PART FOUR: BRANCHING OUT

When they got to the sight where Dane had swerved off the road, Jim pulled over alongside the top of the drop off. Blair joined him and stood leaning back against the truck as he watched his Sentinel focus, carefully monitoring Jim's expressions for any sign of a zone out. He was always proud of the way Jim could pick up the small traces of evidence when he really set his mind to it. The man was a crime-solving wonder, and Blair proudly knew he had a lot to do with controlling this human crime lab.

"Jim, focus on smell first. Maybe powder burns, skid marks, gas. Start filtering the smells and cataloging. Eventually you'll push aside the smells you can identify, the ones that are obvious." He watched as Jim looked down into the ravine where the van had exploded. All that remained was the burnt grass and trees in the vicinity of the explosion.

Then Jim turned quickly, as though a thought came to him. In furrowed concentration, he stared at the road where the car had started to skid. Then he walked back the way they had just come. Blair pushed off from the truck and followed.

"What is it? Do you smell something?" Blair asked impatiently.

Jim raised an irritated hand to silence his shadow. Blair followed, but remained silent.

Then Jim stopped and did a three hundred and sixty degree turn. "Chief, before the tire blew, do you remember seeing anything on the road, anyone else driving by?"

"The road was pretty deserted, man. Dane and I had commented on how little traffic there was on it compared to the city. Wait! I remember a car following behind, gaining on us. Dane was driving the speed limit. He passed us, but I don't remember if that's the exact same time the tire blew. Dane was adjusting the dials on the radio and I was watching him. I remember I had my window down and I heard a loud pop before he swerved, but I thought it was the tire blowing." Blair said as he pushed his hair behind his ear.

"Chief, that popping was probably the gun shot." Jim suddenly stopped his slow pirouette, he spotted something on the side of the road.

Blair watched as Ellison bent down, pulled a plastic bag from his coat pocket, and carefully picked up the object with the plastic bag between his fingers. He let the object fall to the bottom of the bag and held it up for Blair to see. "Looks like a shell from military issue." Jim scanned the foilage off the road looking for possible places a sniper could have hidden and gotten off a clean shot. Nothing looked viable. "My bet is it's from the passing car."

"Do you remember anything about the car that passed you?"

"No, no man. I was pretty tired by then. I was looking out the window. I just remember the headlights gaining on us in the side-view mirror." He stood for several moments, trying to remember. "Sorry."

"It's okay. We at least have our first clue. Let's go back to the station and get this analyzed."

As they were heading towards the truck, Jim's cell phone rang. "Ellison here."

"Yeah, that's great. Okay, we'll drop by now. We should be there in twenty-five minutes."

He turned to Blair as they got in the truck. "Good news, Chief, your car's ready. I'll drop you off and sign the charge slip. You think you can drive with your arm?"

"Oh, man, that's so great to hear. Jim, I can't tell you how much I miss her. Remember, man, I'll pay you back. I should be able to give you fifty every two weeks until it's paid off." Jim had put the major repairs on his charge card and Blair was going to make monthly installments. Part of the interest payment was the drunk driving class. Jim had been so angry when he had caught him in the marsh, Blair felt he got off pretty easy considering.

As Jim drove, Blair could tell he was mulling over the attempt on Dane's life. There were a lot of sickos out there and Jim seemed to draw them like flies, well, not only Jim, Blair had met his fair share as well. Look at David Lash...no, he did not want to go there right now. He only hoped they caught this one before someone was hurt. Dane was the one he felt sorry for. If his father was anywhere near as anal and protective as Jim, he'd be in for a long haul of restrictions and barriers.

Plans already began formulating in his head. He could now make the trip to the Old Man without Jim. It was a four-hour drive. He could leave as soon as tomorrow morning and since he was pressed for money, he would have to make the trip back that night or sleep in the car. His expenses this past month had increased with the car and loss of school time, but one short day-trip wasn't out of the question. Janet was his biggest debt right now, as he saw it. Besides, if worse came to worse, he'd take his sleeping bag and maybe camp out right under the Old Man. The more he thought about that idea, the more the memories blanketed his mind, and he found a sense of peace he hadn't known for some time.

After Jim paid for the repairs he watched Blair check his prize possession over. The mechanic came up to him. Jim watched the pride cross Blair's face as the mechanic said, "There was a guy in here recently asking about it? Said it was a real collector's item. He wanted to know if you were interested in selling it, so I gave him your name and number? I hope you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind, but I'm not selling. This car and I have been through a lot," he said as he lovingly rubbed his hand over the hood.

"Hey, Chief, you coming to the station?"

"Sure, Jim, I'll be right behind you."

Jim watched as his happy Guide got behind the wheel, a self-satisfied grin making him look childishly ecstatic. Brushing an irritated hand through his hair as he re-familiarized himself with his long-lost friend, he seemed content and proud. Jim often wondered what Blair saw in the ancient car, but he was glad it brought him so much pride and joy. Jim had only seen his own vehicles as a method of transportation. He knew in his line of work chances of avoiding collisions and scratches were practically non-existent.

When they got back to the station, Jim had a pile of messages. He set Blair about the task of looking over the list of parolees and prison releases. Blair kept coming up with the parole release for Hunter Green. The more he thought about it the more he felt he should have told Simon. He knew Jim would go into overtime as Blessed Protector, but Simon would just want to be notified and would keep an eye on the situation. Afterall, the man had just talked to him about informing him of things that pertained to the men in his department.

No, Blair thought, Simon's under too much pressure right now from the mayor and the district attorney's office. He doesn't need the added burden of my little childhood memories. Besides, Naomi's just got me spooked. No way is Hunter Green going to risk going back to prison on my account.

He put aside the notice for Hunter Green and started looking over the cases that involved Eric Cartwright and started compiling a list on the computer of possible suspects with a vendetta against the District Attorney and his family. The list was quite impressive and would keep Major Crimes out of the housecleaning business for awhile. Rafe and Brown would be happy.

Simon motioned for Jim to come into his office. "I'll be right back, Chief." He got up and patted Blair on the shoulder. "Careful with that arm. If it starts to hurt, take a break."

Blair nodded and continued cross-checking the names and attorney list.

When Jim got into Simon's office, he saw Simon motion for him to shut the door. He closed it and took the seat near Simon's desk. "What's up?"

"Cartwright's pretty shook up over this attempt on his son's life and I, quite frankly, don't blame him. It just doesn't make sense, Jim. A sniper had no way of knowing they would take that route home. Maybe it was just a stray bullet from a hunter or some kids shooting at cans under the stars." Simon stood up and started his usual fueling routine. He poured two cups of coffee, knowing both men could use the heat to put some life into them. It had been a long and frustrating morning since they discovered the bullet hole in Dane's tire.

"Blair says he remembers a car passing, but he doesn't know if that's the exact time of the blowout. He was pretty vague about it," Jim contributed as he eagerly reached for the hot mug.

"How's the kid holding up? Damn shame one thing after another keeps happening to him. Talk about a streak of bad luck."

"He tries to convince me he's okay," Jim stopped and turned to look out the window.

"For the most part, I think he is. I don't have to worry about the self-mutiliation routine or the depression, but he's still pretty lethargic. There's hope, though. A box came yesterday from Janet's estate. You remember, Simon, she was killed in that Cyclops Oil case. Well, she wants Blair to dispose of her ashes around Fork and Olympic State Park. Man, Simon, I haven't seen such passion in the kid's eyes for so long, it was kinda nice." Jim turned back to Simon.

"He wanted me to drive him up there this weekend and I was hoping to get the time off." Simon probably knew he was testing the waters, but he had to at least make the effort on Blair's behalf.

"Jim any other case involving anyone else but the DA's son and I'd go with you, but it wouldn't look good with my best detective off on a trip that can wait for another time. The woman's been dead for almost a year, I don't think she'd mind waiting another week or two." Simon looked out into the bullpen and saw Blair concentrating on his reports. He looked tired and pensive. Simon wanted to see that spark back in his eyes, too.

"Look, Jim, the minute this thing is settled, why don't the three of us go up. We can make a weekend of it, like a vacation, maybe even get some fishing in. It's only a four-hour drive up there." Simon was using his best mediator tactics, he knew how much the kid meant to Jim and he wanted him to know he, too, wanted what was best for him.

"Sure, Simon. Blair got the Volvo back today, too. That at least was a bright spot in his day."

"Well, just keep an eye on him, Jim. I gave him a pretty stern lecture this morning, but I'm still not sure he's comfortable bringing any problems he has to my door. I know he's still hurting. Just keep a protective eye on him."

