Set Adrift
By: Tate

He who has experienced it knows how cruel a companion sorrow is to the man who has no beloved protectors. Exile's path awaits him, not twisted gold--frozen thoughts in his heart-case, no joy of earth. All delight is gone.

from "The Wanderer"
unknown author
collected in the Exeter Book (975)

Part One

 

<The lifeline that exists between Sentinel and Guide is a psychic thread that can transfer projected thoughts, life-saving energy, and even Sentinel abilities. Manifesting in times of great need, it can be both a valuable ally and a dangerous enemy. If broken, the link can be healed though a sheer act of will. This much can and has been proven in the field, but the lifeline may hold many undisclosed uses. Unpredictable at its best, deadly at its worst, this bond between Sentinel and Guide cannot be ignored or dismissed. Yet, the recoverable scientific research on these watchmen who have protected societies for thousands of years makes no mention of such a connection. The lifeline is perhaps as much, if not more, noteworthy than the enhanced senses themselves, or perhaps it can be considered another sense in its own right.>

Blair stopped typing and looked up from his computer screen. From his place at the table, he could see the rain streaming down the glass. He checked his watch-6:30. Jim should have been home by now. They were supposed to meet Simon and Daryl for dinner in half an hour.

Sandburg stood, wincing as he straightened. Though the wound in his side had healed, the pain still came and went. He'd asked Jim to throw out the remaining painkillers last week, but had regretted it almost immediately. Still, he wouldn't risk becoming addicted. It was better to endure the discomfort; in fact, it reminded him how lucky he was to be alive.

The accident had taken place in June and it was already late September, but the passage of time hadn't even begun to dim the memory of those hours he'd spent at the foot of Wilton's Peak. Mother Nature, in the form of a minor earthquake, had pitched him off the mountain and onto a waiting branch below. If it hadn't been for Jim, he would have died there. Even though his hiking companion, Alex, had managed to find a park ranger, the two of them would have only found a corpse had Jim not kept him alive through the link.

The phone rang. He grabbed it off the counter. "Hello."

"Hey, I'm running a little late, but I'm on my way. I'm five minutes from the loft. Be ready to go when I get there." Blair could hear the sounds of traffic behind Jim's voice.

"Sure thing. You want me to call Simon?"

"No, I just called him. I told him we'd be about ten minutes late. See you in a few."

"Okay."

The line went dead, and Sandburg hung up.

Almost immediately, the phone rang again. Picking it up, Sandburg assumed it was Ellison calling back. "Yeah, Jim?" No one answered his greeting, so he tried again. "Hello?"

Still no reply came through the line, and then he heard the click of a hang-up followed by the dial tone. He shrugged and set the phone down.

Reminding himself that Jim was on the way and would expect him to be ready, Blair retreated to his bedroom to change. He stripped off the worn shirt he was wearing and replaced it with a nicer one. Then he bent to pull some shoes out from under a pile of books. He heard the door to the loft open. Twisting suddenly toward the sound, he was struck by a deep pain in his back. He sucked in his breath and pressed his hand against his injury.

Jim was through his bedroom door in seconds. "Whoa, easy there." The Sentinel gently took hold of Blair's shoulders. "Do you want to sit down?"

"Ow-no." Blair replied. "I might not be able to get up again." He straightened slowly, his left hand still pressed against his back while the other held one shoe.

"Are you okay? Maybe we should stay in tonight."

The younger man shook his head. "I just moved too quickly. I'm fine."

Jim released Blair, and retrieved the other shoe, handing it to his Guide. "You want me to help you put those on?"

Sandburg smiled. "I'll be damned if I'm going to let you tie my shoes, Jim." He nodded at the door. "I'll be right out."

"Since when does putting on one's shoes require privacy?" Jim crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe.

Blair rolled his eyes in mock annoyance and replied, "Since now."

"If you say so, Chief. I'll be right outside." Jim shut the door behind him.

