No copyright infringement is intended against characters owned by PetFly/Paramount. I stake no ownership claims and am definitely not profiting from this tale. All original characters are made up and resemble no real people, living or dead. Although that house in Sheffield seems awfully familiar... Comments always welcome!
I'm having a nightmare
And it doesn't feel like it's ever gonna stop
“Nightmare” - John Entwistle
"Am I boring you, Ellison?!"
"What?" The detective looked up sharply, tearing his gaze away from the dark brown drops of liquid splashing into the coffeepot. "I mean, no, Sir. Sorry."
Banks glanced at the percolating coffee, failing to see what had been so mesmerizing about it.
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Jim assured him, sitting up a little straighter. "Now, what were you saying?"
"Senses are acting up, aren't they?"
"Maybe a little," Ellison hedged. "I've just been finding it hard to focus the last few days. I'm not really zoning... it's more like I'm getting distracted by random sights and sounds and smells. And...."
"And?" Banks concluded for him, reaching for the coffeepot and filling his own mug before holding it out to his detective. "Maybe you need Sandburg a little bit more than you care to admit?"
"Don't make me say it out loud," the Sentinel groaned, extending his cup for his boss to fill. He took a sip of the rich, flavorful brew, nodding approvingly. "He just has this way of... grounding me, I guess. It's just easier to do my thing when he's around."
"When is he due back?"
"That's the thing," Jim told him. "He was supposed to be back last night, but he never made it."
"Maybe he just wanted to extend his trip a few days," Banks shrugged, unconcerned.
"Maybe," the detective replied, but there was a thoughtful look on his face.
"All right," the captain declared, giving a wave of dismissal. "Go bring in your suspect and see what you can get out of him. And keep me informed."
Ellison rose and headed for the door with his mug and file, but he hesitated and turned back.
"Do me a favor, will you Simon?"
Banks raised his eyebrows, waiting for the request.
"Don't let Sandburg know I was falling apart after only two weeks. Then he'll be permanently fastened to my side and I'll never be able to peel him off."
"It'll be our little secret," the captain promised with a chuckle.
Ellison clicked off the tv and tossed the remote down next to him on the sofa, running his hands wearily over his face. He got up and retrieved the phone, feeling completely like a mother hen as he punched in his roommate's cell number. It rang a few times, then the voice mail picked up. Without leaving a message, not knowing what to say without it looking like he was checking up on his friend, Jim just hung up the phone, inadvertently glancing out of the balcony doors into the darkness of the city.
"Where are you, Chief?" he murmured softly.
"The kid turn up yet?"
The detective glanced up from his computer screen, a bit disturbed that he hadn't sensed his captain's approach.
"No," he answered with a slight shake of the head. "I'm trying to figure out if I should be worried."
"I wouldn't be," Banks told him. "This is Sandburg we're talking about. He's probably just having a good time with his friends. Or he found himself a girl out there on the trail and they're busy enjoying nature together. Maybe he had car trouble. I told him it was a mistake to try and drive that broken down jalopy of his all the way to Montana."
"I suppose," Ellison sighed, not sounding very convinced.
"I can think of twenty reasons why he's not back and none of them are cause for alarm," Simon said sagely. "Besides, with the way Sandburg navigates..."
"He'll be lucky to make it out of the mountains by Christmas," Jim concluded with a grin. But as his captain moved off, his smile quickly faded.
The Sentinel paced restlessly around the loft. Something was wrong. He could feel it, even though his common sense was trying to tell him that he was overreacting. He tried to tell himself that Sandburg was a big boy and could take care of himself. But then his instincts kicked up, reminding him that his guide had the knack of attracting trouble like picnics attracted ants. Deciding that he could live with being a mother hen, Ellison let himself into his friend's room, determine to track him down.
He didn't want to infringe on his partner's privacy, but justifying the action as an emergency the detective began looking through piles of papers and folders and literature until he found Sandburg's black address book. Blair had been really looking forward to meeting his old friends in Montana for a backpacking trip to the mountains during the university break and had been chattering away excitedly about it for days before he left. Jim hadn't really been paying attention until the name "Bonz" jumped out at him and he demanded clarification.
"Bonzo," Blair told him with a shrug. "His mom was a big Zeppelin fan. Well, more like a traveling groupie, really. Hey, remember that story going around about them and the shark..."
"That's really more information than I need, Chief," Ellison interrupted quickly, holding up his hand.
"Anyway, it'll be good to see him again," Sandburg continued. "Man, it's been like five years since we've hooked up."
"Good thing you're not hanging out with any Tom, Dick, or Harrys, Chief," the detective murmured, skimming through the thick book that was overflowing with all manner of names and numbers. But he found a listing for "Bonz" easily enough. Taking the book with him, he went back out into the living room where he'd left the phone.
"I thought you went home," Banks announced as Ellison came bursting in the door of his office.
"Sandburg's in trouble, Sir," the detective exclaimed, somewhat breathlessly after having run up the stairs rather than wait for the elevator.
"All right, slow down," the captain ordered, waving to one of the chairs in front of his desk. "What are you talking about?"
"I called one of the friends that he was supposed to meet out in Montana," Jim explained, calmer but refusing the seat in favor of pacing. "Sandburg called on the way and said he was having car trouble and that he'd catch up with them. But he never showed up. I called Rainier, too, and they said that classes started back up today but Blair missed both of his and nobody had heard anything from him."
"That's definitely not Sandburg," the captain mused, his own worry growing. His observer took his university life very seriously and was much too responsible to blow off his classes without a word to anyone. "Do we know where he called from?"
"Somewhere in Idaho," Ellison replied.
"Ok, let's see if we can track him down. We'll start with his credit card and see if he left any kind of paper trail. And for God's sake, Jim, get that look off your face. There's no reason to panic until we know what's what."
"I keep telling myself that, Simon," the Sentinel sighed. "But he made that call the day he left and nobody's heard from him since. Which means that Sandburg's been missing for over two weeks now."
"We're almost there," Simon announced, tracing his finger along the map. "Looks to be about another ten miles." He looked up, glancing out of the window. "Although it's hard to believe there could be a town out here. I haven't seen anything but trees for the last twenty minutes." Banks sighed, laying the map aside and turning in his seat to fix his gaze on his friend. "Come on, Jim."
"What?"
"You've barely said five words the entire drive."
"I've kind of got a lot on my mind here, Simon."
"No, you're too busy digging the kid's grave," the captain said sternly.
"All right, then," Ellison spat, masking his worry and fear with anger. "You tell me. What could have happened to him? Where is he and what is he doing, that he hasn't called? Why else wouldn't we have heard from him unless he was..." He trailed off, unable to get the word past the knot in his throat.
"What's the story with that idiot friend of his?" Banks sighed, ignoring the question as he didn't have an answer. At least, not one that he cared to think about. "Why in the hell didn't he try to track down Sandburg when he didn't show up?"
"He said he figured Blair just bailed on them again," Jim explained, calmer in voice though his posture belied his tension. "I guess a group of them do this every year, and Sandburg's canceled at the last minute the last few years. Plus, his mother is Naomi's best friend, if that tells you anything. Spacey is probably his natural state of being."
"Say no more," Simon groaned.
The Sentinel glanced at his friend sitting next to him as he began to fold up the map and muted a sigh of his own. He knew his boss meant well, but he was not in the mood for company, small talk or a distraction from the dark thoughts weighing on his mind. All he wanted was to find out what had happened to his guide and he would have much preferred to fly solo. But Simon hadn't considered that an option, insisting that his detective had to have a partner for backup, and although he didn't voice it, Jim figured for support in case the worst turned out to be true. The captain volunteered his services, and when Ellison hedged, he informed him that Megan was available, knowing full well that although they had learned to respect one another and had formed a solid working relationship, the feisty Inspector was the last person the tense detective would want with him in this situation. So, really left with no choice, Jim and Simon had set out early that morning to retrace Sandburg's steps and hopefully find out what had befallen him.
It was mid-afternoon when they pulled into Greendale, a small town nestled in seclusion in the middle of the forest. They parked along Main Street and climbed out of the truck, stretching as they took in the scattered shops and businesses and not finding much with which to be impressed.
"There's a municipal building on the next block," the Sentinel announced, his eyes picking up the faded sign.
"That's probably where we should start," Simon agreed. "See if we can make friends with the local law before we start poking around and stepping on toes."
"Place like this?" Ellison joked half-heartedly. "The Sheriff will probably denounce us as trouble makers and sentence us to ten years hard labor working in the chain gang in some prison farm."
"Look on the bright side," Banks shrugged. "Sandburg's probably already there. Come on."
They walked down the street and entered the old building where a receptionist with bleach blond hair and too much eyeshadow told them to have a seat. Their wait was a brief one, and they both immediately realized they were in no danger of being sent to the chain gang. The man that came to greet them was a big one, tall and broad shouldered with a uniform that fit a little too snugly around his waist, confirming their suspicions that law enforcement in Greendale was most likely a much less physical affair than in the streets of Cascade. But his smile held no trace of malice or suspicion, and his warm brown eyes sparkled with intelligence as he shook both of their hands in turn.
"I'm Sheriff Beau Clayton," he introduced himself in a soft voice that didn't really match his stature. "But everyone around here just calls me Clay."
"Captain Simon Banks, Cascade P.D." The Sheriff's eyebrows raised slightly, but his attitude outwardly did not appear to change. "This is Detective Jim Ellison."
"You boys are a ways from home." Words each of them had heard before, from hostile local law that resented the interference of the big time city cops. But this time there was no disdain or derision in the sheriff's tone. "What brings you here to Greendale?"
"A missing person," Simon told him, passing him a photograph. "Blair Sandburg, consultant to the police department. According to his credit card statement, he stopped here three weeks ago on his way to Montana. Nobody's heard from him since."
"Doesn't look familiar," Clay frowned, studying the picture. "But I was in Lewistown three weeks ago." He took the statement from Simon and glanced at the charges. "Garage and motel. Hit a little car trouble passing through?"
"As far as we can tell," Jim said tightly.
"My car's out back," the sheriff offered. "Why don't you boys come with me, and we'll see if we can get to the bottom of this?"
"We don't want to trouble you," Ellison began, preferring to handle the investigation on his own.
"No trouble," the big man assured him. "It's my job."
Simon glanced at his detective as he followed the sheriff out of the door, but the Sentinel wasn't about to argue. He knew he couldn't very well tell the local law to butt out of his town's affairs, and with resignation he realized that the questioning might go over better with his support, for the rest of Greendale might not be quite as friendly and welcoming.
They climbed into one of the town's two police cars, and Clay started the engine and pulled out of the alley behind the municipal building. They turned back onto Main Street, heading east, and the affable sheriff relayed various tidbits about the town as they drove the short distance to the service station where Sandburg had charged two hundred and thirty-one dollars on his credit card three weeks prior. It was only a few blocks away, and within minutes the sheriff had parked the car and was leading them inside the small office that was sparsely stocked with sodas and snacks.
"Afternoon, Lenny," Clay greeted the oil and grease stained man behind the register. "These fellows are from Cascade and they're looking for a man who went missing three weeks ago."
"What does that have to do with me?" the mechanic demanded, eyeing the strangers suspiciously.
"He had car trouble here in Greendale and there was a charge on his credit card for your garage," Simon explained, muting a sigh at the hostile stare that hadn't been totally unexpected.
"So? Just because he was here doesn't mean I had anything to do with him going missing," the man insisted.
"Of course not," the sheriff placated him. "All we're asking is that you look at a picture and see if you remember him."
Ellison held out the photo and the mechanic grudgingly took it.
"Oh yeah, I remember him," he said in a scornful tone that made the Sentinel's blood boil. "Drove a green Volvo. Had to replace the plugs and the idle air control valve."
"And then what?" Jim demanded.
"I assume he went on his merry way," Lenny muttered. "Think he said he was heading for Montana."
"There was also a charge on his card for the motel," Clay intervened, picking up the growing agitation in the detective's body language.
"So? I told him it would take awhile and he decided to stay the night."
"Did you pick him up there in the morning and drive him back here?" the sheriff inquired, knowing it was standard practice for the mechanic to shuttle his customers to and from the garage while their cars were being serviced.
"JB did. Came in early, picked him up and checked him out."
"We're going to need to talk to this JB," Ellison declared, getting a look filled with daggers in return.
"I want to know what you're accusing my son of," the mechanic growled.
"I'm not accusing anybody of anything," Jim told him impatiently. "I'm just trying to find out what happened to my partner, and any information anybody can give us could be helpful in that regard."
"JB was the last person to see Mr. Sandburg," Clay said quickly, holding up a meaty hand to quell any arguments. "We just want to talk to him and see if Sandburg might have said anything to indicate where he was going next."
Lenny glowered at the three of them for a moment, then moved out from behind the register to stick his head through the door that led to the garage.
"JB!" he bellowed above the noise of an oil gun. "Get in here!"
After a few moments, a young man entered, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.
"What's up?"
"These cops want to ask you a few questions."
"Don't worry, you're not in any trouble, son," Clay was quick to assure him as he turned a wide, dark eyed stare on the three men. He held out his hand and Lenny passed him the picture. The sheriff held it up for the boy, reluctant to hand it to him and get any more smudges on the print. "Do you remember this man coming in here about three weeks ago?"
"Sure," JB replied, glancing at the photo. "That's Blair. He was on his way to go backpacking with his friends and his car broke down. Green '68 Volvo. Total classic."
"Your dad says you picked him up at the motel and checked him out in the morning," Clay continued.
"Yeah," the boy confirmed, thinking back. "We normally don't open until 9, but he was anxious to hit the road because he was already running late. So I went in early. Picked him up around 7:30 and drove him back here. He got a granola bar and a bottle of juice and paid for everything with Visa, and then he got in his car and took off. Heading east."
"Did he say anything to you? Anything about a change in plans or where he was going next?"
"He just said he had to be in Montana that night because his friends were heading out for the mountains early the next morning." JB glanced back at the picture the sheriff was still holding out and then looked up at them, a hint of concern in his dark eyes. "You said he was missing?"
"There, we've answered all your questions and we don't have anything else to tell you," Lenny interrupted, casting a meaningful look at his son. JB hesitated for a moment, then spoke up again.
"What do you think happened to him?"
"That's none of your concern," his father told him menacingly, causing the boy to flinch slightly.
With narrowed eyes, Ellison plucked a business card from the pile on top of the register. He turned it over, using the pen on the counter to jot down his cell number.
"We appreciate your help," he said, deliberately sounding insincere. "If you think of anything else, you can reach us at this number."
Lenny took the offered card and flipped it into the wastebasket next to the counter.
"There's nothing else to tell," he declared, shooting his son a deep scowl. "You, get back to work. Excuse me." Brushing past them, he went outside to where a car was waiting to be fueled at the full service gas pumps.
Silently, Jim retrieved the card from the garbage and held it out to the boy. JB took it, slipping it into the breast pocket of his overalls before turning and ducking through the door back out to the garage.
"He'll probably just toss it, too," Banks sighed. "But at least he has the manners to wait until we're gone."
"The motel next?" Clay suggested. "After this, I'm not too hopeful we'll find anything useful there, but it's worth checking out."