"Sir, you know I will. We appreciate the concern," Jim said.

"It's my job to look after my men," Simon said gruffly. "Also, why don't you question Dane, get a feel for what he did on Tuesday, who he met with. Maybe he pissed someone off and didn't realize it at the time."

"Yes, sir. I'll take care of that now." Jim stood up, lifted the coffee mug in a gesture of thanks, and headed back to the bullpen.

"Chief, I'm going to meet with Dane, do you want to come or finish up here?" Jim asked him as he quickly finished his coffee watching Blair type with his right hand, pecking in frustration at the keys.

"No, Jim, I think I'll just finish this report. I'll leave it on your desk. Then I think I'll take off and start dinner. How about baked chicken, I'm afraid my chopping skills are a bit hampered," he said as he raised his arm to emphasize the cast.

"Fine, I'll see you at home." He grabbed his jacket off the hook and turned.

"Oh, Sandburg, drive carefully, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, Jim. I know how to drive." Blair pushed the stray hairs behind his ears and looked up with hurt eyes. "Start to trust me, man."

"Chief, I always trust you with my life and others, it's your own I worry about."

With that Jim turned and left Major Crimes, leaving his frustrated partner drifting in a sea of guilt and self-recrimination.

When Blair got back to the loft he put his backpack down by the box. He had put everything back into it and Jim had moved it to sit beside the couch where Blair could easily retrieve anything he wanted. The urn still sat on the coffee table. He felt like Janet was there with her vibrant smile, patiently waiting for him to answer one of her philosophical questions. "Well, Blair, you have to decide what's important. No one else can make that decision for you." He remembered many an argument lost to her logic and quiet persistence.

He seasoned the chicken and put it in the oven, along with two potatoes, to bake. He checked the clock. It was five o'clock. Jim would be home in about an hour. Laying down on the couch with the intention of closing his eyes for a few seconds, he placed the throw pillow under his head. As his intentions of the past few weeks often proved, a few seconds were enough to take him into a deep and exhausted sleep.

When Jim came home, he quietly stood outside the loft for a few minutes. He listened to the soft, even-breathing of his roommate, smelled the chicken well-cooked and savory. Remembering times before, lonely times when there were no warm, homey smells or the heartbeat of another soul, he smiled in warm appreciation. He inserted his key and quietly hung up his jacket. Checking the oven setting, he lowered the dial to warm. He took a beer out of the refrigerator and twisted off the cap. Then he walked over to the living room and quietly looked down at his partner.

Blair was curled on his side, his head resting on a throw pillow. The favored left arm snuggled close to his chest, protected and cushioned by his right. Jim watched the soft features ironed smooth by repose. He often watched Blair sleep. There was something in this small scene from every day life that reinforced his soul. Of all the horrors in his life, all the evil in men that he saw first hand, he had this one pleasure, this one reaffirming pattern to his life. There was always Sandburg. Blair had called him his Blessed Protector. He had jokingly given Jim the name after Ellison had saved him from David Lash. Jim didn't see himself as any blessed anything. He knew that he often treated Sandburg with a cold indifference, always fighting the closeness whenever he could expend the effort. However, more and more he found himself easily giving in to the displays of affection and warmth.

He didn't want to become attached. When you became attached to things, they were always cruelly taken from you. He would fool the gods this time and pretend indifference, hell, even chilly contempt at times. The kid saw through the act, that was all that mattered. Sandburg knew the difference between his steely-eyed look and true anger. Blair knew these looks were merely tools of control, reins to steer his partner clear of trouble and bring him back in line. Surely, things between them went deeply enough that more was said in silence and in gestures than any words could tell.

Taking a deep swallow of the beer, he looked up at the sun as it set over the city he was genetically primed to protect. What price did Sentinels pay? He oftened wondered. He knew he needed a Guide, and he knew Sandburg would be the only one for him. He would never let anyone this near again, of that he was certain, but what price in the end did such advantages exact. What parts of his own soul did he relinguish when he became a Sentinel and more importantly when he accepted Blair as his Guide. He knew one thing for sure, Blair mattered and the cost of his safety had no ceiling in Jim's eyes.

Blair started twitching, he raised his right hand and rubbed ferociously at his nose. Then the hand moved to the cast and Blair opened his eyes as he tried to squeeze his fingers into the plaster and ease the irritation. He looked up and started, "Oh, man, geez, Jim, you scared me."

"Sorry, I was just wondering whether to wake you or let you sleep it off." Jim sat down on the chair near the coffee table.

Blair rubbed his eyes and sat up leaning forward on his knees. He yawned repeatedly, trying to relinquish the lethargy and resume in full operative mode. "How was the interview? Did you find out anything from Dane?" Blair asked, yawning again.

"He doesn't remember anything particularly significant. As a matter of fact, he's pretty put out by the whole thing. His dad's being a real hardass about protecting him. He's not allowed to go anywhere until this is settled."

"Hey, I feel for him, man, I know what that's like," Blair said disgustedly. "I know too well, man, way too well." He rose and headed for the kitchen.

Jim just let the little display of attitude pass. Blair had every right to be bitter about some of the restrictions Jim put on him, but it still didn't mean Jim would change his militant ways. Being a Captain in the army you learned to protect your men at whatever the cost and it was not a popularity contest. Jim had learned you did your job best when your men respected you and obeyed you, if a little fear held the reins tighter, then so be it. Jim always dealt fairly with his men. He never missed any sleep in self-recrimination over how he handled them.

They settled down at the table for a quiet dinner. Jim enjoyed the chicken, but he noticed Blair hardly touched his. Something was bothering the kid, but he didn't want to push right now. There were circles under the young grad student's eyes and the gash on his head, though healing nicely, made him look battle-weary and vulnerable.

After dinner, Jim did the dishes in deference to Blair's arm. Then they both sat on the sofa as Jim began channel surfing. Blair once again rummaged through the box alongside the couch, happily lost in past memories. Every so often Jim turned to him and it was all the encouragement he needed to go off on another enthusiastic replay of the days of friendship among the trees.

"Jim, you've got to see one of these trees some day. I mean it, man, they are breathtaking. They dwarf all the other trees around them and they make you feel so insignificant. I'm telling you, anyone with delusions of grandeur only needs to stand under one of these," Blair said as he pointed to one of the trees, known as the Sentinels, "and you get your priorities right pretty quickly."

"What are you saying, Chief," Jim eyed him critically, "you think I have delusions of some sort?" Jim kept his gaze level, serious, and threatening, holding back the humor that tugged his lips.

"No, man. Hey! I'm just saying there's magic here, Jim. Real magic. There's something about these trees that makes you feel there is a God and that we really are quite small in the whole scheme of things." Looking at Jim, pleading for understanding in the quiet pools of blue, he finally said, "I'm just saying you can learn a lot from them."

Holding the copper etching once again, tickled like a child at some pleasant treat, he pointed once again to the two trees, "Sentinels," he laughed, "Man, can you believe it, Jim, Sentinels."

"Now I know there are two, one made of wood, the other has leaves," Blair grinned impishly, ducking just in time, missing being struck by the flying pillow.

"You really love those trees, don't you?" Jim asked as he smiled, watching the shadows from the television set play across Blair's features, igniting areas with tiny lights.

"Jim, I never told you this before, but I've always loved trees. Sometimes trees were the only friends I had, they never turned me away. When I was little I climbed them like a little monkey." He laughed happily at a memory that flicked the pages of his mind. "Naomi would go looking for me and always look up in the trees never knowing which one I was hiding in."

"You could have fooled me, Chief, I remember sending you up to a magpie's nest and I can't remember ever hearing such bitching and moaning."

"Well, something happened, I guess it's something I should tell you about, I've been kind of meaning to, but, it's not really important, I mean...well, Naomi thinks it..."

Just then Five Alive came on the television. Once again Trudy Towers stood in front of the camera which was focused on Hargrove Hall and the student protest in front of the oaks.

"Another story unfolds before us, another story we assumed different in nature from last night's, but we find that is not so. These students are protesting the destruction of these beautiful, ancient oaks to make way for modern courtyards, but in their midst once again we find our hero, Blair Sandburg," the camera showed Blair sitting with Frank White and quickly rising when he noticed the camera was on him.

"Oh, Man, what's with her, Jim?" Blair threw the scrapbook down on the coffee table and leaned forward on his knees.

"Mr. Sandburg it seems was responsible for the salvation of the Old Man and the Little Sisters up in Fork back in the summer of '92." The camera now showed old footage of a group of students chained around a huge, Western redcedar. Jim recognized a very, young Janet in jeans and t-shirt and next to her was a laughing young man with hair down to his waist.

