The usual disclaimers. The characters of The Sentinel aren't mine. If they were, I would be running the show ten times a day and not driving the TS fans nuts the way SciFi is doing by continuing to run the show, pull the show, run the show, pull the show, etc.
Yeah, yeah, another 'Cypher' epilogue. I had never planned to do one, but it wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it down. Hope you enjoy it.
Thanks to Shallan and DawnC for all their help. Quotation marks. eee. This starts right after Jim shoots Lash. Original, that's me.
Java Head
Concern for my partner, I quickly enter the room. Lash's lair, his trophy room. I'm sickened by the items that fill the space around Blair. The clothes and wigs and personal effects that make up the personalities of the victims. Yes, the man had been insane, but he had a good eye for detail, for knowing what gave a person identity. But he'd been wrong about Blair. Probably thought the kid would beg and cry like the other poor saps he'd chosen. Didn't expect his latest victim to get mad and fight back. Way to go, Buddy.
Blair is still in the dentist chair, held immobile by chains (where does one get shackles, anyway?) and drugs. Listening to the kid's heartbeat and breathing, I can tell he's only about halfway out of it. Just enough to keep him from struggling, as Lash had intended. He's aware of everything around him, I imagine. Scared to death. For himself and for me.
Rushing to his side, I speak before I touch him. He needs to know it's me. "Blair? Chief, it's me. It's Jim. It's okay, Buddy. It's okay. It's over. He's dead. Lash is dead." I'm babbling. I was so scared for him. I touch his face, brushing my fingertips across his jaw. "Blair. Open your eyes for me, okay?" His eyes flutter open, revealing slivers of blue. He swallows and opens his mouth.
"...J..Ji..."
"It's okay, Chief. You don't have to try to talk. It's me. I know you're okay."
Weakly, he struggles with his shackles, rattling the chains. His breathing becomes harsh and he squeezes his eyes shut. "...Jjjjim..."
Blair's 'gift of gab' is his greatest asset and such a vital part of him, I can imagine how frustrating and embarrassing it is for him to lose control of that, to have such difficulty forming the simplest words and sounds.
"Settle down, Blair. I have to find the key to these damn things."
"...key...?" he whispers. He becomes still. Though still scared, he is completely lucid and aware of my presence.
"He must have a key. It wasn't in the game plan to dump your..." I swallow before I continue. "...body with the chains on." I look around for the key while keeping my hearing tuned in to my partner.
I wonder how long he'll want to be my partner after this. I wouldn't blame him a bit if he bailed out tomorrow.
I noticed that the lock holding the shackles shut is new. The key must be also. A flash of silver catches my eyes, on a shelf in the dark corner of the room. "Got it Chief. Hold on."
"...hold'n..." he mumbles. "...h'ry, plz..."
I return to his side, key in hand. It slips easily into the lock and within a blessedly short time, Blair is free of his restraints. I hear the slowing of his heart and even rhythm of his breathing. He tries to lift his hands toward me. I hate to see him like this. Helpless and out of control. I slip my arms under his shoulders and knees. Quickly, I lift him out of the chair and ease him to the floor.
I gently run my fingers over the back of Blair's head, finding a large, tender bump. I assume that's how Lash subdued him in the loft. Gonna be sore for awhile, but I don't think he has a concussion. A sudden grip on my arm brings my attention back to my partner. His eyes are full of tears. Tears of relief.
"...Jim." His voice is stronger, his eyes clearer. "Jim..."
I wonder if he'll ever be able to say anything else.
He tries again. "Jim...So scared...thought I was...dead...God..." His voice cracks, the tears finally falling from his eyes to trail down the side of his face. "...God..." a prayer, not a curse. "...God, Jim. Thank you. Thank..." he loses it. Finally giving up the struggle against his emotions. I pull him to my chest as he lets it all go, sobbing into my shirt.
"It's okay, Chief. It's okay." When the drug and adrenaline and shock have passed, the memories will have faded and it will all seem like a dream. The loss of control over his emotions will be easier to bear because it will seem so unreal. Sandburg is as embarrassed by his tears as I am, in spite of his being such a 'sensitive guy'. But for now, he needs me to be here for him. To let him 'lose it'. To hold onto him and protect him. For once I'm glad that backup response time is so slow. Blair really would be mortified if anyone else was around to witness this.
The post relief tears are the easiest. Borne of drugs, exhaustion and terror, they are the shortest and the easiest to forget. Later, come the nightmares. Those are the hardest. Can't control the night demons. It's easier to hold in tears and emotion while you're awake. You're in control then. But at night, during sleep, in your dreams, you have no control. You're just along for the ride.
Screaming jerks me awake. I haven't been sleeping well for several nights. What's this -- three, four nights now -- since Blair was rescued from death at the hands of David Lash? And every night has been brutally interrupted by Blair's screams. The neighbors are gonna have us kicked out for sure.
"No! Noooooooo! Help me! Somebody help me! Jim!"