It pained Ellison to know that his friend hadn't fully recovered but thankfully, he had survived. Jim knew he would never be able to forget the horrifying scene he'd come upon months earlier. Blair had been close to death, and the idea of losing him was terrifying. But for once, the link had served them well. After Blair had repaired it with his waning strength, Jim had been able to use it to keep him alive.

Blair emerged from his room looking pale, his gait slow and careful. Jim couldn't miss the message his body was sending. "I think we need to stay home tonight." Jim gestured at the window. "The weather's really bad."

"It's raining, Jim. It always rains in Cascade; I really want to see Simon and Daryl. Let's go, man," Blair said.

Jim paused a moment, wondering if he should give in or stand firm. The insistent look on Sandburg's face practically dared him to argue. "Okay," Jim relented, "but I expect you to let me know when you're getting tired." He grabbed Sandburg's coat from the hanger by the door and handed it to him.

****

Jim and Blair entered the restaurant and located the captain and his son. Looking up from the menu at the approaching duo, Simon acknowledged them, "Wet enough out there for you?"

Jim smiled as he and Sandburg took their seats. "Sorry if we held things up. I was questioning an uncooperative witness."

"The Devlin case?"

Ellison nodded. "Yeah, the neighbor claims to have heard nothing though her bedroom window is just a few feet from where the murder took place."

"I can't say that I blame her much," the captain said, frowning. "Mark Devlin seems to be well connected."

Next to him, Daryl rolled his eyes. "Dad, aren't you supposed to be on vacation?"

Simon grinned and picked up his menu again. "Only for a couple more days, but your point's well taken," he replied, and looked over at Blair. "Speaking of vacations, how are you doing, Sandburg? Are you bored yet?"

"I'm getting there, sir," Blair replied, shooting Jim an annoyed glance. "I think I'm ready to come back to the station, but Jim thinks I need more time."

It was more in jest than serious, but his words seemed to hit the mark with Jim. The Sentinel let his gaze drift from Blair to Simon. He couldn't stop himself from relating the scene earlier that evening. "You should have seen him struggling just to get his shoes on tonight."

Blair frowned at Jim's remark, and then excused himself from the table. Jim cursed softly as he watched the young man walk toward the restrooms near the back of the restaurant.

"Good going, Jim," Simon said, sarcastically. "Now if you can just get him to give up his observer badge, we can call it a day."

Ellison grimaced. "That bad, huh?"

"I think so," Simon replied, while his son nodded in agreement.

****

Blair couldn't believe Jim had said what he did, especially in front of Simon and Daryl. "Great, just great," he muttered, opening the door of the restroom. He didn't even have to go, but he felt the need to get as far away from the conversation as possible. Walking up to the sink, he turned on the water and splashed some on his face to cool the rising heat he felt. When the door opened behind him, he didn't think twice about it until he felt the barrel of a gun against his back. It assailed his old injury with unforgiving pressure.

"Don't turn around," a voice instructed.

Blair nodded, unable to speak through his rising fear. He could see his assailant in the mirror. The man wore a ski mask and was at least as tall as Jim, and a bit heavier. He didn't have a chance of overpowering him. Since he was armed, putting up any kind of struggle was out of the question. He'd be dead before he threw a punch.

The link, where was the link?

"I have a message for you to deliver to Ellison," the man declared. He reached around Blair, handing him a sealed manila envelope. "Let him know that I'll be expecting him to comply with my demands." Blair felt the gun barrel work its way up his back in an obscene caress. It came to rest against his head. "Or he'll lose his Guide."

Blair shut his eyes. This was too much. How could this be happening? How did this man know about Jim's abilities? In his mind he called out for his Sentinel, but the link hadn't activated yet. Where was it? Suddenly, in a flash, he felt the connection come to life. 'Jim?'

The man pulled Sandburg away from the sink and pushed him up against the wall, the gun still pressed against the back of his head.

'Blair, what's...?'

"Now just keep those eyes closed, Junior, and face the wall. That's it."