Simon and Jim agreed, so they got back into the police car and headed back into town where Clay turned off of Main Street and drove two blocks north to the Greendale Motel.
"Yeah, I remember him," the old-timer behind the desk told them. "The hippie. Nice young fella."
But in between spitting tobacco juice into a coffee can on the floor, he was unable to give them any information that was of any use. He obligingly gave them the key to the room Blair had occupied during his stay, but even with his senses on full blast, the Sentinel didn't detect anything amiss. Somewhat dejectedly, they let Clay drive them back to the municipal building.
"I guess the next step is to start checking on unidentified accident victims between here and his final destination," the sheriff said gently. "I'll start on that right away. I expect you boys will be moving on now?"
"Actually, I think we'll go back to the motel and try to get a room for the night," Ellison told him, ignoring the questioning look his captain shot him.
"Then I'll give you the numbers for the office here and my home phone, too." Clay scribbled down the numbers on a fluorescent post it note he grabbed from the receptionist. "Leave your cell number with me, and I'll call if I find anything out. And don't hesitate to give me a buzz if I can be of any help whatsoever."
They thanked him and left the office, heading up the street where they had left the truck.
"I can't believe you want to spend the night," Simon told his detective. "I figured you'd want to try and pick up Sandburg's trail right away."
"There's no trail to pick up," Jim replied absently, unlocking the driver's side door. "Blair didn't have an accident along the way."
"Now how do you know that?" Banks demanded as Ellison leaned over and unlocked the passenger door, allowing him to climb into the truck. "You heard as well as I did that Sandburg was in a hurry and trying to make up for lost time..."
"I don't think he ever left here, Simon," the Sentinel announced. "There's something going on here, and we haven't been getting the whole story."
"Come to think of it, that mechanic did seem to be giving us the runaround. And he sure was in a hurry to get rid of us."
"He was an asshole, but he was telling the truth," Jim said as glanced behind him to check for traffic before pulling out onto the street. "It was his son who was lying."
"The kid's heartbeat was going a mile a minute," Ellison explained confidentially to his boss, picking up the ketchup bottle on the table and liberally dousing his fries with the condiment. They had gone to the small diner near the motel for dinner and had asked about Blair while they waited on their food. Several of the staff, and a few of the patrons, remembered him due to his unconventional looks which made him stick out in the conservative small town. But unfortunately, nobody knew anything more than what they'd already been told.
"You think he's lying about Sandburg leaving town?" Simon asked, taking a bite of his club sandwich.
"I don't know," the Sentinel mused, picking the onions off his burger. They smelled strong, and he was too preoccupied to worry about having to dial down his sense of taste to compensate. "But I definitely think he knows more than he's letting on."
"Do you want to go back at him?"
"We'll have to find a way around his old man first," Jim reasoned. They couldn't accuse the boy of anything, not having any evidence that he hadn't been telling the truth. None that was admissible, anyway. And they both knew if they tried to reinterview, they'd be up against plenty of resistance from the kid's father.
"We'll find a way," Banks vowed. "Being that he was the last one to see Sandburg, we can use that as grounds for a reinterview. We'll deal with the father when we come to it. And maybe if we go back over there in the morning, before the garage opens, we'll be able to find something we can use. In the meantime, why don't you eat that instead of just playing with it?" It had not escaped the captain's attention that for all his meticulous arranging, his detective had yet to sample any of his meal.
"I'm starting to get a real bad feeling about this, Simon," Ellison confessed softly, glancing away and swallowing hard. "Whatever happened to Sandburg, it was bad enough to warrant some kind of cover up. I'm starting to lose hope that we're going to find him alive."
The captain looked at him sadly, having been wrestling with his own fading hope and not having any words of reassurance to offer. For his seasoned detective knew every bit as well as he did that with the circumstantial evidence they had, the chances of finding Blair alive were rapidly dwindling. He tossed the rest of his sandwich down on his plate, his own appetite suddenly vanishing.
"I think we have an admirer," Jim told him, giving a slight nod across the diner as he turned back to face his friend. Very subtlely, Simon glanced around the room, immediately spying the person to whom his companion was referring. A young man, appearing to be around JB's age, kept looking nervously in their direction. Giving off the appearance that they hadn't noticed, they engaged in easy conversation, both keeping an unobtrusive eye on the kid. Before too long, another guy entered the diner and approached his booth, sliding into the seat across from him.
"Can you hear what they're saying?" Banks whispered.
The Sentinel extended his hearing, blocking out the background noise until he focused in on their voices.
"It's them," the first boy hissed, favoring them with another nervous glance. "Those cops from Cascade."
"How do you know?"
"Who else could they be?"
"Benny, we have to get out of here!"
"Chill out!" the kid ordered. "They don't suspect anything yet. But if you go running out of here like an idiot, they'll know something is up. Just be cool, and they'll never know...."
Ellison cringed, wincing painfully as a waitress dropped a tray of silverware with a noisy clatter a few tables away.
"Are you all right, Jim?"
"Fine," he groaned, pausing to let the searing pain ringing through his ears pass. "But I think our friends over there are worth a conversation." He winced again as his cell phone went off. Pulling it out of his jacket pocket, he tossed it to his friend while he tried to get his hearing levels back under control.
"Captain Banks." Simon listened for a moment, then place a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. "Jim, it's JB. He wants to talk to you in private and wants to know if you can meet him."
The Sentinel reached out and took the phone.
"Ellison. Yeah, sure, I can do that. Name the place. No, I'll find it. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
"What's going on?"
"He wants to meet me at a bar outside of town," the detective informed his captain. "And he asked that I come alone."
"That's not a good idea, Jim," Banks protested.
"I have to, Simon," Ellison argued, a touch of desperation in his voice. "This kid knows something, and I have to go along with him if he's going to tell me anything. He's our only link to Sandburg, so at least for now, I have to meet his terms. He knows that you know I'm meeting him, so he's not going to be that stupid as to try anything."
"I still don't like it," the captain grumbled.
"I'm meeting him at a place called 'Raven's Roost'," the Sentinel continued. "Stay here and keep an eye on those two. And if you don't hear from me in an hour, call Clay and fill him in."
"Be careful, Jim," Simon cautioned.
"I will." He had to be. Blair's life, if he was still alive, depended on it.
Ellison left the diner, jumping into the truck and revving up the engine. He followed the directions JB had given him, and found the bar easily enough a few miles outside of town. Going inside, he spied the young man at a dark table in the corner and quickly joined him.
"Thanks for meeting me here," the kid greeted him. "Sorry about all this secrecy, but I don't really want anyone to see me talking to you. No offense."
"None taken," Jim replied dryly. "Would your dad be one of those you don't want to see you with me?"
"For starters. Hey, I'm sorry about the way he acted today. He doesn't mean to be a jerk, but he's had a rough life, you know? He doesn't trust people easily."
"Forget about it. So what did you want to talk to me about?"
"Want a beer?"
"No, thanks."
"Let me get another one." JB waved the waitress over and ordered a draught. Obviously not his first of the night, though he was far from being drunk. Ellison paid his tab when she brought him the drink, and the kid lifted his mug to him in tribute before taking a long swallow. He set his glass down neatly on the cardboard coaster and was silent for a minute, running his finger along the rim of the mug. Finally, he looked up at the waiting detective. "Blair's your partner?" At the confirming nod, he continued. "He talked about you a little. Most people that pass through Greendale don't stop. Those that are forced to barely give the locals the time of day, especially a grease monkey like me. But Blair was really cool to me. He hung out at the garage for awhile while we looked at his car, and we talked about all kinds of things. I even told him about wanting to go to college someday, and he encouraged me. The first person who ever has..."
"JB," Jim began gently. "Do you know what happened to Blair?"
"No," he answered, shaking his head.
"But you do know something that you didn't tell me before," the detective pressed.
"My dad would kill me if he found out," the young man moaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "I know I should just keep my mouth shut, but if something did happen to Blair... God, it's my fault!"
"Why don't you just tell me what happened?" Ellison coaxed. "Maybe your dad doesn't have to know. I promise I'll help you however I can, but you have to tell me what you know."
JB lifted his mug, draining it in three big gulps. Jim motioned to the waitress to bring him another, and after she set it before him the kid met the detective's steady gaze and told him the story.
"That night that Blair broke down I got a call from a guy I know. I didn't get the whole story, but he had some kind of a grudge against Blair. It had something to do with Vicki, his old girlfriend. She bartends at the Elkhorn in town, and I think something might have happened there. Anyway, he talked me into tampering with Blair's car."
"Tampering how?"
"Early the next morning, before I had to pick Blair up, I drained most of the gas from his tank and rigged his gage to read full. He was supposed to run out of gas a few miles out of town. Benny said that it would just be an inconvenience and that he'd have to hike a few miles back to town. He promised me that nobody would be hurt."
"Your pal, Benny, wouldn't happen to be a tall, skinny, blond kid, would he?"
"How did you know?"
"Lucky guess," the detective replied dissmissively. "So you think that Benny ambushed him after he ran out of gas?"
"I don't know," JB muttered. "But I wouldn't put it past him. He can get a little crazy sometimes." The young man looked up and the Sentinel could plainly see the sincere regret and sorrow shining from his dark eyes. "I swear to you, Detective Ellison, I never meant for anything to happen to Blair. If Benny did something to hurt him... I'll never forgive myself. You have to believe that much."
"I believe you," Jim told him, leaning forward across the table. "But you have to tell me the truth now, JB. I know Benny didn't just talk you into this. What did he bribe you with?"
"A quarter bag," the kid admitted shamefully, dropping his gaze.
"All right," Ellison sighed. "With what you've told me, I'll be able to get a search warrant on Benny. If I can find any corroborating evidence, I should be able to keep you out of it."
"You're not going to arrest me?" JB asked, his head snapping up in surprise, sure the detective would want to haul him in for the part he'd played in the disappearance of his partner, weighted with charges of drug possession.
"No, I'm not." While the Sentinel was plenty ticked at what the kid had done, he could see there was no ill will in the boy and that he was truly sorry for his part in it all. And he did appreciate JB coming forward and confessing his crimes, saving him a lot of time and energy. Time that he could not afford to waste, especially not when he had bigger fish to fry. "But why don't you do yourself a favor and lay off the weed? You're never going to get to college that way, I promise you."
The young man looked away again, wondering if he'd feel better if he had been arrested and taken to jail. It might have made his conscience easier to deal with.
"Hey," Jim said, getting the kid's attention as he rose and tossed a few bucks down on the table. "You make sure to have somebody drive you home." When JB didn't respond, the Sentinel reached out and grabbed his shoulder. "I mean it. You screwed up, big time. But you also had the courage and the dignity to come forward and admit your mistake. That kind of integrity is rare today, and I don't want to see it splattered all over the highway. Got it?"
The young man nodded, a bit awed that the detective could still find kind words for him after what he'd done. Convinced that the self-loathing would take a backseat to responsibility for the night, Ellison patted him on the shoulder and left the bar. He got into the truck and dialed Simon's cell phone, quickly filling him in on what JB had divulged. Leaving his captain to contact Clay and arrange for the search warrant, Jim started the truck, intent on going back to Greendale and tracking down Vicki to see what her part in the story was. As he pulled out of the parking lot, he drew in a deep breath, struggling to force air past the tight ache in his chest. He couldn't allow himself to fall apart, for he had to hold it together to help his partner. Even if all that was left was to uncover the truth and dole out justice. He owed Blair at least that much.
The Sentinel turned down the dark, deserted Main Street and pulled up and parked in front of the municipal building, where a faint light was still shining through the windows. He hopped out of the truck and pushed the door open, moving around the reception desk into the back office.
"What did you find out?" Simon asked him.
"I found Vicki working at the bar," he reported. "Apparently, she had been dating this Benny for almost a year, but dumped him about a month ago. Said he was getting pretty heavy into drugs and acting crazy and she couldn't take it anymore."
"How does Sandburg fit into all of this?"
"Well, Vicki said she was on her way to work and Benny grabbed her on the street. Said he just wanted to talk, but he was high and she told him where to go. He started getting rough with her, and then she said Blair just came out of nowhere and ordered him to leave her alone. I'd guess he was on his way back to the motel from the diner and just happened to run into them. Anyway, Benny took a swing at him and missed, and Sandburg decked him. They left him with a bloody nose in the street and Blair walked her the rest of the way to the bar. He left her at the door, but he gave her his card and told her to call his cell number when she got off work if she was worried about walking home alone. Vicki says she kissed him on the cheek to thank him and he left, but when she turned to go inside she caught sight of Benny watching from down the street. She got someone to drive her home after her shift and she hasn't seen either one of them since."
"She wasn't playing up the damsel in distress bit, was she?" Banks inquired. "Using Sandburg to make the ex jealous?"
"I don't think so," Jim replied. "She seemed pretty upset to hear that Blair's missing."
"Vicki's a good girl," Clay added, hanging up the phone and rising from his seat behind the desk. "I could never understand why she was throwing herself away on trash like Benny Morgan. But I promise she was telling you the truth."
"You heard what I said?" the detective asked, wanting to make sure the sheriff had caught the story in between his own phone conversation.
"Yes," Clay confirmed. "And I just got approval for a warrant to search Benny's house and car."
"Then what are we waiting for?" Ellison demanded. "Let's go pick the little creep up."
The sheriff glanced at the clock, seeing that it was approaching the two o'clock hour.
"I've got a couple good ideas where to look."
The police car cruised slowly passed the park, all three men keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of their suspect among the dark trees.
"Looks pretty deserted," Simon murmured.
"We've been targeting this area a lot lately," Clay told him. "It used to be pretty popular with the drug crowd, but they've been finding other haunts since they've been getting rousted out. But don't worry. If he's not here, there're a few other places we can try."
The radio in the car crackled, the night deputy calling to report that the suspect's car had been spotted at the bluff. Clay turned the car around and stepped hard on the accelerator, speeding out of Greendale to a small overlook outside of town. He pulled up beside the waiting car and parked as his deputy approached to speak with him through the window.
"He's probably up at the well," he speculated. "I don't think he knows we're here."
"Good," Clay nodded. He turned to look at his companions in the back seat. "There's an old gas well up the hill there. The kids made it into a camp and sometimes go there to drink or neck." The sheriff turned back to his deputy. "Let's go quietly. We don't know how many are up there, but I don't want to lose any of them in the woods." As the deputy moved off, Clay gave Simon and Jim a grin of invitation. "You boys want in on the action?"
"Don't have to ask me twice," Ellison muttered, fairly leaping out of the car.
The four men grouped to formulate their plan of action, but Jim quickly grew antsy as they discussed the merits and perils of using a flashlight to navigate their way in the dark.
"Let me go up ahead," he urged. "I can do it without a light."
"How's that?" the deputy asked him, a tad suspiciously.
"I was an Army Ranger," the detective explained. "I was trained for this kind of thing."
Simon nodded his confirmation and approval, so Clay agreed.
"We'll give you a few minutes to get into position, and then we'll be right up after you," he promised.
Ellison took off before he even finished speaking, effortlessly making his way up the hill in the dark without so much as a twig snapping.
"That's pretty impressive," the sheriff noted.
"Good night vision," Banks said offhandedly. "He eats a lot of carrots."
