PART FOUR: FINDER'S FEE

When Blair awoke the next morning, he was tired and bone-weary. After the refreshing sleep he had experienced the first night, he felt a letdown. Well, so much for the fresh air and exercise. Right now I don't think anything can help settle my nerves. He finished off his last packet of oatmeal for breakfast and pulled out his brochures from the ranger's station. The small map pinpointing the campsite and camp store indicated he was about three hours from the cliff overlook. He didn't want to arrive in Coopersville after dark, so he quickly cleared up his campsite, washed his utensils and cups and started off down the trail.

The day was overcast and Blair worriedly glanced at the sky. The cool air was moving in, promising the winter that was several weeks down the road. Oh, man, I never stopped to think of rain or an early snow. Wet and cold is not how I want to find myself. As he walked along the trail, he noticed that even the animals seemed to be aware of something impending. They were skittering across his path up ahead. He rarely got a look at any particular animal, just fast moving forms close to the earth, shaking leaves and bushes off to the side, busily attending to whatever chores the creatures of the earth spent their days doing.

About two hours into his hike, he saw a black snake cut across the path about five yards ahead. He never really stopped to read the brochure about poisonous snakes or spiders. This one definitely looked dangerous and he made a mental note to himself to read the brochure when he stopped for lunch. Quickening his pace, he mentally started ticking off a shopping list in his head. Most of his canned foods were gone, so he would need to restock without overburdening his backpack. He definitely wanted to spend some time in Coopersville, so maybe he could splurge a little on something nice for dinner his first night there. According to Darren's diary, there was a little town with buildings and sleeping lodges for the men. Surely there would be some old buildings still in good enough shape to give him some shelter should a storm break. He didn't relish the idea of having to take shelter in the mine, if it wasn't boarded up.

Man, Jim, I wish you were here with me. I wish you had given this self-discovery business a chance. I could have used your help. I'm so busy planning my route, my meals and worrying about the things you always take care of that I can't seem to focus on the real reason I'm out here in no man's land getting in tune with my inner spirit.

Boy, listen to me, Jim, just listen to me. I'm so willing to blame you for not being here holding up your end of the Blessed Protector thing, while I've let you down repeatedly. You and Incacha both--two men who seem to have more faith in me than I deserve--had no right to expect this of me. Why couldn't things have just gone on the way they were going. True, I never knew what a guide should do precisely, but I always seemed to be able to just do it. Now, I'm so confused.

Just then another snake slithered across his path, mere feet in front of him. Blair stopped and stared. Perhaps it was the threat of a storm. It seemed all of a sudden there were more snakes around. He could hear them in the undergrowth moving, hissing, softly dragging their bodies through the dirt. The snake slowly disappeared into the underbrush and the young shaman, the seeker of peace and understanding in the wilds, increased his step and eagerly sought the comforts of the camp store.

The small campground was bustling with activity. There were children playing on some swings on one side, under the watchful eye of two fathers talking. Some teenagers were walking their dogs towards the campsites where tents, campers, and huge recreational vehicles lined up in little subdivisions of civilization.

The sun was still high in the sky, but the overcast skies darkened periodically, reminding Blair of his need to make Coopersville with due haste. When he entered the campground store, the bell overhead gave a soft tinkle to announce a potential customer. He noticed an elderly gentleman behind the counter, presumedly Shelly's afore-mentioned grandfather, going over some receipts. He glanced up, nodded his head in acknowledgment to Blair, and with a quick "Good afternoon," he returned to his paperwork.

Blair took a hand basket and quickly made his way down the aisles. He swiftly selected his provisions and placed them on the counter.

"Where you heading?" the elderly man asked as he began to ring up the order.

"Coopersville. Can you tell me how long it should take me to get there from here?"

"With steady walking, no dallying, you should make it up there at least an hour before sunset," he paused long enough to glance out the window at the darkening sky. "Looks like rain, though, so you'd best hightail it."

"Yeah," Blair said, brushing his hair behind his ear in a gesture of eagerness and impatience. "How much will that be?"

Blair paid for his groceries and turned to leave. At the door he paused, "Say 'Hi' to Shelly for me. Tell her Blair stopped by."

"Will do," the shopkeeper promised. "Have a safe hike and be careful up there. Watch out for snakes and open shafts. Some strange accidents have happened up there over the years."

Blair held the door open, torn between his curiosity and pumping the old man for more information about Coopersville, but as he glanced up at the wicked skies, he changed his mind. With a final nod of farewell, he stepped down onto the porch and once again headed for the trail, his promise to call Jim forgotten in his haste to make Coopersville before the storm broke.

The wind picked up and there was a pressure building in the air. I really wish Jim were here, Blair thought. Just this once, why couldn't he trust me and follow along. God knows, I've followed him to the damnedest places.

In front of him the bushes started moving violently. Blair halted in mid-stride and watched as a small raccoon awkwardly lumbered across the path, apparently totally oblivious to Blair's presence. The young anthropologist couldn't help but chuckle at the lethargic search that was going on in front of him. Not wanting to frighten the animal, he waited. Glancing up into the mountains overhead, his breath caught in his throat. The bright sun had split itself between the dark clouds, illuminating the heavy black patterns with a golden glow, coloring the sky in a surreal battle of light and darkness. Blair saw the shapes in the sky take form and twist. The sky became filled with serpents twisting and spasming in a wild frenzy.

Suddenly he was surrounded by lights flickering in the darkness. They were moving in frantic patterns of desperation. He heard moaning and crying, the loud roaring of an explosion, and Blair crumbled to the path, embracing the void.

The luxuriousness of the estate surrounding them was lost on Ellison as he and Simon stood in the mansion's main foyer waiting for David Cooper to make an appearance. Just as Jim was beginning to grow restless at the delay, Cooper finally appeared.

"Gentlemen," he acknowledged them. "As you already know we didn't return home from the campaign trail until very early this morning. Plus, I have an extremely hectic schedule today. Now, what is so important that you couldn't wait for an appointment?"

Simon felt Ellison bristle beside him at Cooper's condescending tone. "I'm Captain Simon Banks," Simon hurriedly introduced himself before Jim could offer a retort, "and this is Detective Jim Ellison."

Allowing his captain to take the lead, Jim used the diversion to monitor Cooper's reactions. Aware of Jim's ploy, Simon continued. "Last night, Mr. Samuel Goldman, the proprietor of a bookstore on the corner of South and Paca Streets, was found murdered."

"What does that have to do with me?" Cooper asked.

Annoyed by the interruption, Simon raised a censuring eyebrow before continuing. "According to their records, they recently purchased several books from this estate."

The man shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "We recently remodeled the library so it's possible that what you say is true, but I still don't see what that has to do with..."

Ellison spoke up, cutting Cooper off mid-sentence. "We believe that whoever murdered Mr. Goldman was after a book that had recently been sold. One of those books entitled 'Darren Boyd 1973: In Search of Myself', came from this estate." Cooper frowned as if trying to remember the book in question. Finally he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Detective, but it's not ringing any bells. We had over 5,000 volumes in our library before the remodeling. It would be impossible for me to be familiar with all the titles."

Jim nodded. Withdrawing one of his business cards, he handed it to Cooper. "If you should happen to recall the book, I can be reached at these numbers."

"Of course, Detective. Now if that's all, Natalie will see you out." He nodded towards the housekeeper who had been waiting nearby.

At the summons, the housekeeper bustled forward and quickly ushered them out the door.

The two men climbed into Ellison's truck. "So, what do you think?" Simon asked, closing his door.

"He was lying through his teeth," Jim replied with conviction.

"Unfortunately we need more proof than your ..."

Ellison held up a staying hand, effectively silencing Simon. With a slight tilt of his head, Jim focused his hearing and listened.

"Any word from our two men?" came a voice that Jim recognized through his campaign ads as being that of Ned Cooper.

"Sandburg still hasn't shown up yet," he heard David reply.

"You're positive that's where he was headed?" Ned asked.

"He's got to be," David assured the other man. "We found a copy of his itinerary at his office."

Jim heard what sounded like a scuffle before Ned spoke again, his tone menacing. "You idiot! I told you to destroy that damn journal years ago. Now you listen and you listen good, I want that journal back and this time I am going to see to it personally that it's destroyed."

"What about Sandburg?" David croaked out in a strangled voice.

"Kill him," came the dispassionate response.

Jim had heard enough. "Son of a ..." he muttered angrily and started the truck. "What is it, Jim?" Simon questioned, alarmed by the rage he saw reflected on Ellison's face. "What did you hear?"

The blue and white Ford jerked forward as Jim stepped on the gas. "They're after the diary Simon and they don't care who they have to kill to get it."

"How the hell does Sandburg keep getting caught up in the middle of these things?" Simon wondered aloud.

For the first time in his life Jim sought for an answer and came up empty handed.

The dark void, once filled with the screams of tortured souls, had long since gone silent and Blair floated in it's embrace, devoid of space or time, but as with all good things, this too came to an end. Reality had crept in the furthest recesses and was slowly drawing closer. Even unconscious, his mind tried to stay the encroaching awareness, preferring to reside in peaceful oblivion, but cognizance would not be denied. It reached out ensnaring him within it's tendrils and dragged him protesting back into existence.

The first sensation was one of shards of pain piercing his brain. Unable to hold back the moan of misery from escaping his lips, Blair's cry of agony rent the evening air. The sound, however, did not travel far as it was quickly drowned out by the deluge of rain pouring down upon the incumbent form.

Thunder crashed overhead. Startled into full consciousness, Blair bolted upright, immediately regretting the move as a flash of blinding pain threatened to send him back into unconsciousness. As both hands came up to cradle his aching head, Blair forced himself to breathe through the pain until it diminished to a tolerable level.

