Disclaimer:The Sentinel and all related characters are the property of UPN, Paramount and Pet Fly Productions. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made. This is just for fun and to thank all the other TS fanfic writers for entertaining when one hour a week is just not enough....I hold Danny Bilson and Paul Demeo in highest regard for the creation of such an entertaining program and such marvelous characters.

This one is for BCW. Tender tales can be weaved with strong threads and seemingly harsh strokes, but the warm and fuzzies still shine through. It's for Klair, who takes me back through time and way out west, and reminds me what it's like to be a child. There's magic in Wyoming. And it's for StarPlaza, who likes the sparks to fly as much as me, keeping the home fires burning. And always, thank God for Birkies, because through it all, I can always laugh.

A personal note: Thank you, Tonya, for a home on your web site and the coveted picture. And a special thanks to Kelly, for her instruction and encouragement. Someday I may even get it right.

Warning: Implied torture, violence, and adult language.

LOST IN THE CLOUDS

Agnes Mage

Passion is purple fire. It is blood aged like wine over the fires of love and desire and obsession. It is rich, and thick, and full of purpose. It slowly drips and burns through your veins pumping adrenaline and fervor. You become alive, your thoughts sing, and you become consumed in the fire.

Part One: Researching the Darkness

Blair Sandburg leaned back in the chair and the cold reality of his addiction hit him squarely in the face. He never thought it would happen to him, a man of science, a student of knowledge, and a man of reason and commitment. He had his life planned out so precisely, a persistent plodder in pursuing his goals. Look what he had accomplished to date. He almost had his doctorate, and hey, that was just a question of finishing his dissertation; and, he found a real live Sentinel and not only got him to agree to let Blair study him, but had become his best friend and roommate. That certainly couldn't be viewed too badly in the way of life accomplishments, he reasoned. He just never dreamed something so silly would pull him in so completely and consume his every waking thought.

Get a grip here, Sandburg, he chastised himself mentally. If Jim finds out about this he's going to give me one of his famous "real life" lectures.

Jim Ellison man of common sense and logic would not be able to understand a simple, childish pursuit. No, not childish, fun. It's time I had some fun with my life. What's wrong with admitting I like doing it and that I can't, and I won't, stop.

With that passionate decision, he hit the save button on his computer and closed the lid, securing it lovingly with his hand smoothing over the case.

It had all started with Deedee Brighton. The Bright Sprite, as Blair often called her, Masters in English, Teaching Assistant, small bundle of chaotic energy, creative force, and a whirlwind who could suck the most stoic disbeliever into her world of fantasy and flavor.

She had asked Blair last month to help her write a fan fiction piece. Deedee had become hooked on a local television show about a police agency that used five college students to help solve criminal cases. The arsenal of students had a variety of degrees: English, Anthropology, Chemistry, Biology, and Music. Deedee needed Blair's help in some information pertaining to Anthropology so he had agreed to help proof her story and help her with some of the more technical aspects. When Deedee found out Blair worked as an observer on the police force, she wanted to pick his brain for police procedures and criminal activities. Deedee was a passionate writer and Blair found her stories interesting and fun.

Then Blair had started to watch the show himself. He came up with an idea for his own story and walla! Blair Sandburg became a fan fiction writer on the Internet. However, what started as a simple hobby, had blossomed into an all-consuming passion, chewing up more time than he initially considered.

Just last week, Jim had come down the stairs at 3 in the morning and given Blair to the count of three to save his file and shut the computer down. The constant plopping of the keys had been driving Jim crazy and interrupting his sleep.

"That's it, Chief," Jim had said as he stood glowering down at Blair as he sat at the kitchen table. "I'm starting the count, you save that file and close that computer before I hit 3, or I'll do it for you."

"Aw, Jim, I'm almost finished, I just need a few more minutes," Blair pleaded up with sleepy eyes and the lost look of one too caught up in his own musings to focus clearly upon the real landscapes of life.

"One," Jim started the slow, inexhorable count.

"Aw, man, please. Just 15 more minutes. I promise."

"Two."

"Jim." But Blair could see the determined, grim look on Jim Ellison's face, and he quickly hit the save button just as Jim reached "Three" and slammed the lid down on Blair's computer and picked it up. He turned and carried it up the stairs with him.

"You can have it back in the morning, Chief. Now I would suggest you get your butt in bed before I fold you up over my shoulder and put you there myself," Jim said as he deliberately plodded each foot heavily upon the stairs making his way back up to bed. He stopped briefly at the top to look threateningly down at Blair who merely shrugged his shoulders in defeat and headed for his room.

In one month's time Blair had gone from casual reader of fan fiction, and beta reader of De Blake (Deedee's psuedonym reflected her all consuming passion for William Blake), to Darwin, fan fic writer extraordinaire. Blair's fine-honed abilities with obfuscation and alternate realities made him a natural at this fiction writing thing. He became quite popular among the readers in a matter of weeks and now he already had three stories posted to the Internet and was working on his fourth. He wanted his fourth to be a real thriller and he had just the setting in mind.

It was now 4 o'clock on Thursday. Deedee Brighton and Blair Sandburg had plans for some research. Deedee and Blair had decided to team up on a story that could serve the dual purpose of English and Anthropology in their story. Blair had always been fascinated by the old public sanitarium just outside of Cascade. The facility was situated on five acres of land. The crumbled old buildings, each three stories with bars on all the windows, were interspersed throughout the grounds. The place had been closed for years after a scandal of abuse and cruelty had hit the papers. The conditions were found to be appalling. The state eventually transferred the patients and closed the facilities for good. The land remained undeveloped and the old, delapidated buildings crumbled in the shadows of a barren, depressing landscape. Even the old trees around the grounds seemed diseased and aged. This place had such bad karma that Blair didn't think anything could thrive in the memory of its past. It reminded him of a setting for a Stephen King novel. So when Blair needed a story idea, he immediately confided in Deedee who pushed for a first hand view of the setting for their story.

Blair began to fix dinner. He planned to tell Jim he had a date tonight and not to wait up. The drive to the old state sanitarium took half an hour. He and Deedee would want to stop for coffee and discuss their plot and outline. Blair wasn't too keen on visiting the site at night, but Deedee had insisted that it would best suit their needs to see the grounds in their truly scary state. "Think of the ideas that are going to be going through our minds, if we're scared out of our wits just walking through the place," Deedee reasoned.

"Yeah, but I think there might be a security guard watching the premises," Blair tried to counter-reason. "We might have a better chance of talking him into letting us look over the grounds in broad daylight."

"No, Blair. You have got to be creative and daring when you write. We need to really get a feel for this place and nighttime is the time to really experience the horrors that went on there."

So Blair agreed. He also was going to make sure he had his observer pass with him, just in case he needed to explain their presence. He only hoped Jim didn't find out. Jim could be so by-the-book sometimes that the slightest deviation from rules and the norm sent him off into a lecture period that would have Blair cringing. Not so much from fear, Jim would never hurt him, this he knew with all his heart, but cringing with dread that Jim would never give it a rest. The man could be so anal it drove Blair crazy sometime.

Blair still had a hard time believing his good fortune in finding a friend and a Sentinel all in one fell swoop. Blair Sandburg, anthropologist, and free spirit never thought that his life study...Sentinels...would lead him to the man who would become his best friend, roommate, father, brother, and soulmate. When Blair had heard that a real live Sentinel existed within the city limits of Cascade, he had disguised himself as a doctor and given Detective Jim Ellison his card suggesting that Blair Sandburg might be the answer to all his problems with his senses. True, their first meeting had been anything but cordial, but Jim had come around and found that he could trust the young anthropologist and that Blair did indeed know what he was talking about.

An association of need and convenience had become something so deep and binding that at times it scared Blair. He was raised by a hippie mother who believed in letting things go and be, more so than restraining and subduing them. He loved his mother dearly. She was the one responsible for his free-thinking and inquisitive mind, but he did realize in his joining with Jim all the things that he had truly missed, but just never been aware of. He liked the grounded feeling of having someone want to know where he had been when he didn't come home on time. Not that he'd ever admit it to Jim, but he liked the firm hand that Jim often used to see that he took better care of himself. He even liked the silly rules Jim had laid down concerning the living arrangement. It gave Blair structure and he knew what was expected of him. He felt loved, cared for, and looked after. But above all else he felt needed and valued. Then there was the Blessed Protector thing. Blair certainly felt safe. Sometimes too safe. Jim could be a real hard-ass when it came to keeping Blair protected from his own rashness and his insistence on helping Jim in his criminal investigations. Blair at least knew when he pushed Jim too far. He always managed to acquiesce thus saving his own ass just in a nick of time, before Jim felt the need to kick it himself. The lecture Jim gave him up at the university cabin about running to him and seeking shelter with him had been indelibly imprinted on Blair's mind. Blair knew better than to ever try to run from Jim again.

Blair started heating the water up for the noodles. He was going to make lasagna tonight; keep Jim in the dark as to his real plans for the evening, Jim had enough on his mind. He was working on a particularly baffling case. A number of prostitutes...five to be exact...had disappeared off the streets of Cascade in the last month. Nobody had any clue as to what happened to these unfortunate ladies of the night. The whole demimonde was up in arms about the lack of protection for the women of the street.

The Mayor's office was being particularly forceful on this issue. Simon thought a mistress or two might be putting the pressure on one of the city officials. With Simon under the gun, Jim was sure to feel the heat. Blair didn't want to rattle his Sentinel's cage at this particular stage.

Blair had just added the noodles to the water when Jim walked through the door. "Hey, Chief, what's for dinner?" Jim asked as he hung his coat on the rack and rubbed his hands together more so as a gesture of anticipation then due to any cold weather. Cascade was now enjoying a moderately warm winter after a bad episode several months ago when El Nino had stormed the pants off the whole city throwing everything she had at them.

"Lasagna. Should be ready in about an hour. Why don't you take a nice hot shower and watch the news. I kind of got a late start," Blair said.

"Sounds great, I could use a hot shower and some time to unwind. It was a really rough day, today, Chief. Are you going to be able to help me at the station tomorrow?" Jim said as he reached in the refrigerator for a beer.

"Yeah, I'm yours all day tomorrow. No more classes until next Wednesday. How's the prostitute case coming? Any leads?"

"Chief, don't ask. Simon's tap dancing so fast he's in a foul mood. The Mayor even came down to the station in person today. Wants to make a good show for the news media." Jim leaned back on the counter watching Sandburg stir the noodles in the pot. He watched his young friend for a few minutes.

"Sandburg, I've been meaning to ask you, what project have you been working on so diligently every night for the past several weeks?" Jim pierced him with a steely look over the bottle of beer he held to his lips.

"Oh, that report I've been working on? Oh, just a paper I have due for Professor Dawes, nothing important, just long...you know, Jim, baffle them with bullshit," Blair tried to bluff his way through, hoping Jim didn't remember that Blair had told him he finished the class a month ago.

"Well, I just hope you finish real soon. That typing is driving me crazy at night," Jim said as he put the beer on the counter and headed for the stairs. He knew by the accelerated heartbeat of his young friend that avoidance was the name of the game.

"Yeah, Jim, I'm in the home stretch. I'll try to just do my proofing after 10."

Jim Ellison just shook his head as he trudged up the stairs. The kid was in full evasive mode again. Jim remembered full well that Blair had finished Professor Dawes class several weeks ago. As a matter of fact, it was right around the time Blair had become so excited and animated all the time. Not that Blair was ever not animated, but this animation reminded Jim of a little kid with a new toy. Jim could actually remember the week when Blair had started typing up a storm and insisting on watching that new cop show on Wednesday evenings. Blair began to chatter ceaselessly about the show and the writers and the plots and characters. Jim thought the show was kind of corny. Using college kids to solve major crimes...well...Blair was different, Jim mused. He sat and watched it a few times with Blair. Then the phone would ring after the last commercial and Blair would stay on the phone for hours talking to Deedee about the episode. He was glad the kid was enjoying himself so much, but it was baffling how he could spend so much time talking about a television show. Blair was usually a very academically, business-minded anthropologist. It was hard to imagine Blair being so consumed by anything that wasn't about anthropology or Sentinels.

Oh, well, he'll come down to earth in a little while. He's probably just excited by something totally new. He's at least enjoying himself. Jim thought as he came back down and headed for the shower.

After dinner, Blair busied himself cleaning up the table and washing the dishes while Jim sat down and started channel surfacing. "Oh, Jim, I forgot to tell you, I've got a date this evening. Don't wait up. I'm probably going to be pretty late."

"Anyone I know?" Jim asked nonchalantly as he kept flicking the channels in his ever-diligent quest for quality viewing.

"Just Deedee. We've been meaning to see this movie that's in its final run at the Art Deco Theatre. Deedee likes to go for coffee afterwards and analyze the movie to death. Like I said, don't wait up."