Jim reached the top of the hill, moving deliberately but cautiously as the flickering light of a campfire came into view. He skirted closer, picking up two figures lounging around it. One was his suspect, and the other was the knucklehead Benny had been speaking to in the diner.
"Payday," the detective muttered under his breath, moving into position and disarming the safety on his gun. He stepped forward, aiming his weapon and authoritatively ordering the two young men to freeze. Benny immediately scrambled to his feet and took off running through the woods, crashing through the brush. He was weaving a bit and did not have the benefit of Sentinel sight, so Ellison quickly overtook him and tackled him to the ground. The boy tried to put up a fight until Jim pressed his gun hard into his back.
"Go on," he threatened. "Just give me an excuse."
Defeated, Benny went limp and allowed himself to be cuffed and unceremoniously hauled to his feet.
The second kid had watched the detective fly past him in pursuit of his friend and had wisely chosen to run in the other direction. Unfortunately, that sent him crashing right into the arms of the sheriff, who was barreling up the hill with his deputy and Simon after they'd heard Jim's shout. Both boys were quickly loaded in the back of the deputy's car and he set off to escort them back to town.
Clay produced a bright spotlight from his own car, giving in to Ellison's insistence that they go over Benny's car immediately rather than have it towed back to town in the morning. All three of them dutifully examined the front and back seats, even though Banks knew he wasn't going to find anything that his detective missed. The sheriff popped the trunk, and after removing a few standard items, the Sentinel asked for an evidence bag.
"What've you got, Jim?" Simon asked as Clay went searching through his car for things he wasn't even sure if he had, having little use for them.
"It looks like a few drops of dried blood," Ellison replied, his voice carefully neutral. The sheriff finally came up with a handful of plastic bags and a pair of tweezers. Jim gathered a few flakes of the crimson substance, sealing them in one of the bags. Then he took a second and added a few strands of dark, curly hair.
"I don't suppose you have a record of your partner's DNA on file," the sheriff asked, only half joking.
"No." The detective shook his head, handing over the items he'd gathered. "The best we can do is a type match with the blood. We can find some hair samples at the loft, so that's probably our best bet in terms of evidence."
"Either way, it's going to take some time," Clay sighed. "The closest forensics lab is in Boise, and even if we put a rush on it, it's still going to be a few days."
"A few days Sandburg may not have," Jim muttered to himself.
"Do you think that hair was his?" Banks whispered, glancing at the sheriff who was climbing into his car.
"I know it was, Simon," the Sentinel whispered back, only his eyes betraying the turmoil he felt inside. His captain's hand on his shoulder did nothing to comfort him, so he shrugged it off and climbed back into the waiting police car.
Dawn had broken. The bright, warm rays of sunlight stretching over the land from the cloudless blue sky promised a glorious day. But the beauty of it was lost to the increasingly dispirited detective. He turned his gaze away from the window back to the table where Clay was still going around and around with Benny. The sheriff was cajoling the boy, but he refused to say anything other than a declaration of his innocence. Clay reminded him that once the forensics came back a match for the hair and blood samples found in his car, it would all be out of his hands and the young man would have lost the chance to help himself. But that just caused the kid to protest that he had been framed. And Ellison had had enough. They didn't have time to wait for forensic results, which meant they needed a confession. Since the good cop routine hadn't worked, it was time to unleash bad cop.
"Clay," the Sentinel said softly, moving from his seat in the corner of the room. "Why don't we get Benny some coffee? Maybe something to eat? Then maybe he'll feel more like talking."
The amiable sheriff knew he was being dismissed. It obviously didn't sit well with him, but he realized that a man's life was at stake, a man that the detective seemed to care about a great deal. Long out of practice, interrogation was admittedly not his strong suit, and he knew this was no time to hinder things out of wounded pride. He glanced over at the captain, still sitting in the corner. Banks nodded at him, giving him the silent reassurance that he wouldn't let things go too far.
"All right," Clay agreed. "You boys stay here and keep Mr. Morgan company. I'm going to go and check on Mr. Perry, and then I'll take a walk down to the diner. I think we could all use something to eat."
The sheriff left the room, pausing to look in on the other boy tucked safely away in the tiny cell in the side room, pending charges of drug possession, then he exited the municipal building, slowly making his way down the street.
Ellison gave the boy a predatory grin as he stalked around the table, his whole demeanor tense and dangerous. The young man responded by glaring at the detective defensively, secure in his conviction that if he just stuck to his story they would have to let him go.
"Well, Benny," he began, his tone deceptively friendly as he leaned down, resting his palms on the table as he looked the kid square in the eye. "It's just us now. I was hoping we could have a little chat, man to man."
"I've got nothing to say to you." The adamant declaration was followed by a series of less than flattering names and adjectives.
"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way." In the blink of an eye, the Sentinel grabbed the boy by the throat and shoved him backward, tipping his chair back until it was tilted and balanced on the back two legs and the suspect was held firmly against the wall. "Because you know what happened to my partner, and you are going to tell me," Ellison growled menacingly. He tightened his grip slightly around the young man's throat, not enough to choke him but hard enough to let him know he meant business. "If I have to beat it out of you, all the better."
All traces of cocky bravado gone, the kid shot a terrified glance at the captain, still watching from the corner. Banks folded his arms across his chest, shaking his head slightly to let the boy know he was looking at the wrong man for help. Jim eased up on his grip slightly then tightened it, shoving his suspect back against the wall, commanding his full attention.
"What's it going to be, Benny?" he snarled, out of patience. "Do I let you go and you tell me what you did with my friend? Or do I batter you unrecognizable before you talk? I've got plenty of time before Sheriff Clayton returns, and there's nobody here to hear you scream."
"All right!" the boy squeaked as the detective raised his hand. "I'll talk! Just let me go."
Ellison released him abruptly, causing the chair to fall forward. He roughly grabbed the kid and straightened him at the table before sliding into the chair across from him. Lifting a hand, he waved it in an invitation to begin, biting back a smile when the young man involuntarily flinched at the gesture.
Benny started to talk, giving the same basic story concerning his run-in with Sandburg that Vicki had related, although his version had a blatant I'm-the-poor-victim spin. So to get back his dignity and to teach the strange hippie not to meddle in affairs that didn't concern him, he concocted the plan to sabotage Blair's car. Omitting what he had bribed JB with, he explained that he and Perry had followed Sandburg out of town, descending upon him when he pulled his sputtering car off the side of the road. He insisted that they were just going to smack him around a little bit, revenge for the punch he took and for what he perceived as Blair hitting on his girlfriend, and then they were going to leave him with a can of gas, certain that he would get the point and not go back after them.
"So what went wrong?" Simon asked, having joined them at the table.
"We were high," Benny admitted after a long pause, his gaze riveted to the table top. "We'd been up all night smoking crack, and we got a little carried away. Honestly, we just meant to get a couple of good punches in. But once we started, we just couldn't stop. Then after he was unconscious, Perry was going through his car and found some kind of police ID or something. We didn't know he was a cop. If we had, we never would have messed with him. But then we freaked out, big time."
"What did you do?" When the boy didn't answer, Ellison stood up, his chair forcefully crashing backwards to the floor. He grabbed the kid's shirt, pulling him up out of his seat so that they were nose to nose. "What did you do to him?!" he roared.
"I called my cousin, Manny" Benny stammered in fear, plainly reading the rage in the detective's eyes. "He told us he'd take care of it, so we put the guy in my trunk. Perry took his car, and we drove out to Sheffield."
"Is he still alive?" the Sentinel demanded quietly.
"I...I don't know," the boy whispered.
Jim shoved him away hard so that he missed his chair and sprawled on the floor.
"I've got a good mind to put you in the trunk and take you for a ride, you little punk," he seethed. "I doubt anyone would miss you."
"Easy, Jim," Simon soothed him, putting a restraining hand on his arm. "I'll stay here with him. Go find Clay and fill him in, and then we'll go after Sandburg."
Ellison nodded tightly and left the room, striding purposefully out of the building. But as he stepped out into the warm sun, he paused, leaning against the wall and drawing in several deep, ragged breaths. Things had been sounding worse and worse, and Benny's confession had pretty much shattered any remaining hope he had of finding his partner alive. Forcing back the tears burning his eyes, the Sentinel swallowed hard and started down the street toward the diner to locate the sheriff. There would be time to grieve later. Now, he owed it to his friend to find him, whatever was left of him, and take him home.
"Turn right at the stop sign," Clay directed. They had all piled in Jim's truck, which was less conspicuous than the highly visible police car the sheriff drove. "I'd recommended driving past the house and parking down the road, then doubling back on foot."
Ellison nodded, not wanting to risk spooking their suspect just in case there was a slim chance Sandburg was still alive. The sheriff had already filled them in on the kid, warning them that he was volatile and unstable and had an intense hatred of cops, blaming them for his father's death.
"He got caught trying to hold up a convenience store in Clarksburg and opened fire on the arresting officers. They fired back and he subsequently died, but Manny saw it as his father becoming the victim of police brutality. He was always trouble, but after that he turned into real bad news. He got pretty heavy into drugs, both using and selling. Everyone knew he was behind a series of robberies and vandalisms, but he was slippery as an eel and we could never prove it. We finally caught him in the act of a B & E, but he ended up getting off on a technicality. After that, I managed to convince him that perhaps it was time to move on and leave Greendale behind. I was hoping I'd seen the last of him."
The Sentinel found himself thinking that the punk would be wishing everyone had seen the last of him once he got his hands on him as they navigated the quiet streets of the small town about twenty miles north of Greendale. Benny had told them that Manny had been staying at his grandparents' house while they were in Florida, most likely without their knowledge. The three men tensed slightly as they turned down the street and drove slowly past the quaint red house, not seeing any signs of life from within.
"Maybe we should have called in the state boys for backup," Clay suggested, a touch nervously, as the detective pulled the truck off to the side of the road a few hundred yards below the house.
"No," Jim replied firmly, turning off the ignition. He simply couldn't wait another minute. Not when they were so close.
"Let's go," Simon commanded, opening his door. "Everyone move quick, stay low, and keep together."
They were located on the edge of town, where the houses were situated farther apart and there was a lot of open space between them. Deciding not to go commando through a small field, they moved quickly along the road, weapons sheathed, trying to look inconspicuous while still keeping on guard. They made it to the whitewashed garage that was in the lot next to the house and regrouped behind it. Ellison moved over to peer through the small window, immediately calling his captain over.
"It's Sandburg's car," Banks informed the sheriff, taking in the green Volvo parked inside.
"Clay," the Sentinel said slowly as he mapped out his plan of action. "See that oak tree in the backyard? If you can make it over there, that should give you adequate protection and you'll be able to cover the back door and that side entrance."
"What are you going to do?" the sheriff asked, already knowing the answer.
"We'll go in through the front."
Clay took in the detective's steely-eyed gaze. He knew that the man needed this, so he just nodded and drew out the gun that he'd only ever fired at the range and took off sprinting across the alley that divided the two yards until he made it behind the big, old oak tree. Once he was in position, Ellison waved at his captain. Weapons held ready, they ran toward the front of the house, staying low to the ground and weaving slightly. They reached the front porch undisturbed and carefully let themselves through the door into the sun porch. Banks was about to ease the door to the house open when Jim reached out and grabbed his wrist.
"Simon, there's a dead body in here," he murmured, fear rolling in his gut.
The captain looked at his friend, swallowing hard against the bile that rose in his throat. But there was nothing he could say, no words of reassurance he could offer. The end they had been dreading was at hand, and the only thing left was to see it through.
"Let's move in, Jim," he said softly in what he hoped was a steady voice.
They entered the house, quickly clearing the rooms. A brief listen at the bottom of the stairs convinced the Sentinel that there was no one on the second floor, so he proceeded directly to the door that led down into the basement. As he turned the handle and silently opened it, Simon's nose wrinkled in disgust as he finally caught the odor of the corpse that his detective had previously noted.
"Careful," Ellison cautioned, his ears picking up a slow heartbeat as he began descending the wooden steps. He paused on the middle landing, holding his gun ready as he dialed down his sense of smell, blocking out the stench of damp mildew and the decomposing body. Jim could see a pair of legs protruding from a doorway leading into a back room in the cellar, but no one else was visible in the main area. Quickly, he navigated the rest of the stairs and approached the doorway, finger on the trigger of the gun which was aimed at the prostrate form. But it soon became obvious the figure on the wet floor was long gone. And as he got closer, he let out a huge sigh of relief to realize the body was not that of his friend.
The Sentinel carefully stepped over the corpse and entered the back room, immediately holstering his gun and giving a shout to his captain as he located his partner. Blair was sitting on the floor, his head buried in his arms which were propped up on his knees.
"Sandburg!" he called out, rushing forward and crouching down beside his friend. "Oh, thank God! Are you all right?"
The anthropologist recoiled violently from his touch, lunging away from him with an anguished moan. Ellison took him by the arms, gently restraining him as he tried to look him in the eye.
"Easy, Chief," he tried to soothe him. "It's me. Come on, settle down now."
But Blair didn't seem to hear him, his terrified gaze fixed over his shoulder to the face of the body on the floor a few feet away.
"Simon, find something to cover that up," the detective barked, keeping his hold on his squirming partner. The captain obligingly pulled a tarp from a shelf in the main room and draped it over the lifeless corpse. Whatever spell the dead eyes had over the observer was broken, and Sandburg slowly began coming to his senses.
"Jim?" he asked, his voice tinged with hysteria. "Oh, God, Jim! Is that really you?"
"It's me, Chief," the Sentinel assured him. "It's all over now."
Blair collapsed against him, shaking uncontrollably, taking deep, gasping breaths of air. Jim wrapped his strong arms around his friend, cradling him securely against his warm chest.
"It's all right, buddy," he whispered. "You're safe now. I've got you."
Ellison held his partner, comforting him until his racing heartbeat slowed and he began breathing normally. Then he reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys and undid the handcuffs binding Sandburg's hands, inwardly wincing at the raw chafing wounds on his friend's wrists.
"Come on, Chief," he said gently. "What do you say we get out of here?"
He helped the anthropologist to his feet, keeping one arm tightly around his shivering frame. Sandburg hesitated when it came time to step over the tarp on the floor, staring at it like he expected it to rise at any second.
"Come on, Blair," the Sentinel urged, squeezing his shoulder. "Look up here at me. Come on, now. That's it."
Out in the main room, the light was somewhat better and Simon looked at his observer with sympathetic eyes, taking in his battered state. He reached out and placed a gentle hand on his arm.
"We'd better get him to the hospital," he suggested softly when Blair didn't seem to recognize him.
"I'll take him," Ellison told him, sliding out of his leather jacket and slipping it over his friend's shoulders before passing his keys to his boss. "We can take his car, and I'll leave the truck for you and Clay."
"All right," Banks agreed. "I'll call it in and we'll get the ball rolling on processing the scene."
The detective nodded and escorted his partner up the three stairs that led to the outside, following Simon who first moved out cautiously to give the sheriff the all clear. After a brief explanation, Clay disappeared into the basement to have a look for himself and Banks began walking back to the truck to use the radio to call for assistance. Ellison deftly opened the garage door and got Sandburg settled in the passenger seat of the Volvo, happy to see the keys were still in the ignition. He hopped into the driver's side, firing up the old car and feeling the engine roar to life. Putting the car in reverse, he backed out of the driveway and began speeding down the road. Clay had given him directions to the nearest hospital, which was about fifteen miles away, so he decided to stop at the gas station in town to fill up, not trusting the fuel gage which was reading full. Blair was staring blankly out the window with dull eyes, and the Sentinel began to regret his decision to leave his truck, for he could have made use of the flashing lights to clear his way. As it was, once he was gassed up, he stepped hard on the accelerator, deciding to deal with any local cops if and when they caught him.