Slowly, as the agony waned, other sensations began to penetrate his clouded mind. He became aware of the rain pouring down on his already drenched body; of the thunder and lightening creating a spectacular symphonic light show; of the fading of light as darkness weaved its way along the landscape; and of the bone-penetrating chill coursing throughout his body from laying on the rain-swollen ground.

Oh man, he silently groaned. What the hell happened? Surreal images flashed before his mind's eye in a rapid montage, incongruous perceptions never lighting in one place long enough to form cohesion. Overwhelmed, and more than just a little frightened by them, Blair allowed the images to fade until they were only faint whispers in the corners of his mind. There were other matters that demanded his immediate attention, namely finding shelter from the storm.

Locating his backpack, Blair grabbed it by the strap, and slinging it over his shoulders, climbed to his feet. Swaying slightly, Blair pushed the rain-soaked curls away from his face and looked about trying to get his bearings. Lightening flashed, followed by a resonant booming thunder, and Blair felt himself cringe under it's impact.

Once assured of the direction, Blair resumed his journey. Saturated by the rain, the path had grown treacherous, hampering the speed at which he could travel. It took him nearly three times as long as it should have, but eventually Blair found himself on the outskirts of the abandoned mining town known as Coopersville.

The fact that Coopersville had once been a thriving mining town could not be erased by time, weather, and happenstance. The old, dilapidated buildings were functional tributes to the men and women who had dedicated their lives to the silent rape of the land---form and function over aesthetics.

When Blair came out of the last thick foilage that blocked the path, he was greeted with the promise of shelter, warmth, and a good nights rest. Several yards off to the left was the opening to the mine shaft, partially boarded by two by fours and partially covered with debris from the explosion that had buried so many lives so many years ago. Off to the right was a series of low-level shacks with windows overlooking the mine---no doubt headquarters for management. Other buildings in the back were sheds for the storing of explosives, expensive equipment, and company personnel files. Straight on he saw the hotel.

Beyond the hotel lay a series of one-story buildings that must have been barracks for the working crews. Blair noted--even from the distance--the rain barrels, clothes lines, and remnants of domesticity still evident.

Like a heat-seeking missile, Blair Sandburg lowered his head and raced head on to the welcoming enclosure the hotel offered. The path was muddy and the young anthropologist found himself more than once dropping to his knees as he tried to make for the shelter. The rain had increased to a violent drumming that made seeing a visual trick. Thank God for the shower, he thought, at least the mud washes off as quickly as I cover myself with it.

The rain fell in sheets against the black-topped pavement of the treacherous mountain road. Visibility was poor. Even the rapid tattoo of the wiper blades, as they whipped back and forth across the windshield of the blue and white pickup, could not keep pace with the torrential downpour.

With a frustrated growl, Jim reached up and wiped away the condensation that persisted in fogging up the windshield despite the fact that the defroster was at it's highest setting.

Concern for his partner overrode Jim's normal sense of propriety regarding hazardous driving conditions. Unconsciously, as the miles sped past, his foot progressively bore down on the accelerator.

"Jesus, Jim, will you slow down!" Simon exclaimed in horror as the truck slid around yet another curve in the road.

Ellison eased slightly off the gas pedal. "Sorry, Simon. I'm just worried about Sandburg."

"Look, I'm worried about the kid, too," Simon grudgingly admitted, "but you're not going to be able to help Sandburg if you get us both killed before we even get there."

Jim conceded that Simon had a point but couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had taken up permanent residence in his gut. Residing in tandem with that sensation was one of guilt. Sandburg had asked him, had wanted him to come on this trip, but no, he had been too busy, too concerned about his own wants and desires to recognize those of his friend and guide. If he had just listened. Now it might be too late.

Simon eyed the distraught detective. Even without the visible signs of the clenched jaw, taut posture and white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, he knew Ellison was feeling responsible for Sandburg's current predicament. "Jim, you've got to stop beating yourself up about this. There was no way you could have predicted this was going to happen."

The detective's only response was to step down harder on the gas.

Simon leaned back with a weary sigh, knowing full well that nothing he could say would alleviate Ellison's sense of guilt and fear until he saw for himself that Sandburg was safe and in one piece.

Even set on high beam, the pickup's lights did not penetrate very far within the encroaching darkness and driving rain. Simon was of the opinion that it was only due to Jim's enhanced sight that they had been able to make it as far as they had on the treacherous mountain road.

Another curve was coming up and Jim wisely slowed the truck's speed to navigate its circumference. They were just about at its apex when Ellison first spotted the rock slide and trapped vehicle. He reacted instinctively, slamming on the brakes and wrenching the wheel to the left. The truck slid to a halt, narrowly missing a collision with a large boulder blocking the road.

Jim struck the steering wheel in frustration. "DAMN IT!"

Simon was already unbuckling his seat belt and reaching for the door handle. "Jim, we've got to check the other car. People might be hurt."

Simon was right of course, but Jim couldn't help but worry about what the delay might mean for his friend. Of mixed emotions, Ellison undid his own seat belt and slid out of the truck.

As they approached the trapped and partially crushed vehicle, the sound of a crying child could be heard above the driving rain. The two men glanced at each other and hurried towards the car. Simon worked his way around to the right side of the vehicle, while Jim climbed over a cluster of rocks to its left. Upon discovering that a large rock had crushed in the driver-side door, he gave up any thought of reaching the car's occupants by that route.

As Jim reached the other side of the vehicle, Simon was in the process of extracting a crying toddler from its rear car seat. Jim shimmied past him on the narrow embankment and wrenched open the front passenger door. A quick sensory scan revealed that the couple was still alive. The woman was still unconscious, but the man displayed signs of coming around.

"How's it look?" Simon asked as he cradled the uninjured child in his arms.

Ellison examined the contusion to the woman's forehead. "She's still unconscious, possible concussion," he concluded.

"And the man?"

"It's hard to say," Jim admitted. "It looks like he may be trapped. We may need help getting him out."

Simon nodded. "I'll call it in."

As Simon headed back towards the pickup, Jim heard a low moan of pain. "Sir, can you hear me? I'm Detective Ellison with the Cascade PD."

Another sound of distress was accompanied by the man's eyes blinking open. He glanced around, still somewhat dazed.

"Everything's going to be all right," Jim spoke soothingly.

"MY FAMILY!" the man exclaimed suddenly .

"The baby's fine," Jim was quick to reassure him.

"And Lisa?"

"Your wife is still unconscious, but I don't think it's too serious."

"Thank God!" The man sobbed with obvious relief.

"What about you," Jim asked, "are you hurt?"

"My left side hurts," the injured man ground out between clenched teeth.

"Can you move at all?"

The man's attempt elicited a moan. He shook his head. "I'm stuck."

Ellison had been afraid of that possibility as soon as he had seen the caved in door. "Don't worry, help's on the way."

The trapped man nodded, then reaching over to clutch his wife's hand, let his eyes drift shut.

Once assured that the man was merely resting, Jim uttered further assurances before heading back to the pickup.

After climbing back into the relative dryness of the vehicle, Simon brought him quickly up to date. "The Med E-Vac is grounded due to the weather and Emergency Services figures it'll take them about forty minutes to get here."

"Damn it," Ellison muttered.

Simon frowned with concern. "Are the parents that bad off?"

"I think the woman's going to be fine. The man," Ellison paused, considering, then shook his head, "I'm not sure about. I don't smell any blood, but he's pinned in there. He could have internal injuries. At the very least he's got some broken bones."

"I'd say they're damn lucky to be alive at all considering," Simon replied with a nod towards the rock-strewn roadway.

Grim faced, Jim looked over at Simon and the toddler now asleep in his arms. Yes, the family had been lucky. It had been a miracle that no one had been killed outright. Despondent about what ramifications the delay might mean for his partner, Jim fervently prayed that the night's quota of miracles hadn't been used up.

As lightening once again lit up the sky, Blair lept onto the hotel's porch grateful for its protection from the worst of the elements. A puddle quickly formed beneath him as water from his drenched clothing followed the natural path designated by gravity. Blair felt his teeth literally chattering and vaguely wondered if he would ever feel warm again.

He looked up at the imposing structure of the hotel that lay before him and felt a shiver course throughout his body. Suddenly he was hesitant to enter. Get a grip, Sandburg, he silently admonished. You're tired, wet and cold. It's shelter. Nothing more, nothing less. Swallowing the taste of an unnamed fear, Blair crossed the wooden porch and reached for the doorknob. Again he hesitated, his hand pausing in midair. You're being ridiculous, he mentally berated himself. What are you going to do? Stand out here all night in the cold and rain when warmth and dry clothes wait mere inches away? He forced himself to grasp the brass knob. Lightening, striking nearby, supplied the final impetus and within seconds Blair found himself inside the foyer of the hotel.

Swiftly shutting the door behind him, Blair leaned back into its wooden embrace, grateful for its support of his still shaky limbs. As he waited for his heartbeat and breathing to recover from the adrenaline spike, Blair's gaze perused the hotel's lobby. Even in its heyday, Blair suspected that the hotel had been hastily strewn together. Now, after some twenty years of abandonment, the shoddy workmanship was obvious.

Lightening struck again, its brilliance lighting up the interior of the room. Dust covered every surface. Cobwebs abounded in every nook and cranny. The stench of neglect and decay hung heavy in the air.

Blair pushed himself away from the door and stepped on trembling limbs further into the room. Perhaps it was the ambiance of the place, but he couldn't shake the overwhelming feeling of trepidation that had taken root in his soul. Briefly he wondered if the feeling was some sort of cosmic payback for having watched the movie Psycho one too many times. "Well this isn't the Bates Motel and you're sure as hell not Janet Leigh," he said aloud. His nervous laughter filled the room only to echo back off empty walls.