"Don't you think you should get to bed before 3 at least one night a week, Sandburg?"

"Jim, I'm fine. I've got a lot more stamina than you seem to think. Really, man, I'm fine with just a few hours."

Jim looked at Blair over the back of the couch and scowled, but said nothing further.

Jim Ellison, macho, pig-headed, ex-military, Ranger, and full-time cop never would have believed that a neo-hippie, free-spirited, peripatetic young anthropologist like Blair Sandburg could have stormed his way into the fortress that Ellison had built up around his heart. Very few men had the stamina, balls, and persistence to beat down the doors that Jim kept securely locked to the outside world. True, there was Jack Pendergast and Danny Choi, but they were exceptions to a long list of rejections. Jack and Danny were both formed from cop mold and the joining was a logical, natural thing. But Blair Sandburg was the antithesis of all James Ellison believed and held dear. There was no structure in his young life, no bars, no rules, no limits. The kid flew free and wild. He was the most appealing entity Jim Ellison had ever come across. From throwing the kid up against the wall, to allowing him to move in with him, to actually finding a deep loving friendship, Jim Ellison had morphed into a completely different human being. Many people were left speechless by the change, but everyone who saw it thanked the heavens for Blair Sandburg.

Now Jim Ellison guarded his Guide and Shaman like his very life depended on it, because it very well did. Sandburg embodied everything Jim Ellison needed in his life. As his Guide & Shaman, Blair helped him stay focused and grounded when dealing with his heightened senses. He was his friend and brother who offered understanding and a friendly pat on the back when Jim became depressed or overwrought with the crime and cruelty he encountered every day. Blair stood at the focal point of Jim's sense of self, a soulmate. The other half that made Jim feel whole, good and necessary. Without his Guide and friend, Jim, the Sentinel, the man, was nothing.

Just as Blair was finishing up in the kitchen, Jim turned to the door. He heard the soft footfalls out in the hall making their way to the door of the loft and he smelled her lilac-scented perfume.

"Chief, Deedee's here," Jim said as he turned back to the television set.

Jim had met Deedee only once before when he had went to pick Blair up on campus and found her sitting in Blair's office chatting up a storm. He didn't understand how Blair could put up with the chatterbox. It was non-stop. It drove him crazy. But Deedee seemed like a very nice person and Blair and her seemed comfortable in their on-again off-again relationship.

Blair moved to the door and opened it. He and Deedee had agreed that he would pick her up at her place at 6. What was she doing here?

When Blair opened the door, in burst a bundle of energy, short curls flopping under a black knit cap, black turtle-neck sweater, and tight black jeans topped by ankle-boots. Deedee looked like a Navy Seal about to see combat. Blair just raised his eyes to heaven and said a silent prayer that Jim would not think anything unusual in Deedee's date wear. He gave her a scowl before he cheerfully asked, "Deedee, what are you doing here? I thought I was going to pick you up at your place."

"Oh, I had my brother drop me off here, that way you can just drive me home after our adventure." Deedee said before she popped her hand over her mouth and silently mouthed "Ooops!" Blair had warned her about not giving his roommate, "The Cop," any inkling as to their plans for the evening should their paths cross, or they could both forget their research. Jim would have them firmly seated on the sofa receiving a lecture about trespassing, breaking and entering, and general crimes against property and humanity that would last them a lifetime.

Jim turned an inquisitive eye upon their guest having heard full well her slip. "Hi Deedee, what's with the spy wear?" Jim asked as he turned the television set off.

Just great, Blair thought, the Bright Sprite would have to come dressed like a cat burglar. Always has to get into the mood of everything. Well, Sprite, Jim's going to get us both in the mood for covert ops. We're going to be pinned with the blue lasers if we don't exit fast and we'll have first hand experience of what the third degree is. We'll be damn lucky if we can get out on parole.

"Ah, Jim, we really have got to get going. The movie starts with a short documentary and if we get there too late, we'll never get a seat." Blair said as he grabbed his leather jacket off the hook, knowing his police observer pass was safely tucked in the pocket. He grabbed Deedee's arm and propelled her out the door with a quick, "See you tomorrow, big guy."

"Whoa, Chief." Jim rose from the couch. He pulled Blair back inside, raising his finger to Deedee to give them a moment of privacy.

"I didn't know artsy movies required attire for night maneuvers." Jim pointed his thumb towards the closed door.

"Come on, man. You know Deedee. It's one of those dark thrillers. We really have got to get going," Blair said as he glanced at his watch, topping off the urgency.

Jim reached out to grab his arm again, looking him directly in the eye. "I know you and your pension for trouble. Behave yourself."

Blair nodded his head and sought the safety of the hallway in one flowing movement of practiced evasion.

Jim just stared after the two obviously uncomfortable little liars as they closed the door. He smiled to himself realizing that the kid had really thrown himself into something. The kid had obviously developed a passion and in many ways it was good to see him having so much fun. Sometimes Blair seemed to take his job as Guide/Shaman, Teaching Assistant and Police Observer just a tad too seriously. It caused him to burn out several months ago and go off half-cocked with a hitman on his tail. The kid needed to see the lighter side of life, and Deedee of the fast wit, bubbly personality, and effectual passion was maybe just the thing to see that the kid played at life a little more.

When they pulled Blair's old Volvo between the gates that were laying open on their rusty hinges, Blair felt a chill go up and down his spine. This place had always looked creepy from the main highway, but up close and personal it was downright terrifying. He was beginning to have second thoughts about this little expedition into literary research when his affable companion was struck with a new, added enthusiasm. "Oh, Blair, you were right. This is the perfect setting for one of our stories. Oh, I have so many ideas running through my head right now. Park it, just park the car and let's go." Deedee said in a burst of energy as she grabbed the flashlights and backpack from the backseat.

Blair pulled the car off to the side of the driveway halfway between the first delapidated building and the gates. He didn't really want to hide the car. He wanted it in full view, so they weren't really doing anything illegal. Just casual tourists viewing a strange and frightening site up close. Nobody could accuse them of nefarious purposes since they were being so open about their sojourn onto the abandoned property.

Blair grabbed his own backpack from the backseat and strapped it on. He pulled his observer pass out of his pocket and placed it around his neck on the long, metal chain. He took the flashlight Deedee offered him and they set off to explore the darkly haunting setting before them.

When they got to the door of the first building, Blair tried the doorknob and was amazed that the door was open. With all the windows broken, he really didn't take time to consider whether the place was locked or not. They could have done their research from just walking the grounds. This building must have been the administration office, since there were no bars on the windows. They entered with their flashlights on and aimed at the floor. The hallways were dark and silent and strewn with debris, broken glass, and leaves that had entered through the windows. They spent an hour walking the 3 stories and found mainly eerie offices and storage rooms, some still littered with boxes and old desks and bookshelves.

As they were leaving, Deedee noticed a door off to the right at the far end of the hallway with an arrow pointing down. "Come on, Blair. I've heard that a lot of these old sanitariums had catacombs beneath the ground that connected one building to another. Maybe there's one here. Maybe we'll find some mad scientist's lab down there and that would make great fodder for our story."

"Deedee, wait," Blair said as he tried to grab the rambunctious sprite by her arm, but she was already off in full-determined mode. Blair could do nothing but follow in her wake. When they came to the bottom of the stairs they saw a long corridor that headed off in the direction of the next building on the grounds.

"EEEEE! Oh My God!"Deedee screamed just as a large rat raced down the corridor ahead of her. She grabbed her heart and wheeled back into Blair's supporting arms.

"Take it easy, Deedee," Blair said in a quivering voice. "There are bound to be rodents down here. Just take it easy," Blair said uneasily. He hated rats and had very bad experiences with them when he lived in the old warehouse, before he knew what a nice loft with freshly stocked shelves, comfortable furniture, and a nice clean bed could be like. Now he knew home, and every aspect of that fine word. Jim and home were synonymous.

"I think we should head back, Deedee," Blair said as he started pulling the Sprite back into the stairwell.

"No, Blair," Deedee answered somewhat huffily as she pulled her arm back. "I want to see where this corridor goes. I want to know everything about this place. I still haven't seen anything we can use in our story. Come on, don't be such a baby."

Blair could not believe two grown adults, with Masters, could stoop to such childish taunts and act like kids at a horror matinee. Yet when he saw Deedee start down the blackened hallway heading into oblivion, he followed like a puppy at her heels. Not so much out of obligation and the need to protect the distaff side, although he did know Deedee' pension for impulsive moves, but also because he did not want to remain alone in the bowels of this place where all hope had been long ago abandoned.

When they came to the end of the interminably long winding corridor, they came upon a huge fire door. Blair opened it cautiously after warning Deedee to brace herself for more rodents. They started to walk through, but Blair motioned for Deedee to remain on the other side.

"First I want to close the door and make sure I can open it from this side. Sometimes these doors close and can't be opened. This place was an institution for the mentally ill, we don't want to get trapped in here even if I do have my cell phone." He closed the door with him on one side and Deedee on the other. The door opened easily back into the corridor where Deedee stood.

"Okay, it's safe. Come on." Blair said as he held the heavy metal door open for his friend.

As they made their journey cautiously through the darkened world, Deedee's flashlight alighted upon a large, deep alcove off to the right. She pulled Blair back by the arm and motioned for him to follow her. The alcove had a desk situated in the middle, fire doors were on the right and left of the alcove. Blair opened the door on the left and noticed a huge generator that looked like it was in amazingly good shape. When he turned he saw Deedee trying to push on the door to the right. It wouldn't open. Blair motioned her aside and pulled. Deedee let out an embarrassed giggle as Blair opened the door out into the alcove. When Blair directed the beam of his light into the open doorway he saw the stairs that led down into the darkness.

"Oh, my God, Blair. This place has tunnels and rooms on another sub-level. This is like so cool. We have to go down there. Can you imagine what they must have done down there. The locked rooms, the lobotomies, the laboratories, oh....Blair this is so exciting!"

Blair rolled his eyes heavenward for the second time that evening. Deedee could be a sweet, gentle, innocent, naive grad student one moment and a cold-blooded, thrill-seeking, pre-teen the next. And Jim says I'm mercurial. I'm stable as a rock compared to the Sprite.

"Deedee," Blair said in a whisper. The opening into this nether region brought on a new awareness of the layers involved in this rotting memory. Each layer peeled back like an onion revealing the deeper, darker depths of what institutions are really like. Blair was in a terrible awe of this place. He didn't want Deedee to know how frightened he had become. "I really don't think we should go down there. It could be dangerous. There's no light, we could fall in some hole or what if someone's down there. Maybe some transients have taken up residence here."

"Oh, come on Blair. Where is your sense of adventure? I just knew it," Deedee said as she put her hands on her hips in an attitude of intellectual superiority. "I always knew you were too straight-laced to let loose and enjoy yourself. I really thought getting into this fan fiction thing was going to do you a world of good and allow you to experience something else besides lectures, expeditions, and dissertations. I guess I was wrong. You'll always have that stick up your academic butt." With that final flaunt and a toss of her black-sweatered shoulders, the backpack practically hitting Blair in the face, Deedee Brighton stepped forth into the lower depths.

Blair Sandburg, gentleman and colleague, but more importantly friend, followed the bouncing black figure before him. Just as his foot landed on the lower level, his skin crawled and he shivered. He raced forward to catch up to the small figure moving swiftly ahead of him. In the distance he thought he could hear moaning. He pulled back on Deedee's arm and whispered urgently, "Listen, shhhh. Do you hear that?" he asked her in a small voice close to her ear. They stood absolutely still for several moments. In the distance, in the darker, deeper regions of this sub-level faint screams from tormented souls could be heard.

BANG! The upper door was being slammed back against the alcove. Someone was coming down after them. Then Blair could hear the generator upstairs waking like a sleeping bear, groaning it's discontent at being roused. Then there was a click, and bare lightbulbs situated at every turn and fire door blazed to life.

Blair clamped his hand across Deedee's mouth just as it opened to vent her fears, his eyes spoke volumes into hers as he grabbed her flashlight and shut them both off at the same time. He pushed her roughly forward down the corridor pulling her into a small open room at the end of the hall that must have been a storage room for cleaning equipment. He pulled Deedee down next to him behind some old crates and boxes. Deedee sat back against the wall bringing her knees up to her chest and started a slow rocking. She looked scared out of her wits. The Bright Sprite of several moments ago had fled on her ethereal wings. Deedee Brighton, petite grad student, romantic, and little girl was now totally out of her element.