"Detective Ellison?"
"Yes." Jim leapt forward to greet the doctor that had entered the waiting room. "How is he?"
"He'll be fine," the gray haired man reassured him with a benign smile. "He's got a few cracked ribs that will be sore for awhile, but they should heal good as new in a couple of weeks. The rest of his injuries were all superficial, so we just cleaned and treated them. I understand he was held in a basement for a period of time?"
"About three weeks," the detective confirmed.
"I'll put him on a course of antibiotics, just to be on the safe side. We've already administered a tetanus shot. He was showing signs of confusion and disorientation, but his skull x-ray was clear. We've started him on IV fluids and electrolytes, so we'll see if that helps bring him around."
"Can I see him?"
"For a few minutes," the doctor agreed. "We've given him a mild sedative, and right now rest is the best thing for him."
"Thank you," Ellison said sincerely, shaking his hand. He darted down the hallway to the room the doctor had indicated and let himself inside. As he approached the bedside, he found that his friend was already sleeping. He reached out, gently brushing back a damp curl from his forehead, taking in the array of bruises and cuts and burns that stood out vibrantly from his pale skin. Willing away the feelings of rage that boiled up inside of him, the Sentinel spent a few minutes reassuring himself with the sounds of the steady, strong heartbeat and his partner's regular, relaxed breathing, then quietly let himself out of the room. A nurse was passing by, and Jim caught her attention, telling her he was leaving for a bit and asking if she would tell Sandburg he'd be back shortly if he should wake up. After she agreed he left the hospital and climbed back into the Volvo, setting the course for the house in Sheffield. Now that he knew his friend was safe, he needed to have another look at the prison where he'd been held captive for three long weeks.
“Didn’t take them long, did it?” Ellison nodded in the direction of the line of state trooper cars that were parked in front of the house as he approached his captain, enjoying a cigar in the yard.
“Are you kidding?” Banks snorted. “I had barely gotten the call in when they all came swarming like flies. How’s the kid?”
“They said he’d be fine,” the detective replied. “They treated him for shock and cleaned him up. All those wounds looked worse than they really were, I guess. He was asleep when I left, but I can’t help wishing that he was back in Cascade instead of the Town That Civilization Forgot.”
“I know what you mean,” Simon chuckled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they still make it a regular practice to use leeches. But Sandburg’s probably in his element. He could probably get a whole paper out of the ‘lost primitive tribe of Idaho’.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Jim wryly advised. “So is there any chance of looking around, or have the state boys declared martial law?”
“Come on.” The captain waved for his friend to follow, leading the way to the side door that led down into the basement. “He’s with me,” he told the officer blocking the door, and the man quickly stepped aside at the gruff tone. Ellison suppressed a grin, understanding that his boss had already been forced to throw his weight around. And when he tried, Banks could be more than a little intimidating.
There were a handful of troopers milling about the cellar, and they all gave the newcomer a suspicious glance. But a hard look from Simon sent them all back to their tasks, leaving the Sentinel to look around in peace. The doors and windows had been left open, in a futile attempt to vent the odor from the area. Spotlights had been brought in and set up, flooding the dark room with light. But nothing else had yet been disturbed. Jim took a minute to dial his sense of smell back as far as he could, and then knelt beside the figure on the floor. He pulled back the tarp and looked critically at the body. His gut wrenched, not from the initial stages of decomposition, but from a much more gruesome picture. The visible skin on the kid’s arms, neck, and shaved head was littered with tattoos, including more than one swastika and one advocating ‘death to the pigs’.
“A skinhead cop-hater,” Ellison muttered tightly. He couldn’t even imagine what Blair had suffered at the hands of this evil punk, and for the first time it truly hit home how damn lucky they had been to have found Sandburg alive and in one piece. “Do we know the cause of death?”
“Still waiting on the coroner,” Simon told him. “Although I’ve got a pretty good guess. Clay found this over here.”
The detective followed him over to the shelves against the far wall where Banks lifted up the lid of a cracked aquarium. Inside, under a piece of burlap, was a box of Vicks inhalers and a small bottle of hydrochloric acid.
“So our boy was a crank farmer,” Jim concluded. “Think he cooked himself up a bad batch?”
“Maybe.” Simon put the lid back on the aquarium. “Clay’s leading the search of the house. They’ve already found some other paraphernalia. But chances are he OD’ed on something.”
The Sentinel nodded, lacking any real sympathy or sorrow concerning the young man’s demise. To him, it was a case of justice being served.
“I’m going to head back outside,” Banks announced, ready to try and mute the odor of the dead body with a good hit of tobacco.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” Ellison told him. “I just want to check out the other room.”
Simon clapped him on the back and made a beeline for the door. Jim fought back the urge to take a deep breath as he moved around the tarp on the floor to step into the small back room of the basement. It, too, had been illuminated with spotlights, and the detective shuddered as his eyes darted around the area where Sandburg had been trapped for what had to have been three endless weeks.
The room resembled a large walk in closet, longer than it was wide. There was a sink in the far corner, and a hole in the concrete floor below it that appeared to open into the sewer lines. The floor seeped perpetual dampness and the stone walls were hard and rough. There were no windows in the room, and the socket in the ceiling was missing a bulb, so the only light Blair would have had was what filtered in through the door from the main room. He had been handcuffed to a chain that threaded around a pipe in the ceiling, allowing him to move a short distance back and forth, but a large hot water heater prevented him from getting to the doorway or to the other end of the room, which held shelves stocked with paint cans. Investigating, Ellison discovered that the sink worked, dispensing hot and cold water. The water heater also would have helped with some warmth, but overall it was a rather wet, chilled, miserable prison. Spiders, illuminated by the bright spotlights in their glistening webs, covered the ceiling, and rodent droppings indicated that rats were probably crawling out of the sewer at night. All that was bad enough, but the detective also spied drops of dried blood on the floor and walls, proving that the creepy crawlies hadn’t been Sandburg’s biggest worry. But taking into consideration the state Blair had been in when he’d found him, he’d already known that.
“Did you find out what you wanted to know?” Banks asked, as Ellison joined him outside.
“More than I wanted, Simon,” Jim answered softly. “I think I’m going to head back to the hospital, unless you need me around here.”
“I think we have enough man power on this one,” the captain said sarcastically as another state patrol car pulled up to the house. “Go on and check on Sandburg. I’ll be over in a little while.”
“All right,” the Sentinel agreed. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Likewise.” Banks strode off to greet the new officers, raising himself up to full imposing height. “Gentlemen, I’m so glad to see you. We’ve got neighbors coming out of the woodwork and I need you two to work on crowd control.”
As he walked back to the car, Ellison didn’t even try to hold back a grin at the looks on the faces of the two officers.
The doctor was in with Sandburg when Jim arrived at the hospital and he was directed back to the waiting room. His wait was a short one, as the doctor soon came to give him the welcome news that Blair was much improved. He was still a bit groggy, but he was coherent and oriented so the slight lack of alertness was most likely due to the sedative. They wanted to keep him for another day or two for observation and further assessment, but the doctor was highly optimistic. The detective thanked him, and made his way down the hall to his partner’s room.
“Hey, Jim.” Blair’s eyes lit up briefly when his friend slipped in through the door.
“How you feeling, Chief?”
“I’m fine, now that you got me out of there,” Sandburg replied. The Sentinel thought he saw a dark shadow fall over the younger man’s face, but it was gone before he could be sure. “You need me to give a statement, don’t you?”
“Later, buddy,” Ellison reassured him. “Don’t worry about that now. We’ll take care of all that later.”
Blair nodded, running a hand weakly over his eyes before he looked up at his friend with a faint smile.
“I knew, somehow, you’d find me,” he murmured. “Thanks.”
The detective smiled back, fixing a fond gaze on his partner.
“You look wrecked, Chief. Why don’t you try and get some sleep?”
“Jim?” The anthropologist glanced away, the question he wanted to ask stuck in his throat. But he didn’t need to, for his Sentinel had read it in his eyes.
“Don’t worry, Blair,” Ellison reassured him in a soft voice as he pulled up a chair next to the bed and flopped down into it. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Sandburg grinned, and comforted by the fact that his blessed protector was keeping watch over him, he let himself relax and was soon asleep. Jim settled himself more comfortably in the chair, which was plush and stuffed, a sudden weariness seizing him as he realized he’d been up for the last thirty-six hours straight. Leaning his head back and closing his eyes, he melted into the soft chair, thinking that was one advantage small time country hospitals had over the big city.
“Morning, Sunshine,” Ellison called out cheerfully as he entered the room, having heard his partner’s loud protests from down the hall.
“Jim,” Sandburg exclaimed. “Help me out here, man!”
“And go against this nice doctor’s orders?” the detective teased. “No way.”
“I’m fine,” Blair insisted, somewhat petulantly. “I don’t need to spend another day here.”
“One more day,” the doctor assured him, patting him gently on the shoulder. “And as much as the nurses are going to hate it, I’ll let you go in the morning.”
“Been a little busy, have we?” Jim questioned as the doctor left, not missing the meaning behind the comment about the nurses.
“I need something to do,” the anthropologist protested defensively, although there was a twinkle in his eye. “Might as well be friendly, as long as I’m trapped here.”
The Sentinel snorted, well accustomed to the trials and tribulations that came of his unrelenting partner’s perpetual “friendliness”.
“Just ride it out, Chief,” he advised. “You were in shock and dehydrated and malnourished when you came in. They just want to get some more junk in you to make up for it.”
“Or they’re just desperate to hold onto a live one,” Sandburg joked, sending an unconscious glance at the IV in his arm. “Sure not the ‘treat ‘em and street ‘em’ attitude of Cascade General.”
“You should know,” the detective said wryly, referring to the numerous times he’d had his partner there for one thing or another.
“I’m not the only one,” Blair shot back with a pointed look. “Where’s Simon? Did he come with you?”
“He’s back at the motel packing up,” Ellison told him, choosing to perch on the side of his friend’s bed instead of taking the chair again. “He’s going to head back home today, but he’ll stop in here before he leaves. Sheriff Clayton should be coming by this morning, too.”
“For my statement?” Sandburg asked quietly.
“No,” Jim replied, picking up on the sudden tenseness that came over his partner. “But there’s something else you need to think about and decide.”
“What?”
“Whether or not you want to press charges against JB for the role he played in the whole thing.”
Blair frowned slightly as he thought about it, obviously not having considered it as an option. And it didn’t appear to be one in which he favored very much.
“He didn’t strike me as a bad kid,” he finally said softly. “We spent a lot of time talking at the garage while he and his dad were looking at the car. I liked him. And he did come forward and confess everything to you, right?”
“Yes, he did,” the detective confirmed.
“I would just hate to see his life ruined over this,” Sandburg sighed, closing his eyes briefly before glancing up at his friend.
“It’s your decision, Blair,” Ellison reminded him. “It’s up to you. You don’t have to press charges.”
“But you don’t think he really meant any harm, do you?” the observer pressed, needing reassurance that his partner wouldn’t think him spineless if he chose to let it drop.
“No,” the Sentinel agreed. “I don’t. He was generally sorry for what happened, and he’s probably punishing himself far more than the system ever could.”
“Then I don’t want to press charges,” Blair decided. “But what about the two that jumped me?”
“They’ll go to trial,” Jim told him. “The kid that was Benny’s patsy will likely get off easier than he will. But they’re both facing a whole slew of charges, including drug possession, aggravated assault, kidnaping, and resisting arrest. So it’s safe to say they’re both going to be doing some time.”
“What about Manny?” Sandburg whispered. “If he had lived, what would have happened to him?”
The detective folded his arms over his chest and gave his friend a cheeky grin.
“He would have been begging to go to jail after I’d gotten hold of him.”
“My hero,” Blair giggled, but he was only half kidding.
Ellison found he had his work cut out for him, spending the day trying to entertain his increasingly restless partner. Simon’s visit helped take some of the burden off, as did the sheriff’s, but Jim found himself breathing a sigh of relief when Sandburg finally conked out in the late afternoon. He went out to the Volvo and brought in a bag from the gear in the trunk so that Blair would have personal items and a change of clothes in the morning. Then he went back outside for a walk around the grounds, stopped in the snack bar for a burger and fries that was surprisingly good, and finished up his rounds in the gift shop, laying in a store of magazines and papers, a novel, a deck of cards, and a puzzle book in the hopes that it would keep his friend occupied for the rest of the evening.
After dinner, one of the nurses stuck her head into the room to announce that Blair had a visitor. Both men were shocked when JB came through the door, head hanging in shame. Sensing that he wanted a private conversation, the detective quickly excused himself and left the room.
“Sheriff Clayton told me you weren’t going to press charges for what I did,” JB began hesitantly. “I wanted to come and thank you, and to apologize. Though I’ll never be able to tell you how sorry I am.”
“It’s ok,” Sandburg told the boy. “I know you didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“Here.” He stepped forward, handing a wrapped package to the anthropologist. “It’s a new air filter.”
“Very practical,” Blair grinned.
“I can change it for you, if you give me the keys to your car,” JB offered. “And I’ll fix the gas gage, too, before you leave.”
“That I would appreciate.” Sandburg reached over to place the package on the bedside table, but when he turned back he was startled to see tears in the boy’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, Blair,” the kid burst out. “I should’ve known Benny would do something like this. I’d take it all back if I could, I swear it. I know I can’t ever make it up to you, but I’ll spend the rest of my life trying, if you want.”
“That’s not necessary,” the anthropologist said softly.
“You mean you forgive me?” JB asked in wonder. When Sandburg nodded, he looked away, his voice tight. “I don’t deserve it.”
“You do,” Blair assured him. “You made a mistake, but you owned up to it and took responsibility. I know you’re sorry, JB. So there’s nothing for me to forgive. The hard part is going to be for you to forgive yourself.”
“I don’t know if I can,” the boy whispered.
“You can,” Sandburg continued. “And if you really want to make it up to me, there is something you can do.”
“Anything,” he promised.
“Don’t write off your dreams as just dreams,” Blair suggested gently. “You have the power to make them come true. It’s going to take some work, but you can do it if you put your mind to it. I expect to see you at Rainier someday.”
JB looked at the man before him, who gazed back at him with calm, blue eyes. He had every right to despise him for how he’d set him up, but Sandburg not only forgave him, he was encouraging him. Everyone else the kid had ever known had written him off. Nobody ever left Greendale, certainly not a screw up like him. And how had he repaid the only person who’d ever believed in him? Betrayal. The thought sickened him, but JB couldn’t let it overcome him. Blair was right. There was a long, hard road ahead, but he was ready to face it. He’d show everyone that had scoffed at him, including his father. At that moment he vowed to himself that he was going to stop acting like a kid and become a man. He’d quit spending evenings hanging around the park getting high, and start applying himself. In the time it would take him to save up enough money, he could get a jump start in studying. He’d actually been pretty smart in high school, but his grades had suffered because he lacked motivation. But all that was over, and a new leaf had been turned. Blair was going to see him at Rainier someday. A promise was a promise, and JB owed it to him.