He shivered again, a poignant reminder of how wet and cold he was. First things first, he needed to get warm and dry. Lightening illuminated the room and he spied a fireplace along the far wall. Blair smiled, maybe his luck was looking up after all. Hitching the backpack further onto his shoulder, he headed towards the promised respite of warmth.

There was only the barest of warnings, a slight creek of the floorboard, as the dry rot wood gave way beneath his weight. His leg shot through the opening and into the crawl space beneath. Blair cried out as a sharp stinging pain flared through his left calf. Reflexively he yanked it away from the source of the pain and back out through the hole. Seconds later he heard the ominous, telltale rattle of warning, but the snakes warning had come too late.

"Oh God, oh God!" he muttered, beginning to panic. Scooting away from the gaping hole, his breath was coming in short, quick pants. Pin points of light began to flare before his eyes and Blair realized he was going to pass out if he didn't stop hyperventilating. "Now is not the time to panic," he verbally admonished and forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. He followed that one by another and yet another until the sensation of lightheadedness passed.

Reaching for the strap of his dislodged backpack, Blair pulled it within easy reach. Unzipping it, he felt around inside until his hand came in contact with the first aid kit. Setting it on the floor, he flung open the lid. Scattering the contents in his haste, Blair pulled out the scissors and sliced open the pant leg of his jeans. Even in the dim light he could see that the area around the puncture marks was already red and angry. Swallowing at the sight, he pushed aside his fear and concentrated on the task at hand.

In the strewn contents of the first aid kit, he located the constrictor band and secured it firmly above the wound near his knee joint. Then reaching in his back pocket, he pulled out his Swiss army knife and opened the blade. Searching through the contents on the floor, he gathered up several packets of antiseptic wipes. Tearing one open with his teeth, he quickly swabbed the injured area, hissing at the pain the action produced. Discarding it, he grabbed another and wiped down the blade of his knife. His face a mask of concentration, Blair swiftly cut a small X over the wound. The knife slipped from nerveless fingers as a sob of pain escaped through clenched lips. Blood began flowing in a thin rivulet, down through the hairy landscape of his calf. Plunging once more into the kit, Blair pulled out the Sawyer's Extractor, quickly divesting it of its pollybag wrapping. With a trembling hand, he placed the cylindrical vacuum device over the wound and began to suction out the venom.

Fifteen, thirty, forty-five minutes passed as Blair systematically repeated the process of filling and emptying the tube over and over. Focus solely intent on his task, he failed to notice their silent approach. Suddenly blinded, Blair threw up a hand to ward off the offending light .

"Well, well," crooned a taunting voice. "What do we have here?"

Blair blinked against the light, unable to make out more than the outline of two hulking shapes just beyond the flashlight directed at him. He felt an inexplicable fear course through him. "Who are you?" he demanded with false bravado.

"Is it him?" questioned the second man.

"Oh yeah," replied the first one smugly. "He matches the description perfectly." The Neanderthal focused his attention on Blair. "We've been waiting for you to show up."

Blair felt as if he were trapped in a waking nightmare. First the snake and now this. What the hell is going on here? he silently wondered. "What do you want?" he asked aloud.

His question went unanswered.

"Seems like you've got yourself a problem," the man holding the flashlight sneered.

Blair's glance flickered from the man to his leg and back again.

"Good," the man continued with pointed satisfaction, "it'll save us the trouble of killing you."

"WHAT?" Blair squeaked, his eyes going wide. "Listen man, I don't know what this is all about, but you've obviously got the wrong person."

"I don't think so. Get his pack," he instructed his partner.

As one of the hulking shapes loomed closer, Blair scooted back across the floor, dragging his injured leg behind him. "HEY!" he protested as the man snatched up his backpack.

The man smiled. "You won't be needing it where you're going."

Blair swallowed past the lump in his throat as the man rummaged through his meager possessions. He watched helplessly as the man pulled out the journal from Peru, and scanning its contents, dropped it dismissively onto the floor. Next he pulled out Darren's diary. "Got it!" he announced with satisfaction before tossing the backpack at Blair.

Clutching the pack to his chest, Blair looked on, confused as the cherished diary was placed in the other man's hand. He scanned its contents, then after validating its authenticity, tucked it away within the inner pocket of his coat.

"So what are we going to do about him?" the other asked with a nod in Blair's direction.

"I've been thinking about that. Shooting him might raise some questions if the body was ever discovered." He paused, considering. "I'm betting that the snake that bit him was poisonous."

"Yeah, so?"

"So you idiot," he explained with exasperated impatience, "I say we place him in the mine. That way if anyone ever finds the body, they'll think he was just some poor hiker who went exploring, got bit and died. There's no way they'd ever connect him to us."

The man nodded his approval. "Sounds good to me."

Blair sat there staring incredulously up at the two men. He couldn't believe they were discussing his death so cold-bloodedly.

"All right, let's get this over with. I want to get the hell out of here and back to civilization."

"Yeah, this place gives me the creeps," his companion agreed.

"Gather up all his junk," the man with the flashlight instructed. "I don't want there to be any evidence that he was ever here."

With a quick nod, the second man strode back over to where Blair still sat. Kneeling beside him, the man began collecting the debris scattered over the floor. Soon his hands became full and he glanced at Blair. "Give me the backpack," he demanded.

Blair's eyes narrowed. "You want it?" he asked, gripping the pack's strap tighter.

"Don't fuck with me, kid. Just give it to me!"

Blair obliged. Mustering his strength, he swung the backpack towards the kneeling figure and allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction as he heard the canned goods within collide resoundingly with the man's head. As the man dropped like a rock to the floor, Blair gathered his legs beneath him preparing to rise. A sudden searing sensation throughout his left calf elicited a cry of pain and Blair fell panting back onto the floor.

The man holding the flashlight quickly crossed the distance between them. Grabbing Blair by the front of his jacket, he yanked him partially off the floor. "That was a really stupid move, kid," he yelled before striking out with the flashlight. The blow hit Blair just above his right eyebrow and sent him spiraling into unconsciousness.

He callously dropped Blair's limp form and went to help his partner up. "You idiot," he growled. "You're twice his size and yet you let the runt get the drop on you."

"Wasn't expecting it," the dazed man replied in his defense.

"Just gather up his crap," he ordered.

Within minutes all evidence of Blair's passing was stuffed into the backpack. Handing it to his partner, the man reached down for the unconscious anthropologist and with a grunt, hefted Blair up and over his shoulder. "He might be scrawny, but he's no lightweight," the goon complained.

"Shut up," the other man warned. Sweeping the flashlight around the room in one final check, the two men left the hotel.

The rain had slacked off, but in its stead it had grown considerably colder. Each exhalation of breath fogged the crisp night air as they struggled with their burden towards the abandoned mine.

About forty feet within its entrance, the man with the flashlight called a halt. "This should do it." And with that, Blair was dumped unceremoniously onto the ground, his backpack tossed on top of him.

"All right, let's get out of here."

"Wait, what's to prevent him from just walking out of here if he wakes up?"

Hmmm, maybe his partner wasn't such an idiot after all, he thought, then searched his mind for possible solutions to their dilemma. "I've got an idea," he replied moments later, upon recalling the dynamite shack nearby. He smiled menacingly. "And our friend here is gonna get a real bang out of it."

Shaking his head at the cryptic sentence, the other man followed his companion out of the mine.

There can be no peace in shallow graves. The rains of memory puddle quickly overflowing with regrets---things left unsaid, things left undone---a word in anger or disgust---our days in murky madness lay. There are no bells to portend each passing---at one moment here, then gone the next. There are no scripts for exit scenes, merely one final curtain call. Your knowledge to endure lies in this: all graves are shallow when there is someone to remember.

PART FIVE: SHALLOW GRAVES

Angry voices beckoned to him. Blair tried to ignore their plea, perfectly content to remain in the comforting womb of darkness surrounding him, but the voices grew insistent. With a weary sigh, he uncurled from the fetal position and rose.

In the distance he saw a swirling vortex of light. It was from this that the sounds emanated. Curiosity and a feeling of urgency drew him closer to investigate. The vortex snaked out, enveloping Blair within it's rotating mass. The riotous colors and whirling motion played havoc with Blair's equilibrium and he closed his eyes to stave off the nauseating effect.

Moments later the sensation of movement ceased and Blair ventured a peek. Opening his eyes, he frowned in consternation. Although it was dark, he recognized the place surrounding him. It was Coopersville, but not the deserted, decaying town he had stumbled upon today. This Coopersville was alight with sound and the presence of the living. What the...? His silent contemplations were cut short as the hostile voices sounded yet again. Blair followed the voices and found himself outside a single-level, wood-slatted building. An unimposing sign, declaring this place to be the Coopersville Mining Company, hung over the door.

Compelled by an unknown force, Blair reached for the knob, snatching his hand back in shock when it disappeared up to the wrist through the door. His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Whoa! That is definitely weird." Moving cautiously, he stepped forward and passed through the closed door.

On the other side, Blair found himself in a dimly lit office where two men faced off across an oak desk. The one was tall with a full main of reddish brown hair. The other, sitting behind the desk, a cigar clenched between his teeth, was slightly older and of a portly nature. Neither seemed aware of Blair's presence.

The man removed the cigar, stubbing it out in a nearby ashtray. "I don't know what you're getting all worked up about, Joe. My cost-cutting measures have increased the share holder's profits immeasurably."

"Damn it, Ned," Joe yelled, "by using inferior materials you're risking the lives of the workers."

"The materials are quite adequate for our needs," Ned replied with a dismissive gesture.

"They fall far below the requirements and you know it." Joe leaned across the desk. "I'm warning you, Ned. Either you shore up the mine to code or..."

"Or what?" Ned bellowed, interrupting the other man mid-sentence. "Are you threatening me?"

"No, I'm making you a promise. I won't have the lives of my men put at risk because of your greed. You've got three days to get that mine up to specs or I'm going to the mining commission."