Blair peeked up over the crate after giving Deedee a quick look and warning her with a finger to his lips to remain silent. He saw a shadow moving towards them reflected on the far wall of the turning corridor. He could see the image of a large man. The guy had to be about 6 feet 5 inches tall and he looked huge in the chest and shoulders. Part of the illusion of broad shoulders was due to the fact that he carried a bundle draped across his right one. When they passed the doorway, Blair could make out the long hair hanging behind and he heard the soft groan coming from the unfortunate woman. The man was bringing a woman down here.

Blair waited until he heard the other door at the end of the corridor close. Then he turned quickly to Deedee, grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a slight shake. "Listen to me. You have got to take my cell phone," Blair said as he released his backpack and pulled his cell phone out handing it to Deedee, along with the car keys. "Go up the way we came. Be careful. When you get outside call Jim...speed call 1...Tell him to send the police out here. Tell him there's a woman in danger. Lock yourself in the car." Blair saw the blank, lost look in the green eyes. "Deedee," Blair said shaking his friend again. "Get a grip...a woman's life depends on it."

This brought Deedee out from under her emotional covers, she grabbed the phone and his backpack and nodded. "What are you going to do, Blair? Come with me," she pleaded.

"No, I can't. I have to follow. He could take her anywhere on these grounds, maybe there are levels no one knows about. I have to follow so when Jim gets here he'll know where to look. Just go, Deedee, I can't let them get too far ahead." With this Blair pulled her up by her shoulders and physically shoved her out into the corridor. He returned her flashlight to her and told her to move as he propelled her back the way they had just come.

When he saw her safely ascend the stairs and he knew freedom was within her reach, he turned on the balls of his feet and skipped forward into the unknown.

Was it Nietsche who said, 'There is a reaffirmation of the will to live in the face of death?' Perhaps I paraphrase with too free a hand. Is it the thrill of coming so close to that other side of the door, or is it a burst of pride and arrogance that we stand so near and cannot be touched? I think neither. There is contrast in opposites; they are foils for the other's glory. When you stand so near a void, the everyday and mundane glows like a treasured jewel.

Part Two: Up Close and Personal With the Devil

Jim Ellison glanced at the clock by his bed. It was 10 p.m. He had spent a good portion of the evening channel surfing, never really finding anything worth sticking with for more than 5 minutes. He missed Blair. He would never have admitted it to the young anthropologist, but on nights when Blair was out on a date or working late at the University, Jim felt lost and out of sync. It was as if a part of him had been left back at the station. He knew this was silly. Jim Ellison had always been a man comfortable with his own company, depending totally upon himself for survival and trusting no one beyond the men in uniform who in their special way thrived on trust and commitment to each other.

But when Blair was in the loft, either sitting beside him watching a sports show or movie, giving his intellectual comments on sociological problems as related by the news, or just sitting in his room reading or typing away at the kitchen table, quietly absorbed in his academic life, Jim still enjoyed his presence and there was comfort in that knowledge. Blair Sandburg had filled a hole in Jim Ellison's life that he never even knew existed. Jim often hated to acknowledge this fact. He would often rationalize that Blair was important to him because of his heightened senses; but in moments of absolute honesty...and Jim did have those moments more frequently since Blair entered his life...he knew that the basic bond between him and Blair had nothing really to do with the Sentinel/Guide pairing....it had everything to do with friendship. When that other heartbeat was beating its cadence in his ear, Jim's own heart relaxed into a steady, peaceful rhythm.

As he rolled over and tried to find the doorway to sleep, the phone rang. He reached over and picked it up bracing himself for the expected "Hey, Jim, guess what, the Volvo died again, can you come and pick us up?" Jim would, of course, go without a second thought. It's just what you did for people you loved.

The moment he heard the frantic, panicked voice of a little girl, he knew it was Deedee and he knew as any Sentinel would that his Guide was in trouble. "Jim, oh Jim, please come, we need help."

"Deedee, listen to me, calm down, you're not making any sense. Where are you?" Jim tried to remain calm, although he was bursting with questions. He needed to bring Deedee back down to earth and get her to think clearly. He needed answers.

"Jim, we're at the old state asylum off of I-6 going north. Blair's down there...he's following him. Oh, God, Jim...." and with that Deedee started sobbing hysterically once again.

"DEEDEE! Damn it! Stop it right this minute. Blair needs you to be calm and rational. STOP CRYING." Jim ordered in a cold, authoritarian voice that boomed over the airwaves like a cold slap to Deedee's histrionics. She immediately got a hold a herself.

"I'm sorry, Jim, I'm so sorry. I'm okay. Blair and I are at the old state sanitarium. We were in the basement, actually the sub-level, we saw a man carrying a woman...she was unconscious. Blair's following. We need help." Deedee said and then in a small, childish voice that touched some inner core of James Ellison's soul, she muttered, "Please come and help him."

"Where are you right now, Deedee?"

"By the car."

"Is it unlocked and can you get in?"

"Yes, I have the keys."

"Get inside the car, Deedee, and lock the doors. When I hang up dial 911, stay on the line with the dispatcher until the police get there. Tell them you are in imminent danger. I'm on my way. Sit tight."

Jim hung up as soon as he heard a hiccup and an affirmation to his instructions. He immediately dialed Simon.

"Jim, what's up?" Simon asked.

"It's Blair. He's at the old state sanitarium. There's something going on there. I need you to go with me Simon. I need someone there in case I zone out. I may have to search for Blair in sub-levels. You remember the sub-levels of the state sanitarium, Simon. You remember the stories."

That one sobering statement brought a quick response from Simon Banks, "Jim, pick me up on your way. I'll be waiting in front."

Simon Banks remembered well the stories and scandal surrounding the old sanitarium. He had just been a freshly named Captain himself at the time, but he heard of the sub-levels, the pits, the laboratories, the winding levels beneath levels, no one knew what lay beneath those old buildings. The Cascade P.D. had basically handled the peripheral work on that investigation and been cut off with the old confidential/classified bullshit routine from state and government officials. The FBI handled the intimate details and was in charge of cleaning house. There was a lot of mystery and subterfuge during the whole scandal. The plans had been modified so many times, the walls bricked, additions made, then the plans were mysteriously destroyed. Anyone could get lost in that place, and the whole Cascade Police force may not be able to find them for days.

Why does everything always have to involve the kid? Doesn't he do anything like a normal college grad student? What the hell was he doing there in the first place? Well, if Jim doesn't take the kid to task for this little escapade, I sure am. But first I hope we get to him before it's too late. With that thought Simon Banks grabbed his gun, cuffs, and his Cascade P.D. badge and headed for the street.

When Jim and Simon pulled into the driveway, there were two police cars around the green Volvo. A very distraught, and not-so-animated Deedee Brighton huddled in the back seat of one of the police cruisers, the back door open, her legs wrapped in a blanket, yet even from a distance anyone could tell she was shivering and folding inside herself.

"Deedee," Jim said as he approached the young woman and hunkered down in front of her, not wanting to intimidate her by towering over her. "I need your help. This place is huge and below ground it has never been charted. I need to find Blair as soon as possible, can you take me to where you two parted company?" Jim said as gently as he could, not wanting to scare or excite the girl further.

Deedee surprised him. She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and pulled the blanket from her legs as she stood up. Jim stood close by ready to support her should she need assistance. She seemed to steel herself for the job before her. She looked up at Jim, and the towering Simon beside him, and said, "Let's go." Even Jim's long legs had trouble keeping up. The Bright Sprite was back.

Blair had followed at a very safe distance. Thankful for the lights now hanging at the end of every corridor, he didn't think he would have found the courage to travel on in the dark. They were going and going and going. Blair feared Jim would never find him. This place was huge beyond belief. How many inmates did they really house? Why were there so many sub-levels and winding tunnels? Blair shivered at this knowledge and didn't really want any tangible answers...the imagination did the job quite nicely...a little too nicely, thank you very much.

Finally he saw the figure ahead of him open a large steel door, using keys from his pocket. He opened the door wide, and left it open as he took his prize inside. Blair moved stealthfully against the wall, keeping close to the shadows. He approached the open doorway, and carefully looked inside. The room was a huge pit...that was the only word Blair could think to describe it. Not that it was recessed inside the earth, but that it was in soul and spirit a pit of hell. Five women were naked, each chained to a pole by her ankle. They were emaciated, skeletol, shadows of women. They moaned and pleaded as the man brought his new guest home.

Blair pulled back, closing his eyes and praying to whatever gods would listen to him. He wanted to crumble right there, like Deedee had done back in the storage room. He wanted to huddle into a ball and rock himself back into sanity. He had to help these women, but the best course of action would be to wait for Jim. There was no way he could handle a 6 foot 5 inch monster. It would be best to just hide down here until Jim came.

All of a sudden Blair got the faint whiff of cigarettes. His subconscious mind started pulling the coattails of his conscience as he tried to focus on the incongruity of the scent, when he felt a hand grab him around the neck. Trying to pry the hand loose, he felt a sharp, triagular-shaped ring, and then there was pain in his head and the blackness conquered all.

When he woke up, he lay in the pit. Someone had brought him into the room where mercy never visited and pain ruled the roost. He kept himself still, but he carefully opened his eyes and saw the women from a much closer angle. He had to forceably keep himself from gagging. The stench of urine, feces, and vomit overpowered his nostrils. The huge giant stood off in the far reaches of the room securing the newest occupant to her post. Blair carefully moved his legs and realized he was not so secured. He still possessed a modicum of freedom. He saw himself as the last hope in a room filled with despair. He had to make a move. He had to stay alive. He would have gladly opted for oblivion, having already taken the scenic route through hell, but there were innocent occupants here. Blair tried to use that one thought like a crutch to get him on his feet.

He slowly raised himself, keeping a vigilant eye on the giant. Just as the man turned and noticed Blair's movement, Blair quickly jumped, swayed a moment and nearly passed out, but quickly regained enough balance to race out of the pit and turn right in the direction from which they had come. He slammed the heavy door back as he got his footing in the corridor. It helped to slow the pursuer who seemed somewhat clumsy with his size.

Then Blair ran. He ran blindly in the dark. He ran with every fiber of his being. He was in a panic mode. There was no reasoning with him now. He had seen horror up close and personal and he wanted to run for the rest of his life. There were no thoughts of Jim coming to the rescue. Hell had no Jim's always there to help you. There were no thoughts of salvation. He imagined himself running for the rest of eternity, pursued forever by the monster behind him. This was damnation and Blair Sandburg had offended the gods.

When Jim and Simon left Deedee with the uniformed officer at the point where she and Blair had parted company, Jim stopped at the first fire door to listen.

Simon kept a protective eye on him, watching for any signs of zone-outs. "Jim, what do you hear?" Simon asked eager to find out if Blair was still alive.

"Eight heartbeats, two are racing wildly. One is Blair's. The kids running for his life. Let's go."

No more questions were necessary. Jim, in full protector mode, had one thing and one thing only on his mind, the safety of Blair Sandburg. Simon merely followed, both men had their guns drawn. Simon's flashlight giving a bobbing signal in the gloom, Jim's eyesight serving him well in the darker regions of the corridor. They were cops, cops who worked well in sync, cops who didn't need to speak, but could signal with hand and eye, cops who were going to protect one of their own.

Just as they passed a four-way branch in the corridor, Jim signalled Simon to stop and stand back against the wall of the perpendicular corridor. Just then the fire door at the end of the corridor burst open, and a wild-eyed, crazed looking Blair Sandburg raced towards them. Jim stayed against the wall of the connecting corridor until Blair approached the crossway, then he stepped out and grabbed the frightened young man. Blair struggled, screamed, kicked and viciously started beating against Jim's face.

"Blair," Jim hissed, "It's me, Jim. Stop it!" He continued to struggle in the throes of desperation. Simon stepped forward and grabbed Blair around the arms in a huge bear hug and pulled him back into the other crossway. He nodded to Jim as a signal that he would handle Blair...not to worry.

Blair persisted in his resolve to escape the imprisoning arms. Simon had to help Jim if the need arose. "Blair, please, just settle down." Blair only whimpered and wiggled all the more violently.

Just then the fire door smashed open with the anger and determination of the pursuer. Jim did a double-take. He had never seen the bulk and size of man that now approached at a steady, lumbering gate. He pulled his gun, "FREEZE! POLICE!" he screamed in the Jim Ellison no-nonsense voice. The figure merely grunted and came forward with more vehemence and persistence. Jim Ellison could not just shoot an unarmed man because of his size. He holstered and said, "Simon, take care of Blair," then he braced himself to take on the world.

The monster pushed Jim Ellison back against the wall by striking him full force across the face...stunning him and slamming his head against the hard, concrete wall. He pulled a huge serated knife from his ankle and started slashing the air as he moved in for the kill.

