. "Give me a reason," he ground out. "Please."
The smile on her face faded. She lowered the bloody weapon. "I'm not a fool, Detective." She dropped the tire iron to the ground and raised her hands over her head.
Jim pulled his cuffs and forcing her to her knees, locked her hands behind her back. In the distance, he could hear approaching sirens. Backup, but they were still at least ten minutes away.
Jim rushed to his partner. Blair lay on his back, blood matting the hair on the right side of his head. Gently, Jim pulled him up. "Hey partner," he whispered as he cradled his Guide against his chest. Blair's cuffed hands pushed against Jim in a feeble attempt to get away. "Blair, it's okay. It's me. It's Jim."
Half closed eyes looked up into his. "Jim?" he managed, his voice filled with relief. "Hey, man, I'm still conscious this time."
"That's good, Chief." But even as Jim said the words, he knew his partner had passed out.
I've been doing this too much lately, Simon Banks thought as he stepped through the hospital doors. He headed directly to the waiting room and spotted Jim instantly. His best detective sat in the far corner, perched on the edge of a chair, his head dropped forward, his gaze locked on the floor. Simon crossed the room in three long strides.
"Jim, what the hell happened? How is Sandburg?"
Jim looked up, his eyes tired, beaten. "What?"
"Sandburg...how's Sandburg?" He had thought that the kid was going to be okay. That's what Jim had told him over the phone. But seeing the look on Jim's face now...
"Blair's going to be fine," Jim said, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Two broken ribs, a few stitches, some bruises. But they're not even keeping him the rest of the night."
Relieved, Simon dropped into the seat beside Jim. "So why do you look like you just lost your best friend?"
Jim sat back, his gaze locked on the ceiling. "I was just thinking about how often I've been in this position lately, sitting in a hospital waiting to see if Blair were going to be all right."
Simon nodded. "Yeah, I had the same thought when I got here. Except I could include you in that scenario too."
Jim rubbed his eyes. "I don't know, Simon. I can't help but feel like we're being tested somehow. I mean things have happened in the past but none so directly related to the Sentinel stuff." His hand dropped back to his lap. "First Alex and Brackett. Now this."
Simon's brow furrowed. "How is this related to the Sentinel stuff?"
Jim's gaze cut to him briefly before he pushed up from his seat and crossed to the window.
"Jim," Simon began, his deep voice easily carrying to the detective, "You told me these people threatened Blair. I had their house watched. I even put out an APB on them and I never asked for any details." Standing, he crossed to Ellison, stopping behind him. "I'm asking now."
Jim remained silent, his back to Simon, his gaze locked on the dark night beyond the glass.
"I know something is going on with the two of you," Simon continued, confused by Jim's sudden reluctance to share with him. Since this whole Sentinel business began, he and Sandburg had always confided in Simon. Now, something had changed. Something was going on that they were unable or unwilling to tell him about and he was tired of the secrecy. "Jim, I think I've been more than patient with all of this. Now my patience has run out."
"I'm sorry, Simon." Jim turned but kept his gaze lowered. "It's really not up to me. It's Sandburg's choice here."
Sandburg's? Since when did Sandburg make the decisions regarding Jim's Sentinel abilities? Sure the kid had helped Jim hone his skills but Ellison was the one with the heightened senses. Maybe this doesn't have anything to do with Jim. The thought spun through Simon's head and suddenly everything seemed to clarify in his mind. Alex's attack on Sandburg. His abduction by first Alex and Brackett and now these new people. The kid's sleepwalking episodes. Sandburg was at the center of everything that had happened in the last two months.
But why? And more importantly...
"Is he safe?" Simon blurted out as his thoughts ground to a sudden, jarring halt.
"What?" Jim asked with obvious confusion.
"Sandburg," Simon clarified. "Whatever is happening, whatever it is you don't want to tell me, is he safe from it now? Is there something else I should be worrying about?"
Jim stared at him, a look of helplessness in his eyes. "I wish I knew, Simon. I hope he is but I honestly don't know."
Simon pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Do me one favor." He slipped his glasses back on and looked at Jim sternly. "Promise me that whatever happens, you will ask for my help before either one of you ends up in the hospital again."