"It seems Mr. Sandburg is now returning this weekend to the Old Man to scatter the ashes of his friend, Janet..." Jim flicked the tv set off as Blair's face tightened in pained remembrance.

"Chief, she seems to know more about what your plans are this weekend than I do." Jim couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice.

"Oh, shit!" Blair raised his leg onto the sofa and turned to his partner, realizing the muscle indicator in Ellison's jaw was indicative of his anger.

"I just mentioned it to Frank. I was going to help them with their protest by sitting in with them this weekend, but then when the box came I wanted to do this for Janet. Jim, I just wanted him to understand why I couldn't participate and give him some ideas on how to handle his own protest. I never thought he'd mention it to Trudy."

Blair put his head down in his right hand, still resting his elbow on his knees, a picture of forlorn dejection. "She's ruining me, Jim. What did I ever do to her? Dean Wilkes all but came out and said he thought I had a drinking problem because of that segment she did the other day. It's all your fault, man, you and your mandates." Blair stood up angrily and walked to the windows looking out over the night, drifting into the reflection, bracing himself for the retort he knew was coming.

"Hold it right there, Sandburg," Jim said in an angry voice, "you needed that class and I'm not sorry I convinced you to take it. I never want to go to the morgue to identify your body, because you think you can handle driving and drinking. I admit this whole publicity got out of hand, and I'm sorry you're the target area, but I won't apologize for any methods I feel necessary to keep you safe."

Blair stood looking out the window, hurting inside. Suddenly he felt strong hands on his shoulders. "I care about you. I admit I don't always know what's right or wrong. Sometimes, Chief, I'm at a loss. We're different, we see things differently, but keeping you safe is as simple in my book as it gets. I'll do whatever it takes, whenever. That's all I really need for you to understand."

Blair saw the shadow behind him in the dark world he faced. He looked small and fragile in the forefront, an insignificant frontispiece to the tales of the city lights. The stars canopied the sky and earth blended with the night. The tall form behind him looked solid and sure, reflecting strength and confidence. Were images in glass true to form or did the juxtaposition of shape create illusions? The safe feelings those hands on his shoulders promised were no lies. Blair had seen Jim in action.

"I'm sorry, I know you're right. I needed that class, we all did. Everyone there admitted they'd been wrong. I guess I'm pretty quick to say things aren't always about you, Jim, but when they go wrong with me, it's easy to put the blame on you. I wasn't being fair."

"No, you weren't. Why don't you tell me what's really bothering you." With this, Jim steered the young man back to the sofa and pointed to the cushions. Blair sat down, leaned back, and stared up at the ceiling. He heard Jim in the kitchen opening cupboards, pouring coffee and placing a mug on the table before him. Jim was giving him time to compose his explanations and himself.

"Have you ever seen glassfish? They're in Peru, but people have them in aquariums, too. They're clear, Jim, crystal clear. You can see every bone and organ. They dye them, to add color, make them more interesting. Jim, these creatures are so delicate, so ethereal, it's unbelievable, man. Yet, it's not enough. They have to be reshaped and colored to match our view of what they should be. They die earlier because of this, but that's not important to anyone, because at least while they were here they measured up, they met the standards we put upon them." Blair sat up. He took a long sip of the hot liquid, then put the mug back down.

"It's not fair. I'm not a hero. I don't want to be one. I'm not perfect, Jim. I sometimes think you're disappointed in me because I don't always do things the way you would, but I don't want to be perfect. I don't want to be a perfect grad student, or a perfect anthropologist or a perfect human being. I want to fail occasionally, Jim. I know I was wrong to drive drunk. I know that with every fiber of my being, but I'm not sorry I crumbled over the atrocities I saw in that asylum. I want to feel and I want to be damaged by things...things like that...the horrors. If I start accepting them and dealing with them, I'm not me anymore."

"Sandburg, you reacted like I expected you to react. I don't expect anything from you. You're not a cop. How many times do we have to go over that. You see things differently. It's what I like most about you. You remind me of my own humanity, when the job makes it necessary for me to forget." Jim watched to see if his words had any impact on his friend.

"I just wanted it all behind me. I feel like such a phoney, Bess Western thanking me, Trudy calling me a quiet hero, God, Jim, I'm not anybody anymore. I just don't know who I am. Now I have people labelling me, putting me on the shelf for display, tagged and categorized, and I don't recognize the package."

"Chief, I don't have all the answers either. I can only tell you one thing, you'll never be the kid in those photos again. He's gone. You've seen too much since then, but change is good and you have to change. You have to reflect the outside forces that affect you. It's called living and growing up. I've seen you change, Chief, but you change to meet the challenges, you're not changed by them. I ve never seen you relinquish compassion, or kindness, or understanding. I've only seen you use the tools differently in each and every situation, as called for."

"Jim, I need to go tomorrow. I need to make that trip up to the Old Man, and I need to make it by myself. Please, just this once, let me handle it my own way." The blue eyes crystallized into the pleading, hurt look Jim knew so well. Beyond the soft look of need and want was a strong resolve that Ellison recognized as the steel-like structure of character and strength. Blair may look helpless, act lost, and pretend chaotic confusion, but he never lost track of reason. The determination of his spirit was evident when he set his mind to something.

"I just don't think it's a good idea, Sandburg. Can't you just wait one more week?" Jim said in a cautious tone, knowing full well Blair needed to make this trip and Jim really had no right to stop him. The school had made it perfectly clear they wanted him off campus until after parent's weekend, Trudy Towers was giving him unwanted attention, and he now had his own transportation. There was really no reason Jim could think of that he shouldn't go. Maybe this would be just what Sandburg needed to help find himself again, and discover the man he was so many summers ago.

"Please, Jim, trust me. It's between Janet and me. This time it's not about us." Blair tried to assert himself calmly, but he realized the selfish overtones of his speech. Damn it, he thought, I have a right this time to be selfish. Besides, I'd only be in Jim's way now. Trudy Towers is going to be gunning for me.

"All right. When are you leaving?" Ellison said duly irritated by his capitulance.

"Tomorrow morning. It should take me about four hours to get up there, maybe less. I'll pack some sandwiches and hopefully make it back by tomorrow night, but I'm not definite on that, Jim. I may decide to spend the night. It's an open forest and I can camp out, if it gets too cold I can alway sleep in the car."

"Money problems, right?" Jim said as he grabbed for his wallet.

"No, no way. I told you, Jim, I have to do this my way. Besides, Janet and I never had any money when we hung out that summer. This will be a fitting memorial, another journey made on a shoe string," he said as he laughed. The tension of the last few days seemed to expel itself in the smile that now creased his features. The lines of worry, stress, and pain now gave way to tender cracks of remembered joy. Jim couldn't help but notice the change and his eyes drifted to the urn sitting sentry on the coffee table. He smiled at Janet, a quiet thanks.

If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it does it make a sound? What absurdity. It rips a hole in the universe of space and time. History crashes to the earth. Birds rage towards the sky, forest creatures run with fear and horror, and the sun breaks through the canopy of leaves in a cacophony of golden screams. The whole of life within the forest is shifted and trampled, destroyed and reborn and re-nourished. A giant fell and no one heard it, yet its fall will echo through generations.

PART FIVE: TIMBER TIME

Blair woke early on Friday. Bouncing out of the bathroom with an added vim and vigor, a decided change in his demeanor, he practically skipped about his morning routine. Jim watched the manifestation, carefully monitoring his body signs. Only a sadistic fool would deny the young man this trip. It was something he definitely needed and wanted.

Coming to the table and sliding into his chair, he smiled impishly up at his friend. Jim put the eggs down in front of him. He returned to the stove to fill his own plate with the steaming, fluffy eggs. "Is the cell phone charged?" he asked.

"Yes, I told you. I have my sleeping bag, extra clothing, blankets, sandwiches, soft drinks and water. I probably won't even spend the night, but I just want you to know I've planned for it should the possibility arise and I'll be fine." Receiving a decidedly paternal look from Jim over his coffee mug, he smiled back at his concerned partner. "Jim, I've been on expeditions before and I've been camping more without you than with you. Give it a rest, man."

"Speaking of rest, that's another thing, make sure you don't overdo it. You're still healing. If the arm hurts or you get tired, pull over to the side of the road and sleep it off. Do you understand?"

"Sheesh," Blair said totally disgusted now. Looking up into the steely, no-nonsense ice blue orbs, he decided some tact would be appropriate. He didn't want Jim turning all Blessed Protector on him now. Changing approach and entry might land this baby with a lot less turbulence.