Blair had been intently following the conversation and didn't like the cold, calculating gleam he saw in Ned's eyes.

The rotund individual leaned back in his chair, the motion a gesture of defeat. "Very well, Joe, we'll do this your way. However, I must insist that production continue while the upgrade is in progress. We can't afford to get behind on our orders."

Joe gave a quick, curt nod before heading for the door. Opening it, he paused, turning back. "Remember Ned, three days," he repeated the ultimatum before closing the door behind him.

Blair was confused. He realized the seriousness of the situation, but didn't understand what purpose his presence served.

Suddenly the rear door to the office opened and another man entered the room. Though younger and slimmer, there was definitely a family resemblance to the man named Ned.

"David," Ned acknowledged the newcomer. "You heard?"

"Yes," David replied. "What I want to know is what are we going to do about it?"

"I don't care how you do it," Ned said dispassionately, "just get rid of him."

With a silent nod, David headed out the door.

The swirling vortex reappeared, capturing Blair within its folds. "Oh God, I hate this part," Blair groaned before blinking out of existence.

When he next re-emerged from the vortex, Blair found himself deep within the mine. Lights were hung at intervals and in the distance Blair could make out the sound of voices and machinery. He was just beginning to wonder why he had been brought there when the man he now knew as Joe came striding through the tunnel. He passed by Blair unaware and continued deeper into the mine. David trailed behind seconds later. A feeling of trepidation rose up in Blair, urging him to follow.

Several hundred yards further in, Blair heard Joe muttering soft curses. Following the sound, he entered a well-lit cavern area where Joe stood hunched over, totally engrossed in making repairs to what appeared to be a generator. Behind him stood David, holding a shovel, poised to strike. Blair's eyes went wide and he issued out a warning. However it went unheeded as the shovel began its downward arc and struck Joe on the back of his head. Blair closed his eyes, nauseated by the sound of Joe's skull being crushed. Joe was dead before he even hit the ground, his blood covering the shovel and splattering the ground.

Swallowing the bile that had risen in his throat, Blair opened his eyes to witness David setting a small explosive charge. His intent was obvious. People would blame the isolated cave-in for Joe's death.

"You bastard!" Blair roared, leaping towards David, only to pass right through the murderer and onto the hard ground. "Why?" Blair beseeched, sitting up. "Why show me this if there is nothing I can do to stop it?" His only reply was the reappearance of the spiraling mass, coming to whisk him away to another destination.

Blair felt physically ill as he bared witness to the next scene. Shrieking alarms filled the night air announcing a tragedy at the mine. Families from all over town stood outside the mine clutching one another, each fervently praying that their loved one would somehow escape the devastating cave in.

Men stumbled out of the mine in twos and threes, but as the last man emerged, the horrible realization that out of one hundred thirty-five men, only fifty-five had survived. Wails of anguish and heartbreak replaced those of the siren as the survivors stared in shock at the cloistering tomb of their friends and coworkers. Shaft number seven had been completely sealed.

Unable to witness any more, Blair turned away from the horrific sight and headed back to town. Tears of commiserating sympathy flowed, bathing his cheeks with their wetness.

As Blair approached the mining office, he once again heard a voice raised in anger. Moving closer, he saw Ned grab David by the shirt front. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" he shrieked.

"I did what you told me to," David replied coolly. "I got rid of him."

Ned thrust David away in anger. "YOU FOOL! I didn't tell you to bring the whole damn mine down on top of him."

"I only set a small charge," David protested. "How was I suppose to know the whole of Shaft Seven was going to come down. If you hadn't skimped on the building materials," David accused, "we wouldn't even be having this discussion."

Ned's anger deflated like a balloon. "You realize this means we're going to have to shut the mine down permanently."

"WHAT!?" David squeaked.

"Think about it," Ned told him. "If they investigate the cave in, they're bound to discover the shoddy materials.... Materials that can be traced straight back to us."

David swallowed nervously as the implication sank in. "We'd be charged with murder."

"Exactly," Ned replied, "and I for one have no intention of going to jail."

Blair couldn't bare to hear anymore; he turned away disgusted. Looking up at the twinkling stars, he said, "I know what I need to do now. I'm ready to go back."

Upon command, the vortex reappeared to carry him home.

His first cognizant thought was one of being cold and damp as shivers coursed throughout his body. With a weary groan of misery, Blair opened his eyes only to find himself still surrounded by an inky blackness. For a moment he wondered if he was still dreaming, but the hard, uncomfortable ground beneath him soon laid waste to that notion.

Fatigued, his mind began to wander. Images from his dream, interweaving and overlapping themselves with events from his everyday life, played out on the screen of his mind's eye--pictures of Jim and the others from Major Crimes, of the old man in the bookstore. Images of the two goons superimposed themselves over the faces of Ned and David. Blair involuntarily flinched as he relived being bitten. "Oh God," he groaned. Would this night never end? As if in response to his silent plea, Blair heard the unmistakable sound of an explosion. As debris rained down on top of him, Blair covered his head and prayed for salvation.

From a safe distance, the two men watched the evidence of their handiwork as the mine's entrance collapsed in upon itself. The taller of the two grinned gleefully. "They'll never find him now."

"Yeah," the other agreed. "Now let's get out of here."

Upon returning to their car, they discovered it axle-deep in mud and no amount of pushing, prodding, or cursing could wrest it free.

"Looks like we're not going anywhere tonight," the driver complained, yanking his key from the ignition. "Come on," he growled to his companion, reaching for the doorknob. "Maybe tomorrow, after it's dried out some, we can get the hell out of this place."

Slamming the car door, the two men trudged back to the hotel.

It had taken hours to remove the victims and clear the accident scene. The entire time James Ellison had paced like a caged animal and no amount of assurances from Simon had quelled the sinking sensation he had felt in his gut every time he had thought about Sandburg. Now, as the first rays of dawn peeked over the distant mountain tops, they were finally approaching Coopersville.

Ellison stopped the truck at the edge of town and, turning off the ignition, gazed at the borough spread out before them. It looked cold and desolate in the predawn light.

"You sure this is where Sandburg was headed?" Simon asked, doubt evident in his tone.

"Positive," Jim replied as he and Simon got out of the truck. "It was listed on his itinerary."

With the aid of his heightened sight, Jim scanned the town. The place appeared to be deserted, but Jim knew from experience that looks could often be deceiving. So he focused on his hearing instead, cognizant of the fact that he shouldn't concentrate too hard without having his guide nearby.

Simon recognized the familiar tilt of the head as Ellison listened, categorized, and dismissed irrelevant sounds. "Anything?" he questioned moments later.

"Two heartbeats, in that direction," Jim replied with a nod of his head. "Neither one is Sandburg's."

"Maybe the kid hasn't arrived yet," Simon suggested into the oppressing silence that followed.

"Maybe," Jim conceded.

"You think the heartbeats belong to Cooper's men?" Simon asked.

Ellison drew his weapon and, checking the clip, headed towards the hotel.

Simon snorted and followed. "I guess that answers my question."

Although from the rate of their heartbeats Jim suspected the two men were asleep, he and Simon cautiously entered the hotel.

Simon's eyebrows rose in surprise as he saw a man asleep on an old couch and another snoring in a nearby chair. Using silent communications, Jim headed for the one on the couch while Simon took up position beside the man in the chair.

Jim lowered his weapon to the man's temple. "Cascade PD, you're under arrest," he said loudly.

The man's eyes shot open, then widened in surprise at the sight of one very pissed off James Ellison hovering over him. His partner seemed equally shocked by the sudden appearance of the two police officers.

"I want you to get up real slow," Ellison instructed, "and keep your hands where I can see them."

Jim kept his weapon trained on the man as he slowly rose from the couch. "I don't understand, Officer," the man asserted. "What's this all about?"

"Just shut up and put your hands behind your back," Ellison barked at the man. Coming around the couch, Jim removed his cuffs and quickly slapped them on the prisoner. Looking up, he saw that Simon had the other man similarly restrained. A thorough search turned up a weapon from each man.

Holstering his gun, Ellison spun the man around. "Where's Sandburg," he demanded in a steely tone.

The man feigned confusion. "Who?"

Jim grabbed him by the front of his coat, pulling him close. Eyes cold as ice bore into the man as Jim growled, "Don't fuck with me. My partner was here and I want to know what you've done with him, NOW!"

"Jim?" Simon questioned.

"Sandburg was here, Simon," Ellison responded to the unvoiced query. "I can smell the herbal shampoo he uses." He paused, frowning as something else tugged at the periphery of his awareness. His eyes grew even colder as he finally catalogued the scent. With a roar of rage, Jim slammed the man against one of the building's support pillars. "DAMN YOU! What did you do to him?"

"Jim, what is it?" Simon asked, concerned.

"I smell blood, Simon. Sandburg's blood," Jim snarled. He yanked the man forward, only to slam him backwards once again. "Answer me, damn it!"

Jim saw the man's eyes narrow and sensed a refusal coming. Before he could even open his mouth, Ellison had drawn his gun and jammed it beneath the man's chin.

"JIM!" Simon shouted, alarmed by the detective's actions.

Ellison ignored him. "Either you tell me what happened to my partner or I'm gonna blow your fucking head off."

That coldly delivered statement proved to be the final impetus for the man to begin spilling his guts.

When Blair came to, he was aware of pain---bright, hot, and insistent. There was a funny taste in his mouth that reminded him of metal and his lips were tingling. The darkness was thick and matched the stale hot air that sat heavily upon his lungs. He shifted his weight, stretching his legs out in front of him, and regretted the action. His left leg felt heavy and screamed with tenderness and a hot throbbing pain. He remembered the snake bite--putting the band around his calf. Then he remembered the two angry men and he knew he was in the old mine. They had sealed his fate, as well as his air, depriving him of more than the light of day. Blair Sandburg, free spirit, wanderer and explorer of antiquity, was trapped in a box.