The terrifying sensation of the gun disappeared, then Sandburg heard the man exit the bathroom. 'Jim, there's a man, he's coming out of the restroom. He has a gun.' Blair knew he should turn and follow, maybe try to slow the man down, tackle him or something, but he couldn't shake the grip of fear. He remained with his forehead and one hand pressed against the cold tile wall. He clutched the envelope in the other.

The link disconnected before he could give any more information. He felt strangely alone and still very afraid. Blair pushed himself away from the wall, turning to lean against it. He took deep steadying breaths. In. Out. In. Out. He felt as though he were fighting a losing battle against a panic attack. Blair pushed his hair out of his face with a trembling hand. The sealed envelope was already wet with his sweat. He stared at it, and wondered what the man could want from his partner. Whatever it was, it had to be deadly.

****

Jim had purposefully refrained from following Blair with his enhanced senses. He owed the younger man some privacy. It was a complete shock when the link activated.

'Jim?'

'Blair, what's...?'

Then Jim heard another voice, speaking to his partner, telling him to face the wall. Jim's heart rate surged to meet the racing beat of his partner's that he had instinctively begun to monitor through the link.

Just as he got to his feet, Blair's voice spoke again in his head. 'Jim, there's a man. He's coming out of the restroom. He has a gun.'

Ellison focused on the hallway by the restrooms, but no one emerged. Whoever it was could have cut through the kitchen.

"Jim? What is it?" Simon asked, mindful of Daryl's presence, but concerned nonetheless.

"Something's going down, Simon," Jim said, glancing at his captain.

"What?"

"I'm not sure. I'm going to check it out." Jim walked briskly toward the restrooms.

Though he knew he should try to follow the perpetrator, Jim's first concern was Blair. The younger man had been through so much lately. He couldn't begin a chase without first seeing that his friend was safe. Jim burst through men's room door to find his Guide leaning against the wall. He was pale and visibly shaking. "Chief, what happened?" he asked, placing both hands on his partner's shoulders.

The floodgates opened, and Sandburg poured out the story in a way only he could. "There was a man, I couldn't see his face, he had a mask on and a gun. He told me to give this to you," Blair held up the envelope without stopping for a breath he seemed to need desperately. "He said that you had to meet his demands or... Jim, he called me your Guide. He knows about your senses. He told me not to follow him. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Blair pounded one hand against his forehead. "I should have gone after him. I don't know what's wrong with me." Blair's face flushed. "I'm such an idiot, Jim. You might have been able to catch him, but he's probably long gone by now. God, I'm sorry, man. You're right about not wanting me to come back to the station. I can't even think straight anymore. How can I ever expect to be your backup, if I can't..."

"Slow down, Chief." Jim placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping to slow the tidal wave of self-reproach. "If you'd left this bathroom, he might have killed you. You did the right thing."

"You mean by cowering like a fool? Come on, Jim, I blew it."

"Sandburg, listen to me. He had a gun. He could have shot you. Now, take a deep breath and let it out slowly." Jim hoped to calm his friend by employing Blair's own techniques.

Blair did as Jim suggested, but when he released the breath, Jim could tell that all the tension remained in his body. His hands were clenched and his heart beat wildly. He was wound up tight and there didn't seem to be any way to get him to relax. Jim watched him, concerned about his apparent breakdown but thankful the kid hadn't pursued the gunman. He might have had a body on his hands rather than just a distraught partner.

"Jim, I don't know what's wrong with me, man," Sandburg admitted. "I mean, I shouldn't be reacting this way. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, Chief. Everything's okay now," Jim said, firmly.

Blair nodded, but didn't speak. Jim noted that his heart rate had slowed, as had his own once that he knew that his Guide wasn't in any immediate danger.

"Look, stay right here. I'm going to call in a forensics team. There's a phone right outside the door."

"Okay."

