Rating: As always with this series, this story covers the subject of child abuse -- both physical and sexual -- but this time I've also written about subjects such as incest, pedophilia and the OC's characters in this story are involved in a m/m relationship. While a lot of it is 'off screen' and depicted as part of the series history, there are some scenes in this story that are more graphic than what I have written in the past. Please read authors notes for more details.

Feedback: jessriley80@yahoo.com.au

THE TEST

Jess Riley

Prologue

In the jungles of Peru, a lone warrior fought for his sentinel, his composed voice breaking with anger as he addressed a circle of his peers. "I will not allow this to happen. The Guide is too young."

"That is why he has been given a guardian, Incacha. Do you not have faith in the ability of the Guardian?"

Incacha whirled around in anger, addressing the speaker. "The Guardian is but a boy himself. He is not ready."

The speaker approached the centre of the circle. "If the Guardian is not ready, then perhaps it is time for him to be removed." A black jaguar, which had been prowling restlessly around the outside of the circle, let its disapproval be known, its voice joined by that of a young cougar.

"Enough!" ordered the speaker, his command silencing the animal spirits. "A decision has been made. The test will take place. If the Guardian is strong, then he will succeed." The speaker turned to Incacha. "If he does not, then the Guide will be removed."

One by one, without any further discussion, the council of peers disappeared into the night. A lone Chopec warrior stood by the fire, the jaguar beside him in unwavering support. The shadows flickered upon his defiant face. His heart could not allow this to happen. "I cannot do this alone, Enqueri. You must find your strength. You must embrace your gift. The life of your guardian depends on it... as does the life of your son".

Without taking his eyes from the flame, Incacha spoke. "The Guide must be protected at all cost."

A silent agreement was reached. When the time was right, Incacha and the jaguar would stand side by side. Together, they would take on the power of the council.

"Watch, ring, wallet, keys. That all?"

Robert Wilder picked up the items from the bench and nodded.

"Sign here."

He took the pen thrust at him and scribbled his name.

The guard retrieve his clipboard. "You're a lucky fuck, Wilder. I would'a bet a whole year's wages that you'd be doing life for this one."

Wilder sneered at the guard. "Innocent men don't do life." He picked up his personal belongings from the counter. "Now, excuse me if I sound rude, but open the god damn, fuckin' door."

Wally Michaels shook his head in despair. He'd seen a lot of cold-hearted bastards come through those doors in his time, but it hit him in the pit of his stomach when he had to let one of those bastards back out onto the street. "I gotta think of retiring," he muttered to himself, pressing the button that released the door.

Wilder walked out into the main yard. A set of heavy steel gates was the only thing that stood between him and freedom. A chill raced through his body, despite the warmth of the afternoon sun.

In the corner of the courtyard, a lone warrior stood. "And so it begins."

Robert Wilder drew deeply on the crudely-rolled cigarette that was poised between his thumb and his nicotine-stained index finger. Watching with an enthralled fascination, he slowly breathed out, lazily following the smoke trail as it floated up toward the ceiling. A sudden, deep-seated sense of pleasure rippled through his strong body as the gentle, ribbon-like pattern was strewn apart by the pulsing action of the overhead fan. With his eyes still trained on the whirling blades as they cut nosily through the air, he absently reached under the coarse cotton sheet and roughly scratched his crotch. The burning itch that had surged through his body only hours before was little more than a pleasant tingle now, his lurid need having been satisfied by the man lying in the bed next to him.

Stubbing out the butt in the overflowing ashtray on the side table, Robert's attention moved toward the still body of his brother, his jet-black eyes roaming slowly across the expanse of Max's perfectly smooth, seductive chest, a chest that had been prepared exactly as he had ordered.

Stimulated by the visual delight before him, Robert flicked the sheet completely away. His breathing hitched, his wanton desire fed by the sight that was revealed to his wandering eye. In a display of youthful innocence, his brother lay before him, clean-shaven and bare, painting a perfect picture of obedience and submission.

The fact that this compliance was aided by the heroin coursing through the sleeping man's veins was of no consequence to him. All that mattered was that he was once again in control.

Rolling onto his side, Robert studied the man who'd been his bed partner for as long as he could remember. He regarded his brother with a mixture of conflicting emotions. He certainly felt love, and even expressed it at times with tenderness and affection, but the feeling could twist and turn into vengeful brutality in the blink of an eye. He consistently, and easily, ignored the goad of his own emotions, and placed the cause squarely on Max. His little brother was inherently weak and even though moments of strength occasionally shone through, he had always been able to get his way if he pushed hard enough.

If Robert had to describe their relationship, 'perfect dancing partners' would pretty much sum it up. His brother's fears and needs moved in exact rhythm with the traits that made up the basis of his own personality. Max's fear and insecurities kept pace and perfect cadence alongside his own power and control. Destructive as these qualities were together, they were essential elements in maintaining the status quo.

Strumming a gentle finger across the baby-soft skin that was so easily within his reach, Robert knew that a lifetime living with abuse and neglect had left a profound mark on both their lives. But unlike Max, who had wilted, shrivelling up like a flower under the hot desert sun, he had blossomed. Adapting to the harshness of their environment, he'd laid his roots deep, gathering enough nourishment for them both to survive even the most barren of conditions. He'd fed and nurtured Max, keeping him sheltered within the protective borders of his own resourcefulness and tenacity. But protection came at a price, even for brothers, and this protection had exacted a hefty toll. Max had paid, not with only his own soul, but those of his children.

Running his hand up the length of his brother's inner thigh, Robert's thoughts settled on Max's children.

Lucas and Scotty, his nephews, both beautiful and innocent, but innocent only until fate played its hand and erased from their lives the one woman who had, just by her presence, kept the monster that lurked deep inside of him shackled and bound. But, once free from its chains, the monster's craving grew until it could no longer resist the feast that was laid out before it. Revelling in the opportunity to now indulge what had been denied to him for so long, old feelings once again consumed and overpowered him. Even if he wanted to, Robert knew that there was no turning back. The monster was out of its cage.

Taking advantage of his brother at his most vulnerable, Robert focused his attention on snubbing out the light that had shone brightly while Mary had been alive. Wielding his weapons of cajoling, persuasion, and manipulation like an old hand, he slowly began to show his brother that, in these most desperate of times, the boys needed their love and that, in return, they needed to learn how to give that love back.

The process was slow and laborious and the means to the end left his brother with an addiction that, from the outset, had not been his intention, but the opportunist in him felt no remorse. He had what he wanted and that was all that was important. Domination and sexual gratification were now at his fingertips, his for the taking, when, where and however he liked... except for one major stumbling block -- Lucas; his brother's eldest boy.

"Lucas," Robert ground out harshly, his anger rising as memories of the boy's defiance weighed him down with a familiar feeling of failure. Headstrong, willful and stubborn, the child had never been tamed and, despite his best efforts, he had never managed to gain the control that was essential in keeping everything in balance.

As his inner anger surged upward and boiled over, the gentle, feather-like touch that had been caressing his brother's body changed. Taking a nipple between his fingers, he pinched the nub viciously, the pain causing Max to stir beneath his fingers.

"Shh, shh," Robert soothed, as guilt of his actions surged forward without warning. Bombarded by a wave of different emotions, Robert realized once again that he and his brother were perfectly matched. He was strong; capable and dominate and Max -- Max was so pathetically weak. Even after being responsible for the death of his brother's boy, Max had still forgiven him, and it hadn't taken much persuasion to convince him who was really to blame for the death of his baby. It was Lucas' fault that Scott was dead. It was Lucas who had reneged on his responsibility, his chore. Lucas was the one who'd taken off into the night, leaving the burden of service upon his young brother's shoulders. And it was Lucas who needed their ultimate forgiveness.

"Isn't that right, brother?" Robert whispered, leaning in and suckling at his brother's lax bottom lip. "Our boy needs to come home. We have to forgive him for what he did." Rolling on top of his brother, Robert covered Max's body with his own. Leaning in, he devoured the unconscious man's mouth, while his hips rutted to a tune of one against unresponsive flesh. "He will come home, baby brother. As I live and breathe, our boy will come home."

The air was being squeezed out of Jim Ellison's lungs at a greater rate than his body was able to replenish it. The strength in his attacker's arms was allowing very little leeway for his chest to heave and draw in the amount of oxygen that was needed for him to remain strongly on his feet. Ellison had to bring down his assailant and he had to do it quickly. While each and every move had so far been matched and counter-matched by the body behind him, the detective still held one last card up his sleeve -- one held exclusively by those with experience.

A strong knock to the midsection, a twist, and a lashing out with a well-placed, sweeping kick to the back of bare calves had Jim gaining the upper hand. He guided the body down as it made its quick and ungraceful decent onto the lawn and, without a moment's hesitation, he shifted to straddle his bare-chested attacker. "How many times do we have to go over this?" he asked, panting heavily. "When will you get it through your thick skull that I am the master and the master never loses?"

"I had you for a minute there," the fallen teenager breathed.

Jim released the grip he had on the kid's wrists and shifted back, using some of his body weight on the teenager's diaphragm, effectively preventing any hope of escape. "And that minute was when?" he asked, sarcastically. "Seems to me, a person who is in the position that you're currently in might need to learn a little humility."

"Sorry," the kid wheezed. "But that word doesn't appear on my play list."

"I knows what that word means." A small, but self-assured voice joined the conversation. Similarly bare-chested and dressed only in a pair of shorts, Lucas' foremost and favourite little partner in crime wound his arm briefly around Jim's neck before also taking a seat on the teenager's torso.

"You're three," Lucas ground out, now struggling with the combined weight holding him down. "You don't know what it means."

"I not three, I three point seven five and I do so know what it means, 'cause I are clever," Blair huffed, as if he'd been mortally insulted.

"Well, if you're so clever, Mr. Three Point Seven Five, why is your dad dry as a bone and I'm pinned to the ground by the original Ten Ton Tessie?" Lucas flopped his arm out on the grass and pointed toward the fully-loaded Super Soaker that lay abandoned on the grass. "Some backup there, Short Stop."

Blair leaned down, his elbows digging into Lucas' biceps and his nose nearly touching that of the teenager. "I not wanna do backup," he said. "And it don't matter if I did, 'cause Daddy would'a winned anyhow."

"Is that so?" Lucas' arms came up and engulfed Blair in a huge, smothering hug. "What makes you so certain?"

"'Cause he always wins, Lucas. He too big to be picked on."

The sentinel laughed at his son's words. "Yep, pretty clever kid, if you ask me." Giving Lucas a hearty slap on the thigh, he pulled himself up, stretching his overtaxed muscles as he did so. "So, what was that you keep telling me again?" He gave the boy a wry smile. "Something about being ten feet tall and bullet proof, as I recall."

The teenager rolled over with Blair still in his arms and sprang to his feet with a lot less effort than it had taken Jim. "Wheelchairs and nursing homes. Remember old man that it pays to be nice to the person who holds the keys to your future."

Ellison scratched his jaw. "Allowance and staying out to eleven." He slapped Lucas on the shoulder. "Somehow I think the keys I hold are a lot more valuable."

"Think it might be time to pick on someone short," Lucas conceded, his future dates with Laura now taking on a whole new meaning. Dropping Blair down onto the grass, he smiled mischievously at the youngster. "I'd run, if I were you, Sport." He tickled Blair's stomach before retrieving the water pistol. "You have to the count of five."

Before Lucas had a chance to take off after Blair, Jim hooked him by the arm. "And what about all this camping gear that still needs to be loaded into the truck?"

Lucas shrugged. "We're not leaving until tomorrow afternoon. What's the big rush?"

"No rush, I just like to be prepared, that's all."

"Well, you know what they say. Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow." Without another word, Lucas took off after Blair, and it wasn't long before squeals at being captured turned into laughter and the gate to the pool fence swung open and slammed shut. "So much for help," Jim muttered.

Traipsing back to the house for another load of gear, Jim's thoughts turned to Lucas' words. In the space of eight months, the boy who had been the epitome of the phrase 'short term' had gone from a kid whose foresight and expectations didn't extend past where his next meal was coming from, to a teenager who now had dreams for the future. Lucas Wilder's place in life had been transformed from a forgotten child of the streets, to a boy who now belonged.

"Catch," Lucas called, throwing the foam ball in Blair's direction.

Standing in knee-deep water on the first step of the pool, Blair caught the ball clumsily against his chest. "Hey, you made me wet," he admonished.

"You're in a pool, goof ball," Lucas laughed. "You're supposed to get wet."

Taking a break for lunch, Jim watched the antics in the pool from the kitchen window. While he trusted Lucas implicitly, Blair still didn't know how to swim and he never felt quite at ease leaving the pair alone for too long.

With less than a month until Blair's fourth birthday, he had yet to get to the bottom of the youngster's irrational fear of the swimming pool. One of the reasons he'd decided on buying the house in the first place was his son's initial excitement about having a pool and learning to swim. But as spring gave way to the warm sultry days of summer, the top step was as far as the three-year-old had ventured. Although they'd both tried to gently cajole and encourage Blair to take that final leap, he'd refused. And when Blair said no -- seriously said no -- that's when all persuasion came to an end. Somewhere, hidden deep within the child's psyche, was a reason and it was a reason that nobody had the right to challenge. Blair would swim when Blair was ready.