"Look, Jim, I know I'm not one hundred percent better, but this trip is what I need, believe me. This is something Janet has me doing for her, but by some strange matter of happenstance, I'm doing it for me, too. I want my energy back. I want to be whole again."

"I want you whole, too, Darwin. I'll expect you back here no later than late Saturday, understood?" This was said in a firm, authoritarian, Jim Ellison voice. The travel rules, a subroutine of house rules, were just being firmly laid down and Blair simply nodded in acquiescence.

Blair finished packing the treasures from Janet's box. He took the journal and map marking the location of the Old Man. He had outlined his route on a map for Jim the night before and Jim had also studied the map Blair was taking. Jim knew exactly where he was going, where he would camp if he spent the night, and which roads he would be taking up and back. Jim had learned long ago, not to leave anything to chance where Sandburg was concerned. If a guide was not replaceable in this Sentinel's eyes, then a friend was valued beyond measure by Jim Ellison.

"I hope you find it was just a stray bullet from some idiot shooting in the woods, Jim. I imagine Dane's about ready to climb walls," Blair said as he gently lowered the urn into his duffel bag. A moment of guilt passed through him as he considered how lucky he was to have his freedom back. Protective custody was not all it was cracked up to be on television.

"Don't work too hard," he said as he zipped up. "All set, man. I'm off." Blair shrugged into his coat, slung the backpack on his shoulder, and sheepishly looked down at the duffel. Realizing it was way too heavy to manage with his arm, he looked up and laughingly said, "Hey, man, do you mind?"

Jim shook his head and cracked a wide grin as he bent to lift the bag, "What was it you were saying about managing on your own, Darwin?"

Jim arrived at the station irritable. He didn't know exactly why, but ever since Sandburg pulled out of his parking slot, waving cheerily as he contentedly sat behind the wheel of his treasured Volvo, Jim had felt uneasy. It was not the uneasiness of worry that tugged quietly at the back laces of your mind. It was not the vague doubts that sometimes cornered you in your daily routines: things left undone, unsaid, and overlooked. It was the abrasive sensation of an ill wind. He felt a deep concern for his friend as he drove off on his mission of promise and remembrance.

The station was filled with usual morning routines. Brown and Rafe were talking in a corner about a date Rafe was eagerly looking forward to on Saturday night. Rhonda was back from her family emergency and she was fencing calls for Simon, patient and knowledgeable as only a good secretary can be. He allowed his hearing to drift. It seemed to be centering itself in Simon's office. He didn't usually listen in on his captain's phone conversations, but it was the color again, hunter green, that caught his attention. Then as he focused more clearly, he recognized Naomi's voice. He looked up and saw Simon motioning for him to come in. The look of urgency on the dark face made Jim hurry.

Blair felt great. He rolled the windows down in the Volvo and the clear, cool beginnings to October freshened his spirits as well. He couldn't remember feeling so alive in the last several months. All the horrors and physical pain he had suffered were now behind him. This was what it was all about. This was the feeling he remembered from his early days, the protest days, the days of freedom and friendship, causes and ideals. Besides, he reminded himself, it's good to be doing something just for me for a change. Something Jim has no control over. Hell, Jim's not the type of man who would understand this.

It took him four hours to get up to the road that led into the forest. Janet had driven her old Mustang convertible up here, piled high with provisions and sleeping bags and chains and locks. In those days he had been so young, so naive. Now he knew that there were darker sides to the world. There were places where protests and banners and people joining in a cause made no impression. That's why there were men like Jim and Simon. They knew the language of this dark side and it was more often spoken out of the barrel of a gun. He could no more have reasoned with Arthur Pogue and Abe Mazorelski than he could have reasoned with the devil himself. Maybe Jim didn't understand the quiet troopers of opposition who simply made their feelings known, but when the bullets flew and there were no rules of ettiquette, Blair didn't want anyone around him more than Jim.

He took the turnoff slowly and decreased the pressure on the gas pedal. The bumpy road jarred the car violently. He slowed even more, not wanting to put the old bones through any more trauma. A slick slide down into a pond was enough of a roller coaster ride for the green car.

He cautiously moved forward. The road had not changed all that much in the past six years. Once the resort lost their battle with the ecological protesters, the bad publicity had cornered them in the public eye. They eventually decided the bad press would keep college professors, professional activists, and the upwardly mobile and educated from booking rooms. In a park-like setting known for three giant trees, this was not good marketing. The trees remained untouched and in their natural state.

Blair drove leaning forward on the steering wheel, looking up as he drove through the dense forest. The road cut a small path, ridges on both sides sinking deep into the earth, along the forest floor. Blair knew it would be just up ahead, he braced himself for the reaction he knew would take his breath away.

Then he was there, the forest opened up. Small trees lined his vision against the horizon. Straight ahead to the right a giant Western redcedar stretched up to the sky. Blair raised his head and peered up the long expanse, he felt tears welling in his eyes, he felt the old passions stirring, the acknowledgment of his own awe. This was magic. This was his first Sentinel, the one before Jim, the one he called his own. He committed his soul to this one, just like he committed to Jim. "Hey, Old Man," he said out loud, "Janet and I have come back." With that he started crying. Huge tears raced down his cheeks and he realized that for the first time he was mourning for his friend.

When Jim entered Simon's office, his captain pointed a finger to the chair in front of his desk. Jim closed the door and sat. "Naomi, I'm going to put you on the speakerphone. Jim's here. I'm sure he knew nothing about this. Start your story over." He pushed a button and hung up the handset.

"Jim?" came Naomi's voice over the speaker.

"Naomi. How are you?" Jim said as he raised his hands and eyebrows in a query.

Simon just shook his head, indicating Jim should listen.

"Jim, he didn't tell you, did he? Blair never told you about Hunter Green?" Naomi's voice was strained, worried.

"No. Naomi, why don't you tell me what's going on here?" Now Jim's face showed concern, as he listened.

"When Blair was eight he fell out of Mrs. Danbush's tree and broke his arm. That I suppose was the catalyst of this whole thing. We lived in a lot of communes and group houses in the seventies. Blair met a lot of people and he got along well with most of them. Except one man---Hunter Green. He hated Blair for no apparent reason. I was living with a man, Drew Calvert at the time. Drew was a great guy and Blair and he got along well. It was a communal house. There were several of us living there, including Hunter. Hunter was a Vietnam vet home from the war and an active protester. He was mean, Jim, really mean. He reminded me a lot of Charles Manson, the hypnotic eyes, making him look mad all the time." Naomi stopped for a few moments, composing herself.

"Naomi, take it easy. Tell us what's going on so we can help." Simon tried to be the voice of reason. The look on his best detective's face told him reason was fast flying out the window on that side of the room. Jim's jaw muscle was rapidly pounding out a message, one that right now bore close watching.

"Yes, of course, I'm sorry. I'm just worried about him. Is he okay, Jim?"

"Yeah, I just saw him and he's fine. Tell me what this has to do with Blair and Hunter Green?"

"I was called away for a few days, a personal, family matter that I didn't want Blair being involved in. Drew offered to watch him. Drew was a photographer and cameraman for an underground newspaper. He often let Blair take his video camera and play with it. My son also had a passion for climbing trees. He often perched in the neighbor's apple tree, at least that's where I found him on more than one occasion. I even called him my Little Monkey." Naomi let out a soft laugh.

"While I was gone Blair video'd a robin's nest in the eaves of the attic room where we were staying with Hunter and some other friends. He must have been watching the mother make her nest for some time. I'm sure he saw and heard a lot from his little eagle's nest above the world. There was a terrorist bombing several days after I left, a local war memorial. One passerby was injured. When Drew viewed the film a week later, he saw the bird's nest Blair had filmed from Mrs. Danbush's tree, but when he adjusted the picture he had a clear view of Hunter in the attic room hiding explosives in the crossbeams. Drew turned the tape into the police and Hunter was convicted of the bombing. We were activists, Jim, not killers. Hunter had many friends who supported what he was doing, people like himself who didn't care who they hurt. The next week Blair fell out of the tree and broke his arm. When some of Hunter's friends visited him in jail and told him this, he put two and two together. He swore if he ever got out he would pay Drew and Blair both back. Jim, I just found out that Drew is missing. I told Blair to tell you about Hunter being paroled, just so you could keep an eye on him. I never should have trusted him to do that. I should have told you, myself." Now Naomi was crying, "Please, Jim, please take care of him. Keep an eye on him for me, please."

"Yes. I'm going to do just that Naomi, don't worry."

Simon finished up the conversation with Naomi, taking down a number where she could be reached. When he hit the button terminating the connection, he turned to Ellison.