Ellison stood, envelope in hand and walked out into the short hall. Once outside, he opened the envelope and scanned the typed letter. It was an invitation to meet at a warehouse at midnight. If he didn't show or if he came with backup, it promised that Sandburg would be dead before the sun rose. There wasn't a signature. "Damn!" Jim picked up the phone and dialed the station.

****

More than an hour later, neither Blair nor the forensics team had come up with anything that could lead to the identity of the gunman. Only the note that Jim still held proved he had ever existed. Finally as the team was preparing to leave the scene, Jim copied down the address and handed the envelope over to be tested for any distinctive marks or prints. It had been handled by both Blair and Jim, and the chances of finding anything were slim, but at this point they needed to exploit everything they had. They had three and a half hours until the deadline, and had no idea what they were up against.

Daryl's mother had picked him up at the restaurant shortly after the incident. Now only Simon and a couple of other officers remained on the scene with Ellison. Blair sat a table sipping a cup of warm tea, while Simon and Jim stood a few feet away talking in low tones.

Simon nodded toward the younger man. "He doesn't look too good. Maybe we should get him to a safe house now and let him get some sleep."

"I'd really rather look after him myself, at least until I have to go to the warehouse." Jim took a drink from the coffee he'd been given by a waitress earlier.

Simon cast a worried glance at the detective. "You're not going to meet this lunatic on his own terms. I can't allow that, Jim."

"I don't have a choice, sir. Whoever this person is, he knows all about my abilities."

Simon frowned. "At least let me prepare some backup for you."

"Fine, but make sure they keep their distance."

"What about a wire?"

Jim looked over at Blair. "He's my wire, Simon. If anything goes wrong, he can tell you right away."

"I don't like this. I don't like it at all."

"I don't either, Simon."

The look on the captain's face was grim, but instead of continuing to argue with Jim, he made an offer. "Look, why don't you and the kid come over to my place for now. I can post some plainclothes outside, and maybe the two of you can rest for a while. What do you say?"

"Thanks, Simon."

"I'd rather you not go back to your place in case this guy is watching it or has left something there. I'll send a couple of men over there to check things out, and get some clothes for you. You two can follow me home in your truck."

Jim patted Simon on the arm. "I'll meet you outside in a couple of minutes."

"Sure thing."

Ellison walked over to his partner, pulling out a chair and sitting down beside him. Blair didn't look up. His eyes were locked on the tabletop. Jim was struck by the difference between the young man who sat in front of him now, and the old Blair who seemed to radiate enthusiasm and energy. It seemed like the hours of suffering he'd endured in the forest had changed him forever. No, Jim wouldn't accept that. He'd find the old Blair Sandburg, and bring him back to the surface. He knew he was still in there somewhere.

"Chief, we're going to stay with Simon tonight. Is there anything you need from the loft?" Jim asked.

"No." The word had been uttered so softly that someone with sentinel abilities could have heard it.

Jim pulled out his wallet, and left some money on the table for their drinks. "Okay, then. Let's go." Jim stood.

Blair looked up at him without making a move to stand. "What did it say, Jim?"

"What?"

"The letter, what did it say? What does he want from you?"

"We don't know yet. I'm meeting him at midnight." Jim tried to keep the tone of his voice as casual as possible. He didn't want to alarm Blair.

"You can't." Again, the words came out as mere whisper.

"I have to," Jim replied, simply. "Come on, let's go."

"Jim, you can't do this!" This time, Sandburg managed to shout loud enough to hurt Jim's ears and attract the attention of half the restaurant staff.

Ellison winced and reached for his partner's arm. "Chief, let's talk about this on the way over to Simon's."

Real anger flashed in Sandburg's eyes. "I can't believe you're doing this, man. What did he threaten you with? Me?"

"Look, Blair, you've been through a lot. I think it's time you got some rest. Let's just go, okay?"

The younger man didn't seem to have heard his suggestion; instead, he kept talking. "Jim, I've lost it, man. I froze up. I don't know why... or what's going on... You can't go meet this guy, Jim. You can't..."

