
by Kristine Williams
"So, Jim...how long has it been since you've skied?"
Jim was glancing at the grey sky again, worried about the weather as they drove up the pass. "Three years, give or take." he replied. "Don't worry, it's like falling off a bike, you don't forget."
Blair nodded, "Yeah, lets hope it's like falling off a bike, and not down a mountain."
"Sandburg, would you relax? Maybe I don't get up here as often as you do, but I've been skiing since before you learned to ride a bike."
Blair laughed, looking out the passenger window, and had to bite his lip against a remark he knew wouldn't be appreciated. He was just glad they were getting away for a while. Jim had been tense lately, and he was tired, needed a break. This ski trip was going to be perfect. In the middle of the week the lodge and slopes would be almost deserted. It was mid-season, and a lot of wet snow had fallen in the past two weeks. Their trip to the Monastery a few months back had turned out to be anything but restful, so Jim had suggested the ski trip this time. He had to admit, he hadn't actually been on the slopes himself in a while, but he was looking forward to it.
"Looks like it's going to snow today." Jim kept eyeing the sky as they drove.
"You know, Jim, this could be interesting." Blair replied, "We haven't tested your Sentinel senses in severe weather like this before...the cold, the altitude..."
"No, no way. This time we're on vacation." Jim interrupted his friend. "No testing, no practicing. Just skiing. A vacation, okay?"
Blair laughed, "Okay. Okay." He would have said more but they had just arrived at the lodge. Jim parked the truck and they checked in. A light snow was beginning to fall as they unloaded their gear, taking it upstairs to the large suite they were sharing. Mid week rates were the best, offering the larger rooms at a more affordable price, so they had a large living area, kitchen and two bedrooms on opposite ends.
"Oh man, this is great." Blair was looking out the living room window to the slopes behind the lodge. "Simon doesn't know what he's missing." But I'm still glad he didn't come.
Jim smiled, grabbed his coat and tossed another to Blair. "Well come on Chief, time's a'wasting."
Blair followed eagerly out the door, carrying his skis. Not long after, they were both atop one of the more difficult slopes, preparing to head down. Jim had paused, and was making a big show of putting on goggles.
"Hey Jim, man, if you didn't want to start at the top, you should have said something." Blair chided.
Jim looked at him, grabbed his poles purposefully, and nodded down the hill. "Last one down buys lunch."
"Ha, you're on." Blair barely had time to reply and Jim was off, pushing for speed. He laughed, then followed quickly. Jim's offers to buy were few and far between, he wasn't going to pass up this opportunity.
Blair soon found he had to work to keep the marginal lead he had acquired on his older friend. The snow fall was beginning to thicken, but every chance he had to glance behind him showed Jim right on his heels. He nearly fell twice while looking back and thought better of it. Blair saw the lodge approaching and smiled, then laughed as he heard Jim cursing behind him. He came to a stop and looked back.
"Hey Jim, not bad for someone who hasn't been out in a while." he said as his friend came to a stop next to him, pulling off his goggles.
"I want a rematch, Sandburg."
"Sure, anytime. How about now? Best two out of three?"
Jim looked around, "After lunch maybe. It's snowing pretty hard." He stepped out of his skis, "And I'm hungry."
Blair nodded, grinning, and followed suit. As Jim led the way to the lodge Blair hoped his racing heartbeat wasn't detectable to Sentinel hearing 'on vacation'. That run had been fast, and hard. Blair hadn't skied that high a slope in too long. It was exhilarating, but halfway down he actually thought it would be him taking a fall instead of Jim, and he spent more time praying he wouldn't than thinking about his imminent victory.
They had an enjoyable lunch. The lodge was only half booked, so the dining area was almost deserted. Blair noticed one nice looking woman across the room, but the older gentleman she was sitting with was definitely not her father, so he stopped looking. There were two other men sitting at the table, all listening intently to every word the older man said. Blair almost asked Jim to listen in, but the last time he did that, he hadn't been too happy with the result. But sometimes...
"That guy over there, the skinny one with the glasses, does he look familiar to you?" Jim asked.
Blair had to turn around to see the man Jim had been watching. "No. Should he?"
Jim shook his head. "I'm not sure." he glanced around the room. "I just feel like I should know him. He looks awfully nervous about something."
Blair glanced at Jim, then at the skinny man again. He never thought of Jim as much of a people watcher. He was observant, almost to a fault, due to the job, but a people watcher? "How can you tell?"
"He's sweating. And he keeps looking around."
"Jim, he's sitting beside a fire. And everyone is looking around." Blair nodded across the room. "There's an interesting group over there." he said. "If I was prone to imagining things, I'd say that's a crime boss, two goons and his girl."
"What do you mean if?"
Blair gave his friend a dirty look. "Okay, what's your take on them?"
Jim considered the group for a moment, "Rich old guy, his young lady friend, a couple of yes men."
"My point exactly."
Jim turned back to Blair. "You've been hanging around cops too long. You're going to start seeing everyone with a jaded eye."
Blair laughed, "What about you? The skinny guy with the glasses looks nervous?"
"Come on, lets hit that slope again." Jim stood. "This time it's for dinner."
Oh shit. "Okay. But it's best two out of three."
Jim smiled, "It's best how ever many we can do before dark."
They hit the slopes five more times, each time taking the same run. Jim was first down for two runs, Blair letting him take the lead while he gained more confidence in himself. Then he took over, beating the older man by several minutes on the last three runs. He was exhausted, and shaking a bit when he came to a stop on the last run, looking back to watch Jim come up beside him. He wouldn't have needed Sentinel hearing to tell Jim's heart was racing now, and he was glad he wasn't the only one feeling the exhilaration of strenuous exercise.
"Okay Sandburg, you win." Jim said, breathlessly. "I give up."
Blair smiled, still breathing hard, "If you say so." He was exhausted, but he wasn't about to be the one to quit. And I'm sure he knows it.
"Come on, I need a hot shower and some warm clothes." Jim lead the way back to the lodge.
As they walked up the stairs to their second floor room the skinny man with the glasses passed by. Blair watched him go, noting that Jim was also watching, and had to admit now that the man did look nervous. As he turned to watch, he saw the lady from lunch standing at the bottom of the stairs, seemingly waiting for the man. Her friends were nowhere around. Jim had continued up the stairs and Blair hurried to catch up. Turning back for one more look he saw the skinny man stop, talk quickly with the woman, then hurry into the bar.
"Sandburg, are you coming?"
Blair pulled himself away from the railing and hurried down the hall. "Jim, I think you're right, that guy looks definitely nervous about something."
Jim unlocked the door and tossed the key on the coffee table, pulling off his coat. "I thought you weren't prone to imagining things." he said.
"Jim, you're the one who said he looked nervous." Blair replied, pushing away the coat that Jim had tossed at his head. "He met that girl, from lunch, the one with the older guy. They went into the bar."
"Jealous?"
"Jim, I'm serious." Blair replied, hanging both coats on pegs by the door. "It's weird, man"
Jim was pulling off his sweater and had to wait until it was over his face before he could answer. "Okay, he's a mob boss, with two goons. She's his squeeze, they're here to meet some accountant or something." he tossed the sweater into his room and proceeded to the bathroom. "I'm on vacation, Sandburg. I don't care who they are or what they're doing."
Blair rolled his eyes and was ready to reply when the shower started. Fine. He gave up and started pulling off his cold, damp clothes. As soon as Jim was out of the shower, Blair went in, letting the hot water revive tired muscles. It had been too long since he'd had a workout like today. He was tired, and he knew he'd be sore tomorrow, but it felt good. Jim hadn't seemed affected at all by several years away from the slopes, but then his friend was in excellent shape, working out every chance he got. Blair preferred the work out a good hike, or ski run gave. He wasn't much for free weights, but he wasn't exactly a lightweight, either.
After the shower, Blair could have crawled into bed and been happy.
"Come on, I'm starving." Jim pushed him toward the door. "Tomorrow, it's your turn."
Blair sighed, "You know Jim, they do have smaller slopes."
Jim reached out and cuffed his friend on the back of the head as he preceded him through the door. "Funny Chief. I saw you sweating on that last run. I figure you're about out of steam, and I've just gotten a good warm up."
Oh great. "Right." Blair knew he was right. His legs and shoulders were beginning to stiffen. By morning he'd most likely lose each run if he stiffened up too much. Of course, Jim was moving a little slower than usual himself. Maybe he'd still have the edge over his friend. It would be nice to be able to find one thing he could beat Jim at physically. Just one.
The dinner group was only slightly larger than lunch. Blair noticed two more couples, one obviously on their honeymoon, the other a bit older and practically ignoring each other as they ate. He did notice Jim watching the skinny one with the glasses, sitting once again beside the large fireplace at the far end of the room. His attention was taken up by the group from lunch. He was beginning to think the older gentleman looked familiar, but he wasn't sure if that was true, or it was because he had been looking at him for so long. One of the 'goons' was missing this time. And twice he had grabbed the lady's wrist, shouting something at her. Blair didn't approve of the man's manners, but the lady didn't protest, just responded to each outburst with a short answer and darting eyes. Blair was becoming quite intrigued when Jim finally spoke up.
"This is bugging me." he said.
"What?" Blair hadn't quite heard.
"That guy. I swear I know him from somewhere." Jim nodded towards the skinny man with the glasses.
Blair glanced over again, watching the man take his glasses off, wipe them clean with a handkerchief and put them back on. "His hands are shaking."
Jim nodded. "I know. He's been doing that every five minutes."
"Jim, I thought you said you were on vacation." Blair raised his eyebrows. "I mean, wasn't it you telling me to stop imagining things?"
Jim gave his friend a look, then glanced over to the older man Blair had been watching. "I'm starting to think maybe there is something going on here."
Blair laughed. "Oh this is great. Why can't you and I spend a week together without something going on? What is it about you? Does trouble follow you everywhere, or do you just make it?"
"Sandburg...first of all, trouble doesn't follow me anywhere. It's you who seems to find it for us." Blair rolled his eyes as Jim continued. "Second of all, no one said there was trouble. I'm just getting a funny feeling."
Blair shook his head, "Well, before my imagination runs away with me, how about a night run?" He was beginning to feel more awake now, after four cups of coffee, and thought a nice slow run down the slopes would loosen up stiff muscles.
"Night run? No way, not me." Jim replied, looking outside at the darkness. There were lights visible on the slopes, but it was too dark to see far from where they sat. "You go ahead, you need the practice."
"Yeah." Blair laughed. "Come on, it'll be good for you."
"No thanks, Sandburg. I'm going to go into that lounge, sit by the fire, and relax."
Blair shook his head, "What you're going to do is sit in there and stare at that guy, making him even more nervous, until you figure out who he is."
It was Jim's turn to roll his eyes as he watched Blair leave. 
It didn't take long for Blair to get dressed for the snow again, gather his gear, and head for the lift. Once there, he recognized the man in the chair in front of him as Jim's nervous skinny guy. He laughed, thinking of Jim sitting by the fire with no one to stare at. Then he had to wonder about this guy himself. Blair would never have pegged him for the night skiing type. In fact, he looked completely out of place in the snow altogether. His jacket and ski pants looked brand new, as did his skis. He was still glancing around, as though he expected someone to come up beside him in mid-air on the lift. Blair was intrigued now, watching the man. He followed him off the lift, but had to turn around several times to avoid being seen. This guy is just too nervous. He decided Jim was right, they were on vacation. He was probably scared of the slopes. That was it, he was probably nervous about skiing, had taken all day to talk himself into it, now found it hard to go through with. But if that were true, he shouldn't be starting out on such a steep hill. Blair shook his head, I give up.
The slopes were lit by flares specially placed for night skiing. Blair looked down the hill as far as he could. The air was crisp and still, the fresh snow from that afternoon had laid a soft blanket over everything in sight. In the darkness, the mountainside looked like a picture postcard. Jim doesn't know what he's missing. It was so peaceful, so quiet. He glanced around, wondering where the skinny man had gone, but couldn't find him. For a moment, he thought he should go look. The guy really didn't look like he should be on this high a slope, as nervous as he seemed. But after a few minutes of looking, Blair gave up. He hadn't gone down in front of him, there were just two heading down the slope now, the young honeymooning woman from dinner and the older man who had been practically ignoring his companion. He checked his skis, looked around again at the snow covered trees, and proceeded at a leisurely pace down the mountain.
He was nearly halfway down when he heard it. At first he wasn't sure what the sound was, he had picked up some speed and the wind was rushing past. But he was sure it had been something. Blair stopped, taking off his goggles and looked back. He had expected to see another skier, someone who had fallen, or shouted or something. What he didn't expect was the wall of pure white death crashing down the mountain towards him.