As Jim slumped back against the wall dazed and vulnerable, Simon pushed Blair back into the corridor and pulled his gun. "POLICE, DROP THE KNIFE" and when the giant raised his knife high to plunge it into the chest of his best detective, Simon Banks fired. The huge form merely stopped momentarily, turned and proceeded as though totally unaffected towards Simon.

Simon gave the warning again, "STOP, POLICE...DROP THE KNIFE," but the words were ignored. Simon fired again, the giant still came, Simon pulled the trigger again, and this time the huge man stopped in mid-stride, teetered a moment as though unsure of his direction, then toppled forward into his own blood.

Simon knelt to check the pulse of the prostrate figure. When confident the man was dead, he holstered his gun. Looking up to see a stunned Jim rubbing his jaw, he realized the look of horror on Ellison's face did not reflect any emotion for the dead man before him. He was totally focused in a bewildered, lost way upon the groaning, moaning, whimpering figure behind Simon. Blair Sandburg lay babbling on the floor trying to curl himself into a little ball of nothingness.

Because I am not made of threads, it does not mean I will not come unravelled. I tear easily in some parts, in other areas I wear thin but shiny. Life weaves me as I go along adding layers, patches, and extra yardage when needed. When folded, I cover merely inches, but when spread to the winds, I fly and flutter and my colors catch the sun.

Part Three: The Cutting Edge of Despair

Jim Ellison woke up momentarily disoriented in a quiet, semi-dark room laying in a bed. Then he heard the rattle of a cart and beep of a call button and the stringent smells of antiseptic pierced his nose. His hearing reached its usual sensitive range, and he realized he was in a hospital room. He imagined the dials and turned down his hearing and smell. He raised himself slightly and looked around the room. In a chair against the wall Simon Banks slept with his head back on a pillow, mouth open, sound asleep. In the bed next to Jim, Blair Sandburg lay in absolute peace...at least that's the way it looked. Jim noted how innocent and young his friend seemed beneath the white blanket. The IV dripping fluids into his veins.

Then the nightmare came back full force upon Jim Ellison's consciousness. He dragged his hand down over his face trying to wipe away the memory. He remembered the huge monster taking him by complete surprise with his strength and power. He remembered Simon shooting repeatedly and the monster still going strong. He remembered Blair huddled in a ball, seeking comfort in some other realm. That was the good stuff. Jim remembered being torn in two, wanting to stay with Blair, offer words of comfort, be there for him as he felt he should be, but Jim also remembered hearing the groans and the smells that both repulsed and drew him.

Jim remembered the search by smell and sound for the prison where six innocent women were slowly being deprived of life. He zoned out at one time, and remembered Simon bringing him back with gentle, even words to steady him. He remembered the trembling in Simon's voice...anyone with a heart had trouble with this picture. The rest thankfully blurred: the paramedics, the police officers, the crime lab, the full force search of the remainder of the buildings with dogs...Jim insisting on searching every building, but Simon saying "No," with all the authority he was empowered with.....there was no way Jim could do it....he was a Sentinel, but God, he was still only human. Simon assuring him that every inch of this hell hole would be searched...no stone would be left unturned this time. No more sick minds would nest in this tomb. Later, if Jim felt up to it, he could come back and do a search satisfying himself that his gifts could be used to make sure no other helpless victims remained abandoned in this nether region of Hades.

When Simon brought him out of the abyss and into the cool, welcoming darkness of the night, Jim passed out. Perhaps from the mild concussion he had sustained when he and the world collided or more so because of the emotional strain of the ultimate discovery. When the paramedics arrived, of the six women chained, starved, burned with cigarettes, and marks of other atrocities, one was dead and was assumed to have succumbed within the hour. For one woman, all the heroic efforts could not beat the clock. Simon had gone on to the hospital with Jim and Blair and remained by their sides during the night of constant monitoring. Jim remembered being wakened repeatedly...a close eye on his concussion. Blair, also had a mild concussion, but his injuries were a lot deeper. To meet Jim's wishes, Simon had insisted both men be placed in the same room.

Jim carefully got out of bed. When he walked by Simon, the big man stirred and quickly came awake. "Jim," he hissed, "what are you doing out of bed? You have a concussion."

"Shhhh!" Jim said putting his finger to his lips. "I just want to check on Blair. How's he doing, Simon?"

"I talked to the doctor. He said that other than the mild concussion, he sustained no other injuries, physical injuries that is. He thinks Blair's suffering from Post Traumatic Stress, but he can't be sure until he regains full consciousness. If he's stable, the doctor said he can go home as long as he sees the department psychiatrist. Jim, I want you both to make an appointment, ASAP," Simon said as Jim turned to protest, "that was an order, Detective, not a suggestion."

Jim merely nodded in submission. Hell, Simon was right. He needed some help dealing with this nightmare, but when he looked upon the fragile, younger man, he realized the extent of damage inflicted upon that young soul. Jim Ellison of Covert-Ops had seen and done things that he would never, ever tell Blair. Things best left covered in years of disassociation, denial, and obscurity. Yet, in many ways they helped secure the armor plate around Jim's heart and soul. He could still handle the scenes he witnessed last night with the experience and aptitude of a seasoned, hardened cop. Blair Sandburg had been unarmed, unprotected, and like a babe...unaware.

Jim Ellison cursed his Blessed Protector status. He cursed his failings in keeping better tabs on Blair. He cursed the innocent, eager kid who burned with anticipation and hunger for some simple fun. What the hell was Blair doing there? Yet, how could he fault him. Five women lived...perhaps in their own private hells for the rest of their lives, but at least they had a chance now. Some gentle hand to guide and mend, and maybe they could find new lives. Jim only hoped he could offer the same to Blair, of one thing he was certain....he would damn well try and nothing would stand in his way.

When Blair woke up he saw Simon sleeping in the chair on the opposite side of the room. He slowly looked at the bed next to his. Jim dozed in a sound sleep. He lay for a moment looking up at the ceiling, trying to piece together the events of the previous night. The puzzle, oddly black and gray, reminded him of looking at a newspaper inside his mind recalling the events. He objectively went over the details that he could remember. He felt very little. Sure his head hurt, but other than that he felt little else. He felt an odd detachment from his own life. In many ways he felt relieved, and he slowly closed his eyes and welcomed the darkness and his new best friend, oblivion.

When Jim and Blair entered the loft, Simon was right behind them. Both men had that lost look of men coming home from the front, battle weary with slumped shoulders heavily plodding towards the normalcy of everyday life. Simon had spent the night at the hospital watching his two friends and the hospital's ministrations. Both men suffered from mild concussions, but were deemed well enough to return home. The doctor advised special monitoring of Blair Sandburg. The doctor was sure the kid suffered from Post Traumatic Stress. He needed to be closely observed and taken to the department shrink as soon as possible for evaluation.

"Well, Jim, I've got to get down to the station and take care of the reports. The Mayor's office has been screaming for details and they want to smooth things over with the general public regarding the lack of supervision on that asylum. Parents are worrying about missing children and everyone wants to know that place has been thoroughly checked," Simon said as he watched Jim head for the couch then turn to watch Blair move slowly and quietly off to his room.

"Hey, Chief," Jim tried to pull his partner back into the room, "how about some tea?"

"Naw, I'm still kind of wiped, man. I'll catch you in a bit."

Jim Ellison looked questioningly up at his Captain with a bewildered, haunted look in his sapphire eyes. Both men knew that the real Blair Sandburg had not yet surfaced. In the car ride from the hospital he had asked about Deedee and the six women. Simon told him everyone was receiving medical attention. He saw no reason at this point to tell Blair about the one they lost. Neither Simon nor Jim felt that the vulnerable grad student could handle that news right now.

"Jim, the kid needs to talk to the shrink. He's not a babbling mess anymore, but he's not himself either."

"I know, sir, I'll see that he does."

"Good, I'll make an appointment for the both of you...this afternoon," Simon raised his hand to ward off the expected opposition, "No buts, the sooner the better. You both should be up to it this afternoon. I'll call you with the times."

"Okay, Simon. Thanks again."

Simon turned to leave, but he hesitated a moment with a hand on the door. He looked back at James Ellison, his best detective. He saw the usually robust, and forceful man sitting slumped on the couch staring at the blank television screen. He knew the toll the previous night's events had taken upon his psyche. Jim would never admit it. He was always the strong one, the one ready to defend, the experienced combatant. He would reach inside himself and steel his inner soul to shove this horrible ordeal somewhere in the far, dark recesses of his memory. Simon often wondered what price he paid for this kind of housekeeping. How many bad experiences can one store in the cellar of your soul?

"Jim," Simon said as he waited for Ellison to turn and acknowledge him. "These women are lucky. If Sandburg hadn't been there, they may never have been found or showed up dead. We lost one, but five have a chance. Keep focusing on that; God knows it's the only thing worth thinking about." Simon opened the door and left.

Jim Ellison focused his hearing on his young roommate. He heard Blair's steady heartbeat and knew he was fast asleep. He slowly rose and walked quietly to the closed doors. He slowly opened them and looked in. Blair Sandburg lay curled in a ball on his side holding his pillow clutched to his chest. He looked small, frightened, and lost. Jim wanted to go to him and wake him. They really hadn't had much chance to talk about what happened, but he would let him sleep a few hours and then wake him to go down to the station. They would have to give their statements and see the department psychiatrist. Both men would have to be evaluated, as all men involved in that gruesome discovery, and deemed fit for work. Simon was really strict about his men being emotionally fit for duty, and he always kept a paternal eye on their emotional well-being when their work brought them into contact with the lower depths.

At three Jim was awakened from his nap on the couch with the ringing of the phone. "Ellison," he said wearily into the handset.

"Jim, I've got the appointments for you and Blair scheduled. You think you two can get down here in the next hour?" Simon asked.

"Yes sir, I'll wake Blair. We'll be there."

Jim started to pull himself off the couch when he heard Blair's door open. The kid just walked to the bathroom, still dressed in his jeans and t-shirt from the night before. Jim went into the kitchen and started to make some coffee. He checked the refrigerator, realizing that he and Blair had not eaten anything since last night. He could hear his stomach growling. Since there was nothing appetizing on the cold shelves, he decided a quick stop on the way into the station for a bite to eat would be the best course of action. When the coffee was done, he poured himself a cup and sat at the table staring off into space, trying hard not to lose himself in any dark memories.

It occurred to him that Blair had been in the bathroom an unusually long time. "Hey, Chief, you okay in there?" Jim asked. No answer. Then he smelled the coppery odor of blood. He jumped up and ran to the door. Still not wanting to panic he asked again, "Sandburg, is everything okay in there?"

The door quickly opened and Blair stared back at him. "Yeah, Jim, take it easy. What's your problem, man?" and Blair, of the usually amenable disposition, pushed passed Jim on his way to his room.

"Hey, Chief, take it easy yourself. What's with the attitude?"

Blair turned at his door holding his folded arms low across his midriff. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just a little frazzled. I'm okay."

"I smell blood, did you cut yourself?"

"Yeah, Jim, I brushed my teeth a little too hard. I had a bad taste in my mouth," Blair said bitterly.

"Well, you'd better change. Simon wants us down at the station to give our statements and we each have an appointment with the department shrink."

"Jim, I'm fine. I don't need to see a shrink."

"Sandburg, it's not my call. Simon makes those decisions and he says you do. Now get dressed," Jim said as he entered the bathroom. God, the kid definitely isn't himself. Sandburg is suffering from stress-related trauma. He actually seems cold about the whole thing. Usually he wears his feelings on his sleeve and everything affects his tender spirit. I just know he's feeling some deep wounds from this one. Jim had been a medic in the army, and he had many encounters with stress-related trauma, sometimes in his own men. He knew about loss of appetite, sleeplessness, edginess, irritability, memory loss and problems with concentration. The blood worried him, though he didn't want to push the kid right now. Many cases of Post Traumatic Stress brought episodic self-mutiliation. Thank God Sandburg would be talking to a professional. With Jim's own training in handling men under pressure and stress, the two of them could get Sandburg through this ordeal before he sunk too low in the undertow.

When they got to the police station, Jim and Blair were not in the best of moods. They had argued on the way over. Jim had stopped for some hamburgers at the fast food restaurant on the way, and Blair had refused to eat a thing. However, Blair did not decline cordially. He snapped at Jim and nearly bit his head off. Jim was perfectly willing to make allowances for Blair's behavior, the kid had been through quite an ordeal, but this wasn't the Blair he knew and loved. The kid's whole attitude touched on surreal and unnatural, and it chilled Jim Ellison to the bone. Jim Ellison did not like losing control of situations or his men, especially one Blair Sandburg.

Then when they got to the station, Blair didn't have his observer's credentials. The desk sergeant had to issue him a temporary pass. When Jim asked him where it was he had snappily retorted, "Jim, I've got a lot of other things on my mind right now. Quite frankly, I don't give a damn where it is. If I can't get in these hallowed halls, then I'll just go back home." When he had turned to leave, Jim had grabbed him roughly by the arm and spun him around.