Jim had heard enough. The kid was babbling now, and definitely not himself. Jim interrupted him with one hand up to signal that he stop talking. He then spoke to his Guide in a quiet, yet demanding tone. "Enough. I'll be outside when you're ready to go."

Jim left the restaurant feeling several pairs of eyes follow him out the door, including those of his distraught partner. Maybe a ride alone wasn't what they needed right now. Maybe they both needed to cool off.

Finding Simon, Jim motioned him away from another detective. "Simon, Sandburg is still inside. Can you take him over to your place? I'll meet you there."

"What's wrong?"

Jim paused for a moment, trying to regain his composure. "I don't know."

Before the detective could elaborate, Sandburg emerged from the restaurant, looking even more beaten than he had seconds before. "Jim, I'm sorry."

Jim waved him into silence. "I'm going right over to Simon's to secure the area. He'll bring you over in a few."

Blair didn't reply, instead he glanced down at his shoes. For the first time Ellison noticed they were untied. He rolled his head back in frustration and said to Simon, "I'll see you at your place."

Blair looked up in time to watch Jim walk toward his truck. He made no move to go after him, but instead stood silent and staring. The sight of his partner leaving without him served only to strengthen his feelings of inadequacy. He'd blown it, and Jim didn't even want to be around him anymore.

"Sandburg, let's go," the captain said.

Simon opened the passenger door for him, and walked around the other side. When they were both situated, and on their way to his place, the captain broke the silence. "What was all that about back there?"

Blair sighed. "I've lost it, man. I've lost my nerve. Sandburg has finally proved himself to be the coward everyone thought he was. Jim would be better off without me." Though Blair believed his words to be true, they left a lump in his throat. How could he help Jim if he'd turned into a driveling wimp? There could be no place in Ellison's life for someone who was afraid of his own shadow.

"I don't believe that. You've had a rough time and that's an understatement. So much has happened to you in the last few months. You just need time to recuperate. You can't believe that you can't help Jim anymore. He needs your help, Blair. He needs you to help him with his senses and with this link thing, and you're his friend. Do you think he wants to lose that?"

Blair sighed. "I don't understand what's happened, Simon. I really don't. I've been in worse situations than the one tonight and I've never reacted like that."

Simon looked over at him with sympathy. "Maybe you need to talk to someone about this."

Blair couldn't stifle a nervous laugh. "I don't think so."

"Why not? What have you got to lose?"

"It wouldn't do any good, sir. I can't reveal anything about Jim's abilities or the link to a psychiatrist, psychologist, or whatever. There's no way I could talk about the whole story, and that would mean there's no way they could really help me. I'm on my own."

"No, you're not. I'm right here."

The words of assurance spread warmth throughout the cold places inside. Blair wanted to believe that Simon would be there for him, but even with his support, he had no idea where to start.

Blair let himself sink into the seat, closing his eyes. "Thanks, Simon."

"This isn't your fault. Jim was..."

Blair interrupted him, "I know how he feels right now, and I can't say that I blame him."

"You've got it all wrong. Give him a chance to explain."

Blair didn't know what to say. The captain was probably just trying to smooth things over between them. The look he'd seen in Jim's eyes when he'd waved him to silence in the restaurant was one that the younger man wouldn't soon forget. Cool anger.

A few minutes later, they pulled into Simon's driveway. Jim's truck was parked on the street along with two other cars. The Sentinel stood talking to a couple of the officers on the porch. Blair felt like he wanted to bolt, just jump out of the car and run. Simon must have noted the signs of distress in his body language. Turning off the car, he said, softly, "Everything's going to be fine. Trust me."

****

The younger man nodded and took a deep breath before opening the car door. Together, the two walked up to the porch and were greeted by Ellison and the officers who introduced themselves as Reynolds and Martinez. Blair acknowledged them without looking over at Jim.

Simon unlocked the door and motioned for everyone to enter. "I'd like you two to take a quick look around the house and familiarize yourself with it," he said to Reynolds and Martinez. "Then you can take your posts outside."