Jim nodded. "I think I can manage that, sir." But instead of alleviating Jim's worry, Simon's words only seemed to deepen it.
He laid a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Is there something else you're not telling me?" Never before had he felt so distanced from Jim and Blair. Whatever was happening between them, he only hoped that they would somehow find a way of bringing him in on it.
"I just can't help but wonder how much more of this Blair can take," Jim said, his tone somber.
With those words, Simon finally understood Jim's growing anxiety. "Sandburg is not going to leave, Jim. If he were, he would have done it long ago. I knew after Lash that it would take blasting powder to get rid of that kid. He's in this for the long haul."
Jim looked up, his eyes haunted. "Yeah, I know, Simon. That's what scares me." He stepped away from the window and began pacing. "There is only so much one person can take and Blair has taken a lot. There's a part of me that wishes he would say enough is enough and just take off because maybe then, he'd be safer."
"But?" Simon prompted when he didn't continue.
"But there's another part of me, the selfish part of me, that hopes to God he never decides to do that because I honestly don't know what I'd do if he left."
"Speak of the devil," Simon said, nodding toward the door as Blair stepped through. The grad student moved slowly, stiffly, his arm held across his waist. His breathing seemed shallow, pain-filled.
Jim crossed to him and placed a hand on his back, supporting him lightly. "How you feeling, Chief."
"I'm fine...as long as I don't breathe or move."
"I don't know, Sandburg," Simon said, scowling at him as he drew near, "I get you this new position, you work a total of five days and now you need more time off? I may have to reconsider this whole thing."
Blair looked up at him, grimacing. "I know, Captain. I'm sorry."
Simon rolled his eyes. "I'm kidding, Blair." He sighed. "Jim, take him home and get some rest...both out you. I'll need paperwork on all this by the end of the week."
He followed the two of them outside and watched as Jim helped Blair into the truck. He could hear Blair's gasp of pain as he slid into the passenger seat. His hand, still on Jim's arm, fisted around his partner's jacket. Jim covered the hand with his own and leaning in, spoke quietly until Blair had once more relaxed. Then moving carefully, Jim reached around Blair and buckled his seatbelt for him before closing the door and jogging around to the driver's side.
Simon wondered, as he watched the truck pull out of the parking lot, what it must be like for them. The closeness of the relationship was apparent to anyone who knew them. But there was more to it than that.
I honestly don't know what I'd do if he left.
Simon had been glad that Blair decided to make his entrance at that particular moment because he hadn't known what to say to Jim's words. There was only one person in his life that he felt that strongly about. His son, Darryl. Yet he still didn't believe that the two of them shared the same kind of closeness that Jim and Blair did. The two men seemed to have an almost unspoken understanding, a mutual need that the other somehow filled.
And Simon believed the bond they shared was stronger now than it had ever been before. He couldn't put his finger on it but ever since the incident with Alex, the connection between them seemed to have deepened, gone to a new level. Simon didn't completely understand it. But as he made his way back to his car, he realized that he envied it.
Jim stepped from the shower and knew instantly that Sandburg was not in his bedroom.
He dressed quickly but as he opened the bathroom door, he knew that Blair was fine. He could sense the regular rhythm of his heart, the evenness of his breathing. Jim closed his eyes, relishing the restored link to his Guide.
When they'd gotten home from the hospital, Blair had insisted on taking a shower. It had taken him a long time, Jim able to hear every gasp of pain as he cleaned up and changed into his sweats. Jim had waited until Blair was settled in his room before taking a shower himself. But apparently Blair had not been able to sleep because as Jim crossed the loft, he could see his partner standing out on the balcony staring silently off into the distance.
Opening the balcony doors, Jim stepped out into the crisp morning air. Blair stood at the railing, one arm held protectively across his ribcage, the other gripping the cold metal before him. He still wore the sweats and T-shirt he'd gone to bed in but he'd added his thick robe and a pair of heavy socks before coming outside.
Jim crossed to him, stopping beside him. "What are you doing out here, Chief?"
"Watching the sun come up," he whispered. "Appreciating the fact that I'm still around to see it."
Jim looked out at the horizon. At the deep hues of orange, red and yellow as they spilled across the morning sky.