"Cut the crap, right now, Chief," he whispered in his friend's ear. Jim personally pinned the temporary paperwork to Blair's shirt front, ignoring the scathing look coming from the blue eyes. Then he pulled Blair along with him to the elevator.

Simon, Jim, and Blair all had to give statements as to what happened down there in the halls of the state sanitarium. Blair remembered only so much. He remembered following the giant and waking in the pit, running for his life and waking up in the hospital. Very little in between and no one there to fill in the blanks, save for Jim and Simon. When his statement was finished he went to Jim's desk to see if he could help with some of the paperwork. Jim had the first appointment with Doctor Radkin and Blair was next. He started looking through some of the folders on Jim's desk and came across a report from the coroners office. April Barrett, prostitute, died yesterday some time between 10 and Midnight, cause of death: heart failure probably due to emaciation, dehydration, and starvation. Blair didn't know that one of the women had died. Nobody told him.

For several minutes he sat there staring at the name: April Barrett. He felt nothing. It was as if he were reading a dimestore novel and the victim of this particular thriller could be associated with no one in his real life world. He closed the folder, pushed back Jim's chair, grabbed his jacket off the hook, and slowly walked out of Major Crimes. There was really no reason to do paperwork, something about life had lost its texture. The world to Blair Sandburg seemed to be made of cardboard, fragile screens of hubbub and activity, backdrops to the players on the stage. No dimension could be viewed, the landscapes were all flat and unreal. Not something to really bother about, life had no meaning, he had no control over his life or these women's or Jim's for that matter. Hell, what kind of Guide can you be when you've never even had control over your own life?

When Jim returned to his desk, he looked around for Sandburg. The kid must have gone for some coffee or the men's room.

"Jim, come in here." Simon called out of the open door of his office.

"Yes sir?" Jim asked as he seated himself before Simon's desk.

"We've I.D.'d the sadist I took down. Arthur Pogue. He used to be an inmate in that asylum. He was released because he was never considered a real threat. Low I.Q., did what he was told, just big and dangerous looking. When they closed it down, he was one of the ones who fell through the cracks. His stepfather, Alex Mays, looked after him. According to this report, he never gave the old man any trouble. The stepfather's in his 70's now and just couldn't keep tabs on him all the time. The old guy is pretty much homebound. As far as the women, three of them are pretty much basket cases right now. The doctor says it's going to take some time before they'll be in any shape to be questioned. The other two were the most recent captives. Sandra Black was the one he brought down when Blair followed. She was unconscious and never even saw his face. Bess Western," Simon raised his hand as though to take an oath, "I know, Jim, but it is her name, she said she saw a big guy, but before they were burned or hurt in any way, he always tied their hands behind their backs and blindfolded all of the them. They would usually start screaming because they knew what the blindfold brought for them....pain." Simon stopped, removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. Then he rose and poured two cups of coffee, handing one over to Jim.

"How did your session with Doctor Radkin go?"

"The usual. I've been through the routine before, Simon...here and the military. She said you'd have her report sometime tomorrow."

"Jim, let's cut the crap. I know I'll get the report. I'm asking you how you're handling it. Don't tap dance around the issues, that's Sandburg's routine."

"I'm sorry, sir," Jim said in a tired voice, "I'm not going to say it doesn't affect me, because it does. I can handle it, though. I've actually seen worse, and I don't mean for that to sound as cold as it does. I've come to realize there are only so many atrocities you can witness before you start losing feelings in areas of your conscience. I think it's a survival mechanism set to go off inside the soul to protect and defend. I stay focused. My concern is for Blair. He's not acting right. He's lethargic and snippy as all hell. He won't eat and he's so detached. I guess I just expected him to be more expressive and emotional. It scares me." With this, Jim put his cup down and rose from the chair. He walked over to the window.

"Well, he's seeing Doctor Radkin right now, isn't he?" Simon asked, "She'll work with him, she's one of the best; I've had a lot of guys tell me that."

"Yeah, she seems to have a keen eye for obfuscations," Jim said with a tired smile touching his lips as he turned from the window towards Simon. She had cornered him on several issues he tried to glide over, and spent a good deal of the hour massaging his own inner psyche and banishing some demons from his conscience. She was indeed good, if she could trap Jim Ellison in his tried and true avenues of circumvention. Blair would be much easier to deal with. True, he practiced the fine art of subterfuge and avoidance far more readily than Jim, but his expressive eyes, the face that mirrored so clearly his soul, and his dramatic language of hands could just as easily betray him to a trained and seasoned eye.

Just then Doctor Radkin poked her head in Simon's office, offering a soft knock on the frame to announce her presence. "Sorry to disturb you, Captain, but I thought I was seeing a Mr. Blair Sandburg this afternoon. Any idea where he might be?"

"Damn it, Jim, didn't you impress upon the kid that I wanted you both to see the doctor. Perhaps I didn't make myself clear, it was an order," Simon said with his eyes bulging and his face becoming angry. Sandburg was one of his men and he would obey orders like everyone else.

"Sir, he was here for that express reason and to give his statement. I just assumed he was on his way to her office."

"Well, gentlemen, I'm afraid I can only wait until 6:30. I have a flight to catch for an out-of-town seminar. I will be back on Monday if you don't find Mr. Sandburg in the next," she paused to look at her watch, "half hour."

"Damn," Jim said. "Look, Doctor Radkin, Blair has been acting like he's suffering from trauma-related stress. Can you just refresh my memory on some of the signs I should be looking for. I can tell you already he's irritable, edgy, not eating, and he acts like he has no feelings whatsoever concerning this case. This afternoon I smelled blood when he came out of the bathroom. There was evasion in his voice when I questioned him about it. Blair usually rages against cruelty, injustice, and inhumanity. I'm not used to this detachment."

"Gentlemen, I already have preliminarily diagnosed Mr. Sandburg with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, as have all the women who were removed from that pit. It just goes with the territory. The doctor's report from the hospital confirmed my suspicions about Mr. Sandburg, but I was hoping to gauge the depth of work required in helping him deal with this. Mr. Sandburg may have been in that sub-level all of two - three hours at the most, but he was in combat. It would depend upon the emotional makeup of Mr. Sandburg's psyche before I could determine the treatment and the extent of damage. From reading Mr. Sandburg's profile from other cases involving him, I would say the young man is quite resourceful and pulls from some inner core that helps him deal with the unexpected and abnormal. However, gentlemen, every case is different. I don't wish to guess at this point, but Jim, chances are if he's not feeling anything, not experiencing the emotions he's used to, he could very well be into episodic self-mutilation. Perhaps he's trying to punish himself out of guilt. He could be trying to experience some feelings he can't seem to arouse. In some rare cases, some patients are seeking attention, they feel in control when they can get certain desired reactions out of people who love them. Some patients even inflict self injury to feel they once again have some control over their lives. The injuries are usually inflicted on the thighs, belly, and upper arms where they can be concealed. Jim, you are welcome to pick up some general reading on the subject from my secretary, I'll leave her instructions to give it to you. I can only suggest you keep a close eye on your friend, re-assure him, be patient, and make sure he shows up in my office on Monday. Good evening, gentlemen, and have a nice weekend, if that is all possible after last night."

With that, Doctor Radkin walked out of Simon's office and back to her own.

"Damn it, Jim, where does Sandburg get off missing his appointment?" Simon asked as he pushed the intercom button. "Rhonda, page Mr. Sandburg, tell him to get his butt to my office immediately." Then he glared up at Jim, pointed his finger at him in a gesture that said "I'll handle this, just stay out of it." Jim merely slumped back down in his chair and waited for the prodigal son to return.

Blair Sandburg had no idea where he was going when he left the Cascade Police headquarters. He had no preferences, nothing mattered that much to him anymore. When he saw Detective Davis pulling out of the police garage and heading in the direction of the loft, he quickly stepped out in front and lifted his thumb in the gesture of hitchhiking. Davis, who had come to Blair's aid at the University when Blair stopped a rape, pulled to the curb. "Where to Sandburg? I thought you came in with Jim."

"Yeah, but he got tied up with some reports, he told me to catch a ride back to the loft. That's not too far out of your way, is it?"

"No, kid, as a matter of fact, I actually live several blocks away. Hop in."

When he got back to the loft, he sat on the couch for half an hour staring off into space. He felt like a void, black and empty. He hated this feeling. He remembered when he was filled with passion, he remembered the joy of just several hours ago when he anxiously tasted various plots in his mind and savored the thrill of committing the details to paper. He remembered his childish exhuberance at going on their little research outing. Blair Sandburg, adult, soon-to-be Doctor, was playing with fantasy like some irresponsible little kid, all the while women were being tortured and abused. Blair felt the guilt rise up in his chest like bile and he ran into the bathroom. He vomitted his culpability until there was nothing left to give. Then he faced the bathroom mirror and he despised the creature he saw reflected back at him. He took Jim's razor and released the blade. He raised his shirt, then the t-shirt, and slowly pulled the blade across the soft flesh of his belly turning the black, thick hairs red. He felt very little pain, but what he could gleen he treasured like a morsel to a starving man. There was vague sensation and for a few moments Blair Sandburg felt alive and in control of his life.

Then he went into his room, changed his shirt, throwing the bloody t-shirt in the hamper that Jim was always bitching about him missing, then grabbing the keys to the Volvo he headed out the door in search of forgiveness and peace.

I have memories of you. I know who you were when. I knew you before the storm ripped your soul from its hinges and toppled you from your roots. I have pictures of your smile in my head, I have recordings of your laughter. I have a scrapbook and layout, and if the need occur, I can rebuild you.

Part Four: A Numbing Pain

Blair Sandburg was not a drinker. He enjoyed the occasional beer and wine with friends, but the strong, heavy alcohol many of his buddies would get blasted on just made him sick. He had no desire usually to sit and consume large amounts of alcohol, but when he was desperate and needed the warmth to course through his body and offer him comfort, he was not beyond the commiseration a good bottle of liquor could offer. So having no particular objective in mind, no particular destination to travel to, he drove to the campus pub where he and Bobbi Rowland had drowned their sorrows and licked their wounds after Jim Ellison, "Cop," had ended their short, illegal career.

He sat at the back booth and ordered a beer and a double-shot of whiskey, a boiler maker or shot and beer or some such cultural moniker that every ethnic group seems to claim as their own invention. He finished off the glass of whiskey in one gulp, then the beer followed suit. His head spinned and the world seemed on tilt, his guts burned with a fire so intense, he found a momentary satisfaction in the discomfort. Yeah, this was just the tincture to his black and white world.

He thought long and hard about his experiences of the previous night. His inner eye focused in real close on the six women adorned only with their misery and the markings of their abuse. Women who on the streets offered love at a price. Someone's daughter, sister, mother, forced by social pressure into a life of cheap motels and imminent danger, had visited hell because a profession, older than time and supported through the ages by men of morals and money, had delivered them into the hands of the devil. As each image burned upon his brain, Blair wanted to cry. He wanted to feel pain and misery and know that he was once again human. However, there was nothing inside of him, only the guilt, the void, and the anger.

He ordered another two rounds. One boiler maker just wasn't doing the trick. Once again, whiskey then beer, then a repeat. This time he reeled a bit and thought for certain he would pass out. When he steadied himself, he thought again of the previous night's events. It was a Catch-22 situation. He resented the fact that he was there researching so childish and simplistic a thing as fan fiction, yet had he and Deedee not gone there, those women may never have been found. Then why couldn't he get past the guilt. Why could he feel this intense need to punish himself, yet, contrarily have so hard a time feeling anything. How deep would he have to cut next time, how long would he have to hold his hand over the flame to feel the burn, and when would the need to punish himself ever stop.

On that last despairing note, he paid his tab and headed for the Volvo, weaving his path and gently muttering encouragement to himself. Oh, Jim's going to kill me. I won't feel anything, but he's really going to lay into me this time. I wish I could be afraid, Jim, but I've held audience with the devil and you're looking pretty good right now.

Blair was conscious of the fact that he was drunk He was also conscious and totally aware that he was doing something illegal. Knowing both these things kept his speed under 30. He crawled along the country road just on the outskirts of the main highway back to the loft. Just then a rabbit skittered across the road and froze in his path, if Blair had been sober he would have been able to simply stop and wait until the rabbit crossed the road. Being under the influence caused him to swerve sharply to the right plunging off the narrow, soft shoulder and driving full force downward into the muddy marshland.