"You gonna throw that ball back, or am I gonna have to come and take it from you?" Lucas picked up a water pistol and aimed it playfully at Blair. "Your choice, dude. The ball, or the squirt gets squirted."

"No," Blair squealed. Moving along the step, and as far away from Lucas as possible, he giggled as a jet of water splashed just short of his legs. "You can have the ball, you can have the ball," he said. Lifting up his arms, ready to toss it back, Blair misjudged how close he was to the edge of the step and was unable to regain his balance as he began to fall. There was hardly even a splash as the three-year-old toppled into the water.

By the time it took Jim to run from kitchen to the back door and sprint toward the pool, Lucas already had his son in the shallow end and cradled safely against his chest. Ellison stopped in his tracks and worked to get his own fears under control before going any further. There were no sobs or sounds of distress coming from Blair, and no physical indication that the child was any worse for wear. Lucas' voice was soft and calming and, by the way Blair's head nodded in agreement against his shoulder, whatever he was saying obviously had the youngster's attention. An enormous amount of parental concern and a small amount of curiosity had Jim breaking one of own rules about privacy and it didn't take much internal persuasion to convince himself that he was close enough to naturally overhear what was going on, anyhow.

"I didn't drownded," Blair whispered into Lucas' neck.

"Of course you didn't drown. You were only in the water for a few seconds."

Lucas moved to sit on the stair and Blair flinched as the water sloshed around his midsection. "Blair, why are you so scared of the water?"

Jim's hearing automatically adjusted up another level.

"Because of the man," Blair answered softly.

"Because of Tom?" Lucas asked.

"No." Blair buried himself deeper into Lucas' chest. "Because of the other man... the one that drownded me."

Jim didn't move, he couldn't move. Another chapter in his son's life was about to unfold and, once again, he found himself prowling the outer edge of the circle like a starving dog banished from the pack, waiting for his chance to steal away with a morsel of food. Unintentional as it may have been, Blair had formed an exclusive club in which membership was reserved for those he deemed had earned entry by a rite of passage. There was no denying that Lucas and Blair had a special bond, not only as the brothers they had become, but also by the circumstances of their lives. There was an empathy between the pair that Jim had no real hope of ever fully identifying with. He could sympathise and he could understand and, in Lucas' case, he could be the rock that the boy clung to when life's memories became too hard, but his own son was a different story. Blair was too concerned about his emotional well-being to ever confide in him the way Lucas had. Conversations that ended in 'don't worry, Daddy', or 'please don't be sad, Dad', had clued Jim in very early on about the child's inner concerns. Lucas had once told him that Blair had youth on his side and that, as time went by, his memories would fade, but every now and then Blair would come out with a statement, or a situation would arise, that reinforced to Jim how very profoundly his son still did remember. His only hope was to persevere and to show Blair that his father was strong enough to handle the truth.

Lucas' voice drew Jim from his thoughts. "What man?"

"The man in the dream. The one with the black eyes."

For the first time, Lucas noticed Jim standing on the other side of the pool fence. Their eyes locked as a common thought ran through both their minds.

"I know some pretty weird shit happens around here, but he couldn't, could he?" Lucas whispered. The man that Blair was referring to, the one with the black eyes, was one that both Lucas and Jim knew all too well. After far too many nights of being jolted awake, shaking and soaked through with sweat and fear, Lucas had finally confided to Jim about his dream.

"No," Jim assured as he unlatched the gate and moved toward the pool. He ran his hand lightly across the top of Lucas' wet hair. "He couldn't." Lucas' dream was just that, a dream, and the only logical way Blair could have known about it was if he'd overhead one of the many late night conversations that had taken place when the dream became too hard for a sixteen-year-old to handle alone.

"Hey, Munchkin, what's going on?" Peeling off his shirt, Jim lowered himself into the pool. He ran his hand up Blair's back. "Are you okay?"

Blair turned his head and peeked out to look at his father. "Ah, ha," he nodded. Releasing the hold he had on Lucas, he moved into Jim's arms. "Daddy, will you teach me how to swim?"

"Okay," Jim replied tentatively "Are you sure about this?"

"It a good time," Blair answered.

An eerie sensation ran through Lucas' body the moment Blair broke contact, leaving him with an uncanny feeling that something a lot deeper was brewing. While Jim tended to skirt around the mystical side of his Sentinel abilities, Lucas wasn't quite as quick to negate them or write them off as hocus pocus. Fate wasn't something he'd thought of much while growing up, because to believe in fate, you needed to believe in the future and, up until now, his future had been a moot point. But as the house he occupied had slowly become a home, a future, his future, had turned from an irrelevant question to a concept with definite merit, and one that was worth protecting with everything he had.

"Lucas and Laura sitting in a tree..."

Blair ducked out of the cushion's flight path as it sailed through the air. "...k.i.s.s.i.n.g," he continued to tease, smiling brightly.

"Laura, hold on for a second, will ya? I need to do a little pest control." While Blair may have mastered the art of cushion ducking, his teenager-avoidance skills still needed a little work and it wasn't long before he found himself dangling over Lucas' shoulder, leaving his shorts-clad backside in a very precarious position. Not quick enough to ward of a playful swat, he burst into a round of giggles as he was suddenly dumped flat on his back onto the sofa. The TV flicked on and Lucas was back, looming largely over him. "Sit, stay and be quiet." The phone was snatched up again and Lucas disappeared into the kitchen, leaving the bored three-year-old to his own devises. "Daddy said you 'posed to look after me 'till he gets back, not talk to girls," Blair huffed. Poking his tongue out, he scrambled off the couch in search of something else to do. The front door was wide open, and his bike still sat in the driveway, where they'd both been, until Laura had called. "I not need you to teach me how to ride, anyhow," he sulked. Not bothering with his helmet, Blair headed out the door, kicked at the training wheels that Lucas had removed and readied himself to mount the bike.

"Hey, hold up there, little guy."

Startled, Blair jumped, his heart thumping as two large hands circled his waist.

"Don't be afraid, son," the voice behind him soothed. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Clawing at the fingers, Blair pried himself out of the man's grasp.

The large figure crouched down to his eye level and, while every instinct in his body screamed at Blair to run, a stronger portend forced him to stay.

"My name's Max." The man extended his hand, by way of introduction. "I'm looking for Lucas."

Cautious and wary, Blair backed up a little, his nervousness dissipating slightly as the tickle of fur rubbed against his legs. "Why?"

The man shrugged his shoulders before scratching his jaw. "Because I haven't seen him for a long time and I'd like to say hello."

"Why?" Blair asked again.

Max let out a chuckle, remembering fond memories of his own sons at this inquisitive age. He reached over to push the child's wayward curls out of his eyes, his hand lingering a little too long and his imagination a little too captivated by the beautiful, angelic face staring back at him. Suddenly his hand jerked away and, for a split second, Max felt a ridiculous sense of pride at being able to control a part of him that was so very much out of control. His self-adulation was short lived, however, when he looked up and realised that his power of control was limited, and this time it had been taken from him by the hands of his son.

Standing, Max faltered, unprepared for what he saw. While time and age and his propensity to indulge in the seedier side of life had taken from him his last tenure on youth, in his mind's eye, his boy had not succumbed to the same fate. To Max Wilder, Lucas had remained a child. A child who, despite the circumstance of his upbringing, still told his father how very much he missed him, how very much he still loved him... and how very much he still needed him. The young man that now stood before him with palpable hatred and anger in his eyes wasn't what he'd anticipated. Max's fairytale reunion had just been torn to shreds.

"Get out." Lucas' words were harsh and guttural.

"Son," Max whispered.

"Don't," Lucas warned. "Don't you fucking dare." He pushed Blair behind his leg. They were both still shirtless and the shorts Blair was wearing had a tendency to hang low on his hips, leaving little to the imagination of a man like his father.

"Lucas, it wasn't meant to be like this."

"No? What was it meant to be like, Dad?" Lucas spat, endeavouring to clear the foulness of the word from his mouth. "Me on all fours with my ass in the air, perhaps?"

"I'm not that man anymore," Max said quietly, aching with regret for not only not being the kind of father a son deserved, but also at his inability to stop the twitch that stirred at the base of his groin. Lucas had grown from a stunningly beautiful child into a very striking and desirable young man.

The look Lucas saw in his father's eyes was unmistakable, and a familiar vulnerability washed over him. This had to end and it had to end while his anger and hate were still strong enough to hold him together, because if he let his emotions cripple him, it wouldn't take much for him to once again fall into the trap that his father was so skilled at laying down.

Clenching his fist, Lucas reacted in the only way he knew how. He took a step forward, only to be stopped by a small, but forceful arm that wound around his leg. "Lucas, we go inside now." The arm squeezed tighter. "Please."

Suddenly Lucas realised he couldn't do this. Not to or in front of Blair. Spinning around, he roughly hitched up the child's shorts and swung him into his arms. "Get the hell off this property!" he shouted. "Get the fuck off and don't you ever come back."

"Lucas, please," Max pleaded. Survival was the ruler of Max's life these days, and if he failed to get Lucas to agree to meet with him as Robert had instructed, he had no doubt that his brother's penance would be vengeful and painful. "I just want to talk. Won't you at least give me that much?"

"The only thing I'll give you, Max, is exactly what you gave my brother." Backing up with Blair still in him arms, Lucas felt the jaguar brush against his legs. He couldn't even begin to recall how many times he had envisaged his father's death, imagining how and when it would come to pass and, when it did, how much pain the man would suffer. And now the moment was so close he could almost reach out and touch it. The cat had killed for him before and he knew that it wouldn't take much provocation for the animal to do it again.

Swallowing hard, Lucas struggled with the power he held in his hands. While every fibre of his being detested the man that stood before him, a part of his damaged psyche, a part that he considered sick and twisted, still loved his father. It was times like these that haunted him, and brought home to him just how very broken he really was.

The jaguar moved out from behind his legs and Lucas' decision was made. He reached down, laying a hand on the cat's head, steadying its agitation. "Go Max," he rasped. "Leave now, while you still can."

Somehow the gravel path under Lucas' feet managed to give way to a paved entrance and in turn to wooden floorboards. The front door slammed shut and Lucas fumbled with the lock, his shaking fingers barely able to coordinate the simple movement. Leaning heavily against the solid oak panels, he felt as if his whole world had been once again ripped out from beneath him, and fear was consuming him without mercy.

Then the silence was broken. "He going away." With his face pressed up against the window, Blair's fingers trailed through the silky smooth fur of the black cat.

Anger suddenly engulfed the teenager. "What the hell were you thinking, going out the front door like that?" he yelled.

"You left it open," Blair countered, sheepishly.

"Don't," Lucas warned. "You know damn well the rules about going out front to play by yourself." He pulled himself up inches from Blair. "Open or not is not an invitation for you to go through it."

Not afraid of Lucas's anger, but truly remorseful for his actions, Blair turned, his eyes downcast. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry is nowhere near good enough, Blair." Lucas stomach churned. Blair's fate could have been seconds away from history repeating itself. Another brother gone, another child to bury.

Resisting the urge to shake some serious sense into the three-year-old, Lucas shouted. "Go to your room!"

Blair didn't move.

"Go!" Lucas snapped harshly, this time making the boy jump. With tears brimming in his eyes, Blair took flight. His bare feet slapped across the floorboards and pounded quickly up the stairs. Slamming his door shut, he dove onto his bed, his pillow doing little to muffle the sorrowful sobs that followed.

Sinking down onto the sofa, Lucas buried his head in his hands. He needed to leave, that much he knew for certain. Max may have left, but he wouldn't be gone forever. The longer he stayed, the greater the temptation there was for his father to return and the greater the risk became to Blair. Disappearing had never been hard for him in the past. It had more or less become a way of life. But he was no longer trapped in the past, and this new chapter he was living was one that came with responsibility, with obligations and with a duty of care. Because of this, it also came with one of the hardest goodbyes he'd ever have to make.

"You're staying put."

"Jesus Christ, Jim. How can you possibly want me to stay when you know what's at stake?" Lucas argued in disbelief.

"Knowing what's at stake is exactly why you're not going anywhere."

"Jim, he's your son."

"And so are you." Jim grasped Lucas' shoulders. "You're part of this family, kiddo. You telling me you're just willing to walk away from that?"

"No." Lucas shook his head. "Not want to, have to." He wrapped his hands around Jim's forearms. "You're the only person I've ever confided in and you know damn well what my father is capable of." A shudder ran through Lucas's body. "He won't give up trying to see me, Jim, and every time he does, Blair will become more and more of a temptation."

"You need to trust me, Lucas." Jim answered. "Trust me to take care of my son... both my sons."

The word son, coming from Jim, never ceased to floor Lucas. He was a son, but a son to two men. One man who he hated with intense anger, but also loved with doleful pity, and one who he'd grown to finally admit to himself that he just simply loved. "You can't watch us twenty-four hours a day, Jim," Lucas replied, quietly.

