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.
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.