When Jim Ellison returned to the loft he was ready and willing to deal with Blair. He had collected the brochures and reading material Dr. Radkin had promised her secretary would be holding. Jim refreshed his memory on stress-related trauma and studied its side roads. He would do his best to set Blair Sandburg back on his feet. Monday Dr. Radkin would have Blair Sandburg sitting in her office, or Jim would be there sitting on top of him throughout the session, but the kid was damn well going to be there. He stopped at the market to make sure they had enough of Blair's favorite teas, cereals, juices, and meals.

As Jim focused his hearing, he knew Blair was not there. The loft was empty. He entered, took off his coat and hung it up. He smelled the coppery odor of blood. He trailed his sense to the hamper and when he pulled the bloody t-shirt from the depths he reached even further in and pulled another one. This was what Blair was covering up before going to the station and the other one was fresher. Blair had already progressed to direct, episodic, self-mutiliation. James Ellison slammed his hand flat against the bathroom tiles cursing Arthur Pogue with all the vehemence of a man at his wit's end.

Just then Jim heard the phone ringing, he ran to grab it. "Jim." it was Davis. "Jim, it's probably nothing, but I just thought you should know. I mean I owe you one for that time I didn't call when Blair was beaten up at the University."

"Davis, what is it?" Jim asked, getting a terrible knot in his stomach.

"Well, I gave Blair a ride home from the station this evening, and I asked him if he knew of some good restaurants. He suggested the Cozy Campus Pub, so I decided to take my wife and daughter here for dinner. We were just pulling into the parking lot and I saw Blair getting into his car. I yelled to him but he just took off. Jim, he looked like he was in no shape to drive. I just thought you should know."

"Thanks, Davis, I owe you. Did you happen to see which direction he went in."

"Yeah, he turned down the old highway. He was driving real slow and cautious, but you might want to keep an eye out for him. If he doesn't show, he might end up wrapped around a tree. I think you should talk to the kid about driving while under the influence."

"Davis, I'm going to do a little more than just talk to him. Thanks again."

Damn the kid. Jim grabbed his coat and keys and headed for the truck. It was already dark. He should be half way home by now. Jim turned up the old highway and began his search checking the side of the road for skid marks and carefully checking each car that approached and passed by. He only hoped he found Blair before he killed himself and maybe someone else. The kid was going to learn from this experience.

Jim reasoned himself into a relatively calm state, Blair was suffering here, he needed to remember that, but after the lecture he got from Jim up at the cabin he should be coming to Jim with his problems and letting him help him with solutions. Dr. Radkin may not approve of Jim's methods of handling Blair, but Dr. Radkin didn't know him like Jim did. She didn't know what fire burned within him, how empty he was now and how much he needed to be refilled. Jim did and Jim's military experiences didn't often coddle and pamper the suffering. Sometimes you had to make them face reality and shock them back into the present. There was no way Jim Ellison was going to lose his Guide.

When Blair Sandburg regained consciousness, his head hurt and his stomach felt queasy. He had no idea where he was. It was dark. He looked like he was stuck in the middle of a mud pond. There was a full moon and he could see the reflection on the water just in front of the Volvo's hood. The deep mud was a godsend; if he hadn't of gotten bogged down he probably would have been 20 feet under in the lake. He opened the door and stepped out into the ankle deep mud. He lost his footing and hit his head on the sharp edge of the door, but felt nothing. The Volvo was buried for the night, stuck like a big green bug in chocolate fudge that came half way up the tires. He shut off the lights and carefully locked the doors taking the keys with him. A tow truck was the only thing that was going to get this baby back on track again.

He slowly moved forward sucking each foot noisely out of the mud as he proceeded toward the road high above him. He still felt lightheaded and started giggling at his predicament. Humor seemed to still be with him and he found minimal comfort in that thought. As he approached the embankment his foot fell in a particularly deep hole and he fell forward just bracing himself in time to keep his face from falling into the mud. "Grace, how was charm school?" he asked himself in a highly sophisticated voice, and laughed bitterly, "Fine, I danced with the devil and I know all the steps."

Just then he felt himself being hauled unceremoniously upward and out of the mud by the scruff of his neck and his belt. "Uh oh, oops!" he giggled at his short time in flight. Steadying himself by holding onto the rock solid mass before him, he looked up into the furious face of his Sentinel, and for the first time in 24 hours, Blair Sandburg felt an emotion...fear. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, Junior, because the rest of the weekend you're mine."

When Jim had gotten him up the gentle, but muddy slope, he propped the still swaying anthropologist up against the truck. He checked the head wound that was still bleeding, but decided no serious damage had been done. He ran his hands up and down and over the muddy body doing a cursory check for injuries. His face darkened, and for one brief moment he looked angrily into the frightened blue orbs. He saw many emotions vie for the forefront in those expressive blue eyes: fear, sadness, regret, but defiance finally won out.

He gently grabbed Blair's chin. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine, I just glided in for a landing," Blair said as he slid his hand expressively through the air in a mock simulation of an airplane floating onto a runway.

His comment was not appreciated by the older man. His shoulders were firmly grasped as he was turned to face the truck. He let out a shocked gasp as two, sharp stinging swats landed on his backside. He turned to furiously face his attacker and to protect the abused portion of his anatomy from further assault.

"What the hell was that for?" Blair said.

A cold, calm, fury heated the eyes of the man who pinned him against the side of the truck. This was a Jim Ellison Blair didn't quite know how to deal with. In his young life, Blair Sandburg had only dealt with this situation one other time, Sam Weatherman's rage at a very foolish ten-year-old boy. He was still ill-prepared in negotiating his way around an enraged and angry male parent; this species was totally new to him.

"Drunk driving," Jim said, calling upon all his resources to contain his fury. "If you ever get behind the wheel of a car drunk again, I'll give you enough nurturing you'll be standing for a week. Got it?"

"Who the hell do you think you are? Damn you!" Blair said still keeping his backside out of harm's way as he looked for possible avenues of escape.

"I'm your Blessed Protector...that's a job you gave me, but maybe who I am isn't what this is about, Chief. Maybe it's about who you are. Maybe it's about being my best friend, Guide, and roommate. Maybe it's about you being the one person in this whole world I can count on who always follows his heart and your heart is even bigger than that exceedingly large brain of yours. Maybe it's about not wanting to lose you...yeah, Chief, I don't think it has anything to do with who I am-----just who and what you are to me."

Jim then reached over into the holding boot in the back of the truck and wrapped the mud-soaked figure in a blanket. He wanted to keep Sandburg warm, but it also saved the interior of the old Ford truck. Sandburg was practically completely covered with the thick, dark goo.

His mind flashed with the possibilities of how this night could have ended. Sandburg may very well be wrapped in a body bag, his torn and mangled body burning an image into Jim's active imagination. His face hardened, creasing his brow into an angry scowl, as the foolishness of his young friend once again gripped the forefront of reality.

Jim stood by the open passenger door and levelled a steely look at Blair, "Get in."

Blair quickly did as he was told. Glancing furtively at Jim to make sure his intentions weren't still directed at his backside.

Blair tried to make idle conversation, but Jim would just cast a stern glare at him periodically. His knuckles were clenched firmly around the steering wheel. Well, better the wheel than my neck. Sandburg mused. Then he stared out the window into the moonlit night. Suddenly, he felt a wave of embarrassment and shame.

Here I am again acting rashly and impulsively. Jim doesn't deserve this added headache, he had been in that pit as well. Imagine what it must have been like for him with his heightened senses to focus in on that room and try to find those women. I remember the stench and fear, the repulsive odors of the brutality and neglect. Imagine those smells heightened, and I wasn't there to guide him. What am I good for? Blair thought, then covered his face with his hands and sighed.

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Jim looking at him, concern dimming some of the anger in his eyes. "You all right, Chief? You want me to pull over?"

"Jim,....I....why do you put up with me?"

"Chief, I could ask you the same question, but we have other matters to settle right now. I'm not going to be easy on you, but I am going to be with you every inch of the way. It's going to be okay."

"It's not okay, Jim. Time to get a clue here. It's not okay. I'm not okay. The whole fucking world's not okay," Blair said bitterly.

"Like I said, Chief, it's not going to be easy."

When Blair Sandburg walked into the loft with Jim Ellison right behind him, his face was ashen and pale. He was still drunk, but his sense of humor had been drastically diminished. Now as Jim followed close behind him, he felt like a prisoner with his guard. Blair even turned to watch Jim lock the door, evaluating his chances of making a run for it. Jim had no right to treat him like a criminal. He was a victim here, maybe not like those poor women, but he was hurting, too. Maybe he didn't lose days, weeks, a month or his life, like they did, but he sacrificed his soul and he wished he could at least mourn the loss. Maybe his soul was worth it. God, he knew he would do it again...anything to help them, anything to stop their suffering. If only there weren't beasts walking upright like men, and with that thought Blair turned and grabbed the kitchen chair and threw it full force against the staircase.

Jim was next to him in minutes. He grabbed Blair firmly by the shoulders spinning him about and giving him a forceful, firm shake, conscious of Blair's head injuries and his distraught state. "Stop it, Sandburg."

"Why, Jim, why?" The blue eyes almost pooled, Jim could see the shimmering hint of a tear, but no tears came. This well was indeed dry. No, Jim thought to himself, not dry, merely blocked. Sandburg has barricaded himself in protecting himself from the dark forces. It's going to take a firm, but gentle hand to coax him out into the light and get him to trust again. Some Blessed Protector I turned out to be. James Ellison, Sentinel, cursed himself for having failed his Guide, while his Guide echoed the litany of self-recrimination in honor of April Barrett.

In the summer days of my childhood, I would lay upon the cool, green grass, knees pointed up towards the heavens, feet bare pressing down into the earth, hands buried deep within the velvet threads...securing to the earth is important when you fly high and solo...losing myself in the clouds. I would drift and float and travel in the blue sky, the shapes would shift and match the spectral images of my mind. No one could hurt me, I traveled in cool, clear, friendly skies and I was cushioned in the clouds.

Part Five: Cushioned in the Clouds

Blair suddenly pulled away from Jim and raced into the bathroom, Jim right on his heels. He suspected the worst intentions, but was quickly relieved to see Blair lift the toilet seat, genuflect in front, and start emptying his already barren insides. Jim knelt beside him after getting a cold washcloth from the sink, he held his hair back, and said gentle soothing words. Blair kept retching, his sweaty face red from the exertion of trying to vomit up the last of the liquor. "Oh God, Jim, why do I do this to myself? I swore after last time I would never get drunk again. I'm sorry, man, are you ever going to be able to forgive me?"

"Chief, I'll always forgive you, as long as you realize what you've done wrong. We'll talk about what needs to be settled, you can count on that. First, let's get you cleaned up and I think you need to take a nap. We've got time. We'll take it slow."

Jim helped Blair stand up giving him instructions to get out of the muddy clothes. He left for a few minutes to get clean boxers and a t-shirt from Blair's dresser and laid them on the bed. He helped his young friend step into the tub and he turned on the shower. He put the muddy clothes in a large plastic bag, he would need to shake them out later when the mud dried. Blair washed his hair and the head wound had started bleeding again. Jim made a mental note to tend to it when Blair was through. Jim winced when he saw the cuts along his belly hiding amid the hairy chest, but still visible in their red and angry state. They looked like razor cuts. As Blair continued soaping himself and rinsing, Jim collected all the razors and prescription drugs from the medicine chest. He took them out into the kitchen, wrapped them in a dish towel, and hid them someplace Blair would never look, in the bucket with the sponges and cleaning supplies under the sink way in back. Blair tended to avoid these tools unless Jim explained each and every use to him.

When he returned, Blair stepped out of the shower onto the mat. Jim handed him a towel. "Here, Chief, dry off, and keep the door open. I'd better not smell any blood."

"What the hell is that suppose to mean?" Blair asked angrily. When Jim turned back towards him he regretted his attitude.

"You want to run that innocent routine by me one more time and just hope my patience holds?" Jim asked with a cold calm that sent chills coursing down Blair's spine. He chose discretion with nary a thought of valor as he slowly shook his head and dropped his eyes.

"I'll make up the couch for you. I have some files to look over and I want you in my sight at all times. Maybe after your nap you won't be so cranky." Blair resented the way Jim was treating him, but he knew Jim was in no mood to argue with right now. Besides, he was tired...hell, he was exhausted, spent and completely wiped out. He had never felt so emotionally or physically exhausted in his life. If Jim was going to back him into a corner like he usually did....old Mr. Let's Cut to the Chase Ellison, Blair needed to have a little more stamina than he did right now. Hell, he needed a lot more stamina to dodge the bullets and keep one step ahead of Jim. He knew he would fail, though, he always did. Jim always knew what buttons to push, what lids to pry open, and where the secrets were stashed. Jim, Blair thought in a tired voice, Thank God there's always, Jim.