Blair turned immediately and pushed off. He knew outrunning an avalanche was nearly impossible, but he had no other option. The trees to either side would provide no protection, and would become dangerous as the snow snapped them and sent them down the mountain. He tried to gain speed, but the new soft snow that covered the compact base was slowing him down. His mind raced through safety drills he had learned, listened to, but never had to practice. He could hear the wall of snow and ice closing in and began to feel the ground shake beneath his skis. There was no more time. He fell, rolling and kicking his skis off just as the leading edge of snow hit. As the snow began to press over him, forcing him down deeper, Blair's arms came up to cover his face. Both ski poles snapped off and were lost in the blanket he was desperately pushing away from his face. The thundering grew dimmer, and his forced rolling slowed. He continued pushing snow away from his face, desperately trying to make a cave he could breathe in until the mountain rescue could come. Until Jim could come.
Suddenly he stopped moving, rolling to a stop on his back, still pushing snow away. It was wet and hard and seemed to form easily. That was good, wasn't it? He heard a few large chunks land in front of him and they helped to make a larger cave to breathe in. He closed his eyes, stunned to still be alive. Then realizing his situation had not been improved by much, he opened them. At least he thought he did. It was so dark, he couldn't even see his hand right in front of his face. Don't panic, stay calm. Both legs were pinned under the hard snow, but from the waist up he had a large area of freedom. He felt around, trying to gauge the amount of air his cave would afford. Ski drills came back in his mind, always the ones that can't help, he thought. He remembered the odds of surviving an avalanche were 2 out of 100. And that most died of suffocation, not frostbite. He felt around his cave again, desperately trying to feel the top and sides. There was a lot of room behind his head. Surely there was plenty of air. And if he could find one of his poles, maybe he could poke a hole through, enough for air? I don't want to die under three inches of snow. Blair felt around, but with thickly gloved and freezing cold hands he couldn't find anything. How long could he last? Come on Jim, time for that rescue stuff you're so good at.
"Jim!...Someone!...Anyone!...Help!!" he shouted. Was the snow too thick? Could anyone hear him? Was anyone out there? Did they see where he was when the snow hit? Had anyone seen? How much air was there? His hands and arms were numb now, and he could feel the cold seeping up his legs and over his chest. It was getting harder to breathe. Was he running out of air? Or was it the cold, freezing his lungs?
"Jim!" Oh man, shut up stupid, you're wasting air. But if he didn't shout, how would Jim find him? I've got to get out of here. He tried to move his left leg, to free it from the snow, but it was too tightly wedged, and beginning to go numb with cold. He tried his right leg, and a stabbing pain from his knee nearly caused him to pass out.
"Jim!!!"
Jim had been sitting in front of the fire, enjoying the quiet. He hadn't wanted to admit to Blair, but watching the skinny guy had been his plan. At least, until he saw him leave with ski gear. Funny, he never would have figured that one for skiing. In fact, he looked out of place at the lodge. Jim had thought he was probably just there to get away for a while, enjoy the peace and solitude of the mountains. Not everyone who came up there skied. Most, but not everyone.
The older man, with the young girlfriend that Blair had been watching came in, with just one of the other two men Jim had seen with him at lunch. He watched idly as they took a seat at the window. The older man had a pair of binoculars and was looking up the mountain. Jim couldn't help but wonder what he was trying to see in the dark, then realized he had a night scope.
Now that's interesting. He was contemplating walking over and introducing himself when he felt it. At first he wasn't sure if it was a feeling, or he was hearing the rumble that was now making the chandelier above him sway. Then someone shouted, and he heard clearly the thundering of the avalanche. Blair! Jim ran to the window where everyone was now crowding to see. He didn't need night vision to see the massive block of snow and ice rolling down the slope towards them. One by one the marker flares went out, swallowed by the approaching mass.
"Oh my God! It's coming this way!" The lady beside him screamed. Suddenly there was panic in the lounge as people rushed away from the windows they had just run towards, trying to put distance between them and the approaching snow. Jim could tell the angle of the avalanche was off to the right, well out of the way of the lodge, but right in the path of three skiers coming down the slope. He strained his focus in the darkness, finding one skier just as the snow overtook him. Was that Blair? He couldn't tell. Quickly he looked for the two remaining skiers, still pushing for speed. They were both wearing dark colored parkas, but at night, with the unnatural light of the orange flares, Jim knew his color definition wouldn't be true. And it didn't matter. Both skiers were swallowed up by the white wall. Dammit Sandburg!
Jim ran out of the lodge, pushing past the crowd that didn't seem to know where to run. He rushed outside just as the ski patrol approached, and grabbed the nearest one.
"There's three people up there, they didn't make it down!" he had to shout to be heard over the remainder of the avalanche that was now barreling down a quarter mile past the lodge, over the road.
"Did you see where?" the patrolman asked, waving to one of his colleagues.
Jim nodded, "Yes!"
"Can you show us?" The thundering had faded quickly as the snow settled now, over the road and down the other side.
Jim nodded and accepted the red parka a ski patrolman handed him, hurriedly putting it on while climbing onto the back of the patrol snowmobile. They took off immediately. Time was of the essence, Jim knew. He had seen an avalanche once before, years ago, and remembered that patrol finding five, all dead.
"There, two of them disappeared right over there!" Jim shouted above the engine noise, pointing to where he had seen the last two skiers. "The first one, was up higher, and to the left."
The patrolman stopped his vehicle at the spot Jim had pointed to first. "You three, start here!" he said to the other members of the rescue team , then turned to Jim. "You and I will go for the first one."
Jim nodded, glancing back at the group now forming a search line with poles. Was Blair there, or up here? Either way, three people were in trouble. But Blair was one of them.
"Here, right here, I'm sure!" Jim tugged at the driver's arm, glancing around. "I'm sure it was here."
"Okay." the patrolman stopped. "Take this, start here and work your way up." he handed Jim a 10 foot long pole and moved over several yards parallel. "Stick the pole in, carefully, all the way down. They could be deep. If there's a cave, or a body, you'll feel it. Got that?"
Jim nodded, but was more intent on listening than probing. Would he hear through such a thick blanket of snow? He had trouble hearing before, through the metal of a ship. But that was different, there was echoing, reverb from the metal and water. Here, now that the avalanche had stopped, it was quiet. Deathly quiet. He probed carefully, moving upward in a pattern as the patrolman was doing. How long had it been? He was beginning to feel the cold. How cold was it under several feet of snow?
"How long can they breathe under here?" he asked the ski patrolman.
"Depends. If they are able to make a cave, how big it is, how much snow fell over them, how deep did they get pushed in. On average, maybe twenty minutes." He looked down at the watch clipped to the front of his parka. "It's been twenty three minutes now. If we don't find someone soon, we're going to be too late. "
Jim didn't like any of those answers. He kept probing, moving farther up. Was this the right spot? Had they gone too far up...too far over...not far enough? He was beginning to think he had the wrong spot, maybe it was farther up, when he heard it. Faintly at first, then once more, louder.
"Here, he's here!" Jim tossed the pole away and began to claw at the snow with his gloved hands. The patrolman ran back to the snowmobile and returned quickly with two small hand shovels.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." Jim replied, taking a shovel. He'd heard clearly Blair calling his name. Twice. He dug as fast as he could, trying to make a wide opening so the snow they pushed away wouldn't fall back down inside. It was taking forever, and his hands were getting numb along with his face. He heard shouting below them and realized the other patrolmen had found the two they were probing for. Alive or dead, he didn't know. And didn't care right then. Blair was here. He heard him call out, but he wasn't calling anymore. He wanted to pause, so he could listen for breathing, a heartbeat, anything...but if he stopped, Blair would lose precious seconds.
"I'm through!" the patrolman shouted. "He's here."
Jim moved over to where he was, helping him widen the hole. He could see a jacket, then two arms. Quickly now they moved the snow that was crumbling around Blair. Jim pushed aside an armful of wet snow and dropped down into the cave that had formed around his friend. Shrugging off gloves he felt for a pulse. "He's not breathing!" he shouted back at the patrolman. He heard the other man shout for a medic and run back to the snowmobile. Jim opened Blair's jacket, tilted his head back, and listened. Nothing. His heart was still beating, he must have just stopped breathing as they were digging. He pinched his friend's nose, put a hand under his chin, and filled his lungs, watching his chest rise and fall. Nothing. Absently he heard more men digging above him, trying to open up the rest of the cave. He inhaled again, breathing into Blair's mouth, then watched, waiting. Still nothing.
"Come on Sandburg, help me out here." He was just filling his own lungs for another try when Blair began to cough. "Blair! Come on breathe, that's it." He lifted Blair's head, propping the younger man against his legs to support him until the coughing subsided. "Easy there Chief, it's okay, take it easy." The cave had been completely opened and two men were now digging to clear his legs from the snow covering them.
Blair coughed again, trying to stop and breathe normally. "Jim...there were some others, in front of me."
"I know, Blair, they found them." Jim held him, pulling his jacket closed again. His face was ice cold. "Someone get me a blanket." The words were barely out of his mouth when a heavy insulated blanket was dropped down to him. Jim grabbed it and wrapped Blair as best as he could.
One of the patrolmen, the one Jim had ridden up with, looked back from his digging. "Don't let him fall asleep." he said. "He's hypothermic, and probably going into shock."
Jim looked down, Blair had closed his eyes. "Come on Chief, stay with me here." Blair opened his eyes. "You're making a habit out of scaring me, aren't you?"
Blair just smiled weakly, gritting his teeth against the cold.
Jim pulled the blanket up farther. "Hurry up there, he's freezing." They were taking forever digging Blair's legs free.
"Okay, we've got a problem here." One patrolman said. Jim looked, and saw the blood stained snow they were now carefully pushing away from Blair's right leg.
A compound fracture was Jim's first thought, then they pushed away the rest of the snow and revealed a metal pole, protruding from the flesh just above Blair's knee. "Looks like a ski pole." he said.
"That's where they went." Blair said lightly. Jim looked down, his voice was getting weaker,
"Take it easy, you'll be fine." He was beginning to loose touch again. "Blair, stay with me, we're almost out of here." He felt his friend's face, it was still ice. "Blair, come on." His eyes were staying shut.
"I'm here." Blair replied in a whisper, keeping his eyes closed.
"He's clear." someone announced. Jim looked again at Blair's leg. The pole was only a two foot long section, with who knew how much still inside his leg, but the other end was free from the snow. A medic was wrapping bandages around the leg and pole, trying to keep it stable. When he finished, they lifted Blair out of the hole and Jim helped strap him onto the litter attached to one of the snowmobiles. He briefly took note of the vehicle in front, with its passenger.
"Did any of them make it?" he asked, seeing only the one completely wrapped body.
"Yes, one. She's been taken to the first aid station. That one was crushed, just a few yards away from the girl."
He looked back down at Blair as they piled another blanket over him. "You still with me Sandburg?" he asked, leaning down to tuck the blanket in around his shoulders.
"I'm...so...cold." was all he said, his teeth chattering.
"I know Chief, I know."
Jim climbed back on the passenger seat of the vehicle he had ridden up on and followed Blair back down to the lodge. There was a fully-staffed aid station there, with a resident Dr., the patrolman had assured him when he asked, maybe a little too loudly. Any time Blair was hurt, or in danger, it seemed to bring out a protective instinct Jim never before realized he had. They had unloaded his friend and were carrying him into the station when the snowmobile he was on pulled up. Another member of the ski patrol stepped forward as they came to a stop.
"We're packed in." he said, speaking to both Jim and the man he rode down with. "That avalanche covered the pass north and south bound."
"How?" Jim asked. He had seen just the one wall of snow falling over the road behind them.
"There were two breaks." The patrolman explained, pointing up the darkened mountain. "They split at the top, where the peak is, one came down here, the other, about two miles down. Both ends of the pass are blocked. It'll take a couple of days to plow through."
"A couple of days?" Jim asked, looking from one man to the other.
"At least. The plows were all at the south end of the pass, working their way down. They'll have to continue down, then come around and work the block from behind." They had walked into the aid station and Jim removed the borrowed parka.
"What about phones? Can we get a helicopter in here? How about a shortwave?"
His driver and fellow snow digger shook his head, "No, the winds are too strong. Maybe if this storm front passes, but I doubt it will for a while. We don't have a shortwave here, trouble getting out of these mountains some times. There's just the two-way's we use during rescues." He glanced around, "Phones out?"
The second man nodded. "Took the poles off at both ends. We've got power," he said to Jim, "from a generator. We'll have lights and heat for a week easily. Don't worry, aside from a little inconvenience, we'll all be fine."