“Notice anything different?” Ellison asked.
Sandburg cocked his head, listening as his friend revved the motor a few times.
“That rattle in the dash is gone,” he exclaimed. “What happened?”
“I dropped the car off at the garage when I got back to Greendale last night,” Jim told him with a grin. “I think JB spent half the night giving her an overhaul. Complete tune up. New plugs, air filter, oil change, rotated the tires, flushed the transmission...”
“I guess there are some advantages to having a mechanic with a guilty conscience in your debt,” Blair chuckled.
“Yeah, I think you’re pretty much guaranteed free service for life,” the Sentinel agreed, pulling out of the hospital parking lot.
“Well, since we have to stop in Greendale anyway, I’ll swing by the garage and thank him,” the anthropologist declared. “And then maybe we can grab something to eat at the diner before we hit the road.”
“I thought you just had breakfast.”
“Hey, I have some lost time to make up for,” Sandburg reasoned.
“No argument from me,” Ellison shrugged, eager to see his friend put on the weight he had lost during his ordeal. “But don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, Chief. I know you’ve got a goodbye for that cute, blond waitress, too.”
“You know me,” Blair laughed. “I’m just the friendly type.”
But as they traveled the short distance between the towns, the observer’s levity faded and he became increasingly agitated. As they pulled up in front of the municipal building in Greendale, Jim put the car in park and turned to face him.
“You don’t have to do this now,” he said gently. “We’ve got statements from Benny and Perry, so your version isn’t vital to closing the case. You can wait until you’re ready to talk about it, if you want.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready,” Sandburg sighed. “I’d rather just get it over with.”
The detective nodded and opened the car door, but was halted by his friend’s nervous voice.
“Jim? Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I want to give my statement to the sheriff.”
“Ok.”
“No. I want to give it only to the sheriff.”
Ellison closed the door, turning in the seat to give his friend a hard look.
“You don’t want me there?” he demanded, the hurt obvious in his tone.
“It’s nothing personal,” Blair told him, his wide blue eyes pleading with his partner to understand. “I just... I’m not ready to relive it all yet, and I just think it will be easier to talk to a stranger. Someone who isn’t personally involved.”
“All right,” the Sentinel finally agreed. “I’ll go on down to the diner. You can meet me there when you’re through.”
“You’re not mad, are you, Jim?”
“No, Chief, I’m not mad,” Ellison reassured him. His feelings were hurt, and he couldn’t understand why Blair didn’t want him to hear what he had to say. But he wasn’t mad, and after what his guide had just been through, he couldn’t begrudge him such a simple request. He’d go on ahead to the diner for now, and then he’d help Sandburg deal with it later, when he was ready to talk about it.
“How are you doing?”
“Sore,” Blair admitted, gazing up at the building almost reverently.
“Need a hand?”
“I can manage,” he replied, opening the car door and climbing stiffly out of the Volvo.
Ellison watched him critically for a moment until he was sure his partner was steadily on his feet, then he opened the trunk and hauled out a few bags, deciding that all the camping gear could spend the night. It had been a long trip, and he’d done all of the driving since Sandburg still wasn’t 100% and was on prescription painkillers that had the potential to cause drowsiness. The detective was beat and contented himself with just bringing in the essentials for now. But as they entered the building, he gave his friend a sympathetic glance, for Blair looked ten times more exhausted than he felt. After a quick stop in the bathroom, the anthropologist headed straight for his room, wanting nothing more than to collapse in his own bed. But he paused in the doorway, looking around the loft with a contented sigh.
“It’s good to be home,” he murmured before he shut the French doors.
Jim paused on his own journey to the bathroom, resting a hand on the bedroom doors and listening to the familiar heartbeat echoing from within.
“It’s good to have you home, Chief,” he whispered under his breath.
“Come on, man,” Sandburg pleaded. “Help me out, here.”
“Forget it, Chief,” Jim replied firmly. “I’ve got nothing against vegetables, but they do not belong on pizza. If you need some greens that badly, get a salad.”
“You’re going to have a heart attack by the time you’re fifty,” the anthropologist muttered.
“Then I give you the right to say ‘I told you so’ when I’m having my bypass,” Ellison told him dismissively, tossing the menu back down onto the red and white checkered tablecloth as their waiter approached. The detective rolled his eyes as his friend put in an order for a side salad, but then shot him a questioning look when he requested a beer. “I thought you couldn’t have alcohol with those painkillers you’re taking.”
“Took the last one yesterday,” Blair informed him. “And since you told me that you would buy me the first beer when I got out of the hospital, I’m assuming you’re picking up the tab tonight, right?”
“I should have known you’d find a way to weasel a meal out of it, too,” the Sentinel said with a martyred sigh.
“Hey, if I’m going to compromise my health here, the least you can do is pay.”
“Sandburg, your twisted logic never fails to amaze me.” But the gruff detective was just blowing smoke, and his grinning friend was well aware of it.
The teasing back and forth continued, even after the salad and drinks arrived. Their pizza was not long in following, and Ellison quickly doled out the steaming slices dripping with cheese and pepperoni with eager anticipation. He dove into his meal, but quickly realized that Blair had suddenly gone quiet.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Sandburg answered hastily. “I guess I’m just not very hungry.”
The Sentinel looked critically at his friend as he rapidly gulped down his beer. Blair was pale and tense and his heart was beating too fast.
“A memory?” he deduced softly.
“Yeah,” the anthropologist murmured, rubbing a hand over his forehead as he reminded himself where he was. He was no longer trapped in that damp, dark basement. Cold, alone, beaten, and terrified. A few stale pizza crusts thrown to him like he was a worthless dog. At the mercy of a young man whose hatred of him burned like fury from his dark eyes.
“Need some air?”
“No, I’m alright,” Sandburg assured him, calming down as he drew in several deep breaths. He was safe. Jim had found him, had brought him home. His tormentor was dead, and it was all over. “Just caught me off guard, that’s all.”
“Look, Chief, I really think you should talk to someone about this,” Ellison suggested. “I can get you an appointment with the departmental shrink...”
“I don’t need to talk to anyone,” Blair insisted, pushing the hair back behind his ears as he met his friend’s gaze. “What I need is for things to get back to normal. Come on, man. When are you going to let me go back to the station with you? I’m ready to get back to work, and it will help take my mind off things.”
“You really think you’re up for it?” the detective asked skeptically.
“Yes!”
“How are the ribs?”
“They’re fine. Ok, I feel a little bit of a twinge if I move too suddenly, but I can run and jump and handle stairs all right.”
“What about the lightheadedness and dizziness?”
“Gone,” Sandburg promised. “Jim, I know if I’m not in top shape it could endanger us both. I wouldn’t lie to you about this, I swear. I’m ready.”
Ellison met his partner’s wide gaze and read the sincerity in his eyes. Some of his deeper wounds were still visible, but most of them had faded away, at least enough so that he no longer looked like a walking horror movie. He was still a bit thin, but he had gained a little weight back and overall looked healthy and seemed to have recovered his old vigor.
“All right, Chief,” Jim relented. “If you’re sure you’re up to it, you can come in with me on Monday. You just have to promise to let me know if you need a break or if things get too physical for you.”
“I will,” Blair agreed. “But you don’t have to worry. I’m fine, Jim.”
‘I hope so,’ the Sentinel thought silently to himself. But he just forced a smile and waved to the waiter so that he could buy Sandburg his second beer.
“I’ve got that report on Johanssen for you, Sir,” Ellison declared as he stuck his head in his captain’s office.
“What did you find out?” Banks asked, waving him inside.
“I think it’s worth a conversation.”
Simon flipped briefly through the folder he was handed, skimming quickly over the information his detective had gathered.
“All right, bring him in.” He handed the file back. “How’s the kid holding up?”
“He says he’s fine,” the Sentinel answered quietly.
“But you don’t believe him?” Banks demanded.
“I don’t know, Simon,” Jim sighed. “I guess I’d just feel better if he’d talk to me about it. I mean, what he went through... You don’t just shrug that off, you know.”
“Maybe he just needs some time,” the captain reasoned. “He’ll talk about it when he’s ready.”
Ellison sighed again, glancing through the door to where his partner was working at his desk. That was the problem. Sandburg had always been ready to talk about everything. He was the once with the avoidance issues. And the Sentinel didn’t know what would happen if his friend didn’t get it all out, but a little voice in the back of his mind warned him that it couldn’t be good.
“Do we need eggs?”
“Probably wouldn’t hurt,” Sandburg replied absently from down the aisle as he snagged a tub of margarine before his roommate could get there and pick up real butter. He moved further down to pluck a carton of milk from the cooler, then deposited the items in the cart as Jim met him at the head of the aisle.
“What do you want to do for dinner tonight?”
“I don’t know,” Blair replied, suppressing a yawn. “Something quick.”
“Wonderburger is quick. We could swing by there on the way home.”
A glare told the detective quite plainly what he could do with that suggestion.
“Ok,” he chuckled. “How about we grab some chicken breasts and a pack of frozen vegetables and we’ll have stir fry.”
“Fine by me. We need to pick up a case of beer, too.”
“I just bought one on Friday.”
“It’s gone.”
“Wait a minute!” Ellison halted his partner as he started down the next aisle. “What do you mean, it’s gone?”
“I mean, it’s gone,” Blair told him, not knowing how to make it any clearer. “As in, there’s no more left.”
“You finished it off?” the detective demanded, a bit more loudly than he meant to.
“God, Jim, don’t get all bent out of shape,” Sandburg said defensively. “I’ll pay for the damn beer.”
“That’s not the point,” the Sentinel argued, pushing the cart down the aisle after his friend.
“What is?”
“The point is that I had two. Which means you had the other twenty-two in the last four days! That’s not like you, Chief. What the hell is going on?”
“Look, Jim,” Blair sighed, turning back to face his partner and lowering his voice confidentially. He didn’t really want to have this conversation in the middle of the grocery store, but he knew his friend wasn’t about to let it go. “I haven’t been sleeping that well, ok? It just tends to all come back at me at night. So I was just having a few beers to help me relax and fall asleep. It’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” Ellison said quietly. “You need to get a handle on this, Chief.”
“I am,” he promised earnestly. “I’m dealing with it, and it gets a little better every day. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” Blair grinned, giving his friend a light swat on the arm. “Come on, I’m hungry. You go get the chicken and I’ll meet you in Frozen Foods.”
The Sentinel watched him disappear around the corner, worry in his blue eyes. He shook his head as he headed over to the meat department.
“He just needs some more time,” he tried to tell himself. “He’ll be fine. He always is.” But the little nagging voice in the back of his mind wasn’t so easily convinced.
Blair woke up in a cold sweat, fumbling as he reached up to turn on the small lamp next to his bed. He let out a long, slow breath as the room filled with light and sat up, pushing the damp curls back from his face as he willed his pounding heart to slow down.
“Come on, Blair,” he muttered to himself. “Just get a grip.”
But it was no use. Every time he drifted off to sleep, the nightmares assaulted him, vivid and unrelenting. He’d tried to tell himself that the memories would fade with time, but they were growing stronger and stronger with each passing day. The dark had become suffocating, smothering; a thick blanket of fear. And even in the light he wasn’t doing much better, perpetually jumpy and on edge. Reaching down under his bed, Blair’s shaking hand closed around a cool glass bottle. Unscrewing the cap, he titled it back and took a few gulps, feeling the smooth liquor burn hot and strong all the way to his stomach. He sighed, wiping the sweat from his face with his hand, then taking another swig from the bottle before capping it and sliding it back underneath the bed.
Blair relaxed back down against his pillow, taking deep, slow breaths. And it wasn’t long before the alcohol began to take effect, soothing his frazzled nerves, calming him. He had to hold it together. Jim was worried about him, watching him. And it was no small feat to pull the wool over the eyes of a Sentinel. But he had to do it, had to convince Jim that he was fine. For he would be - he just had to find a way to deal with the demon that kept haunting him. With another long sigh, feeling the warmth seeping all through him, relieving his tension, Blair reached over to turn off the light. But after a moment of hesitation, he decided to leave it on. Rolling over and tugging the covers up over his shoulder, he let the whiskey lead him to slumber.
Sandburg fumbled a bit with the phone, but managed to answer just in the nick of time before the machine picked up.
“Hey, Chief. Feel like doing a stakeout tonight?”
“I thought that was tomorrow,” Blair said, desperately hoping he hadn’t mixed up his days.
“It was supposed to be,” Jim told him. “But Dills came down with food poisoning and Simon asked if we’d cover.”
“I’d really like to, Jim,” Sandburg began, grabbing at the first obfuscation that came to mind. “But my car was acting up again today. I don’t know if...”
“No problem,” the detective assured him. “I have to head in that direction to drop Gina off anyway. I’ll just swing by and pick you up.”
“Ok,” the anthropologist agreed, not having much choice. As much as he’d insisted he be part of fieldwork, stakeouts in particular, in the past, he knew Jim would think it strange if he tried to back out of this one.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Blair hung up the phone, heaving a worried sigh. He’d begun what he’d come to think of as his nightly medication a little early that evening, knowing that Jim had a date and probably wouldn’t come home until late. But now he was stuck with no way out. He moved into the kitchen, realizing that twenty minutes was enough time for a couple of cups of instant coffee, with a Listerine chaser. Maybe Jim would never know.
“This is as close as we get,” Ellison explained, parking the truck and dousing the headlights. “We walk it from here. Stay behind me and keep quiet.”
Sandburg slid out of the truck, shutting the door softly and falling in line behind his partner as he led the way to the abandoned warehouse that had been set up as their base of operations. They moved in the shadows of the buildings, approaching the side door of the structure. The Sentinel paused, pointing across the way to the dark, silent building looming beside them.
“That’s Johanssen’s,” he whispered, before giving three quick raps on the door. After a moment, Rafe opened it and stood back to admit them.
“I figured you’d get stuck filling in,” he grinned, slapping his fellow detective on the back. “It’s always the one who has the big date.”
“Yeah, and don’t think Dills isn’t going to owe me,” Ellison threatened good naturedly.
“I don’t know,” Rafe shrugged. “You could have brought her along. Not the most romantic setting, but it is dark and quiet. A few candles, and you might have had a good night. Providing you left Sandburg at home, of course.”
When no protests or comments followed his teasing, Rafe turned to see why and the Sentinel followed suit. Blair hadn’t budged from the doorway, his face as white as a sheet.
“What’s wrong?” Rafe asked in concern, thinking that Sandburg looked a lot like Dills had when he showed up.
“Jim,” the observer whispered. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Immediately it dawned on Ellison what the problem was and he moved forward to put a strong arm around his friend’s trembling shoulders.
“Oh, God, Chief, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. I should have thought about this.”
He glanced around the warehouse. Damp. Drafty. The smell of mildew heavy in the air. Rats scratching in the corners and in the beams overhead. The only light coming from a dim bulb in the ceiling. Cursing himself, the Sentinel realized he’d just walked his partner right back into his living nightmare.
“Come on,” he urged. “Let’s go back outside.”