"Do you believe the kid," he said angrily. "After the lecture I just gave him about coming to me with problems, he has the nerve...When I get my hands on that ...where the hell is Sandburg anyway, Jim?" Simon finally brought his tirade under control realizing the focal point of his aggression was nowhere in sight.

"He's on his way up to Fork. Then the bullet wasn't for Dane, it was for Blair, all along," Jim said as he quickly went into full military mode.

"It would seem that way, Jim, but we can't rule out an attempt on Dane's life either at this point. We don't even know if this Hunter Green is here."

"He's here and Blair knew it. I saw the parole papers on my desk. Let's get a copy of Trudy Towers' tape. Maybe there's more footage in Benaro's that night. Maybe Hunter was there."

"Jim with your abilities, you mean you never heard any of these phone conversations the kid had with Naomi?" Simon said, shaking his head in bewilderment.

"Sir, I heard bits and pieces, but I don't listen in on Sandburg's every conversation. Hell, I try to give the kid some privacy. Besides, when Naomi calls, she seems to do all the talking." Ellison seemed irritated with the question. Then he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Damn it, Simon, I admit I was suspicious. I admit I questioned him several times after the phone calls. He had ample opportunity to confide in me."

Then Jim seemed to growl, directing the anger at himself, "I should have kept closer tabs on him, knowing he was still hurting."

"Well, let's not worry about the hows and whys, let's just pull the kid back to safety." Simon pushed his phone and started rattling off a list of instructions for Rhonda. He called Rafe and Henry in and in a matter of minutes, Major Crimes was alive with action. The purpose of protecting one of their own, compounding the urgency for information.

The early autumn air was cool and crisp. Blair took the small cooler he had brought filled with sandwiches and soft drinks. He slowly slid it along the ground towards the Littlest Sister. These two Alaska cedars that were known as the Little Sisters did not quite reach the height or girth of the Old Man. They made it in the record books as Big Trees, but they still fell short of their impressive neighbor. Still having three of the big trees so close together was phenomenal in Blair's mind and he loved this trio.

The smallest cedar of the two had a hollowed out area in her base. It was big enough for several people to walk into, only the tallest of men would have had to stoop. Within this hollow base, Blair dragged the cooler. If he did decide to spend the night here, he had every intention of sleeping within the base of this tree.

Making the short distance to the Volvo, he unzipped the duffle in the trunk. The Volvo was not an ultra-terrain vehicle and he had no intention of abusing her anymore than he already had. Carefully piling up blankets, a sweatshirt, and extra socks, he compiled only what he would need for the night. Several trips were going to be needed, since his left arm was already expressing its displeasure over the abuse. The low growl coming from his midsection reminded him it was well-past noon.

Returning to the hollow, he opened the cooler and pulled out a sandwich and apple. Taking a bottle of spring water, he made his way to the base of the Old Man. Slowly lowering himself down next to his lunch, he leaned his head back and looked up, and up, and up into the leaves over two hundred and fifty feet above him. A sense of peace came over him. A quiet knowledge filled his troubled mind with a surety and forcefulness long gone with his idealistic youth, or so he had thought. Now he realized how easy it was to reinvent yourself when you found a missing piece. One small memory buried beneath the folds of commitment, responsibilities, disappointments and the chaos of everyday life, and you could literally lose yourself in the mayhem. Find that one missing piece, the one clarifier of the simple, true you, and, boys and girls, we're back in business.

Looking down, his eye still held the golden glow of the sunlight. The warm ring that imprints itself upon the mind's eye when looking at the sun and attributes the impression on all that is viewed. For one brief moment, he saw Janet walking towards him. Her bright face gently creased with laugh lines. Then she was gone and the ache inside him returned.

Filling his belly, refreshing his body, he felt a warm contentment spread through him. The day was perfect. Cooling breezes swirled the leaves around him. This was basically a dense part of forest, but the area right around the great trees was cleared, a small field of open space that welcomed the sunlight. In back of the Old Man and beyond the Little Sisters the denseness resumed, coloring the forest black and forbidding. Blair was thankful his mission delivered him into the warmth. He didn't think he'd want to be alone in those dark, thick woods.

Simon, Jim, Rafe and Henry sat in Simon's office viewing the tape Randy Jarvis had filmed in Benaro's and at the crash site. Jim started filtering out sounds. At one point as the camera panned to follow Bess Western out, the dark shadows of the bar were trapped on film.

"Hold it, pan back, hold it right there." He focused his vision. From the ordinary eye view a vague shadow could be made out at a back table, but to a Sentinel, turning his vision on, the figure became a clear shape and a detailed face. He looked down at the picture of Hunter Green each of them had before them. "It's him. Hunter Green was following Blair. He was in Benaro's that night. He must have followed Dane's van and he was the shooter."

"Okay, so we know Blair was the target," Simon said as he took a deep puff on his cigar, "but he's off in the woods. Nobody knows about this trip of his, do they?"

"Simon, Trudy Towers' did a follow-up segment on a University protest. Blair just happened to be there. The kid mentioned to one of his former students that he was going up to the Old Man. If Green saw that telecast, he knows exactly where Sandburg is going to be this weekend."

"Since when did Sandburg become so popular?" Simon asked, totally put out with the series of events that had started spiralling out of control since he went away for one day. "Damn it, Jim, I leave for twenty-four hours and the quiet spell ends. Sandburg would have to be the match that starts this little fire."

"Well, right now I just want to find him. He'll experience all the heat he could want when this is over with," Jim said in an angry voice.

When Blair woke up, the sun was considerably lower in the sky. The warmth of the day was chilling slowly with the shadows now cast around him. Rising slowly, he walked to the Volvo. He pulled out a thick sweater and jacket. If it got any colder, he would have to sleep in the car. He was perfectly willing to spend the night out, but he wasn't exactly into cold and wet. Rain or bitter temperatures may even have him on the road home by this evening.

Taking the urn with Janet's ashes from his backpack, he placed the brass container in the hollow of the Littlest Sister. Returning back to the Old Man, he threw his right arm around the tree, placing his cheek against the rough bark. In his mind it was '92 and he could hear Janet laughing as they all gave the tree a group hug, "He knows, I can feel him, Blair, he knows what we did for him." Opening his eyes he could see her face next to his, smiling, laughing, passing her joy and knowledge on to him.

"Oh, Janet, I'm so sorry." The tears rolled down his cheeks and he closed his eyes again savoring the pain and loss. Knowing that memories were all that he had left, he chose to handle them with care. Memories could be precious treasures, Blair knew, and he wanted them taken out and dusted off occasionally. Janet was too good a friend to be forgotten.

"My, my. How touching."

Blair jumped and turned around, bracing his back against the tree. A tall man of about fifty stood six yards from him. He carried a rifle and a large, heavy backpack. At first Blair thought it might be a hunter, illegally about his craft, but there was something familiar in the green eyes. The hair was long and grey. The beard was excessive, but neatly trimmed, speckled with black. Then he gave Blair the peace sign and turned his hand upside down, the classic, mocking gesture of Hunter Green.

"Well, if it isn't the Little Monkey. How I've waited for this reunion."

"Hunter, it's been twenty years, man. I was a kid. I was eight-years-old. I never knew what was on that video." Blair tried to reason with the man, whom he knew from past experience could not be reasoned with. Blair remembered the instant dislike Hunter had taken to him. At one point he had actually told Naomi to keep her brat away from him.

"You and Drew, you guys were real buddy-buddy that summer, weren't you?" Hunter started approaching, keeping the gun aimed at Blair.

"Drew was good to me. He liked me. What's wrong with that? It kept me out of your way." Blair started to get his spirit back. He didn't like having a gun pointed at him, but he hated this man who had often made his days that summer miserable.

"Well, kiddo, I'm glad you feel that way. Becaaaaussse," he dragged the word out like a game show host presenting the choice prize, "you are going to be a team in my little game today." Hunter started laughing, a diabolical, evil laugh that sent chills down Blair's spine.

"Strip---take everything off, except your underwear."

"Are you crazy? It's 40 degrees and dropping." Blair realized too late calling Hunter "crazy" was like telling the cauldron it was hot.

The gun was redirected at his foot. "We can play the game with a handicap, a little extra handicap," he said as he motioned to the cast, "you keep up that uncooperative attitude, Little Monkey."

Blair realized Hunter would have no reservations about shooting his foot. He slowly began to strip. When he got down to his boxers and t-shirt, Green halted him. "That's enough, you were wearing shorts and a t-shirt that summer. We want to re-enact. We're going for poetic justice here. I thought you'd like my sense of humor. I've followed your progress for the twenty years I rotted in that prison, you and Drew. I have a lot of friends from the old days. Especially these last six months, when I was paroled. Man, you have been a busy little busybody Monkey. Haven't you?"