"What about that?" Jim nodded towards the slope they had just returned from.
"Not to worry. An avalanche of that size, it's like an earthquake. Once that much pressure is relieved, you don't have to worry about another one for some time."
Jim glanced around, trying to see where they had taken Blair. "I thought you guys set those off before they got that bad?"
The second patrolman looked to the first, then back to Jim. "Well, sir, believe it or not, we had planned to set that one off tomorrow."
Jim nodded. Just my luck. But this time the trip had been his idea. "I'm Jim Ellison, Cascade PD." Jim offered his hand.
"Ah, a cop huh?"
"Detective." Jim corrected automatically.
"I'm Tom Hanks, this is Eddie Stuart." Jim shook each man's hand.
"Tom, thanks for your help up there."
"Just doing my job. The credit is all yours this time, none of us saw where those three were when the snow hit. We'd still be up there, probing for them, not even knowing if they were there or not. So, that guy we brought down, is he a cop too? "
Jim shook his head, "No, he works with me at the station, but he's not a cop. He's my friend." Jim didn't offer any further explanation, he had seen a woman coming towards him from the room he thought Blair had been taken in to.
"You came down with the young man?" she asked.
"Yes, how is he?"
"Why don't you come with me, Mr...."
"Ellison, Jim Ellison. Doc, how is he?"
"He's alive" she replied, "And most likely he'll be fine."
"Most likely? Doc, please, just spit it out." Jim hated games at a time like this.
She led him into a small room and placed a film on a viewer. "Mr Sandburg had three inches of a ski pole stuck in his right leg, just above the knee, I'm sure you saw it?" Jim just nodded, not looking at the film and she continued. "He's suffering extreme exposure, hypothermia. Thanks to your quick action he didn't suffocate, but his lungs took in quite a bit of moisture in that snow cave."
"Black and white, Doc, please."
"Okay, we pulled the pole out. The puncture wound was deep and needed to be cleaned. The tissue surrounding the puncture was frostbitten. Until we can warm him up, I won't know just how badly damaged the leg is. He's in shock, and we're having to warm him from the inside, with heated saline solution." She paused, pulling the film down from the viewer. "If he develops pneumonia, there could be a problem."
Jim let her words sink in, slowly digesting them. "Could be a problem? Doc, how much worse could this get?"
She looked at Jim for a moment, "He's alive, Mr. Ellison. That's more than Mrs Kelly can say about her husband."
"I'm sorry. He was one of the other two brought down?"
She nodded. "Him, and another young lady. She's going to be fine, just needs to be warmed up. Your friend is very lucky, considering. Most people aren't found alive." She paused, shoving both hands into her lab coat. "Look, I don't want to worry you needlessly, but Mr Sandburg is in serious condition right now. So far it looks like the worst of the frostbite is to the damaged tissue that was exposed. His fingers, toes, they'll most likely warm up with no permanent damage."
Jim was nodding, trying to absorb what was being said.
"You can see him if you like, it might help." she offered. "He's going to have a rough night." She was leading Jim down the short hallway to the room where they had taken his friend. "Have you ever had frostbite Mr. Ellison?"
Jim had to shake himself for a moment, he hadn't realized there was a question. "No, not really. I've been cold, but not like this." They had reached the door to Blair's room and now stood, looking in.
"It's very painful, getting the feeling back. Like when your foot goes to sleep, then starts to tingle, only on a much higher scale."
"I'd like to stay with him tonight." Jim was looking in at Blair, noting the many tubes running into his left arm, the EKG monitor, and a mound of blankets covering him.
"We have a fully-trained staff here. It won't be easy for you. He'll be in and out, and in some pain as he warms up. We can't give him anything until he's out of shock and we can determine his condition more thoroughly. The closer he gets to normal temperature, the more likely it will be that he could become delirious, even feverish."
"I'll stay." Jim replied more forcefully.
The doctored sighed, "Okay. I'll have a more comfortable chair brought in. I'm sure he'll feel better knowing you're here." She turned to go, then paused, looking back, "I'm Doctor Stuart, by the way. Elaine Stuart."
Jim turned, shaking her hand for the first time. "Stuart?" The name sounded familiar.
She nodded, "I think you met my husband, he's a ski rescue patrolman."
"Ah, yes." Jim remembered then. "Thank you, doctor."
She smiled and left Jim alone, closing the door.
"Sandburg, nothing is ever simple with you, is it?" Jim walked over to stand beside Blair, feeling his forehead. It was still ice cold. The bag hanging on the other side of the bed was wrapped in a heating unit, feeding warm saline solution into his veins in an attempt to warm him from the inside out. Jim had seen that done to a young boy once who had nearly drowned after falling through the ice. The heat in the room was turned up, Jim had to remove his heavy sweater and draped it over the chair that was brought in.
"If you need anything, or want anything, we're just right outside." the medic who brought in the chair checked Blair's vitals as she spoke. "Just call out."
"Thank you." Jim replied. He waited until she left before sitting down, pulling the chair close to the bed. Blair was unconscious, breathing steadily, but Jim could see the tremors as his muscles fought to create their own warmth. He rubbed his face, trying to push the fatigue that was creeping up on him away. It was going to be a long night, but he had the easy part.
Blair was so hot! He had fallen asleep in the sun, and couldn't seem to wake himself. He needed to roll over, to get up and get into the shade, but he couldn't move. He was so tired, he couldn't even open his eyes. How long had he been there? Why didn't someone help him up and into the shade? Couldn't they see he was burning up? He had been dreaming, about being in the snow somewhere. Cold, cool snow covering him like a blanket, cooling him off, instead of baking him like this heat! If only he could wake himself, get up and move into the shade. He willed his head to move, trying to get enough energy to roll over and get up.
"Blair?"
Someone was there...Jim? He could help, get me into the shade. Surely he sees I'm burning up here.
"Blair?"
Suddenly a hand was on his forehead, but the hand wasn't cool, it was hot. And then, like a flash of lightning, Blair wasn't hot any more. He was freezing! His entire body spasmed, shivering violently against the cold that ran so deep. Desperately he tried to go back to what he now understood had been a dream, but no matter how hard he tried, the warmth wouldn't return. Only the hand on his forehead was warm, but it wasn't his hand. He opened his eyes just as another spasm hit.
"Hang on Blair."
Jim. It was Jim's hand, holding his head during the spasms. He tried to speak, but his jaw was clenched tightly against the cold, and the pain he was beginning to feel in feet and hands. He waited until another spasm passed,
"Jim, I'm so cold." He could hear his teeth chatter as he spoke. "God, it's so cold." Another spasm hit and he would have cried out against the pain in his fingers and toes if his jaw wasn't clenched so tightly.
"I know, Blair, I know."
How could he know, he was standing there sweating! "Please...Jim...." He willed his friend to make the cold go away. Make the pain go away. The pain that was slowly creeping up his legs and down his arms. But it didn't go away. He closed his eyes tightly against another spasm, and faintly heard a second voice. Someone else was in the room, but he couldn't open his eyes. The blood rushing through his ears was so loud, he couldn't hear what was being said. Another pair of hands was on him now, feeling his forehead...his face.
Lash! It was Lash, come to finish the job. Blair jerked his head away, trying to move, trying to get away. Jim wasn't there, how could he be? They didn't know where Lash took his victims. He had just been with Jim hours ago and they had no clue as to the location he was now in. He was alone. He couldn't move. And Lash was holding him down, getting ready to kill him and he was helpless to stop it. He was going to die! The hands were still there and he pulled away, shouting.
"Blair!"
"Jim...?" He heard a voice somewhere, calling him, but he still couldn't open his eyes. Then a lighter voice, one he didn't recognize. Another spasm shook him and he opened his eyes then, seeing Jim still standing over him. Lash was gone. Where was he? Someone moved behind his friend, and Blair could see it was a woman, not Lash?
"Blair, it's Jim. Come on, stay with me here Chief."
He swallowed hard, waiting for another spasm to hit, knowing it would. The burning pain had reached his knees now, and the right one was hurting far more than it should. "Jim, it hurts." He could hear how weak his own voice was, but surely Jim could hear him? "Please..."
"Doc, come on, you've got to be able to do something." he heard Jim say. Yes, do something, please.
He cried out with the next spasm as the now unbearable pain in his right leg grew worse with the involuntary muscle clenching. He could feel himself falling, rolling over and over in the darkness. Something was covering him, making it hard to breathe, hard to move. It was heavy, and it pushed him down farther, forcing him deeper into the darkness. He couldn't breathe now, couldn't move. He was covered by something heavy and dark and it was pressing the life out of him. Pressing the air out of him. He tried to call out, to call for Jim, but the weight on top of him was too thick, too heavy. He couldn't get any air! Desperately he pushed at the blanket of darkness covering his face and chest, trying to push it away so he could breathe. But hands were holding him down.
"He's gone to the other extreme now, this is good."
Blair heard voices from far off. Good? How could this be good? He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. It was so dark and he was alone, how could this be good?! There was a hand again, stroking his forehead, pushing his hair back. His mind flashed on so many things all at once. Lash. The warehouse. There were candles everywhere. The back of an ambulance. His mother chiding him for falling out of Mrs. Danbush's tree. He broke his arm doing that. But he was okay. Just a broken arm. He was okay. The hand stroking his forehead began to mesmerize him, slowly draining the tension from his mind and body. Tired muscles began to relax.
"You're okay Blair, it's okay." The vaguely familiar voice was the last thing Blair remembered as he finally drifted off to sleep.
"I think he's waking up."
Blair heard a voice far away. He stirred, trying to resist waking up. He was so tired! And cold, but not like before. The spasms had subsided into shivering that came and went with some regularity. He heard another voice, a softer one, but couldn't hear the words. He swallowed, turning his head in an effort to go back to sleep. His entire body was sore, and his legs and arms felt like lead weights. Someone was touching his chest and he felt tape being pulled away. Sleepily, Blair took inventory. The mild burning in fingers and toes told him he was still whole, even though he wasn't sure why that mattered. His right leg felt thick, and he couldn't move it. A hand touched his arm and he slowly, reluctantly, opened his eyes.
"Hey Chief, welcome back."
Jim was there, but they weren't home, in the loft. Where were they?
"Mr Sandburg, how do you feel?"
He turned his head, trying to focus on the female voice from the other side of the bed. He realized then he was in what looked like a hospital room, the woman wearing a white lab coat had just removed a stethoscope from his chest, and was pulling the blanket back up. He swallowed, trying to moisten a dry throat.
"Blair, this is Dr Stuart. You're at the aid station, at the lodge. Are you with me?"
Blair nodded, remembering now. He looked back to Jim, "You look awful."
Jim smiled, glancing at the Dr, then back to Blair. "Don't worry about me, I'm tough. How about you? How do you feel?"
Blair closed his eyes for a moment while he shivered. "I'm cold." Hadn't he said that before?
"Believe it or not, Mr. Sandburg, your core temperature is back to normal." Dr Stuart replied. "But you're not going to feel warm again for some time I'm afraid." She hung the EKG leads that Blair had felt her removing from his chest over the machine beside the bed. "You had frostbite pretty bad, but you have all your fingers and toes. Are they still burning?"
Blair nodded, closing his eyes again. He was so tired.
"That will take a while to stop, but there was no permanent damage to the tissues. And your right leg, there's a deep puncture wound from a ski pole, just above the knee." Blair had forced his eyes open again, trying to listen. He remembered looking for his poles in the snow. "It's pretty nasty, and it's going to keep you on crutches for a while, but I think it should heal all right now." she had turned now to Jim and Blair closed his eyes again. "He'll need to stay here for a while, I want to monitor his lungs. If pneumonia develops we'll have to catch it right away."
Blair wanted to go home, he wanted to get warm. But mostly, he just wanted to sleep again. Then he remembered. "Jim, the others?"
"The two in front of you? They were found last night, it's okay." Jim replied.
No, that wasn't it. "No, the other one, the skinny...guy." He was slipping and he knew it, Jim was getting farther away as sleep overtook him. "He was...above me." Was that out loud?
Dr Stuart turned to Jim, "He's going to sleep quite a bit now. He's exhausted. You should sleep too, last night wasn't easy for you."
No, Jim not yet...the skinny guy, he's up there.
Jim pulled on the sweater he had draped over the chair, "I'm going up there first, see if they've found anyone else."
"Mr. Ellison, you've been up all night. You need some sleep."
"I will, don't worry Doc." he was looking back at his friend, now asleep. "Just take care of him, okay? I'll be back later."