"And I won't have to." Slapping the boy lightly on the shoulder, Jim beckoned him to take a seat on the sofa. He'd only been ten minutes away from home when he'd received the call from the kid and, while the information Lucas had imparted scared the hell out of him, it also told him that they had finally reached a defining moment in their relationship. The stubbornly independent and willful kid who had been thrust into manhood well before his time had finally let the boy inside take a foothold on his life. While protecting Blair wasn't and never would be an issue, Lucas was finally seeking protection for himself. If confronted with the same situation six months ago, Jim had no doubt in his mind that the kid would have taken off, never to be seen or heard from again. But the current Lucas Wilder needed other people. Although he would always have a maturity that other sixteen-year-olds wouldn't have, Lucas had become fallible and, while many might have seen this as a failing, Jim saw it as a huge step forward in the boy's emotional development. To be fallible meant that he'd finally opened up his heart to love.

"Lucas, by coming here, your father has broken the terms of his parole. Simon's already got an APB out on him, and knowing Simon, that means that half the cops in Cascade are out looking for him."

"He'll go back to jail then?"

"The chances are high." Jim noted the flicker of uncertainty in the kid's eyes. "Are you okay with that?"

Lucas just nodded.

"How about a change of plans?" Jim said, getting to his feet. "Why don't we head off early tomorrow morning and put some space between us and here for a while?" He'd already spoken with Simon and they'd both agreed that his place was with the boys and not out looking for Max Wilder.

"Okay." Lucas sat numbly on the couch. He'd let Jim take the decision out of his hands, this time. But, although the burden may have been temporarily lifted, Lucas couldn't stop the trepidation from creeping over him, or ignore the intuition that told him that this wouldn't be the last time he'd be running into Max.

Jim scuffed Lucas' hair before heading toward the stairs. Perched halfway up, with Big Bird clutched to his chest and a wolf pup lying on his feet, Blair sat silent and still. Padding up the stairs, Jim crouched down before reaching the top. "I think you and I need to have a little talk about a few things, don't you?"

Blair knew his daddy was angry and was cross with him for disobeying the rules. He nodded his head without saying a word.

"But first, I think there's someone in this house that could do with an apology and also a hug."

The pup scooted down the stairs and Jim reached out and drew Blair to his feet. "Go on," he said, swatting the three-year-old lightly on the backside.

Blair pensively made his way down the stairs and into the living room. He stopped, not getting too close to Lucas, who didn't even seem to notice his presence. "Do you still love me?" he stammered.

Lucas's eyes locked with the youngster and Blair lunged forward into open arms. There were no words spoken; they were brothers and there was no need.

Continuing up the remainder of the staircase, Jim headed toward the bathroom to run Blair's bath. He knew the night ahead would be a long and sleepless one, and he prayed that his fellow officers would get the job done before it was necessary for him to intervene. If Max Wilder came near either of the boys again, police procedure would become obsolete. Rules were insignificant when the well-being of his family was at stake.

"Lift." Lucas tapped Blair on the ankle.

"Are you afraid of him?" Blair asked. With his hands on Lucas' shoulders to steady himself, he lifted his foot while Lucas set about drying his toes.

"Afraid of who?"

"Afraid of the man today."

Finished with his foot, Lucas ran the bath towel up Blair's legs and over the length of his body, making sure the youngster was completely dry. "Why don't we just agree to forget about what happened today and forget about the man, okay?"

Blair wished he could, but he knew that when Incacha came to him, he always came for a very important reason, and today in his room had been no exception. Incacha had told him that his daddy needed to find his way and that Lucas had to help him find it. He didn't understand everything the spirit guide had said, but he understood enough to know that something was going to happen and Lucas needed to be strong.

"All done." Lucas draped the towel around Blair's shoulders. "Why don't you go and get your PJs on while I clean up the mess left behind by the bubble monster?"

Without warning, Blair lunged forward and wrapped his arms tightly around his brother's neck. "Be brave, Lucas," he whispered. "Daddy needs you to be very, very brave."

Before Lucas could say anything, Blair released his grip and scampered from the room. He knew going after the child and questioning him about his statement would be futile, at the very least. Blair could be as secretive and as aloof as Mata Hari when he wanted to be, and no amount of wheedling or enticement could get him to talk if he didn't feel like talking. Besides, he was drained both physically and mentally; going one on one with a wily three-year-old just seemed like too much effort for very little gain. All he wanted to do was to sink into bed and forget the day ever happened. Hearing Jim talking to Blair, he threw the dirty towels in the hamper and headed for his room. He left the door open and, despite the stifling heat, he closed and locked his window before drawing the blinds. Pulling down the bedcovers, Lucas lay down on the cool cotton sheet and closed his eyes, inwardly hoping for a night that would be free of the dreams that nightmares were made of.

Jim laid the sleeping child down on the far side of Lucas' bed. The teenager hadn't stirred an inch since falling asleep just before dinner and, given the circumstances of the day, sleep was more beneficial to the kid at the moment than food. Not forcing the bed issue with Blair and feeling his own need to keep the child close, he'd let his son fall asleep in front of the TV before moving him upstairs.

Flicking on the overhead fan to try and alleviate some of the heat from the warm, stuffy room, Jim adjusted a sheet over Blair's sleeping body. Leaving Lucas uncovered, he palmed away the moisture from the teenager's sweat-dotted brow. "It's just me," he assured when the kid stirred at the intrusion in his room. "Blair's in the bed with you." Lucas sleepily acknowledged the comment before flipping over. His fingers brushed against Blair's pyjama top and it didn't take long for him to settle back down.

After double checking to make sure the latch on the window was secure, Jim peered out into a strangely moonless night, scanning the landscape only as far as the porch light would allow. His senses had been off kilter all night, and, although he'd made a concerted effort to get them to cooperate, his hearing and eyesight wouldn't elevate beyond that of a normal level. Never truly comfortable with relying on the somewhat foreign and fickle nature of the so-called gift he'd been given, he shrugged off the inconvenience and let his detective instincts take over. His gut feeling was telling him that keeping the members of the household in close proximity was his first priority. His second was to be vigilant and prepared for whatever the night might bring. The chance of Max Wilder returning wasn't high on the list of probabilities but, not willing to store his faith in chance, Jim let his training and his intuition call the shots.

With the impenetrable darkness unwilling to give up the secrets it harboured within the confines of its shadows, Jim let the blind flutter closed. The sound of crickets and the sporadic barking of a neighbour's dog in the distance settled over him, bringing a sense of normality and order to a night where even the stars refused to shine.

Outside the window, a jaguar prowled restlessly, while a Chopec warrior watched without taking action.

Since Robert Wilder felt the means to an end well within his grasp, he could be patient as he waited for the blind to close and the house to become silent. Stepping onto the gravel path, as quietly as the stones beneath his feet would allow, he crept toward the side of the house. The back door, which had been bolted and locked, opened with a simple twist of the handle and the man with a soul as black and as sinister as the darkness that concealed his presence found himself wrestling with a decision. He could keep to the details of his original plan and attach the tracking devise to the cop's truck, waiting for the camping trip that was so obvious in its preparation earlier that day to come to fruition, or he could deviate slightly and eliminate right here and now the only obstacle which he could see standing between himself and his ultimate targets.

The young child that Lucas had seemingly taken a shine to had not only become a convenient bargaining chip, but also a ripe, juicy cherry on top of an already delicious ice cream sundae. The cop was and had always been of no consequence to his plan, and whether he killed him now or later was of no real importance. They'd all be missed eventually, but eventually was a concept that was nothing more than a matter of time, and he had plenty of time. Maybe it would be easier this way. He'd have it neatly wrapped up and could be on the road toward the border without the trouble of tracking the happy little family to the back woods of god knows where.

Cocking his head toward the second floor and listening intently for any sound or movement, Robert smiled evilly. "Too much bear shit in the woods, anyway," he muttered as his smug, superior nature endorsed his change of plans. He'd actually been surprised at how easy it was for him to gain access to the house. Lucas had either kept mum about seeing Max, or else the cop he'd hitched up with was just plain ass dumb.

Almost laughing, Robert moved arrogantly toward the stairs, but his overconfident swagger suddenly pulled up short when an eerie chill ran through his body.

Incacha stood tall and strong, blocking Wilder's path. On the eve of an event that never should have been brought to pass, the warrior reluctantly stayed true to the dictates of the council. The man with the heart of pure evil would be given the freedom to roam, as long as he did not stray from the path that had been set out before him. A locked door conveniently unlatched, notifications of an unjust release swallowed under a mountain of paperwork, and a sentinel dulled and stripped of all sense and instinct until the intruder within his territory was long gone.

The day of reckoning would soon be at hand and, when it arrived, Incacha knew that he would stand strong and proud by the side of his sentinel. But until that day arose, the council's wishes would be upheld and Wilder would stay true to his destiny.

"What the holy fuck!" The intruder blinked several times in order to clear his vision. He could have sworn on the grave of his crazy old grandmother that he'd just seen a half-naked Indian standing on the bottom stair. Blinking again, another chill swept violently over him, this time causing him to visibly shake and drop the knife clumsily from his hand.

Frozen momentarily, listening for any sign of movement that his careless mistake may have caused, Wilder endeavoured to pull himself together. Quickly snatching the knife from the tiled floor, he hastily made his way through the door that led to the garage. Dropping to he ground, he slid under the truck and attached the tracking device to the chassis. After making sure it was secure, he pulled himself out and cautiously retraced his footsteps, giving a sigh of relief when he was back out in the night air. As he made his way across the lawn toward the trees, the darkness that had hidden him before offered no solace. He felt a very real presence behind him, making the hairs on his neck bristle. For the first time in a very long time, Robert Wilder was afraid.

Slamming the car door shut and ignoring his brother's incoherent mumble, Robert shifted the car into 'drive' and gunned the engine. Speeding recklessly down the main street of the quiet suburban neighbourhood, Robert let his anger and self-loathing at the spinelessness of his actions envelope him. He looked with disgust at the weak creature in the seat next to him, lashing out with a blow to his brother's lax face. Max was the coward of the family, not him. He was the strong one. He was the one who held the power. He was the one who, no matter what, got his way because he was the one who had the balls to take what he wanted. Max was the pathetic one. Not him.

Screeching around the corner into what appeared to be an uninhabited side street, Robert pulled up sharply, the tyres of the stolen four-wheel drive slamming into the curb, and stopping in front of a poorly-lit park. With his emotions still raging, he grabbed his brother by the collar and yanked him roughly across the seat. Losing his patience as the pitiable, drug-addicted man stumbled and staggered across the grass, Robert finally came to a stop and slammed Max down, chest first, onto a wooden picnic table. A snap of a buckle, a yank on a zipper, and legs that were no longer clad with denim were forcibly kicked apart. His brother grunted under the brutal force of his penetration, the whimpering noise only serving to spur him on. "I am not weak!" he ground out, slamming harder and deeper into Max. "I have control I have always had control."

Release was quick and brutal and, as always when he abused his brother, came with a multitude of jumbled emotions. Pulling free with a care and tenderness that belied the act he'd just performed, he covered his brother's body with his own. "It's okay," he comforted gently, kissing the back of Max's head. "I'm gonna make everything okay. We'll be a family again. A proper family, I promise."

Max neither listened nor cared about this brother's words. There was no reaction or acknowledgement as his jeans were pulled up and his belt fastened. The ache that would rip through his body in the hours to come would be taken care of by the prick of a single needle. That was Max Wilder's world now, and all he cared about.

"I can drive, you know. Been doing it for a number of years now," Lucas grumbled.

"Yep."

"So..."

"So, what?"

"So, how about letting me?"

"Well therein lies the problem, Half-pint."

"Half-pint! You have to be kidding me. I'm only a couple of inches shorter than you and you call me half-pint!"

"Shorter being the definitive word there, stumpy," Ellison chuckled.

"You know, Jim sometimes you can be a real..."

"Sweetheart?"

Lucas sank further down into the passenger seat. "Sweetheart wasn't exactly the word I was looking for, but it did start with an 's'."

Blair tossed the book he was looking at onto the pile that was scattered over the back seat; the conversation in the front of the car sounding a lot more interesting than the wedding between two rabbits. "I can drive," he piped up.

Jim glanced into the rear view mirror. Its angle giving him an off-centre view of his son. "You can, can you?"

"Ah, ha. Joel teached me."

Ellison raised his eyebrows. "When did he teach you how to drive?"

"He been teaching me in his and Jessie's driverway."

"In their what?" Lucas asked.

"In their driverway," Blair answered again.

"Is that the same as the one at Wonderburger?" the teenager teased.

Lucas' taunt was rewarded with a playful whack on the arm from Jim. "What exactly did you drive in Joel's driveway, Munchkin?"

"My go-cart."

"But I didn't think that was finished yet?"

"Ah, ha, it is," Blair answered. "But Joel sayed not to tell you till I learned how to drive properly." He quickly slapped his hand up his mouth. "Um, oops."

"And why did Joel say not to tell me?" Jim asked, curiously.

"'Cause he sayed that learning someone how to drive should be left up to those 'sponsible people who have ex'llent driving records. Joel sayed that he was very ex'llent."

"Oh, he did, did he?"