"I have friends, man. I have a friend you're not going to want to meet." Blair used Jim's image as a shield against this man. Just reminding himself of his Blessed Protector helped calm his nerves, but he realized Jim didn't even know about Hunter. He should have told Simon and Jim. If only there were second chances, he would go back to start and play this game differently.

"Oh, yeah, your cop friend. Hey, Monkey, you're not going to believe this but I knew your Detective Ellison. I met him one time while coming home from Nam. He was just getting ready to be shipped out on some secret, Co-vert Ops mission. Boy, those guys thought they were cool shit. They didn't know the hell us boys in Nam had seen. They couldn't begin to imagine."

"Jim's seen things, too. You always thought everyone owed you something, Hunter. Why don't you just drop this whole thing and try to get on with your life. Don't you think you've let the war drag you down enough already," Blair said as he started shivering in the cool breeze. His bare feet prickled on the pine needles, cones, and twigs that scattered around the base of the Old Man.

"No, one little game. One little adventure for you, Monkey." He motioned with the butt of his gun for Blair to start walking into the deep, dark woods beyond the Sisters. "Let's go. Move it!" Hunter raised his voice in anger as he jabbed the gun into Blair's lower back.

Blair started the procession into the dense regions of the forest. The hard stones and needles beneath the foilage pierced his tender flesh. Whatever game Hunter had in mind, Blair was not destined for any big prizes. In his heart, he felt a sadness. Where had the spunk and attitude gone, the creative edge that saw him through so many messes without Jim's help, the small bright spaces in time that allowed him to ward off evil until Jim could make the final entrance, slay the dragons and save the day. Where had the magic of his existence gone? Where were the pyrotechnics in the pockets of his soul that illuminated the darkest hours and flamed with ingenuity and promise. How could he have misplaced himself so completely.

The wind picked up as the sun drifted off to seek its own repose beyond the horizon. The forest stilled with the strange presence, hushing the nocturnal sounds into compliance with the drama of the hour. Blair started shivering violently. The soft cotton boxers and white t-shirt gave him no protection against the cold.

"Oh, can't have you freezing to death, not so soon." Hunter took out a small whiskey bottle tucked inside his jacket. "Hold it," he said harshly to the figure walking ahead of him. "You need to warm yourself." He handed the bottle to Blair who looked at it, the incongruity of the gift out of character.

Hunter noticed the questioning look, "Oh, don't worry, I'm not having any change of heart. The games go on. I just think in view of your recent "drunk" driving class, finding you stinking drunk might add my own dose of poignancy to this little tragedy." Hunter then started laughing like a man who had lost his mind.

When he noticed Blair not willing to take the offered gift, he straightened with a serious face. "No, no, can't have any resistence, little man. Here's the deal." Now he swung the huge backpack from around his shoulders and deposited it gently in front of the trembling form. He reached in and pulled out two cylinders. "I don't know if a little sissified mama's boy like you recognizes this, but it's napalm. Not much rain around here lately," he paused for effect as he looked around, concern marring his features into a tight grimace. "One little fire and this whole forest will be ash, just like your little friend Janet Myers." When he saw the surprised look on Blair's face, he chuckled, "Oh, yes indeedy, I know about all your little playmates."

He repacked the items in the rucksack and came up to Blair's face, pressing his nose against Blair's "DRINK THE GODDAM WHISKEY OR I BURN YOUR FUCKING OLD MAN AND ALL THE FUCKING TREES IN THIS FOREST!"

Blair's face stamped fear wide and even in his features, leaving no doubt upon his tormentor's mind that he had received the message loud and clear. Blair reached a trembling hand and took the bottle. He uncapped it and took a swallow.

Coughing violently, he bent over fearing he would vomit on his captor and suffer far worse consequences. Hunter laughed, "You'll get used to it, Monkey boy. Keep drinking as you walk. I want you good and wasted for the main event. You drop that bottle," Hunter interjected as though reading Blair's mind, "I'll rub your face in the dirt and make you lick it up, glass and all. Then we'll warm ourselves by the fire, if you get my drift."

Blair walked forward, the liquor beginning to dull the cold, as well as his senses. Reasoning became a blur, fragmented sentences flipping across his mind, nothing coalescing into a sensible thought. Then he felt his mind shift levels. There was a peaceful valley amid the fear and chaos of his thoughts, he allowed his mind to rest within the folds, finding warmth in one lonely thought: Jim will come.

We all have childhood friends, following us through our lives sometimes, matching us stride for stride. Gauging our progess by their sorrows, losses, and achievements, we measure ourselves in their eyes. We pick up new friends along the way and many times within the seams the stitches are the same. We choose the style that fits our needs in friends as well as clothes---common designs of shape and form that complement our own. The task before you, my friends of trees, to choose your friends today---when in childhood's sweet memory, giants held up your skies.

PART SIX: UPROOTING A SENTINEL

Jim Ellison was driving his old Ford. Simon grabbed the door strap for the hundredth time since leaving Cascade. Ellison drove like a madman, raging and inconsistent in the best of times. When his Guide was in danger, the man was a general nuisance to all. Simon sighed and swore, "God damn it, Jim! SLOW DOWN!"

The dour face turned to him, grimaced in frustration, then softened by the slight voice of reason when he saw Simon tautly holding on. "Sorry, sir, but he must have been right behind him if he was following his every move, like we suspect. If he hurts him, so help me God, Simon, I'll kill him"

"Detective, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Simon said trying to throw some reason across the chasm of desperation and rebellion, hoping Ellison had the sense to grab hold.

The bridge came down, reason regained control as Jim relaxed his grip on the steering wheel and eased his foot up on the gas. The truck proceeded along at breakneck speed instead of warp.

"Hold it! This is as far as we go." Hunter laid his rucksack down, still keeping the gun pointed at Blair. He motioned at the bottle still clutched in the young anthropologist's hand. "Drink up. The game's starting."

Blair couldn't handle any more of the burning liquid. He felt his stomach rise up as he brought the bottle to his lips. Forcing a deep breath into his lungs to steady his queasy stomach he took another long swallow. Swaying a little with fatigue and the effects of the liquor, he wiped his hand across his mouth. The cold winds now burned upon his skin and the warm, amber liquid coursed through him with languid warmth. Curling up and sleeping is what he wanted to do more than anything right now.

A sharp slap caught him across the face. He jerked his head up as Hunter brought the hand back for another crack. "No, stop!" Blair said as he tried to back away.

"Don't get sleepy on me," Hunter said with a satisfactory grin. "I need to explain the rules to you, then once the game begins, you can sleep all you want, but I wouldn't advise it."

Hunter pulled a snapshot out of his jacket. Pushing it in front of Blair's face, he grabbed a fistful of hair at the base of Blair's neck and held both the head and photo steady. "See, do you recognize your friend, Drew?"

Blair's eyes blurred with the alcohol, and without his glasses he had trouble focusing. Then the image came in clear. It was a man badly beaten, chained to a wall by his ankle, in what looked like a cellar. "That's Drew. You see, Drew's in his own little prison cell right now, and he needs you to get him out."

"I admit, at first I just shot out the tires. I wanted to scare you, but I figured if you died in a crash, so be it. Drew was due for a long, slow death, very reminiscent of your Asylum discovery. I had him tucked away before coming to Cascade. Then when you survived and still came out the little, tarnished hero, I figured we needed a hollywood moment here, equal to your exciting little life. I figured we'd see what you could do, Monkey, when another life was in your hands."

Hunter pulled Blair back by the hair he still clutched. He forced his head to look up into the trees. The setting sun and density of the forest dimmed the light, but in the high reaches of the branches Blair could make out an arrow with golden feathers piercing the bark. "You see that arrow up there, Monkey boy. Well, there is a piece of paper with the address where Drew can be found. No time limit, really, but I wouldn't push my luck past another twenty-four hours. What you need to do, is climb the tree and get the paper. Then I let you live. You can run off and be the little hero again. Drew should be running out of food and water about now. Then I disappear."

"I can't climb up there," Blair said. "Please, Hunter, be reasonable. I have a broken arm, I'm cold and I'm woosy from the liquor. I can't do it."

The tall man grabbed Blair roughly by the shouders and spun him around. "YOU GOD DAMN WILL DO IT! YOU LOVE TREE CLIMBING SO DAMN MUCH!"