"Sure thing, Captain." Reynolds replied. He and the other officer disappeared up the stairs to the second level.

"As for you two," Simon began, "I think you need some time to talk. I'll make some coffee." The captain left them alone in the living area.

Blair let his gaze follow Simon out of the room. He chewed his lip. 'Now what?' he thought.

"Sandburg, Simon's right. We need to talk." Blair noticed that he'd called him "Sandburg" and not "Chief." Usually, he didn't pick up on it but this time, it seemed to put some distance between them.

Blair turned to face Ellison. He couldn't avoid this confrontation, but he didn't know how to deal with it. "I don't know what to say, man," he admitted.

"I do," Jim replied. "I'm sorry about what happened back at the restaurant. I had no right--"

"You had every right. I blew it. I let the guy walk right out of there, and now you're going to meet him somewhere. He could kill you."

"If he's been following us around, he's probably had the opportunity already. My guess is that he wants something, and it must have something to do with his knowledge about my abilities."

Blair's curiosity was sparked. "Like maybe wanting you to do something for him?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know."

Blair threw up his hands. "How can you be so calm about this?"

"Because I know you'll be backing me up." Jim hoped it was the right thing to say, but the look the younger man shot him revealed that it wasn't.

Blair shook his head. "You're not taking me with you." It was a statement of fact that needed no reply. "You're going to trust this link that we have, aren't you? When and if it kicks in, you're going to trust me to know what to do." He laughed. The disbelief echoing in his voice was hard to miss. "I--I can't... you don't..."

Jim knew his partner was rarely at a loss for words. He was sinking fast, and he had to figure out some way to keep him from going down.

"You can't even imagine what this is like. I've lost my nerve, man. How can I help you like this?"

Jim took a step forward and placed one hand on his friend's shoulder, feeling the tension beneath his touch. "We are a team, Chief. We help each other. We trust each other. Don't ever forget that. I don't."

"But--"

Jim shook his head. "Don't do this to yourself, Blair."

"What if something happens to you when I could have prevented it?"

"There's no use thinking about what might happen. Tonight at the restaurant you did the right thing. There was nothing else you could have done."

Blair looked down, bringing one hand up to rub his eyes. He looked exhausted. Jim was sure that his healing injury coupled with the night's events was taking an incredible toll. "Chief, maybe you should go upstairs and rest for a while."

The kid must have been on the verge of collapse, because he looked up and nodded.

"There's a guest room, second door on the right," Jim said, letting go.

Blair turned and made for the stairs. Jim couldn't miss the awkwardness of his ascent.

Just then, the captain walked out of the kitchen and looked around the room. He frowned. "What did you say to him this time, Jim?"

Ellison promptly took a seat on the couch, draping his arm across the back of it. He rubbed his other hand across his face. "I told him he should go up to your guest room and try to get some rest."

"Good idea. The kid looks beat."

****

Blair passed the two officers in the hall and nodded to them, then he ducked into the guest room. He didn't bother to turn on the light. Instead, he shut the door behind him and allowed his eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness. The streetlights shone through the room's far windows and scattered lace shadows of curtains on the floor. A small bed pressed against the right wall and a dresser stood beside it. There were no pictures on the dresser or paintings on the walls. Sparse was an understatement.

Blair sank into the only chair in the room, large and comfortable with worn upholstery. From where he sat, he could see through the open blinds and make out the cars below. Another pulled up.

He let his head fall back against the seat and sighed. What was happening to him? How could he fall apart like that at the restaurant? Jim said he'd done the right thing, but had he? They wouldn't be waiting for this ominous midnight meeting if he had.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Yeah," he called.

The door opened, spilling light into the dark room and framing the figure in the hall. He piled a couple of bags inside the doorway. "I had some of your things brought over from the loft. The bathroom's down the hall and the towels are under the sink if you want to shower." Simon paused for a moment, probably trying to gauge his reaction through the darkness. Then he spoke again, "Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"Not now, but thanks."