"Ah, ha." Blair wiggled in his booster seat, pulling at the seatbelt that kept him securely restrained. He didn't know why he always had to sit in the back when Lucas was always allowed to sit in the front. "Dad?"

"Yes?" Jim asked, with a small measure of caution at the tone of his son's voice.

"What does 'touch with a ten-foot pole' mean?"

"Where did you hear that expression?" Jim asked.

"From Joel. He sayed that the car 'surance man don't want to touch you with one."

"Oh he did, did, he?" Jim's grip tightened ever so slightly on the steering wheel.

"Ah, ha, and so did Uncle Simon, but Uncle Simon sayed the pole would be more like twenty feet."

Lucas burst out laughing. "So, Jim, feeling a little inadequate yet?" he smirked. "Little and inadequate being both the definitive words."

Shifting quickly out of the path of another, more forceful swat that was headed in his direction, Lucas completely ignored Jim's sideward glance and swivelled around in this seat. "So, my little tattle-tail, what else has Joel been saying?"

"Hey Chief," Jim interrupted. "How about a game of eye spy? I'm driving so I have to concentrate on the road, but I'm sure Lucas would love to play with you."

A satisfied smile spread over Ellison's face. With two hours of driving still ahead of them and a three-year-old who obviously had no intention of falling asleep, Lucas had his work cut out for him. He slapped the teenager's thigh and ignored the glare that was now coming his way. "Ah, revenge," he chuckled. "Is there anything ever so sweet?"

"That one's a cat, that one's a racing car, that one's a camel and that big, huge one over there is a Rannosaurus Tex. They comed from Texas, you know."

Jim watched his little boy out of the corner of his eye and couldn't help but smile. Laying flat on his back, with the rays of the afternoon sun warming his cold little body, Blair was content and happy as the fluffy white clouds transformed the almost hypnotic blue sky into his own imaginary playground. A three-quarter sized fishing rod lay on the grass, abandoned in favour of a splash in the still-chilly waters of the shallow pond that had formed in an outcrop of rocks just out from the bank. A carefree summer had left Blair with a healthy glow and a happy-go-lucky attitude that was a far cry from the undernourished, timid child that had arrived on his doorstep so many months before.

"Holly says that a Rannosaurus comes from Texas," Blair repeated. "She says that her dad told her mom that everything big comes from Texas."

"Well there's a double-entendre if ever I heard one," Lucas laughed. He was fishing a little further downstream, but still close enough to hear Blair's chatter.

Blair took his eyes off the cloud. "What does double tundra mean, Daddy?"

"It means that either Lucas has been watching too many James Bond movies or he's finally paying attention in English."

Blair rolled his eyes and didn't bother questioning his father any further about the answer he'd given. His daddy was in a silly mood and when he started teasing Lucas, he knew it would be a long, long time before he'd get a proper answer to his question. Jessie would tell him what the word meant, because Jessie was sensible. Everyone knew that. Turning his attention back to the sky, he watched the dinosaur break apart before drifting slowly away, and wondered for a brief moment if he'd get to see a Rannosaurus Tex in the zoo if he asked his dad to take him to Texas.

With a smile still on his face, Jim felt a contentment of his own as he regarded the two boys who had become his world. He'd never really thought about his life in terms of love before. He had loved, he guessed and he knew that there must have been times when the feelings he had for his father weren't tainted by animosity and ill feeling, and also times when the bond he had with Steven was more brotherly than just wanting to kick the shit out of each other. But if those feelings existed, they existed as a minuscule part of his life and would never come close to comparing with what he now knew as love. He loved Blair, his son, with an absolute depth he'd never felt before. Although he may have tried to ignore it at first, the love he had for this child had been whole and complete, the minute he'd laid eyes on him. Lucas, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. The first time he came face to face with the kid, he'd wanted to dig the boy's heart out of his chest with a rusty spoon. Lucas had caused him more pain and suffering than he could ever imagine being humanly possible. But, buried deep beneath his torment and heartache, a different feeling still lingered. Whether it was the 'sorry for' factor coming into play when he was forced to face the atrocities of the kid's life, or whether it was the misguided, but nevertheless fierce and unrelenting protection Lucas had offered his son, he couldn't explain. Then again, no parent probably could. The love for one child over the other was incomparable, at least in his world. Blair may have been his son by birth and Lucas by circumstance, but he'd grown to love them both, fully, completely and in absolute, equal measure.

"You gotted another one," Blair squealed, drawing Jim from his thoughts.

Fighting the end of Lucas' line was a very respectable, five-pound rainbow trout.

Skipping from one flat stone to another until he reached the shore, Blair bounced around excitedly. "Put it in the bucket, put it in the bucket," he chorused.

Grabbing the net and scooping up the fish as Lucas reeled it closer into shore, Jim was fully prepared for the next statement out of the teenager's mouth.

"Hmm, three fish in a tub and they all appear to have been caught by me."

"Yeah well, Captain Ahab, I'm just pacing myself. Fishing is all about patience, perseverance and indulging in the finer points of relaxation while becoming one with nature... as the more experienced of the fishing brethren like to describe it."

"Full of..."

"Sunshine and sensible adages," Jim jumped in, with a wisp of a smile on his face.

"Again, not quite the 's' words I was thinking of."

"Daddy, look at all the colours," Blair announced in awe. "They all the colours of the rainbow."

Jim peeked into the large plastic container. The sun reflecting on the water and bouncing off the fish did make it appear that Lucas had caught a bucket full of rainbows.

"This one is Mr. Sparkles, this one is Mrs. Glitter and..." Blair scratched his head, "I don't have a name yet for the other one."

"How do you know if Mr. Sparkles is really a mister?" Lucas interjected. "He might be a girl."

"If you pick him up, I will tell you what he is," Blair answered confidently.

"How?" Lucas asked.

"You look at their bottoms, Lucas," Blair stated, as if the answer was obvious. "When Holly's cat had kittens, her dad picked them up and looked at their bottoms. They have boy or girl typed in big letters there, so you know what they are."

"Okay," Lucas drawled. "Think it might be time for a little bit of the old birds and the bees."

Jim let out a long-suffering sigh. To date, he'd succeeded in avoiding the question of sex education. His apprehension stemmed from not only being overly cautious and wary of stirring up the memories of Blair's past, but also from the fact that he honestly didn't have any idea how to even begin to broach the subject with a three-year-old. Blair was a clever kid and rudimentary answers never seemed to satisfy his curiosity. He'd managed to pretty much skirt around the edges of the subject to date, but he knew full well that once the horse was out of the gate, Blair would ride the old chestnut at full speed until there was no more left for the horse to give. While he was pretty sure that Blair would survive the ride, he wasn't quite so certain of his ability not to stumble, fall off and be pummelled into the ground halfway through.

Lucas noted the perplexed look on Jim's face. "I thought you had a book?"

"I do."

"Well, doesn't that give the ABCs of the whole thing?"

"The ABC is easy; it's the XYZ that starts to get tricky."

Jim knelt down beside Blair. The issue obviously needed to be addressed, but it could wait for another place and time. "What'd you say we blow this popsicle stand, Munchkin, and go collect us some wood for a campfire? How does hot chocolate and marshmallows under the stars tonight, sound?"

"Yummy," Blair answered. Grasping the edge of the container he let out a small grunt as he started to drag the fish back toward the riverbank. "We better put Mr. Sparkles and his friends back in the water. I think they are getting too squished in here."

"Hey, hold up there a minute, Squirt. That's our dinner in there."

Horrified, Blair looked up at the teenager. "You can't eat them, Lucas." He turned quickly back toward his father. "Daddy, Lucas is going to eat our fish!"

"Baby, that's the reason we were fishing in the first place... to catch our dinner."

The colour drained from Blair's face. "No, they our friends. You don't eat your friends." Standing guard in front of the fish, Blair's voice jumped up a pitch as he pleaded with his father. "We bringed hamburgers from the freezer. We'll have that for dinner 'stead."

Before Jim could get a word in, Lucas opened his big mouth. "Where exactly do you think hamburgers come from, Sport?"

Jim shook his head in disbelief. "Give the boy a shovel and watch him dig us all a grave," he muttered. "They come from the supermarket, Lucas," he stated firmly. "And," he added, lowering his voice considerably, "unless you are going to volunteer to do all the grocery shopping and cooking for a three-year-old vegetarian, plus work out how you're going to not only smuggle, but cook lamb roast, barbeque steak and chicken a la king in the house ever again, I'd basically suggest that you shut up now."

"Good point," Lucas nodded. While vegetables may have been tolerable, nothing compared to a juicy, flame-grilled, prime rib fillet.

Blair eyed Lucas and his father warily. "Daddy, does they really come from the supermarket?"

"Sure do kiddo," Jim answered quickly, confident that he wasn't exactly lying to Blair. He was just leaving out certain information that wasn't truly necessary at this time.

Reaching past his son, Jim began to lug the container the remaining distance to the water's edge.

"Hey, hang on," Lucas protested, but his objection came too late. Blair clapped his hands, relief evident on his face as Mr. Sparkles and his school of friends disappeared quickly downstream.

"But they were my fish," Lucas spluttered in disbelief. The empty tub sloshed unceremoniously up against his ankles in the shallow water. "I spent hours catching those."

"Well," Jim began, slinging an arm around the kid's shoulder, "I suggest that while we're busy collecting wood, you -- being the great and mighty fisherman that you are -- get to work and catch, scale, gut and fillet three more so as they look exactly like the ones Blair is used to eating at home."

"Yeah, right." Lucas rolled his eyes sardonically. "They'll still be fish, Jim."

"No Lucas, they'll be fillets."

"Fillets?" the teenager questioned.

Smiling, the detective slapped the boy on the back. "See, given enough time, I knew you'd get there, eventually."

Picking up his rod and following Blair up the path that led back to the cabin, Jim laughed at the look on Lucas' face. Life was never dull, that was for sure.

There'd been no sound, no warning. Nothing but complete and absolute silence hung in the air. It was almost as if the forest itself had been leached of the very essence that gave it life. The shadow approached, dark, foreboding and inhumanly large. It cast its evil upon the river, drowning and smothering in putrid darkness the gleaming light that once reflected upon the shallow pool.

And then the voice. It was unmistakable, ever-present in his waking hours, all-consuming in his nightmares. Lucas' worlds were about to collide.

"What, no kiss for Uncle Bobby?"

The fishing rod slipped from the teenager's hand as his worlds became one; his breathing hitched and his chest constricted. The air around him became impossibly thick and heavy, making it almost unbearable to inhale. He turned slowly to confront his demon, his face stricken but resigned. The story of his life needed no narrative, and it seemed it could never end with 'happily ever after'.

"Well, well, look at who's all grown up," Robert jeered. His eyes roamed leeringly over his nephew. "Grown up, but not so much that a guy can't still partake in a few guilty pleasures."

Lucas' response stopped short of leaving his mouth. He couldn't speak. His mind raced frantically, trying to make sense of what his eyes were telling him. This was impossible. Robert was in jail. There was no way... no possible way.

"Cat got your tongue boy?" Robert boomed. A rifle, which lay nestled in the crook of his arms, jostled against his belly as a belt of raucous laughter escaped the large man's lips. "Guess a few 'hows' are passing through your mind right about now. How did I find you, how did I get out of jail, or more to the point, how did I get sent to that hellhole in the first place?" Robert moved menacingly closer. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot. You already know the answer to the last one, don't you?"

"What do you want?" Lucas' voice held strong, despite the soul-shattering uncertainty that coursed through his body.

"Family, Lucas. Family is what I want. What I've always wanted."

The teenager's eyes darted, drawn to movement just beyond his uncle's shoulder. "I should have known," he whispered.

As his father inched closer, Lucas' stance became more rigid. "You bastard," he ground out. "You spineless, chicken-shit bastard."

Lucas was quick to move, but Robert was quicker. Two paces forward became a rapid three paces back as the butt of the rifle connected with the side of the teenager's head. Stunned, he fell to the ground, his knees taking the brunt of the impact as he willed his body to fall no further. He was down, but nowhere near out. As far as he was concerned, Robert's hit was on a par to being bitch-slapped. He'd suffered much worse at the hands of the man in the past, and he envisioned far worse to come before this would all be over.

"Tut, tut," Robert admonished. "Such language, and in front of you father, no less. I woulda thought the cop would've cleansed some of that sewer outta your mouth by now." Robert's boot connected with Lucas' shoulder, sending him sprawling back into the shallows. "Speaking of cops..." Pulling a handgun from the back of jeans, he tossed it to his brother. "Keep that boy of yours under control, while I take care of a few niggling pieces of business," he ordered.

"No!" Lucas cried out.

"'Fraid so, kiddie winks," Robert mocked. "But don't worry, I'm a good shot. He'll be dead before he hits the ground."

"God no!" Lucas screamed inwardly. Needing to think rationally, he shook his head in an effort to clear the fog and the ringing in his ears. Jim must have heard what was going on by now. There is no way he couldn't have. First priority, he'd stash Blair somewhere safe. Jim wouldn't make a move until that was done. Second, he'd retrieve his rifle and service pistol from the safety box under the bed of the truck. Steps one and two, easy... easy as pie. But timing. What about timing? Was there enough? Would the sentinel have enough time without being bought some? The teenager's eyes flashed towards Robert's retreating back as it disappeared up the path. Max hovered apprehensively by the water's edge, the gun gripped in his hand.