Then he composed himself, with a soft chuckle. "Wooo, have to keep it cool. Sorry about that, Little Monkey, but I know how much you love trees and you either get your ass up there now or I burn you and this whole damn forest to the ground. Drew dies of starvation or dehydration or whatever."

He turned Blair around again and pushed him roughly to the base of the large oak. "Now climb, damn it!"

Blair shivered against the cold air and against the madness around him. He reached up with his right arm and grabbed a hold of the lowest branch. No purchase could be made with his bare feet and several times his foot slipped on the slivered bark of the trunk and he cried out in pain. Warm blood trickled from his feet and his calf was scraped and bloody, and he hadn't even made it off the ground, yet. Hunter stood by and laughed like madmen laugh at the moon.

Jim pulled the truck up behind the Volvo. Both men immediately exited. Jim stood by and motioned for Simon to be quiet. Then he moved towards the base of the Old Man.

"Jim, what is it?" Simon asked, unzipping his jacket, readying his reach for the gun at his side.

Jim picked up the clothes that Blair had shed. The shoes and socks, sweater, flannel shirt, and jeans, were carefully touched, lovingly examined. "They're still faintly warm. Hell, Simon he's out there with practically nothing on." Then Jim looked at the ground. Seeing the larger boots marking the ground around the area, he realized Hunter had arrived.

Turning his head slowly, focusing his hearing, he froze as he pinpointed the sounds deep in the wooded area. "Please, I can't go any higher. Iiiitt's cold and I can't do it anymore. YOU'RE CRAZY, MAN."

"Then Drew dies and the forest burns, little man." The other voice said with jeering glee.

The pleading, defeated sounds coming from his friend, spurred him to action. "Simon, it's Sandburg. He's in trouble." Then both men, guns drawn, a duet of concern and practiced protection, ran off towards the enveloping darkness.

Blair was more than half way up the tree. Most of his body was scraped, cut, or openly bleeding. The thin boxers and once, white t-shirt barely covered his body. Several of the toe nails on his feet were ripped and bloody. Pain screamed through every inch of his body, cold drilled its bitter path into his veins, the liquor and the night called to him in sweet, soft whispers. He wanted to curl up on the branch and sleep. Oblivion was a welcomed world where he walked masterfully in denial. Long acquainted now with her loving embrace, he gladly would have joined her forever right now. One thought pushed him forward---Drew. Another person needed him, he just needed to reach the top.

Looking down, a wave of dizziness overrode his sense of balance. The giddy sensation and lightheadedness of his drunken state exacerbated the vertigo. He wobbled on the precipice of a great fall. Steeling himself with a deep breath, he reached up for the next branch bracing his left foot against the trunk, trying to lift his right leg up and over the higher branch. Finally, he threw his left arm over the branch and hanging by his arm pits he slowly brought his body up and his leg over. Now he straddled the branch like a bareback rider in a circus. The blood from his chest, legs, arms and hands now comingled. His body resembled that of someone being flayed.

Simon ran along behind Jim, following the Sentinel's lead. Suddenly Jim halted, stopping Simon dead in his tracks. "What is it?" Simon whispered.

"Quiet! They're right up ahead."

Now both men crouched low as they approached the soft sounds coming from just ahead. Jim focused in close on the scene before him. He saw a man in fatigues pacing back and forth in front of a huge oak brandishing an army issue rifle. On the ground he saw a rucksack overflowing, protruding out of it were a bow and arrows. Turning his hearing on full, he heard the heavy breathing and soft gasps of pain, but more importantly he recognized the one heartbeat in all the world that snagged his attention like no other could. Blair. Looking up he saw the barely-clad grad student making his agonizing climb.

Fearing all forms of reprisal on Blair if he made his presence known, Jim motioned for Simon to stay put. Visually tracking his plan in the air with his fingers he presented his maneuver to Simon who merely nodded his understanding.

Jim crouched lower and headed off to the right of Simon. The tall Captain stayed in position awaiting the signal from Jim, his gun drawn should the need arise to go into action sooner.

When he saw Jim wave across the circle, directly opposite him, Simon picked up a stone and threw it as far off to the left as he could. Hunter turned aiming the gun abruptly, seeking focus and target in one trained-military move, crouching into the pirouette. Jim raced across the short expanse and brought Hunter down, knocking the rifle from his hands. Simon ran forward, giving cover.

The older man, long institutionalized was no match for the younger man, let alone an enraged Sentinel protecting his Guide. Jim started hammering the man unmercifully.

"JIM! STOP IT! THAT'S AN ORDER!"

Then Simon grabbed the deaf avenger by his shirt collar and hauled him off his victim. Hunter's face was bloody and the man was barely conscious.

"Just cuff him, Jim. This isn't helping Sandburg."

That brought Ellison out of his stupor. He turned and looked up still watching Blair trying to climb higher. Simon knelt down and cuffed Hunter's hands behind his back, seeing Jim's attention elsewhere.

"BLAIR! Stop right there. You don't need to climb anymore. It's okay, Hunter's taken care of."

When it appeared that the grad student hadn't heard him, he gave Simon a desperate look. "BLAIR SANDBURG! It's Simon and Jim. It's okay, Sandburg, everything's going to be all right."

Blair seemed to finally realize the voice he heard wasn't a dream. Jim and Simon really had come. He looked down from the branch he stood on, hugging the trunk of the tree, expecting the vertigo that he knew would assail him.

"Oh, man," his voice cracked in emotional relief, "Oh, am I glad to see you guys, but I've got to go higher. Hunter buried Drew alive. The location is on the piece of paper up there, held in place with the yellow arrow." He stopped to wipe the sweat from his forehead. As cold as he was, he still felt the clammy, water dripping down his face. Then in an impassioned plea for understanding, he said, "I don't want to, man, but I have to. I have to save Drew."

"SANDBURG!" Jim's voice echoed through the night, anger filling the sound with density. "I can see the damn note from here. Remember. Now stop climbing."

Blair seemed to finally realize what Jim was trying to say to him. He looked down and started laughing, at first a slow laughter at a joke one has just gotten, then in hysterical bursts that threatened to topple him.

Jim looked at Simon. "We need to get him down from there. Simon, there's a blanket and nylon rope in the boot of the truck, would you mind, sir?"

"Sure, Jim." Simon turned to race off, then he halted, looked back at Hunter and pointed a threatening finger at Jim. "He'd better be alive when I get back." Not really feeling his best detective would murder a handcuffed prisoner, but making sure the warning touched all the bases, he waited until he saw the nod of acquiescence.

Where Sandburg was concerned, Simon knew Jim functioned on another level. Perhaps it was the atavistic sense of survival of Sentinel protecting his Guide, or maybe the bond of friendship that made men soulmates in the deepest sense of the word. Whatever, he knew Jim could become an unreasonable killing machine when in Blessed Protector mode.

Jim took the bow and arrows out of the rucksack. He lined them up. "Listen to me, Blair. When Simon returns with the rope, I'm going to shoot it up to you. I want you to sit down on the branch."

He watched as Blair carefully sat down, hugging the trunk of the tree as though his life depended upon it. Positioned securely, he looked down at Jim. "Okay, man, I'm ready."

When Simon returned with the nylon rope, Jim secured it to the tip of the arrow, knowing the weight of the rope might throw his aim. "Blair, move over along the branch as far out as you can get from the trunk. I'm not sure how much leeway the shot will require, but I don't want to snag myself a guide."

"Hey, man, me neither," Blair called back. Some of his spirit was returning, now that a portion of the ordeal was in Jim's hands.

Jim took careful aim, he gauged the strength required to carry the extra weight and watched as the rope missed the trunk but fell over the top branch above Blair. Good enough, he sighed in relief.

Blair grabbed the rope and pulled it to him. He waved the prize high in the air, proud of his Sentinel.

"Sandburg, tie it around the limb your sitting on. Wrap it around several times, then knot it."

Blair did as he was told. "Jim, are you sure you know where Drew is....I mean, man, you're not just telling me that you can see up there, are you?" Blair asked in a pathetically, small voice, too scared to hear all, but one answer.

"Sandburg, have you no faith in my abilities?" Jim asked him, gently.

"For God's sake, kid, he's a sentinel. Aren't you always telling him and me what he can do." Simon added, partially frustrated, but partially patient and cajoling.

Blair nodded. Jim looked up once again at the paper blowing in the wind. He focused deep, then aloud he said: "7534 Conway, Calgary. The cellar floor in the garage."

Blair brightened, "Yeah, man, that's where Drew was from---Calgary." Now he knew Jim was not giving him a snow job, he could read the paper. Blair didn't need to make the impossible climb to the top to save Drew's life.