Practically flying down the stairs from my room, I burst through Blair's doors to find him on the floor, fighting with an unseen assailant, his screams for help filling the dark room. With that lung capacity, the kid would've made a great opera singer.
"Get away from me! Help! Noooooooooooo!"
I Struggle to get hold of him through the blankets and sheets he's knotted up in. Finally, I'm able to get a good grip on his shoulders and pull him up in a sitting position. I'm having a really hard time keeping hold of him, terror giving him super strength.
"Blair! Blair wake up!" I shout at him, shaking him. Anything to force him out of this world that will not let him go. "Sandburg! It's me! It's Jim! You're home! Wake up! Please!"
He awakens violently, cutting off in mid-scream. His eyes are wide open for a second, still not knowing where he is. Realization comes to him and his face crumples as his body sags forward like a rag doll, relief making him weak. My hands still holding his shoulders, I support him so he doesn't fall.
"Chief," I say quietly. "It's okay." I know it's not okay and he knows it's not okay, but he knows what I mean. It'll be okay, because I'll stick with him while we get through this together.
I listen helplessly while he gasps for breath, struggling not to cry. Fighting for control over himself. I pull him to me, knowing my action will break down the last of his resistance, but knowing that he will never be free of the hell his sleep holds him in unless he lets go of it. "Let it go, Buddy. Please, let it go."
We sit on Sandburg's bedroom floor for several minutes. I hold him while he weakly gives in to the fear and emotions. I know he hates himself for his tears. He's afraid of what I'll think of him. That I'll think him weak. If he only knew that I consider him to be the strongest person I know. Stronger than me.
When he's finally quiet, the storm spent, he gently pulls away from me. I let go of him and he leans back against the wall, his arms wrapped around his chest.
"You alright?" I ask.
He looks beseechingly up at the ceiling, the storm still so close to the surface. He closes his eyes and takes a harsh breath. "When's it gonna end, Jim? When's it gonna end? He won't go away. I know he's dead, but he keeps coming back!" He takes a deep, shaky breath to push down the hysteria that threatens to overtake him again.
I've never been one to delve too deeply into emotional issues. I'd much rather brush it off, bury it, anything to keep from looking too closely at it. But Blair needs to deal with this. I didn't brush it off when he called me his 'blessed protector'. So, I'm not gonna brush off this responsibility. He is my responsibility now. He was noticed by Lash because he works with me. I won't walk away from this.
I move to sit next to him against the wall, my shoulder touching his. He wouldn't know how to take it if I got all touchy-feely with him right now, but I'm right there, almost like I'm holding him up.
"I'm not going to tell you that you'll forget someday, Chief. I wish I could, but you'd know I was lying if I did. I can tell you that it will fade, in time. Like a scar. Always there, but you won't notice it most of the time. Once in awhile, it'll make an appearance. Certain cases that are similar, faces that resemble Lash or his victims. But it will fade. And most days, you won't think about him at all."
Blair has always been tough. But he needs me right now. David Lash stripped away his outer layer of steel and left him hurting and vulnerable. It'll grow back, stronger than before. But right now, I'll be tough for him.
I've been looking at the floor. Now, I turn to look at my partner. His head is down, his long hair covering his face like a shield. His shoulders are hunched over and his hands clench and unclench. I listen to his still shaky breathing, and I hurt with him. "Chief." I touch his wrist lightly. He lifts his head just enough to make eye contact with me. "Chief. This is normal. You are going to get over this. And you will be able to sleep again at night."
"When, Jim? When will I stop being scared of the dark? I can't be your back up if I'm afraid of everything."
"You won't be afraid for long, Blair. I hate that this happened to you. You'll be more careful, and that can be a good thing, especially if you're going to continue following me around. But you'll be suspicious of most people now. You'll always wonder if they're going to hurt you somehow. I'm sorry about that. I'm sorry he did that to you. I'm sorry."
Blair lifts his head a little more. "Then it's okay if I continue to ride with you? I mean, right now I'm a basket case. I'm afraid of everything and everyone. I...I'm weak and..."
That's it. "Sandburg." I interrupt him. "You are not weak. This is like a physical wound. It's sore and sensitive, but it'll heal. You are not weak and I don't want you to think that for a minute. You're the strongest man I know. I mean that."
He looks at me for a long time. Strong emotion shines in his eyes. I smile a little and I can't resist the words that leave my mouth. "I did the impossible. I made you speechless."
He laughs. Man, that sounds good. He hasn't laughed since the Jags game we saw the night we found Susan Frasier.
I stand up and hold my hand out to help Blair to his feet. I don't think either of us is ready to try to sleep just yet. "How about some decaf, Chief? The sofa's got to be more comfortable than sitting on your floor." I drape my arm lightly around his shoulders.
He rests his hand in the middle of my back. "You can have decaf. I'd rather have some tea."
Together, we walk to the doorway of his room. He's not too bouncy yet, but his step is lighter than it's been in days. We'll get there. Together.
The End
I tried not to get too smarmy, but I can't seem to help it. Hope it wasn't too much. JH