When Blair came out of the bathroom dressed only in a towel, he saw Jim waiting for him in his room with some antiseptic and bandages. He motioned for Blair to sit on the bed. Jim tended to the head wound first and bandaged it. Then he sat on the bed and told Blair to stand before him. He had a grim set to his mouth as he examined the razor cuts on Blair's midriff. Once he looked up angrily, but Blair continued to stare off into a far corner. He left the cuts open not wanting to pull the hairs on Blair's chest.

"Okay, Chief, put these on," Jim said motioning to the boxers and t-shirt.

"I'm cold," Blair said in a pouty voice. "I want to put on my sweats," he added trying to regain some level of footing in this whole situation.

"No deal, Sandburg, I don't relish chasing your butt around Cascade. You had your choice, Dr. Radkin or me, and now you have to live with your decision. You're not going anywhere this weekend so that's all you really need. You can wear my robe later to keep warm. Come on, I've got some reading to do."

Blair cautiously preceeded Jim out to the living room, making sure to keep several feet ahead of him, remembering the surprise attack by the truck. Jim didn't want the kid getting any ideas about running off. He felt if he let his guard slip for a few minutes, Blair would have to get dressed before he left the loft. It was a precaution Jim felt necessary. Blair grumbled as he settled himself on the couch, and Jim tucked enough quilts and comforters around him to make sure he was warm and that sleep would overtake him with the least resistance. His plan worked, because by the time Jim collected the folders, the reports with Simon's, Jim's and Blair's statements, the coroner's report, and the various other reports pertaining to the previous night's events, Blair lay snuggled and curled on his side, mouth slightly open, and resting in a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep.

For a few minutes, Jim Ellison, let his own guard down. He watched the youthful face lost in slumber. How fragile and innocent the kid could look when he was asleep. Blair was a gentle, unassuming, tender soul. He accepted people with a natural curiosity and forebearance that made him totally nonjudgmental. If Jim Ellison had ever had a son, he would want him to be just like Blair. However, he would want his son to understand danger a little better. Blair just didn't seem to be able to grasp the concept. Self-preservation was a last regard to one who constantly ran in where angels feared to thread simply to help someone else. He often heard Blair whine about how unfair a situation was, trying to talk his way out of a jam. Yet, when someone needed his help, he simply reacted, damning all torpedos, reason, and logic, and offered up his own safety to ensure another's. The kid could be a dichotomy at times, young, inexperienced, impetuous, and daring; yet, there were times he was old with wisdom, patient in his fortitude, and absolutely unselfish in his generosity. Jim felt an overwhelming need to protect him. He wanted to wrap him in some protective casing and shelter him from any more emotional upheavals, but he knew that was impossible.

There were no magic spells to cast over your loved ones, no protective cocoons to weave around the good and pure. Jim saw enough young souls mangled in the jungles of Peru; you either adapted to what life threw at you or you didn't. The kid would be all right. His track record showed not only stamina, but a special kind of resilience that made Blair seem to rise up from the murkiest ponds and shine with his own particular golden glow.

While Blair slept, Jim read the files. Something bothered him. If April Barrett died of cardiac arrest, Jim was certain when he heard the eight heartbeats while searching for Blair, he would have been able to detect some arythmia. If Blair were in better shape, he would be able to help Jim remember and focus in on those six other heartbeats. Jim knew that if he so much as suggested it to Blair right now. The kid would have jumped into full guide-mode, forgetting his own personal demons and concentrating completely on Jim, his Sentinel. Jim didn't want him doing that right now. Blair was in the early stages of trauma and self-mutilation, if he could pull the kid out quickly, Blair would be back on his feet all the sooner. The kid just needed to open up about why he was feeling so guilty.

At Midnight, Blair stretched, making a soft purring sound, accidentally kicking Jim. When he realized someone was sitting at the other end of the couch, he quickly sat up startled and afraid. "Whoa, Chief, take it easy, it's me," Jim said smiling over at his sleepy-eyed friend. "Feeling any better?"

"Yeah, Jim," Blair said and then he yawned, "I'm really wiped."

"I know, Chief, some people can't sleep after a trauma, other's want to do nothing else. How about some eggs and toast, you haven't eaten since the night before and you tossed everything in your stomach with the liquor?"

"From previous experience, Jim, I'd say I really don't have a choice, do I?" Blair asked sheepishly, but seemingly returning to his normal good humor.

"Oh, Sandburg, you know me so well. Come on, I'll get you some socks and my robe. I'll make a fresh pot of coffee and I think I'll light the fireplace. We've got a lot of work to do."

Jim fixed scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee. Blair didn't give him any trouble about coming to the table and eating. Jim had a feeling that Blair was still reeling from the indignation of the swats on his bottom. If that kept Blair from becoming truculent and uncooperative, Jim had no regrets. Although the spanking was delivered in a furious rage at Blair's foolishness for driving while under the influence. He could have killed himself, or just as heartwrenchingly, killed someone else and had to live with that for the rest of his life. Jim still wasn't sure that that particular matter was settled to his liking, but right now he had other things on his and Blair's plate to deal with.

"Chief, why didn't you keep your appointment with Dr. Radkin?" Jim asked just as Blair was finishing up the last of his toast. The kid had eaten three eggs and two slices of toast and Jim was pleased to see that he was genuinely hungry. It was so like Blair to bounce back, but he still needed to be sure Blair bounced back on the positive side of normalcy, not the distant planet of regret, despair, and guilt.

"Jim, I....I....was going to. I had every intention, but I saw the report. Why didn't anyone tell me about April Barrett?" Blair asked as he put his fork down.

"So that's why you took off? Come on, Chief, let's go get comfortable. I'll bring you a fresh cup of coffee," Jim said as he cleared the dishes away. Blair slowly raised himself from the table not really wanting to go the route he knew Jim was taking him on. Jim was going to start prying open all the secrets of his soul and Jim could be relentless in his pursuit for the truth. Blair simply had no defences to put up. His soul was diminished by this bad experience, and his armies of defiance were long gone. There were no defence mechanisms, no obfuscations, no evasive routes...just straight ahead on into the darkness and, hopefully, eventually the light.

The only consolation he could gleen from this thought was that he knew with the certainty of his heart that Jim would be there to catch him if he stumbled. Maybe when he was running through those catacombs he thought there would no Jims in hell to rescue him, but in this world, in this loft, in this bonding of Sentinel and Guide, there would always be Jim. Never in Blair's total 28 years had he ever met a force more potent, more determined, and more abiding than James Ellison, his friend.

When Blair was securely tucked in on the couch, sitting upright with his hands wrapped around the hot mug of coffee for warmth and stability, Jim took the chair across from him. All the files and reports were laid out on the square coffee table. Like an attorney attempting to find the truth, Jim had his strategy set up, all supporting documentation at his fingertips. The witness and victim sat across from him, warily waiting for the hammer to fall. Jim could see the consternation in his friend's soft blue orbs, and the only reassurance he could offer was a warm, tender smile.

"Chief, what's going on with you?"

"What do you mean, Jim? I don't understand the question."

"What do you feel right now, Blair?"

"Tired, really tired. I'd like to cuddle up and go back to sleep."

"No, not possible right now. What else do you feel?"

"What the hell is this, Jim, an encounter session with my inner spirit. You want to call Naomi, she's really into that kind of thing, Jim. Maybe we all can..."

"CUT THE SHIT OUT RIGHT NOW!" Jim yelled at him.

Blair almost spilled his coffee. Instead he reached over and placed his cup on the coffee table. He got up pulling the huge robe tightly around himself, sheltering himself from the storm that was Jim Ellison.

"Okay. You want to know what I feel? Nothing! Not one fucking emotion. I saw hell, Jim. I looked it up and down, naked and personal, and I don't feel a thing afterwards. Six women, Jim, six innocent, helpless women...did you see what he did to them, Jim? Did you see? DID YOU FUCKING SEE?" Jim just sat there watching his young friend pace back and forth, up and down, around the coffee table, in back of the couch, and finally position himself in front of the windows overlooking the quiet city.

"You want to know what Deedee and I were doing there? Two grad students, fucking degrees and research papers up our asses...we're both going to be thirty in a few years. My God! What children we really are. We were writing fan fiction, Jim. We were so absorbed in a fucking television show we were writing fiction for it. Big shots on the Internet. Telling tales about murder, mayhem, torture, ritual killings, oh man, the whole criminal menagerie raced across our pages...we're entertainers, tale spinners, real mages of the mind. We were all sitting back and reading and pretending we were safe, it wasn't real...well, it was, Jim, it was real for April Barrett." Blair didn't say anything further, he just stood staring out the window lost in the night, somewhere with the stars feeling safe with the darkness.

"Let me guess, you feel guilty because of all the fun you were having? Blair Sandburg, always serious grad student, started feeling really passionately about something other than Sentinels, police work, and anthropology. Isn't that right, Chief? Here you were, finally relaxing and enjoying yourself, completely wrapped up in something fun and frivolous and you get slapped right in the face with reality. You think some unknown force is punishing you for your trivial, self-indulgent pursuits? Well, Chief, it doesn't work that way. Nothing is really frivolous or trivial. You need to have fun at some senseless project just like everyone else. It helps us all cope with the important, overwhelming aspects of our existence."

"But, Jim, these women were suffering for weeks. I was typing stories late into the night, while they were slowly dying." Blair sounded lost and distant, like he were leaving via the stars.

"Blair, listen to me. When I was in Special Forces we would do things that would turn our stomachs. When an operation was done, we would sometimes go on a week binge of drinking, gambling, golf, baseball...whatever...hell, we would try to fill our hours burying ourselves in insignificant pastimes. It's the souls way of replenishing itself in the light. One week later, we would be back at what we were good at, what we were trained to do. We didn't spend our downtime honing our skills, target practicing, or hand-to-hand combat...hell, we were good at that. Work alone taught us and kept us seasoned, but we needed to relax and have some fun. Don't knock yourself for it, Blair, and don't stop." Jim turned to watch his young friend merging into the night through the glass, silent, still, deep in thought like a poster child for night terrors.

Jim continued trying to pull the chains that would flush away the guilt and replenish this young and empty vessel, "I'll tell you, Chief, seeing you smile and lose yourself the way you had this past month was a joy to watch. I want to see that little boy again at play....you're young, Blair, you have that right. It's all right to be angry, but be angry at Arthur Pogue....don't be angry at yourself...you didn't do anything wrong."

Jim reached over and pulled six photographs from the files. He laid them evenly out on the coffee table facing the couch. Then he got up and he gently grabbed Blair by the shoulders and guided the unresisting figure back to his safe zone. Blair looked at the six faces before him and gasped and tried to look away. Jim sat next to him on the couch and anchored him in position with a firm arm across his shoulders.

"Blair, these are the photos we had to work with when these women were reported missing, the last one we got from the family of the most recent victim. Some were supplied by family, some are mug shots from their arrests. Look at them. There they are, Chief, look at them. Five of these women owe you their lives. If you and Deedee hadn't been so adventurous, they may never have been found. This is April Barrett, Chief," Jim said pointing to the mug shot of a worn out woman with too much makeup and crows feet around her eyes. "She didn't make it, but that wasn't your fault. If anyone should blame themselves, it should be me. I was working on the case, Chief, and I failed April, but I know, Chief, I can't do my job if I start thinking like that. Arthur Pogue is the guilty one, not you, not me. Arthur Pogue is the killer's name. But there are five against the one, Chief. Five women who won't starve or be burned or go through whatever hell they would have been suffering right now, if it wasn't for you."

"Then why don't I feel anything? Man, why can I look at these pictures...why can I look at her, Jim?" Blair asked pointing accusingly at April's picture, "Why can I look at her and not feel anything? Why do I feel so dead inside?"

"I don't know, Chief, you tell me."

"When I was a kid, and Mom used to pull up roots every time she didn't like a situation, or she just felt it was time to move on, I would be cut off from newly made friends or maybe end up in a new environment where the kids weren't so tolerant of a Jewish bastard...I know, Jim," Blair said, waving his hand to brush Jim's objections off, "but that's what they called me sometime. I would go off by myself somewhere to the park or an empty field, anywhere I could lay in the grass and watch the clouds. I was always safe in the clouds. I would imagine myself drifting, floating, so untouchable up there and I would feel numb. Nothing could hurt me when I rode the clouds. It was a good place for a kid to hide, but when I grew up and started college I wanted to feel. I wanted to have that passion born of self-awareness and humanity. I wanted to feel for other people and other creatures, I wanted to rage against the brutality. That's why when Lash killed Susan Frasier, I didn't want to check my feelings at the door, Jim. I didn't want to be in the clouds again. That was just too easy, and I was afraid I wouldn't come out."