His father's weak nature had now become Lucas' strength.

"Lucas, no." Max's voice held a hint of nervousness as the boy slowly rose to his feet.

"Dad." A three letter noun, small in its structure but powerful in its emotion, especially when used against a man like Max. "Please Dad, you can't let this happen. You can't let him do this."

"I have no choice, son. I'm sorry." Max's voice may have faltered, but the aim of the gun didn't.

"There's always a choice, Dad and you always had one. You just choose to ignore it." Making his own choice and ignoring the threat that his father posed, Lucas took a chance, his only chance. He pushed past his father, knowing full well that the only strength that Max possessed to stop him was in the form of a 44 calibre handgun. The shot never came.

He'd bet his life on a speck of something good still remaining inside the man who once was a decent father. Lucas' luck, this time, won out.

"How could you have not heard?" Lucas was stunned when he came in view of their cabin. Seventy-five feet to his right, Jim and Blair went about the business of stacking wood for the fire as if there was not a care in the world. Twenty-five feet to his left, Robert had his gun aimed and cocked.

There was no time to think, no time to shout, no time to warn. As the words 'ready, steady, pop!" slipped from his uncle's lips, Lucas took flight. Tackling the man with the skill and prowess of an NFL defensive lineman, he slammed Robert's body into the ground. While the challenge may have come a second too late to stop the bullet exploding from the chamber, the barrel's aim and the trajectory of the bullet were life-savingly altered.

At the same time the bullet ripped through Ellison's bicep, Robert's rifle butt collided once again with Lucas' skull. No bitch slap this time; the force knocked the teenager deeply unconscious. This time he was down and out for the count like a victim of one of Muhammad Ali's greatest hits.

"Run, Blair, run!" His daddy words thundered in his ears, as he ploughed aimlessly and without direction through the thick undergrowth. Bracken lashed at his face, stinging his cheeks while vines entwined his angles making him stumble and fall. His knees scraped the ground and his hands fell on to his lap. They were covered in blood; his daddy's blood.

Tears trickled down his cheeks and muted sobs wracked his small frame. The man with the black eyes was real and, at the tender age of three, Blair knew full well what he wanted. "No more." His voice broke and his sobs became uncontrollable. "I don't want that no more."

Without warning he was lifted off the ground, but gave no resistance. He wrapped his arms around the body that now engulfed his and held on for dear life. "You're safe, little one," Incacha crooned, softly. "You're safe."

Two feet and eight paws tracked a weary, tiresome path back and forth across the smooth floor of the shallow cavern. The wolf pup, hot on Blair's heals, never missed a beat as its oversized paws followed in the boy's footsteps. The young cougar, resigned to third place, appeared agitated and restless, bound and held back by rules it did not want to obey.

Blair stopped suddenly, the pup and the cougar ploughing into his legs like a vaudeville clown show. "If you not want to come with me, Bagheera will." Steadfast and determined blue eyes bore into the Indian's. "He will come and he will gobble the man up."

Incacha flashed a sad smile. "Little one, I cannot. We cannot yet interfere with the path that has been laid out in front of us."

A silent tear trickled down Blair's face. "But my daddy's hurt." He held up his fingers, still stained red by the blood of his father. "Please help him."

"Come," Incacha beckoned with an outstretched hand and a soul heavier than he had ever known. Of all the guides he had tutored and nurtured, this guide, his littlest of guides, had left his mark on his heart and on his spirit.

Blair took hold of Incacha's hand, a sense of calm descending over him as his fingers were engulfed within the warm palm. "Will he die?"

"Do you trust your Guardian... your brother?" Incacha asked.

Blair nodded. He did trust Lucas, he trusted him more than anything, but the black-eyed man... there was something about him, something that went way beyond scary.

"The man is very big," Blair whispered.

"I know," Incacha answered.

"He hurt Lucas."

"I know that as well."

"Lucas is afraid."

"He is, but he has strength. A strength he will find for your father and for you." Incacha cupped Blair's cheek. "But he needs your help, little one."

"Me?" Blair responded. "I can't help. I'm too little."

Incacha smiled. "You may be little, young guide, but if you search deep enough you will find the heart of a lion waits within."

From the back of the cavern, the jaguar snarled. Incacha gave the animal a sideways glance. "I correct myself." He smiled faintly. "You have the heart of a jaguar, young guide."

"I'm as brave as Bagheera?" Blair asked, astonished.

"If you choose to be."

"How do I choose to be brave?"

"Tomorrow, when the sun rises over the first mountain peak, you will have a choice to make."

Blair listened carefully.

"You can choose to stay here with me, here with the animal spirits, or you can choose to go back to your father and to your brother."

"I not need to make a 'cision." Fear, apprehension and a smattering of courage rolled through Blair's stomach. "Daddy and Lucas need me." He pulled at Incacha's hand. "You take me now."

"At first light, little one. First you need to eat, sleep and regain your strength."

"Incacha?" Blair whispered

"Yes?"

"I trying not to be, but I think I scared."

"Being scared is what makes you so brave, little one." The warrior got to his feet, Blair's hand still within his grasp. "Come, you must eat and sleep. Tomorrow brings us another step closer."

With a full belly, and a soft, furry mattress beneath him, it didn't take long for Blair to fall into a deep slumber. He laid his head down on the body of the cougar, quiet purrs becoming his lullaby, a young pup his teddy bear. A jaguar, strong and willful, lay down beside him, licking his fingers, erasing all traces of blood.

"You know you cannot yet interfere," Incacha intoned.

The jaguar continued to lick.

"If you intervene before the Guardian has a chance to prove himself, you will give the council the grounds they need to remove him."

The jaguar continued to lick and this time it ignored Incacha completely.

"You are a stubborn creature, Mischi, Misi." In annoyance Incacha turned his back on the cat and poked at the fire. He huffed, shaking his head. "But then, you and I have always been made of the same cloth."

When Blair left tomorrow, he wouldn't be leaving alone. The jaguar would be by his side and, in reality, Incacha wouldn't have wanted it any other way. While he placed his faith in the hands of the Guardian to take care of the Sentinel and the Guide, the boy's foe possessed an evil that one so young should not have to face alone. But if the rules of the council were broken, Incacha would deal with it like any warrior would -- in battle. If the powers that be wanted his tribe, they would have to fight for it.

"Damn, it!" Ellison yanked harshly against the restraint that kept him bound. Pain spiked from his handcuffed wrist and lashed up his arm. It stopped abruptly, slamming into his bicep, the pain akin to the full force of being thrown up against a solid brick wall.

Gritting his teeth, the sentinel banged his head back against the wall. A tight ball of pure hatred in his gut fuelled what was needed to go up against the bastard who had done this, but it was wasted energy. He was trapped. The handcuff, the immovable metal pipe to which it was attached, and a root cellar that had been designed to withstand the onslaught of a full grown grizzly, gave up nothing that would help aid their escape.

Lucas lay on the ground, still unconscious and just beyond his reach, and Blair, god, he didn't even want to think about where he might be. Jim tried to focus, tried to scan the area with his hearing in an attempt to get a fix on him, but the attempt was in vain. The whereabouts of his son was impossible to hear over the lunatic stomping through the bush on the outskirts of the cabin as Robert Wilder let loose his psychotic rage.

"Cat, if you can hear me, Blair needs you more than ever before." While the wolf pup seemed to be a permanent fixture in his son's life, the jaguar, and more recently the cougar, came and went at will. Jim tried hard to focus on the positives. The pup, like his son, was young and inexperienced, but if the cat wasn't around, then at least Blair wouldn't be alone. He had to take solace in this; if he didn't, he'd go insane with worry.

Feeling slightly woozy, Ellison levelled his breathing and attempted to sort through the array of tricks he normally used when trying to get his senses to cooperate. None of them appeared to be working. Frustrated, he slammed his head back again. "You're nothing but a fucking circus freak," he hissed, angrily.

And then it registered; faint at first, but oddly familiar to his subconscious. Closing his eyes, the sentinel concentrated. A heartbeat. It was a heartbeat. Slow and sluggish, but with every passing second it became stronger, more defined and more recognisable.

"Lucas."

A sound, which couldn't even be described as a groan, came from the boy.

"Lucas," Jim tried again, just as the door swung open.

Footsteps, light and unsure padded down the stairs and the single light bulb, which hung from the overhead beam, was flicked on.

Max Wilder stopped, eyeing Ellison cautiously before hesitantly moving to Lucas' side.

To Jim, the man appeared to be torn; torn between coming to his son's aid and the fear of possible retribution if he did.

As Max reached down and palmed the kid's forehead, Jim knew he'd just found the man's Achilles' heel.

"I can help him, you know." He clanked the manacles against the pipe. "I've had some medical training, but I'm not much good to him shackled to this."

For a brief moment, Max seemed to consider Ellison's words, but it wasn't enough to elicit the response Jim was desperate for. He tried again, despising what he was about to say. "He's a good kid, you know. A good kid, who needs a father in his life. I know he thinks about you and I know he misses you."

"He does?" Max's words were spoken in quiet surprise, but their tone gave Ellison an inkling of hope that he just might possibly coerce the man into letting him help Lucas.

"Of course he misses you." Another voice was added to the mix, shattering Jim's hopes. "You're his father. Every boy loves his father."

Max stiffened at his brother's voice. "I wasn't doing anything. I just wanted to make sure he was okay."

"I know." Robert moved to squat down beside Max. His dark eyes bore straight into Jim's, almost if challenging him for his brother's loyalty. "I know because we're a family and families never betray one another." He took hold of Max's hand, their entwined fingers reaching out to dust over Lucas' chest. "Families care." Robert popped open the buttons on the teenager's shirt. "Families cherish." He caressed the smooth skin beneath their combined touch. "Families love." He slowly guided their fingers down, stopping at the waistband of the teenager's jeans. "Families obey." Still joined, he forced their hands to slide under the loose-fitting material before stopping and cupping Lucas' crotch. "And," he said, slowly and seductively trailing his tongue up the side of his brother's face, "all the best families copulate together."

As much as Jim wanted to yell and to scream and, with the way his current train of thought was leading him, to kill, he remained quiet, not taking the bait. Any action by him would exact a reaction from Wilder; for Lucas' sake, it wasn't a risk he could afford to take.

"But I guess you already know about sex, don't you cop?" Wilder squeezed his nephew's genitals. "Look what you've had laid out on a platter for the past eight months. Tell me, what's it like to have a sixteen-year-old and a toddler sucking on the end of you dick at the same time?"

Jim remained unresponsive, but Lucas stirred. The teenager's eyes moved sluggishly beneath stubbornly closed lids. "'im," It was weak and it was raw with pain, but there was no mistaking the name.

"Well, well, seems our boy here would agree." Robert squeezed harder. "Let's see if we can incite some sexual tension into his voice. I could do with a peep show."

"Robert, I think we should stop. I don't think he's doing so well."

"Huh, an opinion!" Robert feigned shock. "My baby brother seems to have found his balls." He pulled his hands from Lucas' pants. "What else has the cop been saying to you to give you this new-found courage, brother?"

"Nothing." Max yanked his hand free as well. "I'm just concerned for Lucas, that's all."

"I see," Robert replied. "So concerned that you take it upon yourself to make the rules."

"No," Max stuttered.

Ellison noticed the fine tremors that began to take hold over Max. Whether it was nerves, or whether Max was in need of another hit, he couldn't be sure.

"A relationship, brother, is a fine, but fickle lady. Treated well, she'll give you all the attention your heart desires. But if ignored, her blood will turn to ice." Robert rose to his feet and unbuttoned his jeans. "You wouldn't want her to go cold on you, would you?" Reaching into his pants, he fisted his cock. "Think of all the wondrous things she gives you."

Without question or a second thought, Max took over, aiming to show Robert his unwavering obedience. Freeing his brother's penis from his pants, he wrapped his lips around it, suckling hard, just as Robert liked.

"All she asks for in return is your love," Robert crooned. Running his hand through Max's hair, his breath hitched as he came close to release. "Your love, your obedience and your undeniable loyalty."

Semen flooded Max's mouth and, with the submission that was expected, he allowed not one drop to spill.

Robert breathed heavily, a trickle of sweat running down the side of his face. He patted his brother's shoulder. "Go upstairs. What you need is in my bag."

Without even a glance toward his son, Max left, taking the steps two at a time.

Wilder laughed with satisfaction. "You have approximately twelve hours before your services will no longer be required, cop, and if you wish to keep the current state of health you're enjoying at the moment, I wouldn't try that again." He adjusted his pants back into place. "Guilt trips don't work on the hopelessly guilty. Lucas may be his son, but dear brother has long passed the point of standing up for the boy." Locking his fingers around Lucas' wrist, Robert dragged the teenager to within Ellison's reach. "I want him up and functioning come morning. I may have certain specialised tastes that I like to indulge in, but necrophilia ain't one of them."