Oh, man, Jim. I really did it this time. It's too late. No one will ever find me in time.

"Blair, honey, people put themselves in boxes. Use your mind. Your mind is a tool and you can build doors out of boxes," he heard Naomi's voice speaking to him as though he were five-years-old again.

That simple realization that he still could do something made him reach out in the darkness for his backpack. He found the treasured softness near him and quickly pulled out the flashlight he had stashed inside. He turned it on and studied the small area around him. The walls were made of freshly fallen earth. Blair took a deep sigh, realizing how close he had come to being crushed by the explosion. Whatever they had used had not been powerful enough to bring the whole mountain down on his head, but had been enough to seal off the mine entrance making that avenue of escape moot.

The shaft looked like it was well-supported by beams and crossbars. Blair thanked the dead miners for their attention to detail, realizing that their best efforts had not spared their own lives, but then, accidents had nothing to do with their demise. It was the greedy mine owner who had cut their time short. Blair felt a renewed eagerness for escape; he needed to get out and expose the truth about the senseless death of 80 men. He owed it to Darren Boyd and Joe Barrett; he owed it to Naomi and Incacha; but more than anything, he owed it to Jim. Jim, who trusted him and believed in him no matter how badly he screwed up; Jim who always made excuses for him with the famous "you're not a cop" line. He had failed Jim by failing himself. He was the shaman and he had blown it.

Just then he saw some small figures moving off deeper into the mine. He realized they were rats. He let out an involuntary shudder. He did not like rats. He had a healthy aversion to them ever since he had lived in the old warehouse and had shared space with them on a daily basis.

He laid his head back against the dirt wall and closed his eyes. Suddenly he recalled an entry in Darren's journal. It was an entry made early on in his journey:

I have come to realize that all of these creatures are my friends, no one the lesser, each has a silent lesson to teach. I watch them, study them, and I walk away each time with a renewed lesson in the power of their intelligence. They know what to do, and they need only to be understood.

Like a silent epiphany one parallel heart had passed on to the other, Blair Sandburg understood. He closed his eyes again and remembered a similar passage in the Peruvian journal:

The Shamans commune with nature, they talk to the animals in their minds. They listen and hear the unspoken lectures of wild things.

Then Blair sat up. He flashed the light once again to the back section where the rats were now filing out. They were seeking an alternate escape. They had been shaken by the explosion and now they were heading towards the other opening, the other way out of the dusty tomb. The simple creatures of the darkness knew what needed to be done.

He propped himself up against the wall of the cavern and slowly raised himself. His left leg was swollen and he gently eased the band he had tied around it, not wanting to cut off circulation completely. The edema, as well as the metallic taste in his mouth, was a symptom of envenomation. This knowledge now filled his head as he recalled with perfect clarity the information the ranger's brochures had tried to impart. He needed to get medical attention--and fast. He knew his chances for survival depended on immediate professional care and the degree of envenomation. He only prayed that the snake that had bitten him hadn't released too much venom.

The blood had dried over his right eye. It was beginning to swell shut, limiting his vision. His head throbbed with an aching beat of persistent pain. He bent over carefully and picked up his backpack. He gritted his teeth against the mind-numbing pain that threatened to overwhelm his consciousness, then he began a slow hop, skip, wall-to-wall maneuver in the direction the rats had gone.

Jim Ellison was in a head-bashing mood. The thugs now sat handcuffed in the back of their car waiting for the arrival of the local law enforcement agency. Simon had also called for a helicopter in case they needed to get anyone, particularly one long-haired anthropologist to safety. When Jim had heard that Blair had been bitten by a snake, he had thrown the hood up against a wall and repeatedly smashed his body back into the hard mass until the frightened man had told him about the floorboards in the old hotel. The hood had dealt with many hard cases in his life of intimidation and heavy-handedness, but never had he seen a look of such hatred and determination as he saw in the cold, soulless blue depth that held his gaze.

"JIM!" Simon had commanded as he held the other man cuffed in his grasp. "Jim, I want him alive." Then the police captain had turned his back and marched the other man to the car, stating his indifference to possible accidents that could happen during the course of apprehension. This made the man realize there were no alternatives in this situation. He had eagerly answered all questions and volunteered more information than was asked.

Jim went back into the hotel, Simon following once the two men were safely secured in the back seat of their car. He stood silently by as Jim tried to focus his senses in on the surrounding area. Jim heard the slittering below the floor boards of the snakes and he could hear the tiny heartbeats of the creatures that had taken up residence in the abandoned building. He carefully pulled the smashed floorboards back and looked down into the dirt subfloor. He could see the colored skins that had been shedded, the snakeskins. He picked up a piece of wood that had a nail protruding out of it and carefully snagged one of the discarded casings. Both he and Simon said at the same time, "Diamondback."

"Jim, I'll contact the local authorities," Simon quickly assured the distraught detective. "I'll ask for anti-venom serum for Diamondback, Copperhead, whatever else they might assume to be in this area, have them bring it in the helicopter. The local police and rescue should have some handy as well."

Jim nodded grimly and walked out towards the mine shaft entrance. He paced like a trapped cat waiting for his jailer, waiting to pounce the moment the opportunity availed itself. He was a man beside himself with anger, frustration, and worry. Damn, the kid. Why Blair? Why couldn't you just wait until I could go with you? Then Jim Ellison raised his head to the heavens and bellowed to the unanswering clouds, "DAMN YOU, SANDBURG!"

"Jim, take it easy," Simon said as he approached and put a restraining hand on Jim's shoulder. "Get a grip. I don't need you zoning on me right now. Listen, Jim, use your senses."

"I did, sir, don't you think I already did." Ellison sank down slowly to the earth and put his head in his hands. "I did and I don't hear it, I don't hear his heartbeat."

Simon Banks took a deep sigh and passed his huge hand over his face, washing away his own frustrations and fears with the gesture. "He's resourceful, Jim. If anything the kid has an uncanny sense of self-preservation. He probably moved farther back into the mountain. Keep trying, Jim, just keep trying."

Then Captain Banks turned and walked back to greet the squardron of police cars, rangers, and medical units that were now coming into the small town via the camp road behind the hotel. Simon had arranged for backup enroute.

Blair started feeling feverish. His leg was on fire now and he was having trouble breathing. Respiratory problems were one of the symptoms he was afraid of, as well as an infection. He stopped to rest for a few moments against the side of one narrow passage and as his flashlight scanned the area, he saw a small shovel laying in the partially covered earth. He picked it up and discovered it wasn't very heavy as he tested it for use as a crutch. It was a little short, making him stoop to take the pressure off of his injured leg, but better than nothing. He could make much better time now.

"Guide him, Shaman, he needs you to guide him."

Blair looked up startled, not sure if the voice he heard was real or something from inside his fever-racked brain. He decided in his lonely state he could afford companionship, real or imagined. He needed to keep focusing and a conversation would help him stay centered on the purpose of this little stroll.

"I can't guide him from in here. I doubt he can even hear my heart beneath tons of earth. Besides, it's too soon for him to come."

"He is out there and in your heart you know it. You are a Shaman, you have powers. Talk to the things that can hear you. Have them talk to theirs, they will convey the message from your heart."

Blair giggled to himself, beginning to be more and more lost in the confusion of his fever. "Yep, reach out and touch someone. Hey, Jim, you hear me. I'm reaching out. Ma Bell's got nothing on the lines we have open. I guess I really screwed up. Maybe the squirrels and raccoons and, hey, maybe my friend the snake, will guide you to me." He laughed hysterically then caught himself. Whoa man, get a grip, there's nothing even remotely funny about this situation. He took a shuddering breath. I need to stay focused and sane, for a little while at least.

"Okay, Jim, here's the deal. I'll talk. I'll keep talking on the chance that you're out there looking for me, because, man, one thing I believe in is you. I believe you'll try to find me. If you know what mess I've gotten myself into, you'll come for me. I'm sorry, man, sorry for not being all that I can be." He laughed again at the remembered line for the Marines ad he had seen on television.

"I am a Shaman. DO YOU HEAR ME," he screamed into the dark resounding walls of the cavern, "I AM A SHAMAN. I need your help," he trailed off as he saw a small rat running past him still deeper into the cave.

Just as the first rays of morning light filtered through the trees, introducing the day, Jim Ellison heard something. He wasn't sure what. There were thousands of little heartbeats racing wildly just on the other side of the earth that blocked the entrance. Then his hearing shifted of its own accord, and he was aware of the life forms on the very verge of the forest. He looked up and saw a young deer looking at him with soulful eyes from the heavy undergrowth blocking the forest path that a young anthropologist had come off of some time ago. He focused his hearing in on the rapidly beating heart. There were two beats, two sounds coming from within that gentle creature, and the other heartbeat, though faint and distant, was one well-known and well-loved---Blair's!

"Simon! SIMON!" Jim shouted as he stood up, excitement and confusion vying for the forefront.

"What, Jim? What is it? Do you hear his heart?" Simon Banks raced up to his best detective and an eager smile began to form on his own face as he read the hope that lit the other one.

"I hear it, Simon. I hear his heart, but it's there...it's off in that direction. I'm going to follow."

"Jim, do you think he got out or maybe escaped before they had a chance to seal the entrance? That they were lying to us about trapping him in there?"

"I don't know, but I need some rope, a med kit, anti-venom serum, blankets. I need to move fast and I need to be alone."

"No, Jim. You could zone. I'm going with you," and when he saw the look of opposition rising up to meet him, he quickly added, "that's an order, Jim. Nothing to discuss."