He didn't wait for an answer, the room was hot and he had been sweating most of the night, trying to help Blair through the pain and cold. Now with the sweater back on it was unbearable. Once outside he looked up the slope, towards the top of what had been the ski run. The chair lift was partially destroyed, poles broken and swaying in the mild wind that was blowing down on him. The snow and ice that crashed down the mountain last night left a swath of destruction behind. He could follow the path as it moved down the slope, past the lodge, and over the road. It was snowing again, lightly, but the sky was a solid mass of grey with no breaks in sight. At the top of the run, where the lift would have dropped off it's passengers, he could make out four figures in red parkas, moving in a pattern. He hurried into the lodge for his coat, noticing on his way up the stairs several people from last night having breakfast, arguing loudly about the road closure that was going to keep them there longer than they had planned. On his way back down, he saw a middle-aged woman sitting beside the fire, staring into the flames that were reflecting off the moisture on her cheeks. Mrs. Kelly, wife of last night's victim?
He paused, watching her. She was alone. He should say something. He wasn't sure what, but he had been there. He knew if he had stayed with the first two victims, helped dig them out, Mr Kelly would still be dead. They said he was crushed, died immediately. Then Blair would be dead too. But he should still say something. He was just walking towards her when he heard his name called.
"Detective Ellison"
Jim turned, scanning the room for the person calling him. His eyes met those of the older man from last night, the one Blair had been so intrigued with. He was staring at him, with an odd look in his eyes, but it hadn't been him who called out.
"Detective?" Tom Hanks, the ski patrolman from last night was approaching from the side door.
Jim turned to face him, eyebrows raised questioningly.
"We found someone, on the top of the ridge." He had leaned in to speak quietly to Jim "I think you should see this."
Before Jim could question him he turned, leading the way out the side door. Jim followed him across the street, to a small building next to the aid station. Inside there was a table, with a body on top, covered in plastic.
"Another victim?" Jim asked, walking towards the body. Tom nodded,
"Not from the avalanche, though." He pulled the plastic away from the body's face and Jim immediately recognized the skinny nervous man from the lodge, and the small hole in his forehead as a bullet hole, from a high-powered rifle.
He pulled the rest of the plastic body bag away, looking for more wounds, although he knew the bullet in the man's brain had done the job. "Any ID on him? Anybody know who he was?"
"Not yet, no wallet was found. We'll have to check with the front desk, find out who he was, if he was here with anyone. I thought I should leave that with you. I mean, this is a murder, isn't it? That is a bullet hole?"
Jim nodded, zipping the bag back up. "This is definitely a murder." he paused, looking back towards the mountain he couldn't see from inside the small garage. "Two murders, and two attempted murders."
At first, Tom didn't seem to understand. Then Jim saw him grasp what was being said. "My God, of course. That snow was ready to come down. We were going to set charges today, to make a controlled fall. A rifle shot, in the clear air up there, would be just the thing to set off that snow pile. The wet base, with the soft fresh fall was begging to come down."
"There's just one problem, though." Jim said, fingering the plastic. "Anyone up there would have been buried by the snow as well. He must not have realized he would cause an avalanche. Have there been any more bodies recovered?"
Tom shook his head, "No, not yet. No one else was reported missing. We were just making a routine sweep when we found this one." They were walking out of the small garage now, moving back towards the lodge. "By the way, how's your friend?"
"He's out of the woods now, should be okay." Jim replied. "Thanks for asking."
"He was lucky. So was Mrs Evans, the woman we pulled out with Mr. Kelly."
Jim nodded, "Any word on how long we'll be here? The phones?"
They were at the lodge now, "No, I'm sure it will be at least three, maybe four days. This happens up here, maybe every other year or so. We get used to it, the roads being out, that is." He nodded towards Mrs Kelly who they could now see, still sitting by the fire. "That, is something I could never get used to."
Jim watched as Dr. Stuart approached the grieving woman. She stood for a moment beside her, with a hand on her shoulder. Mrs. Kelly was speaking, then the doctor sat, placing a comforting arm around the new widow's shoulders.
"So, you're saying everyone here is accounted for? What about skiers just here for the day, not checked in with the lodge?"
"No, no one's reported anyone missing. We set up a station outside, behind the lodge, but that fall was after normal hours. Only night skiing is allowed after dark, and we don't have much of that during the week."
Jim was going to ask why night skiing had been allowed on a slope slated for a controlled avalanche, but something caught his eye across the room. "Can you get me a key to our gunshot victim's room? I'll need to go through it." Tom just nodded and walked over to the front desk. Jim moved farther into the lounge, glancing around the room, trying to account for every face he and Blair had seen that night.
Mrs. Kelly, and the late Mr. Kelly, had been in the dining room last night. He hadn't paid much attention to them at the time, but did remember Blair saying something about how they weren't speaking to each other. He looked over by the bar. The older man, the girlfriend half his age, and one of the suits with them were sitting near the bar. Jim remembered then he had been at the window just before the avalanche, looking up the slope with a night vision attachment on his binoculars. Suspect number one. He looked around, finally finding Mr Evans sitting with his wife. She was wrapped in several blankets, still shivering as Blair had been this morning. But she was otherwise unhurt, hugging a large cup with steam pouring from it. It couldn't be anyone still alive, there's no way the shooter could have escaped that snow. Jim figured a high-powered rifle, even at twenty yards...that would put the suspect near the trees. And those trees had all been snapped off by the chunks of ice that crashed through them. Blair, and Mrs. Evans, were alive by sheer luck, and they had been racing ahead of the snow.
"Here you go." Jim hadn't noticed Tom standing beside him. "His name was Richard Benchly."
Jim turned, "Anyone here with him?" he asked, taking the key.
"No, he was alone. Came up yesterday morning."
"Okay, I'm going to need to go through his room. Let me know if you find anyone else up there, right away. Okay?"
Tom nodded, "Sure thing. So, you're sure there's one more up there? The shooter?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
Jim waited until the patrolman left, then he glanced around the room one more time. Blair's mobster was watching him, as was his male companion. The young lady was busy with her nails. He smiled congenially and turned, walking up the stairs to the rooms. He checked the key for the number, then found the room at the far end of the hall, opposite his and Blair's. The key went in easily and he looked down the hall once before going in. No one had followed.
Once inside, Jim locked the door, putting the chain on, and let his eyes scan the room from the door. Richard Benchly's room was smaller than the suite Jim was in. There was a living room with small fireplace. No kitchen unit, and the bed was off to the left of the room, separated from the main area by a simple screen. He started with sight, scanning the carpeting, walls and furniture for anything he wouldn't want to ruin by walking on or bumping into accidentally. Other than a layer of dust, he found nothing. He moved farther into the room then, inhaling slowly, trying to identify the multitude of odors filtering in. Nothing strange there. No sign of gun powder or anything else unusual.
"I guess I'll have to do this the old fashioned way." Jim muttered. He walked into the sleeping area, pulled a suitcase from under the bed and opened it up. Empty? It looked brand new, and not a stitch of clothing inside. He checked the bathroom. There was a toothbrush, and a hairbrush. Nothing more. He moved over to the one closet in the room, opened the door and pulled the chain for the light. Empty. As he was pushing the door closed, he spotted a piece of paper on the floor in the far corner. He bent over and picked it up, checking for anything else before he stood and examined it. It was a receipt, from the store a block down the street, for ski pants, parka, and a pair of skis and poles.
"Just who were you, Richard Benchly?"
Jim made another sweep of the room, opening the drawers on the writing desk. There was a pad inside, and he felt around for any indentations. There were none. It was a brand new pad and hadn't been used. He checked under the couch, under each cushion, around the room again staring at the carpet. Nothing. There wasn't a single sign of anyone having been checked in to that room, other than a brand new, empty suitcase under the bed, and a toothbrush and hair brush in the bathroom. And for all he knew, those were brand new as well.
Frustrated, Jim gave up. He pocketed the receipt and left, locking the door behind him. He was going to take the key back to the front desk, but his own room beckoned from across the hall and he could no longer ignore the tired muscles and a headache from being up so long.
After a hot shower and change of clothes, he realized it was past twelve. He was torn between the desire to check up on Blair, and the heaviness of his eyelids. Eventually his tired eyes won and he lay down on the couch, intending a quick nap, but was soon fast asleep. By the time the knocking woke him, the sky was just beginning to darken.
"Who is it?" Jim called, rolling off the couch. His neck had a kink from sleeping in one position for so long.
"It's Tom Hanks, Detective. We've finished sweeping the area, I thought you'd like to know."
Jim had opened the door then,
"We found something. A rifle, but no body." Tom said.
Jim forced his eyes open wide for a moment, pushing out the last of the sleep he hadn't had enough of yet. "Rifle? Where?"
"Well, we've got it locked up in the storage shed, with Mr. Benchly's body."
"Where did you find it?"
"Oh, ah...on top of the ridge, just inside the tree line. It was poking out through the snow, otherwise we never would have spotted it in that mess of logs and branches."
Jim nodded, "Better let me take a look." He followed Tom out of the doorway, locking the room behind him. "How many people have a key to this storage shed of yours?"
"Just me, and a couple other ski patrolmen. And there's a master key at the Ranger's station down the mountain. They have keys to all the rooms and buildings."
Jim forgot to grab his coat and now held his arms around his chest against the cold of the wind and snow that was still coming down. The walk to the shed was short, but when they arrived, his hands were freezing. That made him think of Blair.
"You said this rifle was buried?"
"Yes, mostly." After some fumbling the padlock finally opened and they both went inside. "In the tree line the avalanche slows down, but does more damage with the trees coming down. The snow isn't as thick, so we usually recover any bodies that may have been buried there."
Jim picked up the rifle that was lying on top of Benchly's body bag.
"A lot of people head for the trees when they see a slide coming down, thinking they'll be safer. They usually get crushed by falling trees and branches before ever being buried."
Jim was listening as he examined the weapon. "So, in your opinion, if a man was hiding in the trees when the avalanche started, he'd most likely be killed?"
Tom shrugged, "I would expect so. Of course, there's always a chance. Your friend survived."
Jim looked up, "Yes, but he was in the open, on the slope."
"Sure, and he was buried pretty deep and ran out of air...but he's alive." Tom walked around the table holding Mr. Benchly. "You're thinking the shooter is dead?"
"I'm thinking we have an unsolved murder." Jim hefted the rifle, "I'm going to need a secure place for this, and a list of each guest registered at the lodge since yesterday morning."
Tom thought for a moment, "Well, there's a storage closet in the basement of the lodge itself, I think only the front desk has the key. And the list I can get, no problem."
Jim nodded, "That should be fine."
"Are you saying, we have a murderer up here with us? I mean, if he didn't die in the slide? Are we in danger?"
Jim raised his eyebrows, "I would say so, yes."
"So, what do we do? Do we warn everyone? Question everyone? What?"
"First of all, 'We' don't do anything. Just get me a secure place for this evidence, and that list. And don't mention this to anyone right now. Whoever is involved, I don't want to tip him--or her--off. And we don't want to start a panic, either."
Tom nodded, absorbing the information. "Okay, whatever you say."
"Can you take me to the storage room now?" Jim was waiting for him to grasp the situation and deal with it. He seemed a little shocked, but then who wouldn't be? Murder wasn't part of a mountain rescuer's job. Avalanches killed, they didn't murder.
"Oh, right. Sure, this way." Tom led the way back through the snow to the rear of the lodge. They entered through the service door and down a short hallway. "Here you go. It's not locked right now, but the front desk has a padlock we can use. I'll just go get that."
Jim watched Tom leave, then entered the room, pulling the chain for the light. It was a small room, filled mostly with cleaning supplies. He found a counter with some spare room and set the rifle down there, giving it as close an exam as he could in the dim light. There was nothing telling on the rifle that he could see. The serial number had been filed completely down, he expected that. Even with his Sentinel sight he couldn't make out more than three numbers. And without access to the Department database, it would do him no good, anyway. Fingerprints were also next to worthless, until they could get back to the lab. Tom returned then, handing Jim a large padlock and two keys.
"They said these are the only two keys. Should I keep one, just in case?"
"No, that's fine. Thank you." Jim took both keys, exited the room and locked the door, checking its security. "I'm going to go check in on my friend. Just let me know if you find anything else out of the ordinary. And tomorrow, I'd like to see the area where this was found."
"Oh, sure. Okay."
Jim followed the hall to the stairs, up one flight, back into the main lobby of the lodge. Glancing around, he noticed the same crowd of visitors, still complaining and worrying about the road closures that were making a longer stay out of a simple ski trip. He hurried upstairs for his jacket. It was snowing heavily now, but the wind had died down. As he crossed the road to the aid station, he glanced back up the slope, barely visible in the downpour of large, white flakes. He couldn't discount the possibility of the shooter surviving the slide. But so far, the only person he could swear wasn't in the lodge at the time, and was still unaccounted for, was one of the older man's yes men. Maybe Blair's imagination wasn't running wild, after all.