The stairs creaked and the door and the bolt clicked shut. Jim left out a sigh of relief. He'd come across some sick bastards in his time, and his ability to deal with them was pretty well refined. But this time he had personal attachments, and they fuelled a rage that he'd never quite felt before. The detective knew that he'd just gone from being a cop to being one hell of a dangerous man.

Turning his attention toward Lucas, Jim pressed his finger down on the kid's neck, relieved to find a pulse that was strong and steady. Although concerned by his lingering state of unconsciousness, Lucas' breathing was even and steady and, when pushed, he seemed to respond to stimuli.

With nothing available to help him treat the kid, all Jim could do was to keep talking, keep stimulating and try to bring the boy around. "I'm sorry kiddo, I'm so very, very sorry." Sorry that I wasn't around to take you away from it a long time ago and sorry that I couldn't do anything to stop it just now.

Ellison ran his fingers through Lucas' hair. "I'm going to do everything I possibly can to get you out of here, Lucas." His thumb drifted across a cold and clammy cheek. "But I'm gonna need your help. You need to wake up so we can blow this joint, Half-pint." Jim's touch became firmer, in an effort to try and rouse the kid. "'Cause I promise you, before this is over, this place will blow and it'll blow hard."

With his survival drive for his boys running on overdrive, Jim was determined that when the last man stood, that man would not be Robert Wilder. He had killed in the line of duty before, and at this very moment his interpretation of 'the line' had become a whole new shade of grey.

"Try and breathe through it, okay?" Each passing hour had seen Lucas' condition slowly improve and, despite the pain of his own injury and his limited range of movement, Jim had successfully encouraged the kid to move in between his legs and lean back against his chest. "That's it, just keep it up and let it pass."

Fighting off the nausea that had begun over an hour ago, Lucas sucked in heavily. His confusion was slowly abating; he was becoming more aware of what was happening and what had happened. "Blair?" he mumbled.

"He got away."

"You can hear him?" Lucas breathed.

"No, I can't find him."

"Need to concentrate." Lucas still struggled with the fog that was clouding him and even the act of talking was taking its toll.

Ellison let out a small huff. "Yeah," he agreed. Hell, if I concentrated any more, Uri Geller would be outta business and this pipe would be history, he thought. Not that he had any intention of sharing his problems with Lucas. The kid had enough on his plate without needing to worry about the screwy senses of an incompetent sentinel.

"You were shot?" Lucas tried to wrap his thoughts around the memory. "You were shot," he stated.

"Just a little," Jim quipped.

"It'll need to be bandaged... stop the bleeding."

Jim wrapped his free arm around Lucas' chest to stop the kid from moving and ran his hand up and down his arm. "It's taken care of," he assured. "My shirt's seen better days though," he added.

"I'll buy you another one for father's day," Lucas responded, quietly.

Jim pulled the boy closer. "I'm gonna hold you to that, you know."

"I'm sorry, Jim," Lucas whispered.

"Hey, don't go there, okay? None of this is your fault. You are not and never have been responsible for that bastard's actions."

"But if I'd never meet you guys..."

"Then my life would have been a whole lot emptier. I wouldn't have you and there's a very good chance I might never have seen Blair again." Jim tightened his grip. "Now, enough talking. You need to rest."

"I won't back down from him, Jim. I promise."

"Lucas, you're not to challenge him," Jim ordered. "He hasn't restrained you yet, so that's your trump card, kid. The first opening you get, I want you to hightail it into the scrub and get as far as way from here as you can."

"I'm not going to leave you," Lucas rasped.

"Yes, you are, and when you do, you're going to find Blair."

"But he'll kill you."

Jim was well aware that in a game with stakes this high, anything could happen, but he had an advantage that Wilder didn't. He hadn't underestimated his enemy.

A father, who was also a cop and an ex-ranger, had no intention of tossing in his cards or revealing his hand too early. To stay alive, he needed to play the game with caution and with subterfuge. Wilder would have no idea what he was up against until it hit him with full force.

"Promise me you'll find Blair, Lucas."

Lucas leaned heavier into Jim's chest and closed his eyes. "I promise," he whispered. I just can't promise that after I do, I won't come back for you. "I won't let you down," he mumbled.

Jim pressed a light kiss to the side of Lucas' head. "You never do kiddo, you never do."

Succumbing to his own weariness, Jim leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Blair's face filled the darkness, his beautiful, cheeky smile warming his heart and reminding him of just how very much he had to live for. Taking comfort in that thought, Jim held onto the vision for as long as he could. Be safe baby, just please be safe, because Daddy can't live without you.

"Wakey, wakey, hands off snakey." The cellar door burst open and Robert Wilder hovered on the top step, getting a visual on his nephew before proceeding further into the room.

"Well, look at you. Don't you look all refreshed and sprightly this morning?" With a wave of his rifle, he motioned for Lucas to move out of the shadows.

Shaky, but up on his feet, the teenager moved slowly back to Jim's side. He was still fighting off the nausea, and the dark throbbing bruise on the side of his face seemed to be playing a concerto in time with his pulse, but he was doing considerably better and feeling a lot more capable of standing up to Robert than he had been last night. Remembering Jim's words about biding his time and not going out of his way to antagonise, he obediently followed his uncle's directions.

"Catch."

A pair of handcuff keys were tossed in Lucas' direction. "Un-cuff him from the pipe and then re-cuff his hands behind his back."

Jim and Lucas' eyes met. "Do as he says," Jim said, quietly.

Kneeling down and twisting the key, Lucas released the cuff from the pipe. Carefully, he drew the older man's arms behind his back and snapped the cuff around the other wrist.

"Don't make me come over there, boy," Robert sighed.

Lucas reluctantly clicked the handcuff a notch tighter, making it impossible for Jim's wrist to slide through.

"Keys," Robert ordered.

The teenager tossed them back.

Wilder didn't even have to look at the keys to recognise that one was missing. "You know," he stated, "you'd think a person that's had as many lessons as you would start to get a little wise, eventually." He dangled the single key in front of his face. "This is exactly why I need to have a few little persuasive measures up my sleeve to keep you in line." He moved to the side of the room and motioned the pair toward the stairs. "Let's go see if we can catch one of those persuasive measures, shall we?"

Lucas helped Jim to his feet, his prolonged grip on the detective's arm more to do with steadying his own vertigo than anything else. "You okay?" Jim mumbled.

"Yeah," Lucas breathed. He moved to stand behind Jim.

"Ah Lucas, you in front," Robert directed. "I want to have a nice, clear aim on the cop's back, just in case you decide to do anything foolish." Robert held out his hand. "And let's not get lazy and forget that key."

Grudgingly, Lucas tossed it over to Robert. Out of the corner of his eye he watched with great interest as it wasn't pocketed, but instead placed haphazardly on the top shelf of a dilapidated hutch that rested against the far wall. Chance number one, he thought.

"Now, I guess you both must be wondering why I've brought you out here?" Robert circled his captives, who were now on their knees in the clearing in front of the cabin. Max hovered in the background, not offering anything but his cowardly presence. "You see, things didn't go exactly according to plan." He butted the rifle barrel against the back of Jim's head. "First off, you were already meant to be dead, but unfortunately, the little cock sucker here had other plans. Now, I could kill you right here and now, but it leaves me with a small problem." Moving across, Robert placed the rifle barrel at the back of Lucas' skull. "And that problem is control, isn't it Lucas, my boy?" Robert's heavy black boots scuffed the dirt as he positioned himself in front of the pair. "Control, however, is easy to maintain when one has the right tools. Tools such as the threat of harm to those people you've come to care about. It could be a friend, a lover, a child, or even a younger brother." He sneered. "But even the well-being of a younger brother sometimes doesn't work, does it Lucas?"

The teenager flinched.

"Don't take the bait," Ellison cautioned under his breath.

Wilder laughed. "Now, I could continue to use the cop here as my control, but I like my control subjects to be multifaceted. While I have no doubt he gives good head, something a little younger, sweeter... innocent is more to my taste." Robert squatted down on his haunches. "But my sweet little cherub seems to have scampered off." He placed the barrel under Lucas chin. "Any idea of how I could rectify that, Lucas?"

Lucas glared fiercely at his uncle, but remained silent.

"No?" Robert said, answering the boy's question for him. "Well, it's just as well I do. You see, even though he took off, my guess is that he hasn't gone far. He's what, three? How far would a three-year-old venture into these scary woods? I'd be guessing not too far. But since I appear to be having difficulty getting Mohammad to come to the mountain, I just might have to take the mountain to Mohammad." He turned his attention to Jim. "You, my friend, can be the mountain."

Chuckling, Robert got to his feet. "Huh," he sighed. "You two certainly are a quiet pair. Must be all that sex you've been having. Zaps the old energy right out of you." Pulling a handgun from his belt Robert levelled it against Lucas' temple. "Time to find your voice, cop. You call your son to come out or Lucas gets an extra ventilation hole."

"Jim, no!" Lucas gasped.

"Jimbo, yes," Robert retaliated, putting slightly more pressure on the trigger.

"He won't come," Jim answered. With his mind racing, he desperately tried to think of some way to buy some time. He concentrated, frantically, scanning the area for any sign of Blair. His ears picked up a sound that made his heart plummet. Blair was close by. The small, rapid heartbeat left no question about that.

"Come on, Jim, you can do it," Robert encouraged. "I'll look after him, I promise."

Before the sentinel could respond or do anything to take Robert's focus off Lucas, Blair stepped out into the open.

"Blair, no!" The shout echoed through the forest, but it was to no avail. The youngster's decision had already been made.

"You won't go too far away, will you?" Blair wrapped his arms around Incacha's neck. He was scared, more scared than he could remember being in a long, long time. Tom had frightened him and Tom had hurt him, and images of his face still sometimes haunted his dreams, but Tom was dead. Tom couldn't hurt him anymore. But this man, this man could, and, while Lucas had never really told him what the man with the black eyes had done to him, he knew it was very bad.

Incacha hugged Blair tightly to his chest. "I won't be too far away, I promise, little one." He pushed Blair back and cupped his cheek. "But do you remember what I told you?"

"Ah, ha, I do," Blair replied. "I not to tell Lucas that Bagheera or Rahma or you are here. He has to be brave all by himself."

"That's right," Incacha nodded.

"Incacha, what happens if the man hurts him so bad that he can't be brave?"

"Then I will come." Incacha prayed fervently that Lucas had the strength needed to take this through to the end, because dealing with the council in order to save the boy's life would be a far greater challenge than dealing with the man by the name of Robert Wilder.

Letting go of Incacha and taking a deep breath, Blair stepped out into the clearing. His daddy's shouts filled his ears, but he wasn't going to turn back. His decision had been made.

Lucas' resolve broke and he scrambled to his feet before Jim had a chance to struggle to his. He intercepted Blair and swung him into his arms, shielding the three-year-old's body with his own. Any thoughts of proceeding further were shattered when the gun, that only moments before had been pressed into his temple, fired. Lucas realised, with a sickening finality, that his impulsive action might have wrought deadly consequences.

"Jim!" The teenager spun around, relieved to find Jim still standing and still in one piece.

"It's okay." Jim raked his eyes over Blair before locking eyes with Lucas.

"Of course it's okay, dad," Robert said. "Now that little Forest Gump has returned, I can put part two of my plan into action." Wilder shoved Ellison in the back. "Move," he ordered. "You have a date with destiny."

One single look from Jim conveyed a world of information to the teenager. Within the sentinel's eyes he saw strength, fortitude and a determination that truly made him believe that Jim would be okay. He also saw something that deep down he'd known for months now -- Jim's love for them both. Despite trying so hard to keep it together, a tear ran down Lucas' cheek. "I will," he promised. The promise he'd made was the most important one he'd ever have to make -- a promise to Jim to keep Blair safe, no matter what.

"I really am a nice, considerate kind of guy, don't you think?" The path which Robert was forcing Jim to follow veered north, away from the cabin, and stayed more or less parallel to the river. In the distance, Jim could hear the distinct sound of fast-flowing water.

"I mean, I could have killed you on the spot, right in front of your kid, but being that nice, considerate guy that I am, I decided right here is a far more fitting place for you to meet your demise." Wilder pulled Jim to a stop on a grassy slope at the edge of a steep precipice.

"Besides," he said, turning Jim around so he could see his face when he killed him, "I've taken a liking to this little vacation spot and might stay a day or two. I wouldn't want the place being stunk up by the stench of your rotting corpse."

"You know what, Wilder?" Without warning, Jim slammed his forehead into Wilder's, giving the bastard a Liverpool kiss that would make any Englishman proud. "You talk too much." Robert went reeling back, completely stunned, not only by the pain, but by the unexpected move from the detective.

Still shackled and severely limited in his range of movements, Jim landed a well-place kick on Wilder's jaw, sending the man rolling perilously close to the edge of the cliff.

Unfortunately, the move also took Wilder closer to the fallen rifle and, while Robert may have been dazed, he still had enough faculties intact to reach for the weapon.