"MEDIC!" Simon called as he went off to meet the approaching doctor. Simon took care of the medical details. Each man had a backpack fully equipped in a matter of minutes. Simon gave some final instructions that work on the entrance was to begin immediately. He didn't want to take the chance that Jim was having some kind of zone out and was just imagining hearing Sandburg's heartbeat coming from a different direction. He took one of the walkie-talkies the ranger had given him and said he would be in touch. Jim quickly went over some final details about snake bites and treatment by the administration of the anti-venom serum. He noted any complications and the helicopter was told to land at the camp store and wait further instructions. An emergency hospital was mere minutes away by chopper.

Both men, trained in the art of survival, but more appropriately trained in the art of protection, raced off down the path, guided only by a distant heartbeat calling out via another.

Blair was growing weary. The constant chatter was taxing his lungs. His mouth was dry, his throat scratchy, and the pain that jarred his leg with every step was a constant invitation to the oblivion of unconsciousness. He so wanted to embrace the darkness again and sleep away the reality of his discomfort, but something called to him. He could almost feel Jim waiting for him deeper inside the mountain. At one point he could have sworn he heard Jim cursing him in a soul-venting rage, but he shook his head and chalked it off to his tenuous grasp on reality.

"Oh, man, I'm sorry, Jim. I'm sorry I can't get my shit together. I was afraid of the box. Naomi warned me if I didn't go inside one I would always wonder what it was like, but I was afraid to commit, man. I think I knew I was a shaman all along, but I was afraid to admit it. I was afraid of the enclosure. Names put parameters on you, restrictions, ties to proper behavior. I can't be like that, man. I don't like the pretense of tags. Hey, hear that, Jim?" he once again laughed as the dychotomy of his situation dawned on him. "I don't like tags, yet, that Doctor before my name is awfully appealing to me. I guess I'm a hypocrite in many ways. Not like you, man, you always know who you are and what role you're playing. I hope you're in full Blessed Protector mode right now, cause I could use you, man, I could really use you."

He stopped and rested against the side of the cavern, realizing that the air seemed lighter. He could even hear birds--bats up ahead. There had to be an opening. There had to be a way out. He staightened his slumping shoulders, steeled his tired soul, and limped on, keeping up the constant chatter, passing in and out of logical thought, never giving up.

Jim was moving fast, a man with a purpose of soul and heart, a man who could not be swayed now with logic or restraint. Jim Ellison was a man to be reckoned with in the best of times, but in times when Blair Sandburg's life was at stake, it was best to just stay out of his way and give him plenty of room.

Simon kept up. His position of rank did not allow him to grow fat and sloppy. True, he dressed like a dapper gentleman, but the man beneath was hard muscled and military-trained. He was a man who learned to judge other men by close observation, soulful introspection, and equal acceptance. Jim Ellison was his best detective, but he was more than that. He had become a friend, someone who would put aside his shield and personal safety to journey into the Peruvian jungle to rescue Simon and his son from drug dealers. He was a man who raced off into the wilderness to free Simon from an escaped convict's retaliation. Jim was a true and abiding friend, but when he was in full Blessed Protector mode and the object of his protection was one young anthropologist, there was a side to Jim Ellison that even frightened Simon Banks.

Never in all the time that he had come to know the hardened loner, had he ever seen him vulnerable. He had seen him take off men's hides for a smart-ass comment or wrong look. More than once he had to jump down the man's throat to straighten his sorry 'I don't need anyone' ass out. Ellison had been a police Captain's worst nightmare when Simon Banks had first taken over the Major Crimes division of the Cascade PD.

However, when the hippie-style police observer had come under his wing, the hard shell had peeled back slowly, but inexorably, leaving a lonely, vulnerable man in his place. A man, now, who not only needed, but depended upon one young, long-haired grad student for his life, his humanity, and his sanity.

Simon, too, had grown fond of the intelligent blue eyes that had a different slant on the realities of crime and law. He had come to depend on the fresh perspective of viewing scenes and suspects. Even more so, he had come to rely upon the friendship the young man offered, the acceptance of his role in Jim's life, and the warmth and effort Blair always extended towards Darryl to make him feel included as one of the guys. Hell, he admitted now to himself as he followed behind the man on the mission, I've just come to like having the kid around.

Blair was ecstatic when he spotted the blue sky and bright light of day. However, when he came out of the tunnel and discovered himself on the same ledge where he had found Shelly Lamb several days ago, he realized he wasn't much better off. No one would be able to figure out he had come this way.

When he was in the cave, he knew Jim was looking for him....how, he still didn't know, but that was the shaman in him, no doubt. He could feel Jim nearby, he could even sense his rage and frustration. If a Search and Rescue was conducted after the mine explosion, which was surely heard all the way back to the camp site, then it would be directed on the mine entrance. Even Jim would stay faithfully there, waiting, listening and eagerly seeking the sounds that would reassure him of life on the other side of that thick wall of dirt. Slowly Blair slumped down on the ledge, the futility of his efforts weighing heavily upon his shoulders, pushing him deep down into the pit of his own despair.

Jim was moving faster now. The heartbeat was stronger, more distressed, but the location was fragmented, non-localized. He became confused and paused briefly. Time was of the essence, and he didn't know which direction to go. Suddenly he was knocked off his feet, unexpectedly and forcefully. Simon Banks drew his gun as he noted the huge reddish creature that was attacking his friend. However, the small yapping dog at his own feet brought him out of his protective mode when he realized that they were being attacked by friendly dogs. The huge reddish, brown Newfoundland was all over Jim as though excited with meeting a friend. The smaller dog joined his larger friend in a frenzied yapping that seemed to want Jim's total, undivided attention.

"JAKE! BAILEY! Here boys!"

"Over here," Simon called when he realized the escapees' warden was in hot pursuit. "Your dogs are over here, damnit," Simon swore with little patience for this obstacle.

A pretty, blue-eyed young woman with a baseball hat pulled down over her eyes came out of the undergrowth. She saw the large black man, dressed in rugged-wear, his gun pointed at her dogs--the other man, sitting on the ground, still trying to push the huge dog off of him.

Simon saw the fear that pressed upon the young contours of her face. He immediately lowered his gun. "I'm Captain Banks, Cascade P.D.," he said, pulling his badge. "This is Detective Ellison. We're on duty."

"I am so sorry, gentlemen," Shelly said as she made a move for the collar of the closest dog. He backed away just out of her reach.

"JAKE! BAILEY! What's wrong with you guys," she said as she tried once again to reach down and pull her companions off of the large man. However, they easily dodged her efforts and started barking excitedly as they seemed to focus their attention on the man sitting on the ground.

"I don't know what's gotten into them. They started barking and wanting to go out. I assumed just to relieve themselves, but they ran off. They never do that. I just ran after them. I'm so sorry, gentlemen. My grandfather runs the campsite store and I walk my dogs daily down these trails." Shelly tried once again to bring her unruly lot under her control.

Ellison rose quickly. "They know where Sandburg is Simon," he bellowed before racing off after the dogs who eagerly ran ahead, now having captured the attention of the one man they were sent to find.

Simon Banks looked at the confused young woman, holstered his gun, shook his head, and said, "You'd best just follow, miss. This has been one strange morning, I wouldn't be surprised by anything right now."

Finding no other solution to her problem, Shelly Lamb quickly sprinted after the tall men and her once-faithful companions.

Overhead, Blair could just make out the sound of barking dogs and was confused by the incongruity of his situation. He was partially in and out of a dream where he was running in the woods with all the animals. Close to the earth at one time, running low through the green, cool foilage. Another time he was soaring overhead topping the trees, flying high and free. He rather enjoyed the feeling and gave in completely to the pleasant surcease from the cruel reality of his fate.

When Jim Ellison came out of the brush and into the clearing he saw the two dogs prancing agitatedly around the edge of the cliff. Then, as though someone turned on a radio, he heard the loud, clear heartbeat of his friend. It was getting faint and weak, but it was that one heartbeat he could recognize anywhere. Simon came out behind him, placing his hands on his knees and bending over trying to catch his breath. Shelly was not far behind, and she barely showed any signs of exhaustion, a tribute to her young and healthy body.

Jim leaned down and looked over the ledge. There was a leg below, partially visible from the steep side of the ledge. Tying the rope to one end of the huge tree that was positioned just off the right of the clearing, he spoke to Simon as he worked. "He's down there, sir, I'm going down. He's alive, but just barely."

"Miss?" Simon turned to the young woman.

"Oh, Shelly," she offered.

"Shelly, what is the location from the campground of this ledge?"

"East Ridge of Cougar Bluff."

Simon used the walkie-talkie to give directions to the helicopter pilot and the rangers. Then he knelt down near the ledge to assist his best detective in his decent.

When Jim reached his young friend, he immediately felt the warmth of his fever-racked body. The leg was swollen twice its normal size. The gash on his head produced a nodule the size of a walnut, pushing shut his eye and encrusting the area with dried blood. Jim immediately opened his backpack and took out the syringe. He filled the needle from the small vial of anti-venom serum. He placed it on his backpack and unbuckled Blair's belt and unzipped his jeans. Yanking the jeans down below his hips, he gently rolled Blair on his side and injected the serum into the meaty flesh of his buttocks. Then tugging the jeans back up, he pulled his best friend into his arms and waited for the helicopter he heard off in the distance in its final approach.

He looked down at the sweat-soaked face, the soft curls clinging to the flesh, framing the contours of his boyish face. He brushed his hand lovingly along the perimeter, taming the wild strands into submission while savoring the feel of his friend. He cursed himself for his selfishness. The obstinacy of age and set ways had nearly cost Blair his life. Would it have been so hard to have given of himself so Blair could find some peace of mind. They needed to talk; things needed to be settled. Blair needed to understand that he fullfilled every role Jim cast him in: he was friend, guide, shaman, teacher, and family. He was all Jim Ellison needed and all he could ever imagine wanting.