Once inside the aid station he shrugged off the snow that was piled on his shoulders and head.
"Ah, Mr. Ellison. I see it's snowing again?" Dr Stuart was just coming out of Blair's room when he came into the lobby.
"Again? I wasn't aware that it had stopped."
She smiled, wrapping the stethoscope around her neck and letting her hands hang from it. "It did for about thirty minutes, I think. It must be really coming down now, you're covered."
Jim shrugged out of his jacket and let the rest of the snow fall off in the doorway, trying to keep it off the carpet. "How's he doing?"
"He's doing well. I've just changed the bandaging on his leg, it's looking as well as can be expected. No sign of lung congestion as of yet, but I still want to keep a close eye on him. Other than that, his temperature is up to normal, no signs of permanent damage from the frostbite."
"That's good news, thanks doc." Jim hung his coat on a peg in the waiting area and walked over to the door, knocking quietly as he opened it. Blair was propped up, blankets wrapped thickly around him. Jim recognized the look of someone heavily medicated as Blair turned to him.
"Hey, Chief. How you feeling? You can't still be cold...?" Jim walked over to the chair that was still next to the bed where he had spent the past night and placed a hand on his friend's forehead.
"It's more psychological now, I think." Blair answered, shivering only slightly. "Not like before."
Jim looked into his eyes for a moment, trying to judge Blair's health for himself. Satisfied with what he saw, he sat down. "How's the leg?"
Blair laughed a little, "It hurts." he said. "But only when I move."
"Then don't move, Chief."
"Simple as that, huh?"
"Simple as that." Jim replied.
Blair shifted a little in bed, "You saved my life, again. They told me about how I wasn't breathing when you found me and all."
"You gave me quite a scare."
"I know, and I'm sorry." he said, looking down for a moment. "They also said you stayed here all night?"
Jim nodded. "You don't remember, do you?"
"Not really." Blair admitted. "Just images...like a nightmare. I remember you, and..." he looked away for a moment, then back to Jim. "I keep seeing Lash when I close my eyes, like he was here."
"You did mention him when you were delirious." Jim said quietly, noting the slight reflection of fear in his friend's eyes. "That's normal, to flash on something like that after another trauma. Don't worry about it. He's dead, Blair. And you aren't."
Blair sighed deeply, tugging at the blankets. "You got there just in time, too. I just wanted to say thanks." He looked back up at Jim, "For that, and for staying here with me."
Jim smiled. There was a lot he could say, and would have liked to say, but he knew Blair embarrassed easily. He was looking like someone's little lost puppy again, lying there with the blankets pulled up to this neck. "You're welcome." He'd been through enough lately. "I'm your Blessed Protector, remember?"
Blair nodded, accepting that. "At least it was just an avalanche, and not some murdering psycho or something."
Jim rolled his eyes and sat back, leaning into the chair. "Well, not exactly."
"What do you mean?"
"Our skinny nervous guy, from the lodge. Turns out his name was Richard Benchly. He's dead."
"Yeah?"
"Not from the avalanche. He was shot."
"What?!"
Jim nodded, rubbing tired eyes for a moment. "We've got a murder on our hands, Chief. High-powered rifle, shot through the head. We think that's what triggered the avalanche."
"We?"
"Tom Hanks, one of the ski patrol. He found the body, and the rifle just a few hours ago." Jim smiled inside at the slight note of jealousy he heard in Blair's voice. "He also helped me dig you out."
"So...what do we do? They said the roads were blocked and the phone lines are down. We're stuck up here with a murderer?"
"Not exactly. I'm having a hard time imagining someone pulling the trigger, and getting away from that slide. You were halfway down already when it hit and look what happened. The killer couldn't have shot Benchly up on top of the slope, then beat you and the slide down. And if he was in the woods, where the rifle was found, he should be dead but there's no body. He couldn't have known the shot would bring down half the mountainside. And if he had, why didn't he just fire from a better distance, and let the snow kill him." he paused, shaking his head. "Unless he wasn't the only target. You haven't made anyone mad at you lately, have you?" he teased.
"Just Simon." Blair replied.
Jim laughed. "Well, if you had been the only other person on the slopes, then maybe Simon would be a suspect. But Mr. Kelly died up there too. And Mrs. Evans could have died."
Blair raised his eyebrows, questioning the names.
"They were in front of you, heading down the slope. Mrs. Evans is the young lady from the dining room, looked like she was on her honeymoon?" Blair nodded. "And Mr. Kelly was the older guy, with his wife. They were the two not speaking to each other." Blair nodded again, remembering.
"What about the mobster, with the girlfriend and those two goons?"
Jim smiled at Blair's description, then shook his head. "Well, all are accounted for, except one. They were at the window, looking up the mountain with binoculars, and a night vision scope, just before it happened."
"What? Night vision? Why?"
"Good question, Chief." Jim replied. "He's my number one suspect right now, but I haven't had a chance to question anyone." Just then he yawned mightily, stretching his arms. "I fell asleep after going over Benchly's room."
"Did you find anything?"
"No, as a matter of fact. Absolutely nothing. Like he hadn't even been in there." He pulled out the slip of paper from the closet floor and examined it again. "Just a suitcase under the bed, with absolutely nothing inside. A bathroom with no signs of anyone having been in there, other than a brand new toothbrush, and the hotel toothpaste."
"Just the way you like it." Blair interjected.
"Funny, Chief." Jim replied. "And this."
"What's that?"
"A receipt, for the ski gear he was wearing. He just bought it the day he went up."
"I knew he didn't look like he belonged on the slopes." At that it was Blair's turn to yawn. "What now?"
"Well, right now, I'm going to get some real sleep. I can't think anymore." He stood and stretched. "There's no way out of this pass, so whoever is behind all of this is not going anywhere, at least before morning." He bent backwards, listening to tired joints pop. "Get some sleep. I'll bring you up to date after I check things out tomorrow."
"Hey Jim...."
He paused at the door, looking back.
"Be careful, okay?"
He smiled, "I will Chief. Get some sleep."
Blair didn't want to sleep. He wanted Jim to stay, but he knew he couldn't ask, not after last night. Jim was exhausted. Dr. Stuart told him that afternoon what his friend had done. From digging him out of the snow, to holding his head through the tremors and delirium. He had been a little embarrassed then. Not so much because Jim's presence had been such a comfort through the ordeal, but that he had needed comforting. He remembered the pain, the cold, and most of all the fear that he felt all night and into the morning. He also remembered Jim being there, talking to him, holding his head. But now, when he closed his eyes, all he saw was Lash. Only this time, instead of being chained to a chair, he was buried under the snow. Lash was on top of him, forcing the air from his lungs, pushing snow down his throat. He couldn't close his eyes for more than a minute without the visions coming back.
Jim's retreating figure could be seen through the window beside Blair's bed. He watched him walk across the road, then he disappeared into the snow that was falling so fiercely.
He knew, if he had asked him to, Jim would have stayed. He was just that way. Blair had come to realize what being Jim Ellison's friend meant. At first, he didn't think of him as a friend, not like that. He was too caught up in Jim as a Sentinel, and the implications that presented. But as time passed he began to understand Jim's boundaries. He was a man who took very few people into the inner sanctum and called them a friend. But when he did, when he decided you were worth his time and trouble, he gave one hundred percent. Blair never had a friend of that caliber before, and it took him a while to understand what that meant. To Jim, pulling you out of the hands of a psychotic killer, trusting you enough to just hand you his gun, or to call for backup when he needed it...it was just what you did. Nothing special. Somewhere along the line, he must have decided Blair was worth his time. And for that, Blair was grateful. More so now. Jim could kick him out of his life anytime he wanted, but he never once indicated he would. Even when Blair wanted to go to Borneo. Well, he hadn't really wanted to go. He'd wanted them both, but had to make a choice. A choice that was made easier after Peru. And he knew deep inside it was the right one.
But he couldn't ask. Jim was just as tired as he was. And had a lot on his mind. Murdered! The skinny nervous guy was murdered. And if the killer was killed, what were they supposed to do? Unless he wasn't killed. Which would mean they had a murderer walking around the ski lodge with them. My money's on the mobster. But a high-powered rifle on a ski slope? Didn't mobsters shoot you in the back of the head in the alley? And who was Benchly that he warranted being murdered? Maybe the avalanche really was the goal?
It wasn't until the next morning that Blair realized he had actually fallen asleep.
"Good morning. How are we feeling today?" Dr. Stuart entered, rubbing her arms.
"Still snowing?" Blair asked, noting the slight dusting of white still in her hair.
"Yes, I can't believe it. There must be a good two feet since yesterday." She politely rubbed her stethoscope on her lab coat to warm it before placing it on Blair's chest. "If this keeps up, those plows are going to be a long time coming."
Blair still winced a little at the cold metal. "Is there any way to contact someone down the pass?"
She shook her head, then placed her finger over her lips to quiet him while she listened. "Deep breath."
Blair obliged, coughing only slightly as his lungs reached capacity.
"Again."
This time he was able to suppress the cough.
"Okay." She removed the stethoscope. "No congestion, other than some minor irritation due to the exposure. How does the leg feel?"
He nodded, "Fine. Can I get out of here today?"
"Out of here to where? You may as well stay put, we can take care of you here and there's really no where to go."
"I'd like to get back to the lodge. No offense." Blair replied "It's just that hospitals give me the creeps."
Dr. Stuart smiled. "I understand. Next to visiting the dentist, a stay in the hospital is rated as the next best thing." She paused, setting down the blood pressure cuff she had just removed from his arm. "You've had a traumatic experience, being delirious takes a lot out of a person. You mentioned a name...Lash I believe? Your friend said there was some extreme emotional connection there, but he didn't elaborate."
Blair simply nodded, not wanting to add to the memory.
"Well, being as sick as you were, it has an effect much like a hallucinogenic drug. You can flash back on the experience for years to come. Being out of this room won't make those flashes stop."
"Yeah, well, it couldn't hurt."
She paused, looking into his eyes. "Okay. On one condition."
"What is it?"
"You stay off that leg. And you take your medication. The nurse says you faked it last night, she found the pills in the wastebasket this morning."
Blair smiled sheepishly, "That's two." She glared at him and he backed off. "Okay, okay. I'll be good, I promise."
"Okay. But I'm only agreeing to this because you'll be right across the road, and I can keep an eye on you. I'll go get a pair of crutches and help you through that snow. Your friend is up on the slope again this morning. I don't understand what he's looking for up there."
Blair watched her go, realizing then that even she hadn't been told what was happening. Okay, so we're keeping secretes. I can do that.
Getting back to the lodge on crutches through several inches of freshly fallen snow was tricky. Once inside, Dr. Stuart insisted Blair go up to the room and get into bed. She took him to the service elevator that opened up just a few doors down from the room he and Jim were checked in to. As the doors opened Blair saw a man standing in the hallway, bending over to push several sheets of paper under the door.
"Tom, what are you doing here?"
"Hey doc. Mr. Sandburg, I didn't expect to see you back here so soon."
Blair faintly recalled the man's face as having been with Jim when they were pulling him out of the snow.
"Your friend, Detective Ellison, asked for these. I was just going to push them under the door. He's up on the slope with Eddie, having another look around."
Blair reached out for the papers Tom was handing him. "Thanks, I'll be sure he gets these." he replied. "I thought you were up there, with him?" Dr. Stuart had unlocked the door for Blair and now stood aside.
"Ah, no. My snowmobile ran out of gas and the pumps are frozen. He and Eddie are up by the tree line, looking for more clues."
"Clues?" Dr Stuart asked, looking from Blair to Tom.
"Oh, ah...seeing if anyone else is missing. You know, day visitors that might have been here for the night skiing."
"You know, I've been wondering about that. If the ridge was to be blasted the next morning, who authorized the night skiing?" Blair asked, positioning himself in the doorway. "Isn't that dangerous?"
Tom nodded, glancing around. "Yeah, well. I'm checking in to that, as a matter of fact. Probably a simple case of miscommunication."
"Simple?" Dr. Stuart asked, raising her eyebrows dramatically. "Tom, two people died in that slide. And two more nearly did."
"Believe me, doctor, I know. Listen, I have to get back...find a ride to the slopes and see what's what." He quickly left, hurrying down the hallway to the stairs and out of view.
"Who determines the safety for night skiing, anyway?" Blair asked, watching him go.