They walked back out to the street where Blair sat down on the curb, taking in several deep breaths of air.
“I’m sorry, man,” he said finally, looking up at his friend. “I just... froze.”
“Don’t apologize,” the detective told him.
“Just give me a minute,” Blair continued. “I’ll be all right.”
“You don’t have to go back in there, Chief,” Ellison said softly.
“I can do it,” Sandburg insisted.
“I know you can.” Jim smiled fondly at his partner as he moved to sit beside him on the curb. “But you don’t have to. Go home with Rafe. I can handle this.”
“You can’t stay here alone,” Blair protested.
“Sure I can,” the Sentinel scoffed. “We’ve got it on good authority that the shipment isn’t due for another three days, so I’m not expecting anything’s going to happen here tonight. But if it does, backup is only minutes away. And I give you my word I won’t do anything stupid.”
The anthropologist hated the thought of leaving his partner alone and unprotected. But even more, he hated the thought of having to go into the warehouse for the next six hours. Jim might be at risk from his senses, but Blair had to admit to himself that he was more at risk for entering into a major panic attack and freaking out completely. Especially after he failed to notice Rafe approaching them from behind and jumped about two feet in the air when he spoke. Ellison promised him he’d call Simon and let him know he was flying solo, and his intense blue eyes gave his guide the solemn promise that he wouldn’t put himself into any situation where he could zone or get into trouble with his senses. So with that reassurance, Blair climbed into Rafe’s car and let the detective take him home.
As soon as he entered the loft, Sandburg made a beeline for his room, practically diving under the bed to get the bottle. He sat on the floor, gulping at the whiskey, choking when he finally came up for air. Leaning his head back to rest against the bed, Blair let the fire of the alcohol chase away the memories of the damp chill, mute the hunger pangs, dull the pain, and drive away the fear.
“You’re losing it, man,” he whispered sadly to himself.
Blair knew without a doubt that Jim would blame the golden brown liquid in his hand. He raised the bottle, taking another drink before he capped it, tracing his fingers almost lovingly along the textured glass before he put it back under his bed. For he knew the truth. The liquid in that bottle was the only thing holding him together.
“Ellison.”
“Jim, I am so glad I caught you before you left,” came the breathless voice on the other end of the phone.
“I was just heading out the door, Chief. What’s up?”
“I need a huge favor. I’m giving a test in about 20 minutes and I think I left the exams in a blue folder on my desk.”
“Hang on, let me check.” Several long moments went by as Blair paced restlessly before his roommate got back on the phone. “Yeah, I’ve got them.”
“Jim, is there any way you could run them out here before you go into work? I’ll owe you big time.”
“All right,” the detective sighed, glancing at the clock. It was going to make him late, but he allowed it was an emergency. “I’ll meet you in your office in twenty minutes.”
“You are the best! And Jim? If you hit traffic, you can put your lights on.”
“I’ll take that into account, Chief,” Ellison said wryly before he hung up the phone. Grabbing his jacket and his keys, he took the folder and headed out the door. Deciding the situation wasn’t a DIRE emergency, he refrained from running the flashing lights and navigated the traffic in an orderly fashion. He still made good time, but Sandburg practically pounced on him when he walked through the door to his office.
“Jim, thank you so much!” he exclaimed. “You just saved my life, man, seriously. I have to run, but I’ll catch up with you later at the station, ok?” He slung his backpack over his shoulder and snatched up the folder, pausing to call out as he dashed out the door, “If you’re late, tell Simon it’s all my fault.”
“I usually do,” the detective said with a nonchalant shrug, even though his partner was already long gone. He glanced over at the nearly empty coffeepot in the corner. “I’ve really got to work on switching that kid to decaf.” Reasoning that it would be in Sandburg’s best interest to finish off the coffee and spare him a caffeine overdose, Ellison helped himself to a cup for the road. Moving around to the anthropologist’s desk, the Sentinel opened his top right drawer where he knew his friend kept packets of instant creamer, but he froze when he found a bottle of Crown Royal instead.
Jim sat down in the chair behind the desk, no longer caring if he was late, trying to figure out what to make of the bottle. Normally he wouldn’t have thought much of it, but after the incident with the beer, he found it a little suspect. After a moment, he got up and made a quick search of the office, failing to find anything else incriminating. Glancing at the bottle of whiskey again, he comforted himself with the fact that it was unopened. Telling himself he was overreacting, his detective objectivity kicked in, coming up with a dozen innocent reasons why Sandburg would have it in his desk. He downed the black coffee quickly and left the office, pulling the door shut behind him. Although the little voice in the back of his mind had begun to nag at him incessantly, Jim pushed it aside, deciding it was just best to forget he’d ever found it, rather than hit his partner with what didn’t amount to much more than paranoid suspicions with no proof or justification.
“You’re late,” Rafe told the Sentinel as he opened the door to admit him.
“Yeah, yeah,” Ellison sighed, already having heard it from their captain. “Well, I didn’t expect Dills to still be out. What the heck did he eat, anyway?”
“Bad oysters, I think.”
“I tried to tell him that ‘drive-thru’ and ‘seafood’ were two words that just didn’t belong together,” Jim said sagely as he made himself comfortable in his vantage point where he could keep an eye on the warehouse across the way.
“All right, Captain Wonderburger,” Rafe grinned. “So if you’re covering now, who’s stuck with your shift tonight?”
“I don’t know,” the Sentinel shrugged. “With Brown on vacation and Connor busy with that homicide... Could be us again unless Simon decides to call Taggert in.”
“Let’s hope,” the detective sighed. “I have Jags tickets tonight.” He glanced over at his companion, a touch nervously as he debated whether or not to continue. Ellison was known to be defensive and hostile at the best of times, and Rafe had a feeling what he wanted to discuss would be seen as some sort of personal attack. But his concern outweighed his fear, and he decided to plunge away with what needed to be said. “How’s Sandburg doing?”
“He’s fine.”
“He didn’t seem fine last night.”
“This place just brought back some bad memories,” Jim said shortly, picking up a pair of binoculars and focusing them on the warehouse, even though he could see better without them. “And he wasn’t expecting it. He just needs a little time, but he’s dealing with what happened.”
“Is he?”
“What do you mean by that?” Ellison fixed a penetrating gaze on his fellow detective.
“I mean that it seems to me like he’s hiding from it,” Rafe said quietly. “When I drove him home last night, he was a wreck. And I could tell he’d been drinking.”
“He had a meeting last night at the university and just went out afterward for a few drinks with his friends,” the Sentinel argued, a bit too vehemently. “He didn’t know we’d be called in to work. And he is not hiding from this. He’s trying to deal with it, the best way that he can. You don’t know what he went through!” None of them did, really. He and Simon had a pretty good idea, having been the ones who had found Sandburg. But Blair refused to talk about it and had chosen to act like it never happened when he’d returned to the MCU.
“I can’t imagine what he went through,” Rafe murmured. “But it was obviously pretty tough. Maybe he’s going to need a little help to get over it. Real help. Not what comes from a bottle.”
“He’s going to be fine,” Ellison insisted belligerently. “And if he needs a little boost here and there to help him cope with it, that’s not our business. He’s my responsibility as far as his work with the Cascade P.D. goes, and its up to me to decide if and when there’s a problem.”
“He may be your ‘responsibility’,” Rafe declared softly but firmly. “But Blair’s my friend, too. We all care about him.”
Jim sighed, rubbing a hand wearily over the back of his neck.
“I’m sorry for jumping all over you,” he said finally. “I know you’re just worried about him. But Sandburg’s going to be ok. I’ll make sure of it.”
Rafe nodded, not entirely convinced but willing to let the matter drop for now. He set the ball rolling in Ellison’s court, and that was all he could do. It was up to Jim now to keep his word and ensure that the irrepressible observer they’d all come to care for was really all right.
“Hey, Jim.”
“Connor,” Ellison acknowledged, glancing up from the file he was going through. “How’s your investigation going?”
“I’m about to head out now to follow up on a lead,” she told him. “It looks promising, so we’ll see.”
“Good luck.” The detective went back to his work, but the lovely inspector didn’t move, so he looked back up to where she was hovering beside his desk. “Was there something you wanted?”
“Sandy was here earlier.”
“I tried to get a message to him that I had to go out on stakeout,” Jim sighed.
“He got it,” Megan assured him. “He made some plans to go out with Sam tonight and he was just hanging out up here until she was free. He offered to help me out with some paperwork, but...”
“But what?”
“Sandy seemed a little.. off balance,” she replied. Connor may have been the newest member of the MCU, but she’s been there long enough to know Ellison should be approached with caution when discussing touchy subjects.
“He’s still recovering from his ordeal,” Jim explained curtly. “He gets a little dizzy sometimes.”
“I saw him at the copier,” the inspector continued. “He was having trouble feeding the sheets in. And he was chewing gum.”
“What are you getting at?” the Sentinel demanded.
“Jim, I’ve dealt with enough alcoholics to be wise to their tricks. Sandy was reading like a textbook case of someone trying to hide the fact that he’d been drinking. Deliberate movements, overly personable while avoiding eye contact, gum and cologne to hide the scent of the alcohol...”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, Connor,” Ellison interrupted angrily. “Taking what amounts to a heap of circumstantial evidence and using it to label Sandburg as an alcoholic.”
“I never said Sandy was an alcoholic,” Megan argued, her own temper flaring up. “I just said he’d been drinking.”
“What’s the crime in that?” Jim said nastily. “It’s what your whole country’s famous for, isn’t it? You can’t tell me you don’t enjoy your Foster’s.”
“I’m going to let that go,” the inspector said finally after drawing in a deep breath and counting to twenty. “Because I know you’re worried about Sandy, too.”
“What is it with everyone today?” Ellison muttered, rolling his eyes. “Look, Blair’s working through some stuff now, but he’s going to be fine.”
“You’d better make sure of that,” Megan advised, tossing her head as she started to walk off. But then she turned back, giving him a hard look. “You know, just because he’s out of that basement physically doesn’t mean his mind’s not still trapped there.”
The Sentinel sighed as he entered the dark loft, pausing to lean back against the door after he closed it. He’d spent all evening catching up on his clerical work, grabbing a quick dinner, and doing another shift at the warehouse with Rafe, who was sulking over having to give up his Jags tickets and spent most of the time with his ear against a small transistor radio. Purposely, he shoved all thoughts of his partner to the back of his mind, concentrating fully on his job. But now, as he stood in the dark, silence echoing in his ears, he had no choice but to deal with his worry for his friend.
Taking off his jacket, he tried to tell himself that he was being ridiculous. Sandburg was young, and had every right to go out and party with his friends. Still essentially being in college, it was almost expected. And after all, he wasn’t the kid’s father.
“But you are his friend,” the persistent little voice whispered inside his head. Heaving another sigh, Jim hung up his coat and moved into the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out a beer after counting the number of bottles. The same number that had been there all week. He’d consoled himself when the beer had stopped disappearing, but quickly realized he’d been fooling himself. Blair wasn’t stupid, and after the fit he’d thrown in the grocery store, it was logical that he’d move on to something more discreet. Twisting off the cap and taking a drink, Ellison sadly speculated that if he went back to Sandburg’s office now, he wouldn’t find that bottle in the drawer still unopened. Which was why he kept his senses carefully averted from the room under the stairs, lest he pick up the scent of something he’d rather not find.
He leaned up against the counter, trying to work out what to do. On one hand, whatever was going on was probably a passing thing. Blair had been through hell, plain and simple. He needed some time to come to grips with it, and the detective theorized that if he just gave his partner a little space, he’d work through it on his own and get a handle on it. But on the other hand, he’d had both Rafe and Megan voicing their concerns to him on the same day, concerns that had been nagging the back of his mind as well. And if it was enough for them to notice, then he had to at least consider the possibility that there was something going on. More than a passing phase that Sandburg would snap out of. The kid had never been much of a drinker before, and it wasn’t like him to be so unorganized as to forget to take a stack of tests with him.
Delving back into the fridge, the Sentinel pulled out a plate of cold pizza and stuck it in the microwave. While it was warming, he hit the button on the answering machine, almost choking on his beer as he took a drink when the message started.
“Hi, Blair. It’s Jill. We missed you at the meeting last night. Hope you’re feeling better. If you need anything, give me a call, ok?”
If Sandburg had blown off the meeting the night before, chances were he hadn’t gone out with friends afterward.
“And now he’s lying to me to cover up what he’s doing,” Ellison laughed humorlessly. “I can imagine what Connor would say to that.”
But it was the last straw as far as the detective was concerned. He made up his mind to at least talk to his partner first chance he got, and try to decide if he was blowing everything out of proportion or if Blair really was trying to hide a problem from him.
The microwave beeped as it shut off, but Jim slid the plate out and dumped the pizza in the garbage can, finding he had suddenly lost his appetite. Putting the dish in the sink, he turned off the kitchen light, leaving the small lamp by the door on for when his friend came home, and headed upstairs, although he didn’t anticipate that sleep would come easy.
“Morning, Jim.”
Ellison gave his bedraggled roommate an appraising glance as he came through the door.
“Want some breakfast?”
“No, thanks. Sam made waffles. Well, she toasted them, anyhow.” Blair grinned as he hung up his coat and ventured into the kitchen. “But I will definitely take some of that coffee.”
The Sentinel took a mug out of the cupboard and handed it to his partner.
“You’re looking a little rough there, Chief.”
“Yeah,” Sandburg murmured, pouring his coffee and adding some milk. “It was a rough night.”
“Must not have been too bad if you didn’t come home.”
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Blair sighed. “But unfortunately it was the couch for me.”
“Better luck next time.” Jim took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge. “Hey, Chief, I need to talk to you about something.”
“About your senses? Is something wrong?”
“No, everything’s fine. It’s about something else.”
“Can it wait?” Sandburg asked him. “I have to get over to the university. I have a morning class and office hours all afternoon. How about tonight, over dinner?”
“Yeah, it can wait,” the detective told him. “Dills is finally back so I get a break from stakeout duty today.”
“We’ll talk about it tonight, I promise,” Blair called out over his shoulder as he headed down the hallway toward the bathroom. “I’ll make that chicken that you like.”
As the shower started, Ellison helped himself to another cup of coffee, sighing heavily and hoping against hope that he was wrong. Sandburg had seemed fine, the slight haggardness from a late night out aside. But that did nothing to ease his mind, for there was too much smoke in the air for there not to be a fire somewhere. And he could no longer ignore that, no matter how many ways he tried to justify it to himself. Deep down he knew it: his guide was in trouble and it was up to him to save him. He’d rescued his body from that horrible basement, and now it was time to free his mind as well.
Jim had been staring at the phone in his hand for several minutes, debating whether or not he should call Sam at the station and ask her how Sandburg was the night before and if she noticed any unusual behavior. He was lost in thought, so when the phone rang shrilly it startled him and he dropped it. Shaking his head, he picked it up off the floor and answered.
It was a student from Rainier, looking for Blair, who had told him to come by the office that afternoon for help with a paper. The kid was very apologetic for calling him at home, but since Mr. Sandburg wasn’t answering his cell phone and was never prone to missing appointments, he was trying to make sure nothing had happened.