Jim lunged for the gun at the same time Robert moved. The man on the ground had the advantage and he lashed out with his feet, causing Jim to overbalance. Unable to stop the fall with his hands, Ellison fell hard, skidding into Robert's body and taking them even closer to danger. The next move was not made by man, but by a loosened section of dirt combined with gravity. As the soil gave way, Jim toppled over, landing heavily on a small outcrop of rocks about fifteen feet below the lip of the cliff. Robert was slightly luckier. He grabbed and clawed at the foliage, not only managing to find a handhold, but also a foothold in the cliff face. An unearthly, feral yell ripped from his lungs, spurring his body on and giving him the will to pull himself up and back onto solid ground. Shaking slightly and breathing heavily, he laid on his back and let loose another wild cry. The cop below was about to die.

"Fuck," Jim swore as soon as he saw Wilder scramble over the edge. He scanned the river below, hoping that his sentinel sight would kick in and enable him find a safe passage down. It worked, to a point. His eyesight was marginally better than normal and gave him an indication of what lay just below the surface of the water. The far side of the river was churning with rapids, the near side, fast flowing but not quite as laden with rocks. He was taking a chance with his life, but he didn't have a choice. He was a sitting duck where he was. Ellison jumped just as the first shot rang out. It was the last thing he remembered as his body was pulled under and dragged into the depths of the roiling river.

Incacha followed his sentinel down; his intervention had been the only reason Jim Ellison survived the fall. Twisting and turning their bodies to avoid collision with the most deadly of the rocks as the river carried them away, the Indian warrior did his best to guide his sentinel to the place where he'd face his destiny.

The sound up ahead was deafening, and Incacha braced himself for what was to come. Wash from the white water pitched and heaved before surging up against the smooth granite cliff face; the sheer volume that was being forced into such a small opening at the base of the cliff gave it nowhere else to go. Then the river disappeared. Driven underground by the lay of the land, it wound its way through the unyielding darkness before eventually returning to the light. Calmed by a broader, smoother channel, brightened by a dusting of speckled light reflecting upon its surface, the river slowed and graciously gave up its captives.

Breathing hard, Incacha pulled his sentinel from the current and waded through the shallows, dragging Ellison's limp body to shore. To the naked eye, the man no longer appeared to be breathing. But to Incacha, he was in limbo. Touching the handcuffs lightly with his fingertips and breaking their bond, Incacha picked them up and tossed them onto the river. There was nothing else he could do now but wait. Only time, and the will to live that infused the spirit of the sentinel, would guide his journey back to the living world.

Brave people were allowed to cry, weren't they? He'd tried so hard to hold back the tears, to be courageous and strong, just like Bagheera. But they just wouldn't stop rolling down his cheeks. Lucas had long given up talking to him and now just sat on the top stair with his face buried in his curls and his arms wrapped tightly around him. The man on the other side of the door had stopped saying he was sorry to Lucas and he'd also stopped crying. There was no more sound, except the snuffles from his runny nose and the funny hitching sound coming from his chest.

And he'd tried, tried so hard to be brave.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Robert yelled, his anger mounting to near uncontrollable levels. He'd watched the cop jump and watched his bullet completely miss its target and ricochet off the rocks; he'd watch himself once again fail. While the likelihood was that the cop was now being served up as fish food, the point was that it hadn't gone down like it was meant to happen. He'd lost control of the situation, and losing control made him feel more vulnerable than he was capable of dealing with. The symmetry of power needed to be brought back into balance and it would start with the one person who had thrown the whole thing out in the first place -- Lucas.

Bursting through the door, the first thing that raked past Wilder's line of vision was his brother. Curled up and motionless, his face was buried deep in the sofa cushions. The second, and strangely awe-inspiring sight, was the drug kit, upended and strewn across the kitchen table. Robert smiled a smile of the wickedly insane. Heroin; it was the perfect solution to his problem. While he might have the child in his possession, and it was true that the boy could be used as a pawn to force Lucas to obey and to submit, it wasn't the best answer. Lucas would, as he always did, be waiting, biding his time for the opportunity to escape and, when he found that opening, he'd take it and he'd take the child with him. That thought alone sent shivers down Robert's spine. While he was captivated with the idea of being reacquainted with his nephew on a more intimate level, Lucas was nearly a man. All but gone was the boyish charm that sent him spiralling into complete and utter utopia. Lucas still had his place and a purpose in his life, but the delights of youth were second to none and his nephew needed to be controlled before that ecstasy was stolen away from him.

The plan wouldn't be too difficult to pull off. Administering the first dose would be the greatest challenge, as would perhaps the second and third, but certainly by the fourth and fifth, the boy would have started to find his own need for the drug. All that was needed now was a bit of a cleanup, a warm, welcoming family meal and a reasonable dose of Quaaludes.

Puttering around the kitchen like a regular Donna Reed, Robert whistled happily. Life was good when the universe was kept in balance.

"Lucas," Robert pulled out the kitchen chair for the boy, "you can sit here. Max, you're next to him and the little fellar, Blair isn't it? Well, Blair, you can sit over here next to me."

"He stays with me." Lucas still felt like shit and he was certain at any moment his head would take a leave of absence from his neck, but Blair stayed with him, no matter what.

"Son, your Uncle has gone to a lot of effort to try and make this all nice. Can't you at least try?" Max encouraged.

Robert reached over and patted his brother's arm. "It's okay, Max, Blair can sit next to Lucas if he wants."

The teenager narrowed his gaze. This was wrong, totally wrong. Robert was far too calm. Robert was being far too nice.

Warily, Lucas took a seat, pulling Blair's chair right up against his own. It wasn't long before a small hand clutched at his thigh.

"Well," announced Robert, taking his own seat, "isn't this pleasant?" He drained the last dregs of his beer and placed it back down on the table, right next to his gun. "Now I know that this reunion has gotten off to a rather shaky start, but what do you say we all try and step forward on a new foot?"

"What did you do to Jim?"

Robert ignored the comment. "Shall I do the honours?"

"Lucas?" Blair's voice broke. "Where's daddy?"

The teenager pulled the three-year-old onto his lap. "It's okay, he'll be back," he answered quietly.

Robert chuckled under his breath "Not unless his middle name is Lazarus." He leaned over and gave Lucas a hearty slap on the shoulder. "Huh, Lazarus. Get it?" he laughed.

Rubbing his hands together, Robert lifted the lid of the casserole dish to reveal a combination of various canned soups he'd found in the cupboard. "Shall I play mother?" Ladling the soup into four bowls, which were lined up across the table in front of him, Robert handed them out in meticulous order.

Blair looked at the bowl as it was placed down. It didn't look very good, but his tummy was growling and he was very hungry. He picked up his spoon, only to have the movement stopped by Lucas. "No," was all the teenager said.

The action didn't go unnoticed. "Lucas, you got a problem?"

"No, no problem, we're just not hungry."

Robert looked at Blair. "Is that right kid? Not hungry?"

Blair shook his head, and a tiny bit of defiance crept into his voice. "I not hungry." With a little bit more courage, he pushed the bowl away. "I not want this."

"Okay," Robert conceded, calmly. "Nobody is going to be forced to eat what they don't want to eat." He reached out to touch Blair's arm, only to have Lucas pull them both back. "How about ice cream, then? You think you might be hungry for ice cream?"

"Why don't you just can the bullshit and cut to the chase." The chair scraped roughly across the floorboards and Lucas surged to his feet. Dropping Blair down behind him, he squared his shoulders and mustered his courage. "For you to reach him, you're going to have to go through me first and I can assure you that I'm not nine years old anymore."

Robert smiled. "There's no doubt you've grown, my boy, but did you obtain bullet-proof amour with that growth spurt?"

"You won't," Lucas answered cockily. Violently he swept his arm across the table, sending the bowls smashing to the floor. "So, what was it this time? Valium, Diazapam, Quaaludes?

Robert traced his fingers over the cool metal casing of the handgun. "You're mighty sure of yourself, aren't you?" He picked up the gun and levelled it at Lucas. "But what makes you so certain... so god damn sure that I won't drop you where you stand?"

"Because you still want me."

"You think I care whether the goods I fuck are damaged or not?" Robert's control was slipping. "Just take a look at your father, and let's not forget Scotty, either," he spat. "Your old man's a drug addict and the kid... well, you know how fucked up he was."

"No," Max yelled. Finally finding a voice that had been absent for so long, he cried out again. "No... don't you say that." He pressed his closed fists hard against his temples. "Don't you dare say that about him," he stated, falling to his knees and burying his face in his hands. "He was just a baby... my little boy was just a baby."

Despite his absolute rejection of any guilt, Robert Wilder did have an emotional breaking point, and his brother's grief was more often than not the trigger that released his compassion. He moved to kneel by Max. "I'm sorry," he said with genuine remorse. "I didn't mean to." While his mouth spewed a babble of apologies, Robert's mind was quite certain of just who, exactly, was responsible for Scott's death. It was Lucas; he was one hundred percent clear about that.

Out of the corner of his eye, Robert watched the one he knew was truly guilty. Lucas was standing, not moving a muscle, not appearing the least bit remorseful at his father's emotional breakdown. But the child, he was touched. He poked his body out from behind his protective shield to see what was going on, and gave Robert the chance he'd been waiting for. With the speed of a striking snake, he grabbed Blair's arm and twisted the small body into his own.

Rising quickly and backing up, he held the youngster in a firm headlock, the boy's legs dangling helplessly in the air.

"Ah ah, don't," he cautioned, squeezing a little tighter as Lucas surged forward. "Just don't."

"Let him go," Lucas said coldly.

"I will," Robert assured. "But first I need you to make a choice."

"What kind of choice?"

"A choice that involves obedience and submission."

Blair whimpered, his legs kicked out and his hands clawed at Robert's forearm.

"Alright, I'll submit," Lucas yelled. The cool, collected, tough guy facade he'd been trying to maintain was starting to show cracks.

"Not that easy, I'm afraid," Robert replied. He slowly moved around to the other side of the table and glanced briefly over at Max. Small, rhythmic, rocking motions had taken over his brother's body and Robert knew that Max had gone wherever he went when he needed to escape reality. He'd be no more trouble tonight and, after he was done, neither would Lucas.

"Sit," Robert ordered.

Lucas complied.

Taking a seat himself and positioning Blair on his knee, Robert released his strangle hold and reached into his shirt pocket.

Blair choked out a cough and tears streamed down his face. He reached out across the table for Lucas, only to be pulled back sharply. "Where's Bagheera?" he blurted out, looking around the room.

Also unable to feel the presence of the animal spirit, Lucas began to wonder the same question. "Okay," he said, trying to sound a little more reasonable. Experience had shown Lucas that standing up to Robert usually resulted in a world full of pain, but it had also shown him the strength of his own resolve. He didn't back down from the man without a very good reason, and Blair had just become that reason. "Whatever it is you want, I'll do it. Just let him come back over here to me."

"I will, in a minute." Grabbing hold of Blair's arm, Robert slammed it down on the table. Nimble fingers flicked the cap from the syringe he held in his hand. "But first you need to make that choice." Piecing the needle just beneath the first layer of skin on the youngster's tender forearm, Robert stared at Lucas. "You or him. Your choice."

Lucas couldn't quite comprehend what he was seeing. Not in this context. In his memories and in his nightmares, Robert had been the embodiment of hell in a human form, but that was a long time ago, and this... this was so real.

"Well?" Robert asked, pushing down ever so slightly on the syringe.

Blair was beyond hysterics, beyond reaction. His breathing hitched so badly, he was barely breathing at all. The teenager's choice was made. Lucas slammed his arm down on the table. "Me."

"Good choice, Kiddy Winks." In the blink of an eye, the syringe plunged into Lucas' arm and the drug entered his bloodstream. In the blink of two, the rush he felt was like nothing he'd ever experienced. In the blink of three, his stomach revolted and his world became hazy. By four, the last thing he remembered was Blair screaming his name.

Blair sat quietly on the floor, not making a move, not uttering a word. He'd done quiet before, so many, many times before. At three he was an old hand at quiet. With Lucas' head now resting in his lap, he stroked the teenager's hair with an almost fanatical obsession. The man, the one who had been crying, was in the bedroom now, the one with the black eyes had come and gone, but not before making noises that brought back an unnerving familiarity.

The front door to the cabin swung open and slammed back into the wall, making Blair jump.

"What are you looking at?" the huge man yelled, reaching for another bottle of whiskey.

Blair remained quiet, not saying a word, just stroking his brother's hair.

Then the man got that look. It was the same as Tom's, and Blair knew what was coming.

"What's wrong with you, you stupid little bastard. Cat got your tongue?" The man raised his arm and formed a fist, and Blair closed his eyes and waited.

He waited, but nothing happened. Daring to open his eyes, the only thing the youngster came into contact with was Robert's stunned look. Blood dribbled from a wound on the man's arm and Bagheera sat, preening his fur. The cat had responded to Robert Wilder's words as if to an incantation, effectively silencing him.

Wilder stuttered and spluttered, unable to form an intelligible word. Chilled to the bone by a deepening of the coldness which had been plaguing him on and off for months, he stumbled backward. The wound on his arm continued to bleed and he looked at it as if it were an apparition. His eyes flickered from the child to his nephew and back to Blair again. "Devil's spawn," he gasped. Continuing to stumble, he clasped the bottle to his chest as if it were a holy cross and edged his way toward the front door. "Devil's god damn, fucking spawn."