"Jim, don't you think we've had more than our share of bad luck lately?" Blair asked, his voice Sentinel-soft.
Jim sighed not liking the tone of resignation he heard in his Guide's voice. "Yeah, buddy, I do." Jim had told Blair that he believed that as long as they were together, working as team, they were unbeatable. He still believed that, felt this latest episode had only helped to prove that statement true. But that knowledge did nothing to alleviate the guilt that had settled over him. "Blair, we've had things happen in the past, but lately... this is all connected to the Sentinel stuff and I can't help but wonder if you'd be better off if we'd never met."
Blair turned to him, his face etched in disbelief. "Are you serious? Jim, I'd be dead if we never met."
"Maybe. Maybe not," Jim muttered, unconvinced.
"No maybes about it," Blair said, his sudden outburst causing a wave of pain. Jim placed a hand on his friend's arm in silent support as Blair took shallow breaths until it passed.
"You okay, Chief?" he asked as the lines of strain around his partner's eyes smoothed out.
"Broken ribs, man, I wouldn't wish them on my worst enemy." He looked up at Jim, managing a half-hearted smile.
"Why don't we go back inside. You need to rest and--"
"No, I want to finish the conversation," Blair said, the force of his words causing another sharp intake of breath. "If you're right," he said when he could breathe again without cringing, "and part of my destiny is to be a Guide then Alex would have found me exactly the way she did. Only I would have drown in that fountain because you wouldn't have been there to pull me out. Same with the Shaman stuff. If by some miracle I did manage to survive Alex, Rebecca and Jarred Lowry would have killed me for sure. The only reason I'm still alive is because you were there to save me." But as he stared up at Jim, something in his eyes changed, saddened. "Man, that just made me sound like one hell of a burden."
Jim laid a hand gently on his shoulder. "You're a lot of things to me, Blair. Burden is not one of them."
Blair reached up, moving stiffly and covered Jim's hand with his own. "I'll believe that if you believe that none of what's happened is your fault."
Jim nodded. "Okay, Chief, you got yourself a deal."
"Great." Blair's smile was genuine this time. Moving carefully, his hand still locked across his waist, Blair turned back to the rising sun. Jim remained beside him willing to stay out here as long as his Guide needed to.
"Blair," Jim began after a time, "Do you think this could all be some kind of test? To see if we're worthy?"
Blair's eyebrows furrowed at this new possibility. "If it is," he began slowly, "then I'd say we either passed with flying colors...or failed miserably. I'm really not sure which."
Jim laughed. "I'm sorry, Chief. I know it's not funny."
"Hey, man, we either gotta laugh or cry. I choose laugh any day."
Jim nodded. "I just wish we were closer to finding the answers you need."
"But I am closer, Jim." He hesitated momentarily before continuing. "I wanted concrete, hit-me-in-the-face answers but I don't think this stuff works that way. It didn't for you, right?"
"No but like I said before, I had you. You tempered my uncertainty. I knew I could come to you with any question and you'd figure out the answer." He shook his head. "I can't do that for you, Chief."
"But I don't think you need to. That's my point." He turned his gaze toward Jim, his eyes filled with a certainty that had not been there before. "Croft said he and his brother felt my presence ever since Incacha brought out what was already within me. But until I opened myself up and accepted it, neither one of them could get a handle on me." He paused as if trying to think of the best way to phrase what he needed to tell Jim. "I'm still going to try and find out all I can about Shamanism. But I think whatever this natural ability is, I just need to open myself to it, let it flow through me, see where it takes me."
"So I was right," Jim said smugly. "Just do some meditation and it'll be there."
"Yeah, I guess you were right," Blair admitted with some reluctance.
"So we're going to be okay?"
"Yeah, man. I never thought that was in question." He shifted his attention back to the horizon, the sun reflecting warmly against his skin. "But I think for now, I'll ask whoever it is who's directing all this to just cool it for a while. All I want is one week with no nightmares for you or me. And one week with no bodily injury - again I include you although since I'm the one who's been taking the brunt of it lately, I lean that one a little more toward me."
Jim draped an arm across his partner's shoulders. "Sounds good to me, Chief."
Together, the Sentinel and his Guide watched the sun rise and their city wake.
The end.