Blair stirred, and, in irritated displeasure at the arms of restriction, he began to flail his arms trying to push away the obstacle to his freedom.

"Easy, Chief, take it easy. It's me, Jim." Ellison pulled the trembling figure closer, easing him gently back into the familiar recesses of comfort and warmth.

"Jim, did you find me? Do you know where I am?" Blair's feverish state still could not allow him to focus on the reality of his whereabouts. He was still partially flying above the verdure at times, still other times within the chamber of the damned, seeking air and escape.

"Yeah, buddy, I found you. Help's on the way."

"They need to be at peace, Jim. They all need to find peace," Blair said as he tried to open his eyes and focus on the face before him.

"Who, Chief?"

"Darren, Joe, the miners, even Incacha, only I can give them peace, even the snakes, even the snakes, Jim." Then he sighed, the burden of his mission softly exhaled. He rested his head back against the strong, faithful arms, and succumbed to a peace of his own.

Moments later Jim was strapping Blair into a stretcher and once again watching him sail up and away towards the top of the cliff. He followed just as quickly with the aid of the rescue team, and seconds later, he accompanied Blair to the emergency center. Simon assured him he would meet him there shortly. The police captain didn't even try to argue Jim into staying. The detective could no more let the young man out of his sight right now than Simon would have been able to let Darryl fly off if his life had been compromised.

When the helicopter cleared the trees, Simon Banks looked at Shelly Lamb and her now subservient friends. The dogs now lay quietly at her feet as though exhausted. They happily panted and wagged their tails lethargically as though having been given over to some other force and finding themselves totally spent, yet completely pleased with their performance. He couldn't help but smile. The day had indeed been strange. He was glad it had all worked out and if there were things beyond his comprehension, if there was magic in the green forest and understanding in the dark eyes of wild things, then so be it. He felt like a man who needed magic right now, and he embraced the wonder of it as he looked off into the sky and saw the helicopter flying off into the distance.

James Ellison turned from looking out the window and, resting one butt cheek on the windowsill, gazed at the sleeping form of his friend and partner.

It had been close this time. Sandburg had nearly died, but then, since teaming up with him, there had been entirely far too many close calls for the young anthropologist. True, this time it had nothing to do with his police work--well at least it hadn't started out that way. But the truth of the matter was that Blair had nearly died because he, James Ellison, had once again ignored the needs of his friend.

Jim snorted with disgust. How selfish and self-centered could one man be. At that particular moment in time, he was full of self-loathing and wonder. Wonder in that, despite all Blair had been through, despite the fact that he had disregarded Sandburg's needs as insignificant, the kid still had the utmost faith in him. Had trusted him to come to the rescue and make everything all right.

Jim thought back to that first day in the hospital and Blair's agitated, incoherent ramblings about shoddy materials, murder and a cave in. Sandburg had pleaded with him to arrest those responsible so that the souls of the murdered men could finally be laid to rest. Ellison had been hesitant, his only concern being Sandburg and making sure that he survived this latest crisis. He had no intention of leaving Blair's side until he knew for certain that Sandburg was out of danger. Sandburg, with his infinitely stubborn disposition, had insisted, even going so far as threatening to go after those responsible himself if need be. Realizing how important it was to Sandburg, he had felt torn. He didn't want to let his friend down yet again, but he also couldn't bear to leave Blair's side---not after having come so close to losing him. It wasn't until Blair had begun unhooking himself from the monitors and pulling out his IV that he had finally capitulated to his friend's request.

It really hadn't taken too much to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. Part of the answer had been found within the diary entries of Darren Boyd. While on his journey of self-discovery, Darren had spent some time in the prosperous mining town known as Coopersville. While there, an unlikely friendship developed between the young explorer and the local mining company's foreman, Joe Barrett. Joe had confided to his new friend his suspicions about the mine's owner, Ned Cooper, stinting on the quality of the materials used to shore up the working mine. A short time later Darren had moved on, and it wasn't until some two weeks later that he'd finally heard about the devastating cave in.

When confronted with the implications of being accessories after the fact to mass murder, the two goons in custody had wasted precious little time in implicating the Cooper brothers in the murder of the bookstore owner and the attempted murder of Sandburg. The brothers were apprehended while attempting to flee the country and now sat behind bars awaiting trial.

Ellison's reminiscing was interrupted as Simon entered the room. "Any change yet?" Simon inquired, his gaze taking in the pale features of the sleeping grad-student.

Jim rose from his seat on the windowsill. "The doc assured me that he'll make a complete recovery, but said that he'll probably sleep a lot over the next couple of days."

Simon released a pent up breath and nodded. "No doubt he could use the rest." He snorted and shook his head in amazement. "Only Sandburg could unearth a twenty-year-old murder and end up smack dab in the middle of it."

"True," Ellison agreed, "but it's because of him that eighty men and their families finally have vindication."

"Not to mention the fact," Simon added, "that the citizens of this state have Sandburg to thank for the fact that their next governor won't be a mass murderer."

Jim smiled sadly, yet there was pride in his voice when he said, "He did good, Simon."

"Yep," Simon agreed. "The kid did real good." He glanced at Blair and then back to Ellison. "It looks like he's going to be asleep for awhile. Come on, I'll buy you a cup of coffee."

After performing a quick sensory scan of his partner's vitals, Jim followed Simon out of the room.

As the mist parted, Blair found himself standing on the riverbank of a slow meandering stream. The sun shone down warmly and the fragrance of flowers filled the air. It was a beautiful setting, so unlike the dark, ominous existence of his recent dreams.

Hearing a noise behind him, Blair turned, startled to discover the presence of a jaguar and wolf standing there, side by side. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Who are you?" he asked. In response to his question the two animals morphed into human form. The first he recognized from his dreams as Joe Barrett. The second man was slim in stature, had long, blond hair, vivid blue eyes and stood several inches shorter than his companion. And although Blair had never met him before, he somehow knew that his man was Darren Boyd.

Darren saw the recognition in Blair's eyes. "Good, I see you know who we are," he said approvingly.

"Where are we? Why are you here?" Blair began.

Darren quelled the questions with a raised hand. "Where we are isn't important. As to why we're here," Darren smiled, "we came to thank you."

"Why?" Blair asked, confused.

"Because of you," Joe responded, "those responsible for our deaths will be made to pay. We have closure now. We can finally move on."

Darren cocked his head and eyed Blair thoughtfully. "And you Blair, did you find what you were searching for?"

Blair glanced at the ground and then back up at the two men. Uncertainty clearly written in his features. "I think so." He shook his head and finally admitted. "I don't know. So much has happened. Everything is so mixed up."

Darren smiled knowingly. "Sometimes one has to observe what is around them before they can understand what already lies within."

Blair thought about the observations he had made on his own journey of self-awareness and smiled.

Darren nodded approvingly. "Good bye, Blair, and thank you." "WAIT!" Blair cried out, but the two men had already morphed back into their animal forms and disappeared back into the woods.

With their departure, the mist returned to gently envelope him. When it finally cleared, Blair found himself staring at four stark walls of a hospital room.

The door suddenly opened as Ellison walked in. "Hey, Chief, you're awake," he commented with obvious pleasure.

"Nah, really, Jim?" Blair mocked playfully. "What was your first clue?"

Ellison sobered. "We need to talk."

"Pull up a chair, Detective," Blair instructed with a wave of his hand.

Jim moved the chair beside the bed and sat down, uncertain where to begin.

"What is it, Jim?" Blair asked, seeing his friend's indecision.

Ellison looked up. "We got 'em, Chief. Ned and David Cooper are going down for a long time."

"Well that's good news, right?" Blair couldn't understand Jim's reticence.

"Yeah it is, but there's something else." Ellison seemed hesitant to continue.

"Whatever it is, I can take it," Blair assured him.

Ellison rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. "You remember those old case files Simon had us working on?"

Blair nodded.

"Well," Jim continued with obvious reluctance, "one of them involved the unsolved hit and run death of Darren Boyd." He paused, looking up to gauge Sandburg's reaction.

Blair smiled sadly. "It's all right, Jim. I already knew. Oh, I don't mean how he died," Blair went on to explain, seeing Ellison's frown of confusion, "just that he was dead."

"How?"

"It doesn't matter," Blair replied. "Was it Cooper?"

Jim nodded. "Apparently Ned found out about the friendship between Darren and the mine's foreman..."

"Joe. Joe Barrett," Blair supplied the name.

"Right. Anyway," Ellison continued, "he thought the kid might know something so he arranged for him to have a little accident. That's how they came into possession of his diary."

"How'd it end up in the bookstore?" Blair asked, confused.

"They were doing some renovations on their library and it somehow accidentally ended up in with the books they decided to sell."

Ellison paused, dreading what he had to say next. "There's another thing, Chief."

One of Blair's eyebrows rose in question.

With a sigh Jim explained, "When they discovered the diary was missing, they sent a couple of their goons to get it back. They got your name and address from the sale's receipt."

Blair was beginning to experience a sense of dread. "There's more to this, isn't there?"

Ellison's jaw flexed involuntarily. "They killed the bookstore owner."

"Oh, man," Blair groaned, shutting his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Jim began, only to have Blair wave off his friend's concern.

"It's all right, Jim. It just really sucks, you know. All those lives, and who knows how many countless others, destroyed all for the sake of greed."

Ellison knew the magnitude of such a loss would weigh heavily upon his friend's kind heart. "Is there anything I can do for you, Chief?" he asked softly, wanting somehow to lighten the burden.

Sandburg's sorrowful, blue eyes looked up to gaze into his own.

"Take me home, Jim. Just take me home."