When he got off the phone, the detective immediately got up and grabbed his coat and keys. Although he wasn’t on stakeout, he’d been planning on going in to the station and catching up on some work. Deciding to put it off, he left the loft, intent on tracking down his errant partner. For it suddenly seemed their little talk couldn’t wait after all.
Sandburg knew he was caught. The minute Jim walked into the bar, his blue eyes gazing at him reproachfully, he knew the gig was up. So he didn’t even attempt any excuses or lies. He just sat, gripping the glass in his hands as his friend slid onto the stool next to him and he waited for the yelling to start.
“So what is this, Chief?” the detective demanded, the calm in his voice not quite masking his underlying frustration. “It’s the middle of the afternoon so you can’t tell me you need help falling asleep.”
“There’s no crime here, Jim,” Blair replied. “I’m of legal age, and I have every right to come in here and have a few drinks whenever I want to.”
“Yes, you do,” Ellison acknowledged. “But you’re heading down a one way street here, Chief. You’re not stopping at a few drinks anymore, and you’re going to get yourself in trouble.”
“I know what I’m doing,” the younger man insisted vehemently. “And I don’t need you to tell me how to run my own life. I can handle it.”
“No, you can’t,” the Sentinel shot back, feeling his anger rising and trying to keep a lid on it. “You’re blowing off responsibilities that you used to hold sacred. What about me? You’re supposed to be my backup, and you’re lying to me, leaving me in the wind. Not to mention your obligations to the university. What about your office hours this afternoon and that kid you were supposed to help?”
“My office hours aren’t until two,” Sandburg mumbled.
“Blair, it’s almost three-thirty,” Jim told him incredulously.
The anthropologist scowled at him in disbelief, then looked at his watch, squinting as he tried to read the small numbers.
“I’ll make it up later,” he finally said, picking up his glass and taking a long drink.
“Listen to me,” Ellison commanded. “You’re starting to mess up big time here, Chief. And you’d better smarten up and get your act together before you wind up in a hole that you can’t climb back out of.”
“Listen to me, good buddy,” Blair told him icily. “When I want your advice on what to do with my life, I’ll ask, ok? Until then, why don’t you just do us both a favor and leave me alone?”
He slid off the bar stool and started walking back to the bathroom, weaving a bit as he tried to navigate around the tables and chairs. Jim watched him go, clenching his jaw, not at all happy at how things had gone. But he knew that nothing was going to get discussed calmly or rationally as long as the whiskey was in the way, so he decided to go home and pick up the discussion again when his friend was sober. Picking up the coat that Blair had left on his stool, the detective fished his car keys out of the pocket before he put it back. Pulling out his own wallet, he tossed a few bills down on the bar.
“I’ve got his tab,” he told the bartender, making sure the man saw the gold shield on his belt so that he wouldn’t be tempted to disobey. “Call him a taxi when he’s ready to go.”
“Sure thing,” the man replied amicably, his practiced eye calculating the money on the bar and seeing that it included a generous tip to compensate for his time and trouble.
With one last glance back toward the bathrooms, Ellison left the bar and climbed into his truck to head for home.
Blair got back to the loft later than the Sentinel had expected, and from the amount of noise he made, it was obvious he hadn’t slowed his pace in the subsequent hours. Jim had been waiting for him, wanting to make sure he got home all right, although he had hidden himself away upstairs while he waited. He didn’t want another confrontation, and he was quite sure his partner would be in no mood to see him. So he stayed quiet and out of sight while Sandburg fumbled around, eventually making it to his bed before he passed out, seemingly for the night. Designating it safe when he heard the slow heartbeat and deep breathing, Ellison made his way downstairs, looking sadly through the open French doors at his friend sprawled across his bed. There was no more denying it. He finally had to admit Blair was having a problem. But as he gently pulled the bedroom doors closed, Jim realized the real challenge was going to be getting his partner to admit it to himself.
As Ellison headed down the hall back to Major Crimes, he was surprised to see Blair getting off the elevator. Sandburg had still been asleep when he left the loft late that morning, and after the argument they’d had yesterday, the detective sure didn’t think he’d be showing up at the station.
“Hey, Jim.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Well, you’re on stakeout tonight, aren’t you?” Blair told him with a shrug. “Yesterday you were complaining that I haven’t been around to back you up. So here I am.”
“Come in here,” the Sentinel ordered, pulling his partner into the empty break room down the hall and closing the door behind them. “Listen, Chief. There’s a very good chance that this thing is going down tonight. I really don’t think you should be there.”
“That’s exactly why I should be there,” Sandburg protested, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “You know that.”
“If this bust does go down, it’s going to be a potentially dangerous situation. And I can’t concentrate and do my job if I’m worrying about you,” Ellison said quietly, averting his eyes.
“This is about yesterday, isn’t it?” Blair demanded. “Look, Jim, I know you think that I’m having some kind of problem with alcohol, but it’s not true. Everything’s under control. I’m here, I’m sober, and I’m ready to get to work.”
“This isn’t the time or place to get into this,” the detective averred. “Go home, Chief. We’ll talk about it later.”
“You don’t believe me, do you?” the anthropologist asked incredulously. “Jim, I swear to you, I haven’t had a drink all day. Not even a sip. What, do you want me to take a Breathalyzer?”
“I do believe you,” Ellison murmured, fixing his gaze on his friend. “But you’ve got a bottle in your backpack now, don’t you?”
Blair glanced away, his grip on his backpack tightening slightly. He didn’t say anything, knowing it was pointless to try to lie to a Sentinel.
“This is about more than just drinking, Chief,” Jim continued. “It’s about your state of mind. You’re only going to be able to keep that demon in your head quiet with alcohol for so long. Sooner or later, you are going to have to deal with it.”
“Thank you, Doctor Ellison,” Blair snapped. “It’s always nice to get advice about dealing with problems from the master of avoidance.”
“Don’t try to turn this back on me,” Ellison told him sharply. “You want to see avoidance? Look in the mirror. You look like shit, Sandburg. You’re blowing our project off, you’re missing school, and the only way you can relax long enough to get a few hours sleep is if you crawl inside a whiskey bottle first. Everything is NOT under control, you are NOT handling things, and you are NOT fine. When are you going to start using that brain of yours to realize this?”
“Are you done?” the younger man finally asked, giving his partner a hard stare.
“Yeah, I’m done,” the detective replied with a heavy sigh. “And so are you, Chief.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I mean you’re done here, with the Cascade P.D. You’re observer status is revoked until you can pull yourself together.”
“You want me gone? Fine.”
“Blair, wait,” Ellison began, putting a hand on his friend’s arm, but he jerked out of his grip.
“No, man. I hear you. Loud and clear.”
“I think we should talk about this,” the Sentinel persisted.
“This isn’t the time or place, remember?” Sandburg told him coldly. “And I wouldn’t want to mess up your concentration.”
Jim watched with a heavy heart as his friend stormed down the hall, bypassing the elevators and slamming the door to the stairwell open.
“What was that all about?”
Ellison glanced at his captain, who had witnessed Blair’s retreat.
“I told Sandburg he was finished with the department,” the Sentinel muttered as he tried to slink past his boss. It was a brave attempt, but he knew Banks would never let him get away with it.
“Oh, Detective.” Jim turned around to see the captain beckoning to him and wearing a deceptively pleasant smile. “I’d like a word in my office.”
Ellison followed him through Major Crimes, into the tasteful office where he closed the door behind them.
“Now,” Banks ordered as he took a seat behind his desk. “Start from the beginning and kindly tell me what the hell is going on.”
“This Idaho thing is haunting him, Simon,” the detective sighed, slumping into the chair in front of the desk and rubbing a hand tiredly over his forehead.
“How bad is it?”
“Bad enough that he has to drown himself in Crown Royal.”
“Sandburg’s hitting the bottle?”
“Pretty hard these last couple days, but he’s probably been nipping at it for the last few weeks.”
“Probably?” Banks fixed a stern look on his detective. “Jim, how could you not know this was going on? You, of all people?”
“I guess I chose not to.” Ellison sighed again, knowing better than anyone that not much escaped his senses and he should have been well alerted to the problem before now. “When we were in Greendale, I really started believing that he was dead. I still don’t like to think about how close it really was. But when we found him in that hell hole alive and ok... Well, I thought it was over. I figured we’d go home and put it behind us, forget it ever happened.”
“Looks like it’s not over for Blair.”
“In some ways, it might be just beginning.” The Sentinel shook his head, getting up to pace the office. “I thought I was doing the right thing by giving him the boot tonight, but now I have to wonder if I made a mistake. I was worried about him getting hurt out there in the field when his head wasn’t on straight, but now I’m thinking it might have been better to have him there where I could keep an eye on him rather than send him storming out of here pissed off.”
“Do you want to go after him?”
“No,” the detective replied after a moment of hesitation. “I’ve put too much into this case. I’ll go try and talk some sense into Sandburg after we nail Johanssen.”
“I’ll come with you,” Banks offered. “Maybe he’ll listen if we both sit him down.”
“It’s worth a try,” Jim shrugged, coming up with a half-hearted grin. “Although God knows it would be the first time Blair ever listened to either one of us.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” Simon told him sagely.
The information the inside man from Narcotics had provided turned out to be accurate, and many of Cascade’s finest were on hand when the shipment arrived at Johanssen’s warehouse. Amid crates of cheap pottery, they found the expected heroin neatly stashed away. And as an added bonus, they also uncovered a small arsenal of assault weapons. The bust went down smoothly, with the importer placed under arrest and no casualties suffered on either side.
Once everything was processed and wrapped up and Simon had congratulated his team on a job well done, he and Jim were finally free to go after Sandburg. However, as they pulled up in front of the building, they both noticed the Volvo was nowhere to be seen. Taking a quick trip upstairs, they found the loft dark and silent.
“Any ideas where he might be?” Banks asked.
“He was pretty mad when he left,” the Sentinel replied. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he went off to drown his sorrows.”
“Well, why don’t we just take a ride around some usual haunts and see if we can find him?” Simon suggested. “Come on, I’ll drive.”
The search of the few bars nearby the loft came up empty, as did a few places more central to the city where the MCU crew sometimes met for drinks. Ellison speculated that if his partner had a bottle with him, he could be anywhere. But on a hunch, the captain set the course for Rainier, cruising slowly down the strip adjacent to the university that sported a variety of bars and clubs. The Sentinel quickly spied Sandburg’s car on the street, so Simon parked and they began checking out the various establishments, getting lucky with bar number three.
“Oh, man. Everybody be cool,” Blair announced loudly when he saw them approach. “It’s the fuzz.”
Ellison nodded at the young woman on his friend’s arm, and she got the hint and moved on.
“What is it with you, Jim?” Sandburg demanded, glaring at his partner. “You’re incapable of having any fun in your life, so you have to ruin it for everyone else, too? Why don’t you just get out of here before you break MY concentration?”
“Not a happy drunk, I see,” Simon observed wryly, sliding into the seat that the young lady had just vacated.
“I know what he’s been telling you, but it’s not true,” Blair insisted vehemently to the captain. “You didn’t have to let him drag you down here, Simon.”
“He didn’t drag me,” Banks told him. “I wanted to come.”
“Why?” The observer had been seeking an ally, but now he turned on him suspiciously. “You think I need a babysitter, too?”
“No.” Simon leaned in confidentially. “I came to win a bet.”
“What bet?”
“Jim bet me that when we found you, you’d be so smashed you wouldn’t even remember how to get home from here. Want to help me prove him wrong? I’ll split the twenty bucks with you.”
Blair turned to glare angrily at the detective, who had been standing silently by the table throughout the whole exchange.
“Yeah,” Sandburg muttered, picking up his full glass and draining it in one large gulp. “You bet your ass I’ll prove him wrong.”
He got to his feet unsteadily and Simon followed him closely as he pushed his way to the door of the bar, one hand on his back and the other poised to catch him if he stumbled. The captain gently took the car keys from him and helped him into the passenger side of his own vehicle before going around the car for a hushed word with Jim.
“He must be loaded if he fell for that bit of reverse psychology,” Ellison joked weakly.
“There was no way we were going to persuade him to leave,” Simon sighed. “Not voluntarily. And he’s beyond any sort of rational conversation tonight. I just thought it would be best to get him home and we’ll leave the intervention for another time.”
“No, you were right,” Jim assured him. He took the keys to the Volvo and started for the car, but then turned back to tease his captain. “That was an impressive bit of finessing, Simon. I guess three years with Sandburg are starting to rub off on you.”
“Yeah, and they’re going to be undone in about three seconds if he gets sick in my car,” Banks threatened.
By the time they arrived back at the loft, Blair was definitely feeling the effect of the last drink he’d chugged. Simon had to hold him up in the elevator and all but carried him down the hall to the loft. Jim had the door open and lights on by the time they got there, and he took over, helping his partner to his room while Banks helped himself to a beer and made himself comfortable on the sofa. The Sentinel finally returned, netting his own drink and taking a seat next to his boss.
“Is he all right?”
“He’s pretty much down for the count,” Ellison reported. “He said something to me right before he passed out, but I couldn’t tell if it was ‘thanks’ or ‘kiss off’.”
“I’d bet on the latter,” Simon chuckled.
“Guess I deserve it.”
“Hey,” Banks said sharply, his humor gone. “Don’t you go blaming yourself for this, Jim. It’s not your fault.”
“I’ve just never seen him this wasted,” the detective sighed. “I shouldn’t have sent him away like I did today.”
“You didn’t have a choice,” Simon reminded him. “It’s dangerous in the field, and it’s definitely no place for someone who doesn’t have all his wits about him.”
“I don’t know what to do, Simon,” Ellison told him softly. “What’s going to happen if I can’t help him?”
“You can’t help him, Jim,” Banks explained. “Not that way. You saved him once, but now it’s up to Blair to save himself. You can’t just snap your fingers and make everything ok. He has to help himself. All you can do is help him figure out how to do that.”
“What if I can’t?”
“You will,” Simon reassured him, getting to his feet and putting on his coat. “You’re not Cascade’s Cop of the Year three years running for nothing.” He went to the door, pausing before he let himself out. “If there’s anything I can do, you know where I am.”
The Sentinel rested his head against the back of the sofa, digesting his wise captain’s words, realizing they were true. Although he would have tried, he couldn’t fight his guide’s demons for him. The best he could do was offer support from the ropes, but the trick was to get his partner into the ring in the first place. Finishing his beer, Jim headed upstairs for bed, hoping that something would come to him in the night.
It was late in the morning when the detective made his way to the station. He wasn’t officially on duty, but he had reports to type up from the previous night’s bust. Ellison settled down at his desk, shoving the stack of files and papers aside. He was planning on getting to them, but first he had a few phone calls to make.
Once all the required paperwork was done and on Simon’s desk, Jim decided to put in some time updating old case files. It was tedious and time consuming, but he worked diligently, although the phone ringing mid-afternoon was a welcome distraction.
“Ellison,” he greeted the caller. “All right, stay with him. I’ll be right there.”
Abandoning the files for a matter of greater importance, he hit the switch to his desk lamp and grabbed his jacket, slipping it on as he trotted out of Major Crimes toward the elevators.
Blair paused, his hand on the handle of the door, shaking his head in disbelief as the very familiar truck pulled up to the curb.
“What, are you tailing me now?”