"Jim, I don't think I can make it down. I'm cold, tired, and most of my flesh is ripped and bleeding." Blair said this as he examined his arms and legs.

"You don't have to, I'm coming up for you." Taking the hunter's knife he found in the pack, he cut a large hole in the middle of the blanket. Stuffing the blanket inside the empty rucksack, he hoisted it upon his back. Then he grabbed the rope and climbed. Keeping his body in excellent shape at all times, remembering the military training courses he had aced, he made the 30-foot climb in no time.

Jim stood on the sturdy branch below the one Blair sat on. "Scootch back to the trunk, Chief." When Blair positioned himself above Jim, the Sentinel handed him the blanket and tossed the backpack to the forest floor. "Wrap yourself up."

He waited while Blair pulled the blanket over his head like a poncho. "Thanks, Jim. I don't like cold."

"Okay, Chief, here's the part where you trust me. You think you can do that?"

"Of course, Jim. I trust you with my life."

Jim let go of the rope and braced himself facing the trunk. Blairs legs were dangling near Jim's back. "When I say 'go,' drop down gently, Chief, and wrap your arms around my neck. Do it nice and easy, don't worry about hurting me. Just don't panic, I promise, I won't let go."

"Oh, man, Jim, I don't think I like that idea." Sandburg said, a quivering resonance in his voice.

"Blair, you have to trust me." Jim looked up directly into Blair's eyes. For one brief moment Blair saw a determination and promise that seemed to burn through his soul. Whatever magic that gaze held, quelled his fears, and he slowly nodded, not breaking the contact.

"Okay, say when before I lose my nerve."

"NOW!" Jim felt Blair's arms reach down and barely touch his shoulders, then he felt Blair lean forward some more, falling onto him, grabbing Jim's neck as his backside lost purchase on the branch seat.

"Hey, man, take it easy. I don't like heights. Jim, don't let go."

"Close your eyes, Chief, and your mouth. Just enjoy the elevator ride and hang on."

Testing the security of the rope one last time, Jim pushed off from the branch, and started a mountain climber's descent. When they landed, Simon grabbed Blair, the blanket barely covering him, and pulled him off of Jim. He wouldn't relinquish his hold. "Blair, let go. You're on the ground."

Once he realized he was safe and on terra firma, he seemed to deflate. Jim turned just in time to catch him as he fell forward, finally embracing the oblivion he sought.

When he passes from this world it will not cease to spin, the sun will shine and clouds will drift. His passing shall not one whit diminish this whole realm. No marker need define the spot where silent rest he found. The trees above will honor him as proof enough he was. No glory need his name evoke; no accolades to him. He needs not praise or thanks from us, his service was his call. And if in silent, painful awe, you think on him and grieve, having found a friend in you, is all the tribute that he needs.

EPILOGUE

Blair solemnly spread the ashes as he walked slowly around the base of the Old Man. Tears gently streaked his face as he bit his lower lip trying to regain control. Looking up briefly he saw his two friends standing off by the Little Sisters, giving him the privacy and solitude only grief allows. Raising his head, looking high up into the branches that topped the world, he said his last goodbye, "Bye Janet, keep the peace and save a place for me." Then he reached out and touched the Old Man, "Keep her with you, Old Man, and she lives forever. Goodbye, my friends."

Turning, he was struck with how small Jim and Simon looked beneath the towering trees. He had always seen them as giants. He knew that things were relative in life, and it all boiled down to perspective. Realizing that in time he might be mourning Jim or Simon, grief cut his heart sharply, unmercifully, and he paused briefly to regain some balance to his soul.

Wearing soft slippers, his feet bandaged, hell, most of his body cut or bruised, he walked slowly. Jim had bought him a jogging suit several sizes too big. The soft cotton didn't scratch the open, tender flesh. Jim and Simon had taken him to a local clinic once he touched down upon the earth again. They had unceremoniously placed Hunter in the flatbead, securing him with rope to the metal frame. Simon had contacted the Calgary Police and Drew was found, alive, but traumatized. Rafe had come up with Henry and they had driven Blair's Volvo back down, collecting his clothes and supplies. The urn sat safely tucked in the tree hollow along with Janet's ashes. Blair had refused to return to Cascade until he fulfilled Janet's wish. After spending one night in the small hospital, Jim and Simon had checked out of their motel and agreed to allow him this last mission before safely returning him to the loft.

"Hey, Chief, you okay?" Putting his arm around his friend, drawing him close against his body, easing the pain onto his own shoulders, Jim walked beside him.

"Yeah, man, I'm okay. She was a good person, Jim. I wish you could have known her."

Escorting him in the simple gesture away from the grief and loneliness he knew his friend now suffered, Ellison monitored his vital signs. He slowed his step in deference to the wobbling gait Sandburg displayed.

"It'll take time, Blair, but you'll be able to think of her with fond memories and warm thoughts some day. You just never allowed yourself the chance to grieve. I was handling Incacha's death and you were helping me deal with it. I'm sorry I was so selfish, and you're right," Jim said stopping for a moment, looking down into the sad eyes, "it's not always about me and it shouldn't be. You're entitled to your place in the scheme of things."

"Jim, I didn't mean that 'being always about you' bit the way it came out, I was just claiming my space. You're my friend," Blair said with a sincerity that cut Jim with its intensity.

"No apologies, Chief, no regrets. Come on, we've got a city to protect, and the way I look at it, Sandburg, it's at least a two-man operation," he said as he playfully scattered the curls beneath his shoulder.

"Hey, you two," Simon piped in as he joined them on their march back to the old Ford truck, "how about a three-man operation. Every team needs a leader, and, Gentlemen, I'm it." Simon paused displaying a wicked grin. "I know no one ever listens to me, but I must be the Captain, I make more money."

"Yeah, sir, thanks for reminding me. Maybe you can expend some of that generous nature and the glowing attributes of leadership and buy your team some dinner. It's going to be a long four hours." Jim grinned across the top of Sandburg's head.

"Yeah, Simon, to show your support of the troops, your appreciation for all their service and hard work," Blair encouraged.

"I wouldn't be starting anything, Sandburg, you and I are due for another sit-down and this one I'm going to do on one of my bad days. We have issues to get settled before you can continue working with Jim. Do I make myself clear?" Simon delivered the serious warning.

Before Blair could answer, Jim tapped him on the shoulder. "Chief, that's going to be the easy part. Simon only gets a crack at you when I'm done. This time I'm going to get through to you, no matter what I have to do. Got it?" Blair gulped once, then nodded.

"Of course, when your mom gets done with you, there might not be anything left for Simon and me...."

"Oh shit, Naomi!" Blair almost stopped with that revelation. "Man, you don't know my mom when she gets going....Oh,...Jim, maybe you could.."

"No way, I'm not taking Naomi on," Jim said, raising his hands in defeat.

Blair looked up at Simon with puppy dog yearning.

"Whoa, don't even think it, Sandburg. I'm still trying to figure out ways to reason with Joan where Darryl's welfare is concerned. I stay out of mother-son battles."

Blair mustered up a hurt and doleful expression. "Oh, well, I guess Naomi will just have to make a visit down here. I'll tell her I need her support and things have been kind of rough for me, then she'll stay at the loft...probably rearrange furniture, you know, Feng-shui,....she'll want to...."

"Okay, Chief, you win. I'll do some patch work," Jim said, fighting the grin that threatened the corners of his mouth. "I know when I'm taken down."

All three laughed as they approached the truck. In unison they turned to look up at the three marvels of creation. Towering high above the forest, the Old Man and his Little Sisters quietly stood their watch. The late afternoon sun cut patterns through the leaves. The cool October breeze caressed the land with soft strokes.

Blair looked up at the two men who towered over him, his own Sentinels. True, one was genetically primed---the real thing, the other---only of spirit and heart, but both were watchers and protectors of a city and its people. Maybe they aren't as impressive as the trees, Blair thought, but in my heart, they measure up in stature.

All of a sudden the wind picked up and the trees shifted, shuffling for position. The Old Man stretched himself towards the sky, casting his shadow on the trio, bestowing a final blessing of farewell. Blair turned and started walking towards the truck, his shadow caught the sun as the Old Man moved gracefully aside, bidding the light entrance. For one brief moment, Blair could see the two tall shadows at his side, protectively sheltering him. Then the Old Man eased his way back across them and the shadows blended into one.

THE END

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.

Author's Note: The Old Man and Little Sisters are my own creation. The Sentinels of Calaveras Big Trees do exist, though only one remains standing. Please visit the site---then go hug a tree---or better yet, plant one.

http://www.sierra.parks.state.ca.us/cbt/cbtsentinels.htm

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