I will never chase rainbows on bright sunny afternoons. The clear contentment of my soul gives no foil for the splendor in that spectrum. Colors look best against dark skies. The reds of passion heat all the hotter on the moody landscapes of my depression. Yellows seem more golden on the planes of despair, when threads of dejection hang in shreds like banners of desperation. Blues crisply contrast the heated backdrop of my indifference, the color's chilly winds forming a funnel in my soul. Greens, especially, so full of life hold audiences with my weary spirit, encouraging and eager. No, I will never chase rainbows on bright sunny afternoons of clear contentment. In the brightness of my joy it is hard to grasp so translucent a concept as hope.

EPILOGUE

When Jim Ellison opened the door of the loft, he stepped aside allowing Blair to walk slowly by him, suppressing the smile that touched his lips as Blair struggled to coordinate his movements. He was still having a hard time mastering the precision of balance and angle, the crutches unruly parallel bars, obstacles not aids. Jim had to laugh when he finally picked them up and hopped unceremoniously over to the sofa, plopping down with a great exhalation of relief.

"Don't worry, Chief, you'll master those things soon enough. Just give it some time. And I'd better not see you hopping around here," Jim said warningly as he followed Blair and proceeded to pile some pillows on the coffee table.

"Aw, Jim, I'm tired of these things already. They hurt under my arms and I don't really need them," Sandburg whined as he cautiously lifted his left leg and put it on the cushion.

"The doctor said to stay off of it for a few days and that's just what you're going to do, Darwin," he said as he pointed a finger at the protest he saw beneath the surface of the blue eyes. "No buts, or you'll go back to the hospital. He wasn't too happy about releasing you today and only did it when I promised him your full cooperation."

Jim took the afghan off the back of the couch and draped it around Blair's legs. He then put the small white paper bag he had on the counter and began lining up the bottles of pills that Blair was scheduled to take round the clock. The swelling in the leg had decreased considerably, but antibiotics were being administered regularly and the doctor wanted a close eye kept on the obstreperous patient.

"Hey, how about some tea, that herbal blend you like so much?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Blair said as he slightly turned to see Jim standing behind him in the kitchen.

"Ah, Jim, you didn't by any chance get my backpack out of there, did you?" Blair tried to keep his expression nonchalant, trying to play down the desperation he had felt ever since he woke up in the hospital. He wanted the diary and journal. He needed them.

Jim put the kettle on to heat and wiped his hands on a towel as he came around the counter. He took a deep inhalation of breath, steeled his nerves then exhaled. Maybe this was the opening to the discussion they needed to have.

Blair watched him with hopeful eyes, brushing the hair off his face in a subtle gesture of nervousness and discomfiture.

Jim walked into Blair's room and came out with the well-worn backpack. "What you really want to know is did I manage to save the books?" He held the one book out to Blair who sheepishly reached out and grabbed it. Jim could actually feel the air lighten once the kid had his hands on the book, as though he was holding his fears at bay and could not relax until he could once again lay claim to its secrets. He put such stock in those books, as though they were the keys to his very existence. This has got to stop, Jim thought, and I'm going to put a stop to it right here and now.

Jim saw his crestfallen face at the realization that the special book was not there.

"Blair, it's evidence. You can have it back after the trial, but, Chief, Darren's parents have been contacted. They know about the journal and their son's involvement and his murder. I just thought that maybe it would be a nice gesture to give them their son's personal journal. I think it would help them understand and get some closure from all of this." Jim took the chair opposite the sofa.

He saw the look of panic that momentarily washed the already pale features, the eager hands that brushed away some stray curls, then cradled the other book close to his chest. "I know, Jim, of course. They should have Darren's last thoughts and revelations. He would have wanted it."

"Look, Blair, we need to get something settled."

"No, Jim. I know what you're going to say. I don't need a lecture here, man. I know I handled this whole shaman thing all wrong. I let you down. I know that. I realize now that I labeled myself in relationship to you since this whole partnership began. You authenticated me, Jim. No!" he raised his hand at the familiar jaw clenched in denial, "Hear me out."

"I was always an observer, not only in my position in the police department, but in my whole life. I dreaded being confined in the name tag game. Neo-hippie, witch-doctor, punk! Do you remember calling me that the first time we talked?"

"Chief, I've regretted my haste in judgment. I never meant..."

"Jim, please. Confession is good for the soul, and I need to bare mine right now. This is one epiphany I need to label, categorize, and record. I don't want to have to go through this particular lesson again," he said as he moved his leg to get more comfortable and was reminded of how painful the lesson had been.

"You were right, I was all those things. I was playing at being avant-garde and intellectually free. I admit I dressed the way I did for lack of funds. But the hair, the obsession with ancient cultures and civilizations--it helped keep me from settling into any classes and social structures in my own time and world. I was afraid, man. I was afraid to fit in."

"Blair, we're all afraid of acceptance, as much as we fear rejection. We know acceptance means rules and expected behavior. That's why teens fight it so much. You just never grew up," Jim said with a teasing smile on his lips, trying to lighten the burden he saw weighing on his friend's soul.

"Naomi and I had an on-going joke about me becoming trapped in boxes, but to me it was the commitment, Jim, the pieces of your soul you have to put out to feel comfortable with the demands and restrictions all the little slots require of you. I wanted to be an observer around you more than I let on. I didn't want the responsibility of being needed. Incacha changed all that when he passed it on to me. One simple word--Shaman--and I was it in a dreaded game of tag." Blair paused, collecting his thoughts.

"Is that tea ready? I think I need a break, soul searching is tiring."

"You're overdoing it, Sandburg. The doctor said rest, and this is not restful. We can talk about it later," Jim said as he moved into the kitchen and began filling two cups with the tea.

Coming around the sofa, Ellison handed the mug to Sandburg. He had put the tea in a tall, clear, crystal coffee mug that Blair had purchased at the neighborhood coffee shop. The kid had been pleased with the simple purchase and Jim felt the familiarity with the treasured item would help him relax. Blair nodded his thanks and sipped slowly on the hot brew, savoring the calming effects of the tea. He closed his eyes, relishing the aroma, flavor, and potency of the herb, drinking slowly until more than half the cup's content was gone. Then he laid the glass mug on the table next to him and put his head back, closing his eyes once again.

"Jim, I need to finish. I need for you to understand." When no opposition reached his ears, he swallowed hard and continued. "I became fragmented since Incacha died. I didn't know who or what I was anymore. I shunned stereotypes, yet I played by the rules, Jim, always by the rules. I knew what I wanted--the doctorate, the masters, the bachelors. I knew and I pursued it with a singular focus, but I never stopped to analyze how frightened I always was of the finished product. Incacha shoved a mirror right up under my nose and told me to look. I thought he was telling me who I should be, but I was wrong, Jim. It took a hippie, flower child from the 70's to show me how wrong I was. I just want these books to keep as a reminder of my own search and what I found."

"How's that, Chief?" Jim asked as he sat across from Blair still wrapping his own hands around the hot mug, seeking warmth and reassurance in the domestic gesture.

"Names, titles, job descriptions, honors, they don't make people who they are. Darren said he saw himself as a seeker unaware, because if he found what he was looking for, he doubted that he would recognize it."

"So, what's your point, Chief?"

"Man, my point, Jim, is none of us know who we are. That's what life is all about. We're all seekers unaware of what we seek. I used to ask Naomi why rainbows were so translucent and ethereal. She said that the only time rainbows looked bright and clear were against a darkened sky. She said that life was like that; it was a bright and shiny treasure that only caught our eye when times were rough and troubled. Maybe that's the only time we ever really get glimpses of our true selves, Jim. When things get bleak and grey, life becomes clearer and filled with purpose, in the forefront then we take our stand and shine."

"Sandburg, I don't know a hell of a lot about all this soul-searching you've been doing. I never needed or wanted you to be anything but what you were---what you are." Jim stood up and came to sit down next to the troubled young man.

"Listen to me, Blair. Incacha wasn't passing on a role to you, he was calling you what he recognized you to be. He was acknowledging who you are, not because of any powers, not because of magic and knowledge and secret ceremonies. He was acknowledging what you meant to me. What he saw you as---my friend."

"Jim, I know that now. I know that's what he wanted. He was passing on his bond with you, nothing more. He was merely connecting me to you on a deeper, mystical level. I have always been me. Incacha couldn't define me, he could only recognize me. Recognize what I myself didn't even know I had found, and I found myself several years ago, Jim, when I found you." Blair blushed slightly at this affirmation and pulled away as Jim playfully swatted him alongside the head.

"It works both ways, Chief, always a two-way street."

"No, no way, man. You've always known who you are," Blair said as he sat up straighter, amazed to think this man had an identity problem. This hard-ass, straight, no-nonsense cop not having any inkling as to who and what he was...no way.

"Chief, ask Simon some day to show you pictures of the old bullpen. He won't just show you a snapshot or two, he'll walk you through the men, observer of human nature that he is. He'll show you pictures of a hard-ass loner, too tough and too mean to need or want anyone for his partner. He'll show you some touch-ups made by Jack Pendergast and Danny Choi, but they still won't be pretty. Not by a long shot. I'm not the man I was then, Chief. I'm not that man because of you. You showed me that I was more than I thought."

Blair looked at Jim with unblinking eyes, then he smiled and the loft lit into colored fragments of rainbows, prisms of emotions: relief, acceptance, confidence and love---colors reflected by the warm atmosphere of friendship, the landscape of familiarity.The kind of rainbows warm smiles can paint upon the troubled souls of worried friends.

Then each man laughed as the room filled with color--real color--as Blair's empty mug caught the afternoon sun, splintering light frames into heliograms of rainbow wedges, messages of hope.

"Jim, there's always going to be more of us when we're together," Blair said jokingly, but both men paused to reflect the wisdom of the words. The older man reached out an arm along the back of the sofa enclosing the other within his protective reach; the younger man leaned back against the solid strength, focused on the dancing display of multi-faceted jewels, and marvelled at rainbows on sunny afternoons.

THE END

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