"Well, normally the senior ski patrolman. But he's been gone now for several weeks, there was a death in the family. Tom's next in line, but he's only been on this resort for a few weeks. I guess he wasn't as familiar with the slopes here as they thought." She sighed, shaking her head. "Someone else should have taken over. And you should be in bed. Off with you." She motioned for Blair to shut the door. "Straight to bed, off that leg. And take those pills like a good boy."
Blair rolled his eyes but nodded anyway. He waited until she walked away before shutting the door. Once indoors, the crutches had proved rather easy to maneuver, so Blair made his way to the writing table at the far end of the room and sat down. There was another chair next to the table and he used that to prop his injured leg on, easing his foot up slowly. The leg throbbed mightily, but as long as he moved slowly, and didn't jar it, the pain was manageable. After situating himself Blair took a better look at the papers Tom was trying to slip under the door. They were hotel records, check in dates, times and names from the beginning of the week, up until the night of the avalanche. He scanned them, going down the list. There was Benchly, checked in Tuesday morning, just three hours before he and Jim had arrived. Mr and Mrs Evans, listed as being in the honeymoon suite, just as Blair had guessed. Mr and Mrs Kelly, arrival on Monday afternoon. They were scheduled to check out that morning, but would be staying just like the rest of them now that the roads were blocked.
He continued down the list. There were a few other names, people who had checked in either Monday or Tuesday, with the intention of staying one night. Then he found who he was looking for. Mr. and Mrs. Smyth, and two adjoining rooms, each occupied by another Mr. Smyth. The mobster from the dining room. Smyth, how original. He looked up from the papers, glancing out the window to the snow that was falling continuously outside. There was something nagging at the back of his mind. Something about the snow, the avalanche. But he couldn't put his finger on it. Just then there was a knock on the door.
"Who is it?" Blair called out, not wanting to get up if he didn't have to.
There was no reply, just another knock, louder than the first.
Blair picked up the crutches from the floor, eased his leg off the chair and slowly made his way to the door. "Jim, if that's you..." He opened the door.
"Good afternoon." Mr Smyth said, "I was wondering if I could have a word with you?"
\*\*\*\*\*\*
"Detective, we really should head back down now. This storm is getting worse." Eddie had to shout to be heard above the wind that was beginning to howl down the mountain.
Jim looked around one last time. The snow had covered everything. Even the trees that fell during the avalanche were now buried under several feet of fresh snow fall. They had been up there for five hours, searching for...for what?
"Okay." He followed Eddie to the snowmobile they had shared and climbed on behind the ski patrolman. Glancing behind him for one last look around, he had to squint against the now horizontally falling snow.
On the ride back down to the lodge, Jim mentally reviewed what he had learned so far, which he had to admit to himself wasn't much. He had found no body, no other evidence of someone else on that slope. There were no tracks other than those made by the ski rescuers who went up the day before and found Mr. Benchly. And the snow had been falling so steadily, even his Sentinel sight couldn't pick up anything. He was going to have to start questioning the guests at the lodge. But how to do that without tipping his hand, he wasn't sure yet. If there was even a hand to tip. He had a murder, a weapon....but no motive, no murderer, nothing. And worst of all, no crime lab or database from which to start. All he had, was a vaguely familiar dead man, a high-powered murder weapon, and a nearly frozen partner.
"If I were you I'd get into the lodge and stay there, this storm is nearing a white-out!"
Eddie was shouting above the engine as he pulled up in front of the garage. "If this keeps up, whatever you were looking for up there is going to stay buried until spring!"
"I'm going to the aid station first, check up on my friend." Jim replied. They were inside the garage now and Eddie shut the motor off. Jim glanced around out of habit, noting the other two snowmobiles parked there. "Could one of these make it over the slide covering the roads?"
Eddie looked up as he dismounted, "Maybe, depends on the conditions of the snow. But that's irrelevant now."
"Why's that?"
"That one is out of gas." Eddie pointed to the one Jim and Tom Hanks had used the night of the slide. "And that one, blew a head gasket this morning."
"What about yours? There's gas pumps here."
Eddie shook his head, "They freeze up sometimes. The pumps aren't working right now. That's why Tom couldn't join us up there. His ran out of fuel last night."
Jim nodded then left, pulling his jacket tightly around his neck against the bitterly cold wind as he ran across the parking lot to the aid station. As he opened the door to hurry in he nearly knocked over Dr. Stuart, making her way out.
"Doc, I'm sorry, didn't see you."
"That's okay, Mr. Ellison. I was just on my way over to the lodge. Your friend isn't here, by the way. He's over there, in your room."
Jim motioned for her to come out and shut the door. Together they made their way across the road to the lodge, entering as quickly as they could to escape the storm. "You said Blair's here? Is he okay now?"
She shook off the snow that had accumulated on her head and shoulders even in that brief moment outdoors and shrugged out of her coat. "Yes and no." she replied. "There's no sign of congestion as of yet. And his leg is doing well."
"Yes?"
"Well, I would have kept him in the aid station, where we could keep a closer eye on him. But, he was insistent."
"Yeah, he gets that way sometimes."
"So, we struck a deal." They finished shrugging off the snow and proceeded into the lodge, pausing beside the large fire to warm cold hands. "He stays off his leg, and takes his pills, and I let him get out of there and come over here." She rubbed her hands together rapidly. "Really, it's for the better. After what he's been through, staying in that room was doing him no good at all. And I can still keep an eye on him."
"You're going to have to do more than that." Jim replied. At her raised eyebrows he elaborated. "Blair's got this thing about what he calls 'artificial medicine'."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, he has most likely dumped every pill you gave him down the drain and is looking for some fungus or something to take instead."
"Ah, Mr. Sandburg prefers a more homeopathic approach to medicine?"
Jim shrugged, making a face. "Mr. Sandburg prefers his own brand of reality."
Dr Stuart smiled, "You know, natural remedies and herbs can't be discounted just because you don't understand or like them. All of today's medicinal practices are based on original, tribal cures. We Westerners are the only society that has taken all tradition and religion out of our medicine and separated the two."
Jim rolled his eyes. "I'm surprised you two haven't been discussing this all day."
"He's been in bed all day. I was just on my way up to check in on him. Care to join me?"
"This I wouldn't miss." Jim indicated for her to proceeded him up the stairs. In bed all day, and taking his pills. This I have got to see.
As he unlocked the door to their room, Jim noticed a strong smell of aftershave lingering just at the entrance. He recognized the smell, one of the guests? But which one? Suddenly concerned he opened the door quickly and rushed inside, startling Blair who was hopping from the desk to the couch.
"Just what do you think you're doing?"
"Jim?!"
"Blair?"
The three of them spoke at once. Blair had stopped mid hop and was now reaching out for the back of the couch for balance. Jim noticed both crutches laying discarded on the floor beside the table, where papers were strewn about. Dr. Stuart was standing, hands on hips, staring from Jim to Blair.
"Hey, doc." Blair said grinning sheepishly.
Jim quickly glanced around the room, looking for the source of the aftershave that was even stronger inside.
"I thought I told you straight to bed?" Dr. Stuart stormed across the room to retrieve the crutches from the floor. "And off that leg?"
"Oh, well...I was just..." Blair turned carefully, glancing at Jim for support.
"Told you." Jim replied to Dr Stuart, smiling.
"And I suppose you haven't been taking the antibiotics?"
Blair just shrugged, looking around the room as if in search of a friendly face.
"Don't even start with the mushrooms and wild roots, Chief." Jim interjected. "Just sit down before she hauls your ass back across the street."
Blair obliged quickly, using the crutches that were tossed to him to make his way around the couch and sit down. "Jim, we have got to talk."
"Later. Right now, I think the doc wants a few words with you. And I need a hot shower." He turned away then, hiding the smile on his face from the silent 'don't leave me with her' plea in Blair's eyes.
He found a change of clothes, and went into the bathroom, closing the door. Even with the water running, Jim could hear Dr. Stuart's raised voice, chiding his friend for not following orders. He stood under the running water for a long time, letting the steam work tired muscles lose. The smell of aftershave was nagging at the back of his mind. Obviously someone in the lodge the other night had been wearing it, but there were always so many smells in a group like that, he did his best to filter them out whenever possible. He closed his eyes, willing his sense of smell to fall into the background, and replaced it with his visual memory. He could see each face from that night, sitting in the lounge just before the avalanche. The mobster, I have got to find a name for him, his girlfriend, the other man with them. Then there was Mrs Kelly, and Mr Evans. They were there, sitting at opposite ends of the couch. Well, that was normal, they didn't know each other. Then Mr Benchly's face flashed across his mind's eye. Only there was something wrong with the vision. He heard the door slam shut from the living room and turned off the water.
"Blair?!"
"Yeah?"
"What was that?"
"Just Dr Stuart, leaving." Blair called back. "Jim, we need to talk."
"In a minute, Sandburg. Let me get dressed." Jim was toweling off, gazing at his reflection through the steam on the mirror. He hadn't shaved in two days and was beginning to look a little scruffy, so he set about rectifying the situation. Once cleaned up, and dressed, he joined Blair in the living room.
"What happened to the crutches?" Jim noticed their absence as he entered the room.
"She took them." Blair replied dejectedly. "Something about, what's best for me."
Jim laughed. "And the pills? You tossed them didn't you?"
"No, I didn't toss them. Jim, do you realize that at the base of the evergreens here there's a mushroom...."
Jim held up a hand, "Don't even start with me, Sandburg. You can either take the pills, or I can give them to you." He paused, looking around for the bottle. "If Lash could do it, I think I can." The sudden look of panic that crossed Blair's expressive face made Jim instantly regret that reference. "Hey, I'm sorry." he said, meaning it. Blair just looked at the floor. "Is it that vivid?"
He nodded slowly, swallowing. "Like it happened yesterday."
Jim paused, watching his friend. "You had a rough night. The doctor said delirium is like a drug, sometimes you flash back." Blair was still nodding, looking anywhere but at Jim. "It will pass, okay? It's just a memory. Memories can't hurt us, remember?" Blair looked up then and Jim held his gaze. "Now, what is it we needed to talk about?"
Blair perked up right away, "I had an interesting talk with our mobster this afternoon."
"What?"
"Yeah, his name is Smyth, and at first I thought that was a little too obvious, but it's true. That Hanks guy brought you the records from the front desk. They're over there." Blair tried to get up but Jim put out a restraining hand.
"I'll get them. When did he bring these by?"
"This morning. I thought he was up on the slope with you, but he was standing outside the door when I came up."
Jim picked up the sheets that were strewn about the writing table and returned to the easy chair beside the couch. "Did he come inside?"
"No, why?"
"Never mind. So this Mr Smyth, I suppose you played Detective?"
"Well, sort of. He came up to see how I was doing." Blair replied. Jim was scanning the papers while he spoke. "Jim, that night vision scope he had...he makes those things. He's not a mobster after all."
Jim looked up then, smiling at the disappointment in Blair's voice. "Oh?"
"No, he's in the, as he put it, 'gadget business'. This guy manufactures and sells high tech equipment for just about anyone. You know, the kind of toys you can buy at say, Sharper Image, or the Spy Shop. He's loaded, man. This guy sells to just about everyone, including Cascade P.D."
"Is that right? What about his friends? There's still one missing."
Blair shook his head, "Not friends. His sons. He's married to that VERY young woman, and his two sons follow him everywhere. Probably waiting for him to drop dead or something so they can pounce on the family fortune. Anyway, one of them has the flu. He's been in the room down the hall since lunch that day. I mean, I didn't go check or anything, but I believe this guy."
"Oh you do?"
"Yeah, I do. Jim, he was just checking out the slope with that night site of his to try it out. It was just a coincidence. That's why he came up. He said watching that avalanche really freaked him out, and he just wanted to talk about it. And his wife, well she just met Benchly in the bar to talk business. She's Smyth's manager, believe it or not. I guess she figure Benchly for an accountant or something. Go figure."
Jim was nodding, taking it all in. He figured a real mob boss up there in the snow was too convenient. And having found no trace of a body anywhere near where Eddie said he found the rifle was beginning to worry him. If the killer did survive the avalanche, then he was still there at the lodge, with them. "This still doesn't tell me who Benchly was, that someone would want him dead."
"I've been thinking about that, too."
Jim could see him getting excited again, like he did when he was ready to put Jim through some new Sentinel trial. He replied by simply raising his eyebrows.
"You said he seemed familiar to you, right? Benchly, I mean."
"Yeah...as a matter of fact, that's been bugging me." Jim admitted, thinking about the flash of memory he had in the shower.
"Okay, so maybe you do know who he is. And if so, then you might also know why he would be the target of a murderer."
Jim shook his head, "I've tried. I can't recall this guy other than seeing him on the couch down there by the fire."