Blair rubbed a tired hand down his face. "Jim, I'm lost. I'm truly lost this time, man. No fucking map, no exit signs, nothing! Help me! Please, help me, Jim!" Jim grabbed the trembling figure beside him and pulled Blair against his chest in a tight, comforting embrace. "It's okay, Blair, and it's okay not to cry."

With that one simple statement, that benediction for his omission, Blair Sandburg relaxed and began to cry. Slowly at first, Jim could feel his shirt getting wet, then he sobbed with a trembling heave of shoulders. Finally he clung to Jim in an outpouring of turmoil, frustration, compassion, and desolation. He held on to the anchor that pulled him gently towards the earth. Blair Sandburg had fallen from the clouds and Jim Ellison was there to catch him.

Rage rises from the inner depths and turns the surface dark
Igniting space with currents strong from just a little spark
It takes its time to swell and burst and out comes all the ire
It is a burning desperate thing that dances like the fire

Part Six: Remember Me With Rage

Jim Ellison held Blair Sandburg in a protective, brotherly embrace. Once the emotional well was not encumbered with guilt and self-recrimination, it flowed freely and generously. Blair openly cried out all the pent-up emotions he had held hostage within himself for the last 24 hours. Jim sat there rocking him gently to the murmurs of reassurance and soft promises of better days to come. When all emotions vented themselves, he simply lay in Jim's arms. The Blessed Protector then decided it was time they both went to bed. It was 3 a.m. Saturday morning, and although they didn't have to go to the station, they still had a full day ahead of them.

Jim gently pushed the fragile form from his chest and stood up. He pulled Blair up by the shoulders, "Come on, Chief, let's get to bed. You're sleeping with me tonight." Jim reached over and grabbed Blair's pillow off the couch and stuffed it into the arms of the dejected young man by his side. He turned him by the shoulders, stopping shortly to turn off the lights, leaving the fireplace lit, the warm glow attesting to home and hearth, and he steered his Guide up the stairs to his bed. Blair normally would have protested with everything in his arsenal of reason, logic, and good appearances, but in his present state Jim could have directed him to the roof ledge and Blair would have gone.

When he settled his Guide on the side farthest from the stairs, Jim Ellison stripped to his boxers and t-shirt and climbed beneath the covers. He turned to look at his young friend and smiled softly to himself as he noted the deep sleep his friend had already succumbed to. Blair's mouth softly opened and faint snores escaped, giving not so solemn testimony to complete exhaustion. Jim Ellison, of Covert-Op and Special Forces, protected the one thing he valued most and lost himself for the few remaining hours before dawn in the steady, simple rhythm of that other's heart.

When Jim Ellison woke the sun had long warmed the loft from the skylight above. He glanced at the clock; it was 9 a.m. He felt a warm body snuggled next to him and trying not to move he raised his head and glanced down at the curly head resting on his chest. Sometime during the night, the frightened fugitive had sought the shelter of Jim's nearness. Refuge must have been found, because Jim didn't remember him stirring, groaning, or experiencing any night terrors. From the even breathing and steady heartbeat, it sounded like Blair had rested trouble-free and had been sweetly embraced by the slumber.

Jim gently raised Blair's shoulders and quickly slid the pillow beneath his head. He quietly disengaged the remaining arms and legs and softly left the warmth of the bed. He grabbed his clothes and quietly padded down the stairs. After showering, he collected the shaving supplies he and Blair would need for their morning ablutions. Blair would be supervised in the use of any sharp objects, then they would be safely stored out of reach until Dr. Radkin deemed it safe. Jim felt certain that after last night's revelations, Blair had more than half the distance covered on his way to recovery. The eager spirit would make an appearance sometime today, especially when Jim discussed his reservations about the catacombs and April Barrett. Once called upon as a Guide, Blair Sandburg would change his costume and the victim would become the protector, the guide, and the strong one. Jim had seen it many times before and it still amazed him. You could never second guess Blair, he had always been full of surprises.

When he had finished his morning sartorial, he started the coffee and took out eggs, bread, orange juice, and Texas hash browns, a favorite of Blair's. He would make the kid a huge breakfast which would help get his strength back. Then they would work on the folders, but Jim would take it easy, letting Blair determine how much he wanted to help. As Jim began to set the table, he heard a moan of utter terror. "Jim! JIM!"

Jim raced up the stairs two at a time, realizing half way up he didn't have his gun. His cop mind racing ahead to plan strategy, maneuvers, and counter-attack...pure instinct from his Special Forces days. In a crisis, Jim always thought in the defensive mode. When he reached the top, he saw Blair sitting up, wide-eyed, pale, and frightened.

"Easy, Chief, it's okay. You're all right," he said gently as he sat on the edge of the bed near Blair. He didn't want to touch him and spook him any more. The kid looked like he had just seen a ghost.

"Jim, I remember. There was someone else." Blair said finally focusing on Jim's face. Then he smiled in an odd, self-satisfactory way, like he had just solved some clever puzzle and nobody thought he could do it. Then his face hardened and Jim could see the anger streaking the pale lines, returning color to the ashen features. "Another monster, Jim. I remember him coming up behind me, grabbing me, and he must have hit me on the head. We've got to get him. He could have other victims, Jim, other hiding places. He could start all over."

"It's okay, Blair, just take it easy. I have my own ideas on this, and I want you to work with me, but first let's get you some breakfast. How about a shower and shave?" Jim said as he rose from the bed.

"You don't believe me, do you? Crazy Blair Sandburg first can't remember shit, comes out of that hell hole like a raving lunatic, and now you can't believe he saw someone else. That's it isn't it, Jim? You don't fucking believe me?" Blair said, his face reddening in frustration and anger.

"Chief, I believe you, I've had my own suspicions after reading the reports. We'll work on this together. Just stick with me on this, okay?" Jim said gently, reasonably.

"Don't patronize me, damn it!" Blair said in a furious display of temper.

"Hold it right there, Junior. I always believe you. You are one of the most level-headed, intelligent, observant, and determined persons I know. I respect you and your opinions...always...always, Chief," Jim said in a strong, firm voice. "I won't tolerate that persistently petulant attitude you feel the need to display. Maybe I don't often tell you, and I apologize for that, but you mean a lot to me, Chief, I trust you with my life and my sanity every day and I'm proud to call you friend. If you feel the need for more attention, and that's the cause of these outbursts, I can supply it, but I don't think you're going to necessarily like it."

Blair didn't make an effort to get out of bed, but kept his head down and his eyes averted from Jim's. He started playing with the comforter, folding the edges back and forth, trying to bury some hidden shame amid the folds.

Jim took a deep sigh. God, why does the kid do this to me? Jim Ellison could feel guilt with the best of them.

"Chief, what's wrong?" Jim asked him gently.

"I'm sorry, Jim. I guess I've been really giving you a hard time."

"No more than usual," Jim said as he reached over to tossel the dishevelled head of hair.

"Jim, I'm really sorry about the drunk driving. I knew that was wrong. Thanks for coming for me."

"Chief, I'll always come for you. You may not like it when I find you, but I'll always come. The drunk driving issue isn't settled to my satisfaction, yet. I don't ever want that happening again, and I'm going to make damn, good and sure it doesn't. But right now we've got police work. This Sentinel needs his Guide. You think you're up to it?" Jim asked him with a smile forming at his lips as he saw Blair finally lift his downcast eyes and therein the spark flickered, took hold and blazed. Blair Sandburg was coming home.

After Blair showered, shaved, and they ate their breakfast, Jim cleared away the dishes and brought two cups of coffee to the living room table. Blair sat curled up on one end of the sofa reading through some files. Jim had let him dress in sweats this morning. It pleased him that Jim could once again trust him. He didn't want to do anything to disappoint the man whose opinion mattered the most to him. The drunk driving incident was going to be hard to amend, but he would work hard in earning Jim's complete trust.

"Are you sure you're up to this, Chief?" Jim asked warily gauging Blair's heartbeat, facial expression, and demeanor.

"Jim, I can't stay cushioned forever. I just needed some time to heal. I want this guy. I want him so badly I hurt with it."

"Sandburg, just stay focused. We're working on this together. Stay with me and we'll be fine. Is that a deal?" Jim asked, wanting some reassurance that Blair wouldn't go off half-cocked now with a vengeance fueled by the trauma. He remembered in his reading material that many times Post Traumatic Stress sufferers wanted vengeance on the one who victimized them.

"Yeah, it's a deal. I think it's time I started pulling my weight again."

"Sandburg, you always do your share," Jim said, levelling his gaze at Blair as though daring him to voice any more objections.

The young anthropologist finally nodded, then smiled. Jim Ellison never realized how much another's smile could give incentive, spur you to action, and clear away all doubts, until he got used to that one particular one.

"Okay, I was reading the file last night. April Barrett died of cardiac arrest. They can only estimate her time of death to be between 10 and midnight. When I was searching for you, I focused in on eight heartbeats. I could tell yours from experience, and I heard Pogue's racing as he pursued you. I need to focus in and remember the state of the other six heartbeats."

"Sure, Jim, that should be easy for you. We've done this before." Blair said as he stood up eagerly motioning for Jim to sit in the chair.

"Okay, you know the drill. Close your eyes. Relax. Clear your mind. All right, now think back to Thursday night. You hear my heartbeat, you hear Pogues, now focus on the other six. Categorize, filter, hear each one individually." Blair stood by eagerly watching his Sentinel's face closely, ready to spring into action should Jim start to zone.

"I hear six racing heartbeats, but they're strong, no murmurs, no arythmia, no erratic pulses. April Barrett was dead already. Your mystery man was still there." Jim opened his eyes and looked up at Blair. "Now your turn, Chief."

"What do you mean?" Blair asked totally confused.

"Look, these memory exercises work with me, why not you? Let's see how much we can get you to remember about this guy." Jim stood up and gently guided Blair into the chair he had just vacated. Blair looked up confused, scared, and unsure of himself.

"Jim, I'm not a Sentinel. I don't retain sensory input like you do."

"That's bullshit, everyone remembers in their minds, they just need to go in there and find it."

Jim knelt beside Blair. He grabbed his right arm. Blair was momentarily startled and tried to draw it back. "Easy, Chief, close your eyes, I'm just going to help you relax." Jim began making small circular patterns on Blair's inside wrist, he could feel him start to relax. "Do you remember following Pogue while he was carrying his victim?"

"Yeah, I remember following, keeping in the shadows. I was so scared, man, I thought I'd wet myself. I still can't believe I kept going on, deeper and deeper into that maze. I saw him open the door with his keys and I crept forward. I almost gagged, it was horrible. God, Jim, it was horrible," Blair said as he started breathing heavily.

"Easy, Chief, easy....I'm right here...it's all behind you. Then what did you do?"

"I pulled back and I remember something not quite right, something out of sync, then I felt this hand around my neck and I felt this object...his ring I guess...it was oddly shaped. I don't remember." Blair opened his eyes, then he pulled his hand across his face and sighed. "I'm sorry, Jim, that's all I remember."

"It's okay. You did great. We know he wears an odd-shaped ring. Show me how he grabbed you." Blair stood and turned and took Jim's left arm and placed it around his neck. "So we know this guy wears the ring on his left hand. Good job, Chief. We're going to get this guy."

"Jim, I....I..." Blair hesitated unsure of himself. He was going to tell Jim about his observer's credentials and how someone would have had to take them off of him down there...there was no way they would have broken off while tucked inside his jacket.

Just then a knock resounded on the door. Blair stiffened. "It's Simon," Jim said as he turned to answer the door.

Captain Banks filled the doorway. He entered dapperly dressed as usual, but Jim did not recognize this as normal Saturday attire. "Simon, what's up?"

"I have a meeting downtown with the council. They want to discuss the asylum and what's going to be done to keep this kind of thing from happening again. How's Sandburg?"

"I'm fine, Simon," Blair said from the chair he was slumped in. He welcomed Simon's presence at that particular moment. Maybe Jim didn't need to know right now about the credentials.

"Sandburg! Why the hell didn't you keep your appointment with Dr. Radkin? Do you understand when I give you an order I intend for it to be obeyed," Simon walked purposely towards Blair who quickly jumped up, looking back at Jim for some support, all hope for a respite from one reprimand rerouted through the even more formidable Captain Simon Banks.

"Sir," Jim tried to intercept, "Sandburg, saw the file about April Barrett on my desk. He had trouble dealing with her death. He just needed some time by himself. He'll be in Dr. Radkin's office first thing Monday morning, isn't that right, Blair?" Jim asked him in a tone that didn't brook any disagreement.

"Yeah, Jim. I'm sorry, Simon...er..Captain, I'll be there on Monday morning." Blair said and then he noticed Jim behind Simon's back pointing to the chair. Blair quickly sat down. Captain Banks towered over him deciding on wheth