Jim's re-emergence back into the physical and the conscious world was not a painless event. His chest felt heavy and constricted, making breathing difficult, and pain sliced through his arm with the insistence of a buzz-saw. Rolling to his side, he struggled to his hands and knees and coughed up more phlegm than he thought could possibly exist in one man's body.

"Never a pleasant side effect of limbo, Enqueri." The warrior leaned over and smacked the sentinel hard on the back.

"Incacha!" Jim lumbered unsteadily to his feet. "Blair, Lucas... do you have them?"

"No, no I do not."

"Why?" Jim rasped out, still coughing. "Surely you know what's happened!"

"I am well aware as to what has taken place, Enqueri."

"Wilder and Lucas' father... you've taken care of them, then?"

"No," Incacha replied forlornly. "I have not done that either."

"I don't understand..." Jim's world jolted to a sudden, screaming halt. The only reason he could fathom for Incacha being with him and not protecting the boys was that the boys no longer needed protection. "God, no?" he whispered.

"They are not dead," the spirit guide assured gently. "But if you do not find your way, your balance, they could very well be."

"What?" Ellison stuttered, still trying to process the first part of Incacha's answer.

"Finding your way, sentinel, is the only way they will survive, and if you cannot do this, then their fate will rest heavily upon your shoulders until the day you pass."

Jim stared at the Chopec Warrior as if he'd just spoken in tongues. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, confused and somewhat affronted by Incacha's statement. "If the boys are still alive and Wilder is still with them, orb outta here or whatever it is you do and go protect them," he ordered.

"I think you are somewhat misguided, Enqueri." Incacha got to his feet and stood to his full height. "You are their Sentinel and it is your job to protect them. Unfortunately for your Guide and the Guardian, it is a job you have not been taking seriously."

"You have got to be kidding me!" Jim answered, his anger dangerously on the rise. "After everything we've been through, after everything those kids have been through, you have the gall to accuse me of not protecting them?"

"When was the last time you used your powers, Sentinel? When was the last time you used the gift that has been given to you?"

"What the hell has that got to do with this?" Jim barked.

"When!" Incacha asked again.

"I don't know!" Jim yelled. "Last week when I was looking for the cinnamon in the back of the pantry, I suppose."

"The fact is, you have not used your gift to its full capacity since the guardian came into your life."

Jim thought back, and realised that what Incacha said was true. When Blair had been missing, the grasp he'd had on his senses had been pretty damn freaky. But since then, when things had settled down to more or less being normal, so, it seemed for the most part, had his senses.

"There are certain spiritual powers, Enqueri, who believe that a Guide is wasted upon a Sentinel who does not embrace what he has been given. These same powers also believe that a Guardian is not a guardian without a Guide to protect."

"This is bullshit." Jim scrubbed his hand roughly through his hair. "They're not guardians and guides, they're kids, my kids."

"In this realm perhaps, but in others, they are nothing more than what I've stated."

"Well, you know exactly where you can shove that realm and the powers that be, don't you?"

"If only it were so easy," Incacha replied sadly. He gestured toward the ground. "Sit, Enqueri. We have much to talk about."

"No, we don't," Jim retaliated. "What we need to do is for you to get me out of here so this cop can do what this cop does best."

"Sit." It was no longer a request, but a command.

The look in Incacha's eyes had Jim planting his butt on the nearest rock.

"Survival of the fittest is, I believe, how your culture describes it," Incacha began. "As in everything to do with nature, it is those who adapt to their environment and those who meet head on and empower themselves with the circumstances of this environment, who are the ones to survive. Those who shy away, who ignore what is right in front of their eyes in favour of clutching to the ways of the past, are the ones who meet an early demise."

"And all that means what exactly?" Jim asked sardonically.

"You see me, Enqueri, you see the animal spirits, you know you have a power that not many human beings possess, but still you choose to ignore. You stay focused on your physical world and disregard what has been shown to you by the spirit world. The spirit world does not take being ignored lightly."

"I don't ignore it," Ellison bit back. "The god damn zoo that's taken up residence in my living room is a testament to that."

Incacha was becoming annoyed at the flippant nature of his sentinel. "Your choices are clear, Enqueri. You either can adapt to the new world or you can choose to flounder in the old one. If you choose the latter, the consequences for your guide and the guardian could be dire."

Jim paled. "Dire, how?"

"The council has shown you a life with a Guardian and Guide, and now you are being given a glimpse of what it could be like without them." Incacha's voice became serious. "If you continue to ignore, that glimpse will soon become a reality."

"Reality... a reality, how?" Ellison asked, not really sure if he wanted to know the answer.

"They will be removed."

"No!" Jim surged to his feet. "This council of yours... they can't do that. I won't let them."

"Yes, I'm afraid they can." Incacha reached out and laid his hand upon Jim's shoulder. "Unless you stop them."

"Stop them how?"

Incacha pointed to the river. "The way you entered holds no way back." He swept his hand downstream to where the water started to churn. "The way forward represents only death." He turned around and held his hands up in the air, almost as if praying to the smooth granite cliff face that not only surrounded them but also kept the sentinel trapped. "The secret lies within these walls. Find that and you'll find your way out."

"This is a test, isn't it?" Ellison's 'obvious' penny had just dropped. "Wilder, Lucas' father, the camping trip... it's all been a god damn, fucking test." He pinched the bridge of his nose, briefly. "Okay, I'll play your little spiritual mensa puzzle. I can do this," he said, still as angry as hell, but resigning himself to the fact that playing along might very well be his only chance to save his sons. "All I have to do is find a way out of Willy Wonka's maze here and every thing will be hunky dory, back to normal." He glared at Incacha. "I'm assuming that's how it works?"

"The test is twofold, Enqueri."

Jim slapped his hand against his thigh. "Of course it is. Why would I have expected anything less? What's the catch?" he spat.

"As your son grows, he has the potential to be a very powerful guide, perhaps even a shaman. There are many who believe that sending someone so young to protect him was a mistake. There are many who believe the guardian should be removed."

"Incacha," Ellison growled. "If you or any one of your transparent buddies do anything to..."

The warrior held up his hand, silencing the sentinel. "He is, at this very moment, fighting for your guide's life with his own. He is strong, but his quarry is stronger. He needs you, Enqueri. To survive the battle, he will need you by his side." Incacha turned and walked back down to the river. "Look beyond to find your way out."

"Beyond what?" Ellison shouted. Lucas and Blair had been left in the hands of a psychotic lunatic and Incacha was playing twenty questions.

"Beyond what is in front of your eyes."

Jim smacked the face of the wall with his hand. "I hate to tell you, Yoda, but these walls are solid rock, there is nothing beyond."

Incacha turned one more time to address his sentinel. "If there is nothing beyond, Enqueri, then you will see no further." As the shadows of dusk disappeared and gave the earth back to the night sky, so did Incacha. If his sentinel did not walk alone now, then walking alone could very well be the path he would follow until his death.

Alone and abandoned, Jim ran his hand over his short-cropped hair. "And they wonder why I don't get involved in their world," he muttered. Black and white, point A to point B... X marks the spot. That was the kind of guy he was. He wanted no 'seek and thou shalt find', no 'double, double, toil and trouble', no mystical, god damn mumbo jumbo. Just straight facts, facts which were based on solid evidence that could be correlated and linked back to reveal a chain of events and solve a problem.

Looking up at the cliff face and knowing he had to get it together, Jim tried to push his analytic detective brain to the background. "Beyond," he muttered as he surveyed the wall. "Look beyond."

'And the wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws.'

Blair was angry, just as angry as the little boy in the book who had been sent to his room for wanting to eat up his mother and, like the little boy who had become the king of the monsters, Blair knew that he was also the king of his beasts. But, unlike the monsters in the little boy's dream, his monsters -- Bagheera, Rahma and the cougar he'd named Socks -- were real, and they could do some real gobbling up if they wanted to. But that's where the similarities to the story ended, because his monsters were doing nothing to help Lucas. He'd tried talking to them nicely, he'd tried growling and wagging his finger at them, and he'd even tried staring into their yellow eyes without blinking and commanding that the rumpus begin, but they hadn't moved an inch. Not even Rahma, his most trusted of monsters.

"Well," Blair huffed, angrily. "If you not going to do anything to help Lucas, I will." Jumping down from the sofa, the youngster was well aware of the danger of going into the bedroom, but at the moment, he was so cross he didn't care. Lucas was being hurt and it seemed that nobody but him was going to help.

Giving the animal spirits one last angry glare, Blair quietly padded across the room. He could still clearly see in his mind the man with the black eyes as he threw the blanket at his head, and he could still hear the man's voice as he was told not to move from the couch or he'd gut Lucas like a pig. But the horrible sounds that had come from behind the bedroom door earlier stirred up an even deeper, uglier memory. He knew what was going on and he knew how much it hurt. Lucas was brave, but the needle the man had given him earlier in the night had also made him sick. Now it was his turn to be as brave for his brother as his brother had been for him.

Reaching the door, Blair grasped the handle firmly, turning it, little by little, until it clicked. Easing the door open, he stopped when it creaked noisily on its hinges. Listening intently, and relieved when the loud snoring didn't stop, he mustered up even more courage and continued to push on the door until there was enough space for him to squeeze into the room. Even though it was dark, the moon shining through the window gave sufficient light for him to seek Lucas out. His breathing hitched and he struggled not to make a sound at the sight that confronted him. Turned on his side and so close to the edge of the bed that he was nearly falling off, Lucas lay completely exposed. He had no clothes on and neither did the other two men in the bed.

Blair jumped when a whisper drifted across the room.

"Lucas," the youngster whispered back cautiously.

"Blair, go," Lucas rasped again.

"No." Stubbornly he moved quickly to Lucas' side, not caring about the consequences of being caught. "Are you still sick?" he asked.

"Sport," Lucas tried again. "You have to go... you have to get out of here while you have the chance." He closed his eyes briefly as his world once again tilted and his stomach rolled. "Please go."

Blair softly caressed Lucas' bruised cheek with the pads of his fingers. "They asleep, Lucas. You get up and get dressed and then you can come with me. Then we can both find daddy."

"Blair, I can't."

The youngster tugged on his brother's arm. "Yes, you can." He tugged harder. "Please Lucas, get up."

"Hey, hey," Despite the impossibly heavy feeling that weighted his limbs, Lucas reach out and clumsily cupped Blair's cheek, trying to steady the child's growing agitation. Although his dad was doped up to the gills and his uncle drunk as the proverbial skunk, if Blair became too upset and too loud, the noise would no doubt bring Robert out of his stupor. "You know I love you more than anything in the world, don't you?"

Blair nodded.

"And you know that I'd do... do anything to protect you, but I can't go with you, Blair. You have to do this by yourself."

"Why?" Blair asked. He knew that Lucas was sick and seemed to be having trouble talking and moving, but if he tried, tried hard just for a minute, he could get out of bed and they could go and hide in the woods until he was feeling better. He didn't even have to get dressed if he didn't want to. They could take the blanket from the sofa and wrap it around him to keep him warm until they found daddy. "Why won't you come?" Blair pressed again, not understanding why Lucas wouldn't at least try.

"Because, I can't." Lucas moved his arm, which was hidden beneath a pillow. His handcuffed wrist clinked softly against the metal framework of the bed head.

Blair's eyes widened. He recognised his daddy's handcuffs instantly, and he was certain he could help. He bounced on his toes, anxious to put voice to the information he knew. "I know where the key is, Lucas!" he said a little too loudly. "I sure I know where it is."

Clumsy fingers touched the youngster's lips. "Shhh," Lucas mumbled.

Becoming more aware of the danger they faced, Blair looked over to make sure the two men were still fast asleep. His mind was still racing with information and he leaned closer to whisper in Lucas' ear. "I know I not supposed to play in daddy's truck, but one day when daddy was mowing the lawn, Rahma and I 'cided we'd go to California to see the seals, but it's a long, long way to California and we got bored and that's when we founded daddy's two handcuffs." He wrapped his arm around Lucas' neck. "They have a key, Lucas. A key we can use to rescue you and I know they work 'cause I tried it on both of them."

Lucas was becoming more and more slumberous as the minutes ticked by. "Sport, no. The keys aren't there anymore. Robert... Robert took them when he found the handcuffs. Just go, get outta here."

Blair dug in his heels. There was no way he was leaving his brother behind. "Maybe they in his pants. Daddy always puts his keys in his pants." Spying a rumpled pair of jeans on the floor, Blair unlatched himself from Lucas's neck. "I will go look."

"No." With newfound energy the teenager grabbed Blair's arm in a tight grip. "They're not there."

"Where are they then?" Blair asked. "They have to be somewhere, Lucas."

"Root cellar." It was barely a mumble, but it was enough for Blair to decipher. "But leave them be... too dangerous." And with that, Lucas' hand slipped from Blair's arm and his eyes drifted shut.

"It okay, Lucas," the youngster whispered as he leaned down and placed a kiss on the teenager's cheek. "You have a nap and I will find the key. I will be brave for us both." With a final look to make sure the men were still asleep, Blair slipped from the room, nearly tripping