Blair moved around on the couch, trying to sit facing Jim instead of sideways with his leg up. "Okay, we're going to have to filter all that out. Just sit back, close your eyes, and picture his face."
Jim reluctantly obliged, not understanding how that was going to help. "Okay. I've got his face. Now what?"
"Now, just filter the rest out. Concentrate on his face only. Filter out the fireplace, the lodge, everything. Okay?"
Jim nodded. He was concentrating on Benchly's face. Slowly the background images began to blur and fade away. "Okay. I've got it, now what?"
"Now, try to pull back visually. See if there's anything around him now, anything other than the lodge. See where he is now."
Jim let his mind's eye follow Blair's voice, pulling back slowly away from Benchly's face. Nothing happened at first. Then, almost imperceptibly, he saw the background change from a blurred image of the fire to something much more recognizable.
"That's it!"
"What? What's it Jim? Did it work?"
Jim sat up, "A courtroom. I remember now. It's been a few years, but he was a Federal witness to a money laundering scam. That's where I remember him. I was part of the team keeping him in hiding until the trial. He's lost a lot of weight." Jim paused, remembering. "He should have disappeared years ago, into the witness protection program. His name was Cummins then, I think."
"So, what was he doing here?"
Jim stood then, pacing around the room, trying to fit this information into what little he knew. "Okay, so he went from Cummins to Benchly. And he should have disappeared three years ago."
"What happens when someone changes identity like that? Don't they go to some completely opposite side of the country and start a new life or something?"
Jim nodded, still pacing. "Yes, they do. Unless..."
Blair had to turn around on the couch a few times to follow Jim's pacing. "Unless what?"
"There's always one contact, a Federal Agent in charge of the case that the witness can contact. If something goes wrong, or they get found out. That has to be it." Jim stopped pacing and sat on the arm of the couch. "He must have been here to contact the agent in charge of his case. Maybe for another relocation."
"That would mean...?"
"That means someone did find him. A hit man, most likely. And got him before he made contact with the agent."
"But what was he doing on that slope? There's no way that guy was a skier."
Jim shook his head, "No. He was probably up there to meet his contact. And someone else followed him up." he stood and walked for the door, turning back as he pulled the storage locker key from his pocket. "Stay here, I'll be right back."
"Wait, where are you going?"
"Just stay here." He locked the door behind him, knowing Blair couldn't get very far without the crutches. He was more concerned with someone else coming in than him going out. It was beginning to make some sense. Not much, but some. He took the service elevator down to the basement where the rifle was locked up. Benchly, or Cummins, had been instrumental in bringing down a multi-million dollar drug money operation. There were a lot of highly placed, wealthy crime bosses who would pay dearly to have him eliminated. Informants were always considered unfinished business. He unlocked the storage room and found the rifle right where he had left it. Wrapping it in a towel, he quickly returned to the service elevator. Whoever it was could be working with a partner who knew he found the weapon. But then, with no access to a forensics lab there wasn't much he could do. And once that pass was cleared, he--or she--could disappear.
He made it back to the room without anyone noticing his package. "What are you doing?"
Blair was standing, on one leg, at the table again, apparently looking for something. "Just checking on something. Yeah, here it is." he turned to hop back to the couch and nearly fell. Jim was right there in an instant, grabbing Blair by the arm.
"You're going to break your neck." he chided, easily gliding him over to the couch and forcing him down. "Then what am I going to do?"
Blair looked at him for a moment, a questioning look in his eyes.
"What was so important, anyway?" Jim changed the subject, setting the rifle down on the coffee table.
"This." Blair handed over a sheet Jim had missed in the pile at the writing desk. "It's a map of the ridge. Look at this." he spread out the map on the couch, waving Jim to come closer. "I was wondering why Benchly would have gone up there to meet this agent. Why not down here?"
Jim picked up the map and examined it more closely. "You're thinking someone could go up and over this ridge here, and down the other side?" He followed the markings with a finger, tracing the slight incline that cut through the mountainside just above the top of the ski slope, and angled down the opposite side of the pass. "I think you might be right, Chief. That slide split right down this ridge. That's why it's covered both sides of the pass. If there's another body, it could very well be down the other side."
"The agent? Or the hit man?"
"I think our hit man is smarter than we thought." Jim replied. He picked up the rifle and looked straight down the barrel. He could see markings on the inside, typical of a weapon having discharged. But he couldn't tell how many times it had been fired. "I'm beginning to think the avalanche wasn't a surprise after all. What better way to cover your tracks long enough to get out of the crime area? Only maybe he didn't count on the pass being blocked from both sides."
"What about finger prints?"
He shook his head, "No good. Even if we could lift some, they wouldn't do us any good until we could get back to the station. Then we wouldn't have anything to compare them to."
Blair held up both hands, "Not necessarily Jim. I have an idea." he moved to get up from the couch again and Jim grabbed his shirt.
"Just sit here." he said, pulling Blair back down. "What do you want? I'll get it."
Blair motioned to the writing table, "There's some tape, and a pencil." he answered, sheepishly. "We can lift the prints from the gun. Then we'll need prints from everyone else here."
Jim found a roll of scotch tape and a pencil and returned with them to the couch. "No, no good Chief. Sure we can lift them, but we have no database."
"Ah, but we do." Blair smiled, taking the pencil. "The best kind around."
Jim paused, watching him use his Swiss army knife to make a fine powder from the lead in the pencil. "You mean me?" he shook his head in disbelief. "I may be good. But comparing finger prints?"
"Just humor me, okay? You know how to lift prints, right? I know this is low-tech, but I think it will work."
Jim took the lead dust and a strip of tape and decided to humor his friend. He could lift the prints, but how he was going to compare them he didn't know. And then there was the slight matter of getting prints to make the comparison. Blair had already discounted Mr Smyth and his party. And, Jim had to admit, he was beginning to agree with that assessment. Blair might be prone to exaggeration at times, but he was a good judge of character. Most of the time. Okay, so he let emotion rule his thinking instead of the logical, criminal justice approach Jim preferred. But emotion had its place now and again in making judgment calls.
"There's just one problem, Chief. My finger prints are all over this thing, and so are Tom's. "
"I know, I know. But if this works, we can get a set of your prints, and a set of everyone else here, and start eliminating. Right? I mean, who else is going to have prints on the gun? Anyone who picked it up outside is going to have had gloves on. And just you and Hanks have been handling in inside, right?"
It didn't take long to lift off several good sets of finger prints from the handle and barrel of the gun. When he had finished, Blair took the strips of tape, with Jim's help, over to the window and taped the two good thumb prints he had acquired on the glass, one over the other.
"Okay, now concentrate on the prints. Try to think of it as one of those three-dimensional poster things and see if you can make all the lines melt into one. See if they are the same print."
Jim shook his head, but instead of starting an argument he knew Blair wouldn't let die he obliged.
"Concentrate. Go ahead and let your other senses fade out. Just look at the prints. See if there is any difference in them at all."
Jim stared at the taped prints, concentrating. Slowly everything around him lost clarity as he focused tightly on the thumb prints. They began to take on an almost 3-D appearance as he concentrated. Then, they became one. One perfect print. They were the same. He could see it clearly, as if it was on the computer database screen there in the crime lab instead of taped to a window in a ski lodge.
"Jim...Jim!"
Blair's voice seemed to come from a great distance as he stared at the prints. He couldn't seem to respond. Then he felt something, barely at first, like his arm was numb.
"Jim, come on snap out of it!"
Blair was shaking his arm and he willed his eyes to close, to stop the tight focus that had zoned out his other senses completely. He shook his head to clear the rest of the image and turned away from the window. "Okay, I'm okay." he said, blinking. "It worked! I can't believe it." He was still a little dizzy from the tight focus, but it had worked! "Man, that was incredible. It just came out at me, almost like it was in three dimensions, like you said. It was clear as day." Jim was still surprised at his accomplishment. "Now we just need to find out whose prints those are."
"Well, I have an idea about that, too." Blair replied.
"Tom Hanks."
Blair looked up, surprised. "How did you know? I'm right, aren't I?"
Jim helped Blair back to the couch and sat down, looking at the rifle again. "He had a stopwatch on, when we were up there digging you out." he replied, turning the rifle over as he spoke. "I kept looking at it, trying to determine how long it had been." He set the rifle down. "I didn't think about it then, but he had the avalanche timed. As though he knew exactly when it had started and was ready, with the watch in hand. I just thought he had timed it from when we first started up the slope on the snowmobile. But he was too sure of the time. And that would explain why his snowmobile is out of gas and the others aren't. He could have run up there, killed Benchly, knowing full well it would cause the slide, then high-tailed it down right in front of the fall on that snowmobile "
"Did you know he was the one who authorized the night skiing?"
"What?"
Blair nodded, "Dr Stuart told me he's new up here. It was his call to allow night skiing. She thought it was odd that he would okay that with the planned avalanche control scheduled. Jim, he could be our man."
"I think you're right, Chief. He was counting on that slide to cover the body until he could get far enough away. He wasn't counting on finding anyone alive who would have remembered Benchly being up there."
"Great, I'm right. But what do we do about it?"
Jim stood and walked back to the front door, trying to pick up the aftershave he had smelled earlier. "Did you notice Mr Smyth wearing any cologne, or aftershave?"
Blair shook his head. "No. You've got something?"
Jim walked slowly around the room, following the scent. He traced it back to each room, then found a stronger concentration near his own suitcase. "I think we had a visitor." he replied, projecting his voice to Blair who remained on the couch. He opened the suitcase and found his service revolver where he had left it. A quick exam showed him an empty clip. Damn. He returned to the living room with the useless gun. "Things just got complicated, Chief."
Complicated, he says. Blair was working his way across the room, hopping from one piece of furniture to another, trying to get to the door. Complicated. Jim's plan had been simple, in his eyes. But Blair didn't like it one bit. This Tom Hanks, if that was really his name, was obviously a hit man. Maybe not a good one, if Blair had been able to figure it out, but a hit man non the less. Jim had an empty gun, no backup, and he was supposed to just sit there on the couch and wait. He reached the door and had to stop to catch his breath. If only Dr Stuart hadn't taken away the crutches, defying Jim's order to stay put would be much easier. His leg was throbbing terribly now and he felt just a little dizzy.
"Man this really sucks." He took a few deep breaths, waiting for the dizziness to pass, then opened the door. Just a couple of quick hops took him to the balcony railing, with a good view of the lounge below. After allowing time for his eyes to adjust to the dim light he scanned as much of the room as he could see from there, looking for Jim. His plan had been to simply get a set of finger prints from Hanks, to compare them to the many they had taken from the gun. Maybe, just maybe, the threat of discovery would tip his hand. How he was going to do that Blair didn't know. But if Hanks knew they were on to him...this guy knew Jim's gun was empty.
No, Blair didn't like this at all. He started working his way down the hall, holding on to the railing as far as it would take him, then the wall, until he reached the elevator. Just as he pushed the button for the elevator, a door opened behind him, startling Blair into turning around. In his surprise, he inadvertently put his right foot down, and the pain that shot up his leg caused him to sway and fall forward.
"Mr Sandburg! Are you alright?"
Blair's vision cleared sooner than the pain and he looked up. "Mr Smyth, your just the man I needed to see."
Mr Smyth insisted on helping Blair back into the elevator. He had explained the situation as quickly as he could, while Mr Smyth was rummaging through his bags for something Blair could use. Once inside the elevator Blair was reluctant to allow him to help.
"This could be dangerous. If I'm right, Jim's in trouble. If I'm wrong, then I'll be sent back up here, I'm sure. Either way, I can't risk you coming along." Jim's gonna kill me for doing this, let alone bringing company.
Mr Smyth reluctantly agreed, on the condition that if Blair didn't return quickly, he would come looking himself. He agreed as the elevator doors closed.
Blair meant to hit the button for the lobby, but his hand slipped as he tried to lean against the wall and he hit the basement level instead. The service elevator was so old, it didn't like to change directions quickly, so Blair was forced to travel all the way down. Once it stopped, the doors opened automatically. He was just about to hit the 'door close' when he heard voices coming from the end of the hall. Jim's voice.
Carefully Blair eased himself out of the elevator, glancing around. The hall was empty, and dark except for the light he could see under the door at the far end. He worked his way as quietly as he could down the hall. The closer he got, the more distinguishable the voices were.
"What about the Federal agent? Is he dead, too?" Jim's voice was clear now.
"The avalanche took him out nicely. Went down the opposite side, so his body won't be found for quite some time." Blair recognized the second voice.
Oh shit. This was it. He had no way to call for back up. This time, he was the backup. The tazer gun Mr Smyth had loaned him was clipped to his pants, leaving his hands free to hold on to the wall for support.