“Dills owed me a stakeout,” Ellison replied, leaning out of the window. “We need to talk, Sandburg. Why don’t you take a ride with me?”
“I know I was out of line last night,” Blair sighed. “But I’m really not in the mood for theatrics right now, ok? So why don’t you just say what you want to say?”
“Doesn’t work that way,” the Sentinel told him with a small shake of the head. “You need to come with me, Chief. Come on, get in the truck. Don’t make me get out the handcuffs.”
He’d been joking, but he could have kicked himself when his friend blanched at his innocent words. The anthropologist shook it off quickly, though, immediately trying to play off the stress of the induced memory of his time handcuffed in the cellar.
“All right, I’ll take a ride. But can I at least get a coffee first?”
“Yeah,” Jim said softly. “Go ahead.”
He watched his friend continue into the exotic coffee shop that was a few blocks from the loft, shaking his head slightly. So far, things were off to a great start.
The detective pulled off onto a dirt road that wound back into the woods, driving about a half mile before he parked the truck and turned off the engine.
“You want to tell me what we’re doing out here now?”
“I need to talk to you and I just thought there would be less distraction out here.”
“Well?” Blair demanded. “What are you waiting for?”
Ellison picked up the cup of coffee his partner had gotten for him back in the city, blowing on it and taking a sip to stall as he assessed Sandburg’s condition. He looked a bit haggard, but not too bad considering the state he’d been in the previous night. Blair hadn’t yet partaken of the hair of the dog, but he was tense and rigid and wound up tight. Jim knew he only had one shot at this, and if he didn’t do it right, being twenty miles from civilization was not going to keep his friend from walking out on him. Setting the cup carefully on the dash, he took off his seatbelt and shifted to face the younger man beside him, who was waiting expectantly.
“I’m sorry, Chief.”
It was apparently not at all what the anthropologist had been expecting. He relaxed a little, turning slightly to face his partner, brow wrinkling in confusion.
“For what?”
“For not tracking you down sooner.”
“Jim, you couldn’t possibly have known...”
“I did know,” the Sentinel admitted quietly, swallowing hard. “After you left, something started happening with my senses. It was like I couldn’t focus, couldn’t concentrate. Kept having these little spikes. Everything was just one constant distraction. At the time I tried to shrug it off, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. And I think it was some kind of warning. Somehow I knew you were in trouble, and my senses were just trying to tell me.”
“Really?” The scholar in Sandburg took over, his blue eyes shining as he digested this new information, trying to determine where it fit in the scope of a Sentinel and what other powers it might allude to. But then he calmed himself, seeing that his partner was generally upset over what he considered to be a great failure. “Jim, even if you’re right about this, you can’t blame yourself. I know that you came after me as soon as you could. Chalk it up to a learning experience, and not that I hope there’s a next time, but if there is, you’ll be prepared.”
“You’re always telling me I need to let my senses lead me instead of fighting them,” Ellison continued, not ready to be forgiven so easily. “I knew something was wrong, and I ignored the signs. Maybe if I’d had half a mind to go with my instincts, you wouldn’t have had to go through all that.” He looked up to meet his friend’s steady gaze. “And maybe you wouldn’t still be going through it.”
Blair looked away quickly and stiffened.
“Jim, I appreciate what I think you’re trying to do here,” he said. “But you have to let me deal with this in my own way.”
“You don’t have to do it alone, Chief.”
“Yes, I do,” Blair whispered, fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket. “You don’t know what happened down there.”
“I do know,” the detective told him sadly. “I called Clay this morning and he faxed me your statement.”
Sandburg looked up sharply, staring daggers at his partner. He opened his mouth to speak, then abruptly closed it and opened the door of the truck, getting out and slamming it as hard as he could.
“Blair, come on,” Ellison called out, jumping out of the truck to follow his friend as he stomped down the dirt road. “What are you going to do, walk back to Cascade?”
“I can’t believe you did that!” Sandburg seethed angrily as the Sentinel fell into step beside him. “You had no right, Jim!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to infringe on your privacy, but I didn’t know what else to do.” The detective grabbed his partner by the arm, halting his forward march and spun him around to face him. “This thing is eating you up, Chief. I thought that if I knew what had happened, I’d know how to help you.”
“And do you?” Blair challenged. “Now that you’ve got all the gory details and you’re back in control, do you know how to make things all better?”
“No.” Ellison let go of him, but held his gaze. “But I’m going to try. That bastard took three weeks of your life. I couldn’t stop him, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him take the rest of it, too.”
Sandburg slumped suddenly, the anger draining out of him, leaving him looking weary. He turned and moved off the road, sitting down on a fallen log and burying his face in his hands. After a moment, Jim went to sit beside him.
“Why didn’t you want me to know what happened?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know,” Blair sighed. He picked his head up to look at his friend with a small smile. “I guess partly because I knew you’d find some way to blame yourself, since you seem to have taken on protecting my butt as a second job.
“The work’s rewarding but the pay sucks,” Jim grinned.
“And I guess I just wanted to forget what had happened,” Sandburg continued. “Even if we never talked about it, if you knew, it would always be there. I thought if no one knew, I could just bottle it away and pretend it never happened. Turns out it’s not so easy to forget.”
“You can’t forget something like that,” Ellison counseled him. “Nobody can. But you can deal with it...”
“I know, I know,” Blair interrupted. “You just have to face the demon. Well, let me tell you something, Jim. I faced it. Because that’s exactly what that kid was.” He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, shuddering as the memories came back. But this time he let them come, drawing strength from the presence of his friend beside him. “He didn’t sleep, man. I don’t know what he was on, but it just made him relentless.”
“The autopsy found traces of a bunch of drugs in his system,” the detective told him. “But crank was the most prevalent. He died of coronary distress, from an overdose.”
“He only ever left me in peace for the span of a few hours,” Blair went on. “The whole rest of the time, he was there. Taunting me, tormenting me. Sometimes just watching. It got to the point where that was worse than anything. He’d just sit there, staring at me with those eyes. They were just so cold, so full of hate, he didn’t even look human. And there was nowhere I could go. No escape from those eyes. He saw everything, and he condemned me for all of it. And it wasn’t long before I started to hate him back.”
“I would think so.”
“I’ve never hated anyone before,” Sandburg protested, looking up at him with stricken eyes. “Not like this. But this kid... He kept telling me he was going to kill me. I knew he was telling the truth, and I knew he’d do it when he got tired of torturing me. And, I knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant. I tried to stay strong and have faith, but every day he just kept coming at me. Hurling his insults and threats, beating me, watching me with those eyes, dripping with revulsion. I was exhausted, and there was nowhere to hide, not even inside myself. All I had to hold onto was hate, and I started to wish him dead. Then one night he disappeared and came back about an hour later. His eyes were wild. I knew he’d just done something strong, and I figured this was it. What little control he’d had was gone, and he was going to kill me. He stood in that doorway, staring at me, twitching, and then he just fell to the floor. And I didn’t do anything to help him.”
“What could you have done?” Ellison demanded. “Even if you could have reached him, the kid was having a massive heart attack.”
“I could have done something,” Blair murmured. “At least said something. He was gasping and convulsing, and I just sat there. Then even after he was dead, those eyes kept staring at me, blaming me. I still couldn’t get away from them. Couldn’t hide from the accusation.”
“Surely you don’t think this is your fault for wishing him dead?” Jim asked incredulously. “I know you’re ego isn’t that big that you think you have that much power over the universe.”
“Of course not,” Sandburg sighed. “But... I was always able to reason out the motivation behind people’s behavior before. Not excuse it, per se, but at least explain it in sociological terms. Even when Lash was about to kill me, I didn’t hate him. He couldn’t help being a psychotic head case. Oh, I was mad as hell that I had to suffer because of it, but I still had a little compassion for the guy. But this kid... I couldn’t rationalize with him. I didn’t care about his problems or any underlying factors. I hated him, and I welcomed his death.”
Ellison shook his head slightly, thinking that his partner really took the cake. He’d been kidnaped and held hostage in a cold, wet basement by a hopped up, racist crank addict with a grudge against cops. Suffered starvation and sleep deprivation, getting burned with a crack pipe whenever exhaustion forced him to nod off. Being repeatedly beaten, humiliated, and subjected to verbal abuse and mental torture. Plus the stress of being trapped with a corpse for three days, wondering if he would make it until someone found him. And now that it was over and done with, he was beating himself up for not being able to find any empathy for the evil bastard.
“First of all,” the detective began. “He wasn’t a kid. Manny was twenty-two, and he knew what he was doing. Second, after what he did to you, he doesn’t deserve any compassion. Hard life and bad upbringing aside, we all have to make choices concerning what we do with our lives and the kind of people we want to be. Maybe not everyone is strong enough to always take the high road, but he chose to take the path of drugs. And he chose to blame others for the hand he was dealt. He chose to take revenge on you for that. When you willingly choose to hurt an innocent person just because you can, then you lose any rights to sympathy. He put you through hell, plain and simple, Chief. You have every right to be angry, and you have every right to hate him for that. And if it was down to you or him, you had every right to want him to fall. It’s called self-preservation. But it’s over now. You’re free of him, and he doesn’t have the power to torment you any more unless you give it to him.”
“I don’t know how to stop it,” Blair whispered, looking at his friend helplessly. “Those damn eyes still follow me everywhere I go. I still can’t get away from them. Everywhere I look, I see reminders of what happened. I jump anytime someone comes up behind me, thinking it’s him. The minute I close my eyes, he’s there. I tried meditating, but I just keep hearing his voice in my head. The only thing that gives me any peace at all is to drink. And I know that’s no solution, but rationality can’t stand up to the nightmares. I just don’t know what to do, Jim. I’m letting you down, and I’m letting everyone at Rainier down. I know I’m screwing up big time, but I can’t seem to help myself.”
He dropped his head back down again to rest in his arms, folded across his knees. Ellison reached out, rubbing a hand gently along his back.
“Then let me help you, Chief,” he urged. “Can you do that?”
Sandburg nodded slightly, shaking as he tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to break forth. The Sentinel slid a little closer to him, wrapping an arm around him in comfort.
“I can’t even begin to imagine what this ordeal was like for you,” he said gently. “But you’re strong, Blair, and you’re going to be fine. It might take some time, but we’ll get through this together. I won’t let him hurt you anymore, I promise.”
They sat silently for a long time, until Blair finally felt in control enough to wipe his eyes and sit up. He didn’t know what to say, but Ellison realized enough had been said for one day.
“I’m hungry,” he grinned, clapping his partner on the shoulder. “What do you say we get out of here and go get something to eat?”
“You buying?” Sandburg asked, sniffing slightly but with a newfound twinkle in his blue eyes.
“Buyer picks the restaurant,” Jim informed him loftily, getting up and heading back down the road to the truck.
“Wonderburger, here we come,” Blair sighed, but he smiled and trotted after his friend. Climbing into the truck, he fastened his seatbelt, letting out a long, cleansing breath as he realized he didn’t have the urge to look over his shoulder for the first time in weeks. He didn’t try to kid himself into believing that all his problems were solved, but he couldn’t deny the weight that had been lifted off his shoulders. Jim was right, it would take time and he had a lot to deal with if he was going to overcome what had happened to him. But they’d faced down worse than this before, and Blair knew that a mere ghost was no match for the two of them.
Blair scribbled down JB’s address on the large yellow envelope he’d filled with grant and loan pamphlets, along with an application to Rainier. He’d been hoping the kid would keep his promise and not give up on his dreams, and he was determined to do what he could to help the process along. Sealing the envelope, he tossed it into the basket on the corner of his desk so that he could have it sent out on Monday. Glancing at his watch, he saw that he still had fifteen minutes until his scheduled office hours were over, but after a moment he decided to bail out anyway. He knew from experience that no students were going to be coming knocking on his door at 4:45 on a Friday afternoon, so he gathered up his things and closed up his office.
It had been raining steadily throughout the week, but the sun had finally reappeared and was bathing the university with a soft, warm glow as it began it’s nightly descent. Wanting to take advantage of the good weather and needing to unwind a bit after a hectic week, Blair changed directions, sauntering across campus away from his car. The place was rather deserted, with most of the students eager to get to happy hour and kick off their weekends. But it had been weeks since Blair had felt the fear-based compulsion to join them.
They had not been easy weeks by any stretch of the imagination. But he had gotten through them. Simon had insisted that he see the department psychiatrist, and Sandburg agreed, since he didn’t have a choice if he wanted to continue his association with the Cascade P.D. But Dr. Willis had helped him sort through a lot of his feelings and emotions over what had happened, and once he faced his fears, they started to become easier to deal with.
Jim had also been a pillar of strength and support for him. As he promised, he was always there, ready to talk or listen, whenever Blair had needed him. He was quick to reassure and encourage, his eyes telling him what his lips could not. That it was ok to be afraid and to grieve for what he had suffered. But also that it was time to let it all go, because he had a Sentinel on duty who was not going to let anyone or anything hurt his guide.
Slowly, Blair came to grips with all he had gone through and was able to start putting it behind him. He began to relax, no longer walking around tense all the time, jumping at every little thing. And as he healed, the nightmares, both waking and while asleep, started to recede. He began to feel better, stronger, and he symbolically retracted the power he’d given Manny until the memories no longer controlled him. Blair was ready to move on, but there was one last thing he needed to do.
He stopped along the quad and sat down on a bench that overlooked the city. Closing his eyes, enjoying the warm sun on his face, Blair took a few deep breaths and conjured up an image of his tormenter. For a second, his heart sped up, but he willed it to slow down, telling himself that a spectral memory was nothing to fear, no matter how much agony it had previously caused.
“I’m sorry your life was so ruled by hate,” Sandburg whispered softly, his mind’s eye staring down the wild, glowering gaze of his foe. “I hope that you can find peace now.”
He opened his eyes, feeling lighter and rather sure that he had just laid his last demon to rest. Or maybe not, he thought ruefully as the ringing of his cell phone made him jump. Pulling it out of his backpack, he checked the screen and identified Ellison as his caller before he answered.
“Where are you?”
“Rainier,” Blair replied. “I was just about to head home.”
“We got another arson threat,” the detective told him. “Probably a hoax, but I’m stuck watching a chemical plant for the evening. You interested in a stakeout?”
“Well, it’s not the hot date I was hoping for,” Sandburg grinned. “But since I’m lacking in any other offers...”
“Stay there,” Jim ordered. “I’ll come by and pick you up and we can grab something to eat before we head over there.”
“That sounds great, but I never got a chance to stop by the bank and cash my check today,” the anthropologist hedged.
“I’ll cover you,” came the heavy sigh over the phone.
“All right,” Blair teased. “But just because you’re buying me dinner, don’t think that entitles you to anything later on in the evening.”
“Sandburg, I’ll try my hardest to control myself,” Ellison said wryly before he hung up.
Blair chuckled, slipping his phone back into his backpack. His jovial mood had not been forced, and it sounded like his partner was in a good mood as well. Which would make for a pleasant evening. Maybe not his ideal way to spend a Friday night, but he definitely could imagine worse scenarios. Rising from the bench, he slipped his backpack over his shoulder, giving one last glance at the approaching sunset. Then he set off, heading back to his office to meet his friend, his long nightmare finally over once and for all.
Finis
The Sandburg Zone
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