"I don't have to take out your partner. He's not going anywhere, and I only kill for money. I would have left you alone if you hadn't gotten too close." Tom Hanks was speaking now, right inside the door. Jim must be farther inside the small room. "My plan was so simple. Just take out Benchly when he went up to meet his contact. Let the snow bury the man. It would have been months before he was found. Then you had to come along and insist we keep looking for bodies up there." Blair heard him pacing back and forth in front of the door. "If your friend had just died, no one would have known there was another person up there unaccounted for. No one knew he was even here."
"So, you drove up there, took out Benchly, beat the avalanche down the mountain, then came back up to help rescue?"
"Yep. Simple as that. I've been up here for weeks now, just waiting. Letting that snow build up."
"Too bad the mob didn't get their money's worth. They should have sent a professional. Only a small-timer would be stupid enough to hand over the murder weapon, help find the body, and then stick around."
"I was enjoying it, actually. Call it a study in Police Detection." Hanks was pacing back and forth in front of the door. "I expected Benchly to be buried for months, and the weapon. But then your friend had to survive, thanks to you, and mention Benchly. So, naturally we had to recover the body. Then it got fun, and I couldn't resist digging up the gun for you to see. Call it pride, call it whatever you like. You had no access to the Department, there was no way you were going to figure this out before I got away. So I didn't mind getting fingerprints on the gun. Mine aren't on file anywhere." he stopped his pacing and stood still for a moment. "But, your friend started to worry me. He has that look of a man who needs to know the answer for everything. I figured he might start asking too many questions." he began pacing again. "So I decided it was time for me to make my exit, but the snowmobile ran out of gas. Eddie had the only other working one, and you two were up there, still snooping around.
"How did you know Benchly would be coming here?"
"Pillow talk. I've been doing the Records Clerk at the Bureau. So, nothing personal, you understand."
Blair knew it was now or never. He had the tazer out. The handle of the door turned easily and he slowly opened it, just enough to discern Tom Hanks standing directly in front of him. He aimed and fired into the man's back, hearing the electricity discharge at exactly the same instant the gun fired.
Hanks went down hard and jerked several times before the charge stopped. Blair didn't care if it had worked or not, all he could see was Jim on the ground at the other end of the room.
"Jim!" He let the tazer fall over Hanks's now unconscious body and ran to Jim, ignoring the shooting pain that ran up his right leg with each step. He dropped down beside his friend,
"Oh man, oh man! Jim?!" He was unconscious, bleeding from a bullet wound in his right shoulder. "Shit!" Blair tried to get up, to get help, but his leg collapsed under him and he fell back down. "Dammit Jim, come on." Frantically he searched the room for something, anything that would help. Finding nothing he pulled his sweater over his head, using it as a pressure bandage to stop the bleeding. "Somebody! Help!" He couldn't get up, couldn't go for help. Hanks was still unconscious, but how long would that last? Mr Smyth knew he was there, maybe he would... "Somebody!!" God, what now? "Jim, please don't die man." He wanted to check the bleeding, but he knew better than to stop applying pressure. "Come on Jim, I need you. Don't do this to me." He heard movement and quickly glanced over at Hanks.
"Mr Sandburg...?"
"Doc, thank God! He's been shot." Blair urged Dr. Stuart into the room, seeing then Mr Smyth following close behind her.
She stepped over Hanks and moved quickly to Jim on the floor. "Okay, let me take this. Mr. Smyth, could you help Mr. Sandburg out of here?"
"Certainly."
Blair reluctantly let himself be helped up off the floor, but refused to be ushered out of the small room. "We can't leave him." he said, indicating Hanks.
"Not to worry, Mr Sandburg. I have more toys up my sleeve."
Blair watched incredulously as Mr Smyth removed a large pair of handcuffs from his shirt pocket, then expertly placed them on Hanks. He then took out a second pair, and secure their prisoner to a table that was heavily bolted down. He nodded when Mr Smyth looked up, but refused to leave.
"Mr Smyth, could you please escort our Mr Sandburg to the aid station?"
"No way, I'm not leaving him."
She smiled tolerantly. "If you don't leave, they can't get in."
Blair turned then and saw Eddie and another man standing in the hallway with a stretcher. He apologized quickly and allowed Mr Smyth to help him out of the way. He still refused to leave, waiting for them to load Jim onto the stretcher, then followed the group to the aid station.
The snow had stopped sometime during the night and there were stars visible for the first time in a long time. Blair hardly noticed as he was helped across the street. His head was buzzing, and he was certain it wasn't from the pain in his leg. That gun had gone off the instant the tazer leads struck Hanks. What if he was the cause? Did Hanks fire, then the tazers hit? No, he was certain they had happened at the same time. It was his fault. Why in the hell did he wait so long? He was listening outside that door for several minutes. Why had he waited until the moment Hanks was taking aim?
In his guilt, Blair didn't noticed they had taken him into a room, instead of the waiting area. Mr Smyth and a nurse were trying to force him onto the bed. "No, I'm okay." he tried to protest, then felt the prick of a needle in his arm. "No, dammit, I'm all right!" but it was too late. Before he could form another protest he felt himself drifting rapidly. Gentle hands forced him onto the bed just as sleep overtook him.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Blair woke slowly. He remembered being worried about something. Terribly worried. And a strong feeling of guilt. But why, he wasn't sure. Then he remembered, and was awake instantly.
"Jim!?" he tried to sit up, but Dr Stuart was there, holding him down.
"Relax, take it easy. Your friend is fine." she said, pushing Blair back down. "He came out of surgery just fine. So did you."
"What? Me?" Blair was confused. Did she say Jim was okay?
"Yes. You ripped out every last stitch in that leg. Even the deep ones. You were bleeding almost as much as Mr Ellison was."
Blair sat back, trying to recall details. "You said he's okay?"
She nodded, pulling the blanket back over him. "Yes. The bullet went right through, missed the bone. He'll be fine after a few days rest. So will you."
"Can I see him?"
"Just relax for a while, okay? You need rest too." She stood then, glancing out the window that was now letting sun into the room. "The Feds arrived this morning and took Tom Hanks into custody."
"The Feds? You mean the roads are clear?" Blair wondered then what would have happened if they had just waited a few more hours. If Jim hadn't gone down to confront Hanks when he did. But then, if he hadn't waited outside that door as long as he had...
"Yes, they cleared a path sometime last night." Dr Stuart was saying. "For some reason, they knew about Hanks. I guess they were after him, I don't know. And, I don't care. I try to stay out of those things." She sighed, "That's why Eddie and I left the big city and came out here. I thought I left crime back there."
Blair closed his eyes, focusing on the fact that Jim was going to be all right.
"You, get some rest. Your friend was worried about you."
"Me?"
"Yes, when he came around last night they told him you were in surgery. The two of you are quite a pair, you know?"
He laughed a little. "Yeah, I guess so." he replied.
"He's a good friend."
"Yes. Yes he is."
She smiled then and left, shutting the door.
Blair sat back, pushing his head into the pillow. God Jim, I'm sorry. How was he going to make up for this? He was convinced now that Hanks had pulled the trigger because of the electricity that had hit his back. If he had acted sooner, Jim wouldn't have been shot. Maybe if he hadn't even gone to Mr Smyth. Blair had taken a big chance, hoping he had something in his little personal arsenal of toys. What if he hadn't? What if Blair had come back down the elevator and found Jim already dead? How could I be so stupid? All Jim needed was a diversion. He should have simply opened the door when he first found them in there. Jim could have taken out Hanks with a moment's diversion.
Blair's head was beginning to swim with 'what ifs' and he sat up carefully. He was too frustrated to sit still. He was scanning the room when he spotted the crutches against the far wall. Slowly, and with some considerable pain, he eased himself out of bed and over to the crutches. Once there, he had to wait several minutes for his head to clear. He opened the door quietly, checking for any sign of Dr Stuart. When he was convinced the coast was clear, he crossed the hallway to what he had figured out was the only other room in that small aid station. He opened the door and peered in. Jim was there, sitting up in bed, the phone sitting on the bed beside him.
"What are you doing out of bed?" he asked, watching Blair maneuver into the room.
"Shhh!" he said, making his way to the chair beside Jim's bed. "She'll hear you. That woman's got it in for me."
Jim shook his head, "And well she should. Sandburg, do you EVER do what you're told?"
Blair sat down, easing his right foot onto the radiator to raise his throbbing leg. "Have you ever known me to?"
"As a matter of fact..."
"Listen, Jim..." Blair held up a hand to stop his friend from delivering the speech he knew would be coming. "I know you're mad. You have every right to be. And I know.....after this, you might not want me around anymore, but I just had to..."
"What do you mean, not want you around?" Jim interrupted.
"I screwed up big time. This is entirely my fault and I know it"
"Sandburg, what are you talking about?"
"Hanks...you getting shot...this whole mess." Blair replied, trying to convey what he was unable to say without having to say it. "I should have been there sooner. That damn tazer, that's why he shot you. I might as well have pulled the trigger myself." He couldn't meet Jim's eyes then and had to look away. "I mean, if you had died, it would have been my fault. And I don't think I could live with that." He looked up again. Jim was smiling in an odd way. "You're my partner, and I let you down." His friend seemed more than willing to let him continue. "And, you're my friend...and if I had...."
"Listen. First of all, you didn't shoot me, okay Chief?" Jim interjected. "Hanks had me figured out before I even got the chance to talk to him. He was coming up to meet us both when I ran into him downstairs. I misjudged this guy and it's my fault he got the drop on me."
Blair was listening, but he still didn't believe any of this would have happened if he hadn't been so slow to act. "But that gun went off because I fired a tazer into him."
Jim shook his head, "Wrong. That gun went off before you fired." Blair was shaking his head and Jim continued. "Yes, Chief. I'm the Sentinel, remember."
Blair conceded. If Jim wanted to try and make him feel better by convincing him the gun would have fired anyway, he wasn't above letting him think he had.
"That Mr Smyth was really something. Good thing he had those little toys of his around." Jim replied, letting the subject change. "I'm going to have to recommend him to the Department, next time we need some high-tech gadgets."
"Actually, he already supplies the Department with most of his stuff. Remember those protein transmitters a few months back?"
Jim remembered the transmitters, and nearly being killed because of them being discovered. "Don't tell me, he makes those?"
Blair smiled sheepishly, "Well, actually no. He makes the little scanner that detected those."
Jim rolled his eyes. "Great, Sandburg. Just whose side is he on?"
"Ours, Jim. Definitely ours." he paused, looking around the room for a moment. "Jim, listen, when you were lying there...I really thought you might die." He was uncomfortable with the memory and Jim seemed to understand. "I just wanted to say...I really don't know what I would do without you." He looked up then, feeling a little braver with Jim's silence. "I mean, this Sentinel business is one thing. But it's gone beyond that. I mean...I really respect you...not just as a cop, or a Sentinel. It's more...."
"It's about friendship." Jim finished for him.
"Yeah. Exactly." There, he said it. Sort of. At least Jim seemed to understand what he was trying to say. The nagging fear of Jim's rejection, that had been lurking around the back of his mind all these months seemed to fade away.
The phone on Jim's bed rang. "Must be Simon finally calling back." he said as he picked up the receiver.
Blair sat back, listening.
"Simon...Yes, the Feds arrived this morning....No, just Hanks....Yes....No I'm fine. But we're going to be up here a while longer...No, I'm fine Simon, I just can't drive the truck right now...No, that avalanche nearly killed him. And the doctor won't let him out of bed now for a week...No, we'll be fine...Yes. Yes Simon, we'll be fine. Okay." Jim hung up and set the phone back on the bedside table. "Well, looks like we'll finally get that week of rest and relaxation after all."
"Did you tell Simon everything that happened?"
"Everything that mattered Chief."
"He's pretty pissed, isn't he?"
Jim shook his head, smiling. "No, not really. Why should he be?"
Blair opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Dr Stuart's abrupt entrance.
"There you are!" She stormed over to the bed. "I told you to get some sleep." she said, glaring at Jim. "And you. Do I have to chain you to the bed? You get your butt back down that hall...wait, don't you move. Orderly! I need a wheelchair in here. Mr Ellison, don't encourage him." Jim had been laughing at Blair's scolding, then abruptly stopped. "You, get back to your room this instant and STAY there." She pulled Blair by the shoulders into the wheelchair that had been brought in. "Move it mister!"
"Rest and relaxation." Blair said under his breath as he wheeled himself out of Jim's room. Behind him he could hear his Sentinel friend laugh at the remark he was sure to have heard. Then it was his turn to laugh as he heard Dr Stuart begin scolding Jim. "Okay. This I could enjoy."
End