"Jim and I will be downstairs."

"Okay."

The door closed, and Blair was left alone with his thoughts again. He almost wished the captain had coerced him to join them or forced him into a conversation. Then again, he'd proven that he had trouble stringing words together to form a sentence. He didn't believe he had the ability to vocalize his fears or to talk Jim out of meeting this unknown adversary.

Sandburg sighed heavily. He pulled his legs up, settling deeper into the chair. Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against the inside edge of the backrest. All he hoped to do was center himself and find a quieter place in his mind. He didn't plan on falling asleep.

"He who is alone often lives to find favor... even though he has long had to stir with his arms the frost-cold sea, troubled in heart over the water-way had to tread the tracks of exile. Fully fixed is his fate." So spoke the earth-walker, remembering hardships... the fall of dear kinsmen.

from "The Wanderer"
unknown author
collected in the Exeter Book (975)

Part Two

 

"Sandburg," a voice called him from far away. A hand reached through the darkness, waking him from a deep, dreamless sleep.

He opened his eyes. "Simon?"

"Yeah, kid. Jim didn't want me to wake you, but I think you need to be alert in case anything goes wrong."

Blair straightened immediately and felt the ache of being too long in one position. "Where is he? What time is it?"

"He's at the warehouse."

This couldn't be happening. Jim had left without telling him. He had no words to express his dismay--none could even come close.

Simon pulled the footrest away from the chair and sat on it. Leaning forward, he spoke softly, "Look, I know you're hurt, but you have to try to stay focused. He knows you're capable of backing him up on this. He said that if he was the least bit concerned about this meeting, he would have woken you himself. In fact, he hoped you would sleep through it and he'd be back before you even knew he was gone."

Finding his voice, Blair asked, "Did he go alone?"

Simon nodded. "I have some backup waiting for a signal to move in if necessary, but they're positioned about a mile from the warehouse. Jim didn't want them any closer. Are you sensing anything?"

"Nothing now."

"That's good, right?"

"I hope so." Sandburg wondered how his whole existence could have taken such an immediate plunge. First, that stranger had threatened him at the restaurant and he'd failed Jim by not doing the right thing. Now, the Sentinel was meeting with a potentially dangerous enemy, and Blair had been sleeping though it. But he was awake now, and he'd be damned if he didn't do all he could for Jim. It was time to face his fears. "Where is the warehouse? We have to get out there."

"You're not going anywhere. This could blow up in our face if we change the rules ourselves. Just listen for him. If he signals you, I'll make a call and we'll have people in there within a couple of minutes."

Blair couldn't remember ever feeling so helpless. His thoughts clashed; he wanted to feel Jim's presence through the link, but at the same time, he knew if the link came into being, it would mean his friend was in trouble. The waiting would be hell, and he'd just stepped into the flames.

"Let's go downstairs. I'll make us some more coffee." Simon offered.

Blair agreed. There was no reason for him to suffer through this alone. He pushed his hands against the armrests and lifted himself out of the chair. Yet again, his old injury protested. "Ow, dammit!" Blair exclaimed through clenched teeth.

"Easy there. Not so fast," Simon cautioned.

****

Ellison walked into the warehouse opening all five senses to his surroundings. They reached through the darkness like scouts on a mission. He wouldn't be caught off-guard. That much he was sure of; the rest he would know soon enough.

He heard the footsteps, saw the figure approaching with flashlight in hand, and felt the heat emanating from its body. Jim's muscles tensed. He had to be ready for whatever would happen next. He owed that much to his abandoned Guide.

"Detective."

The voice sounded familiar. Jim knew immediately that he'd heard it before, but as Blair had described, the man wore a ski mask. Ellison looked him over. He wore jeans, a leather jacket, and bore no visible weapons. The man was about his own height but heavier and, by the way he held himself, the weight was muscle, not fat. Even unarmed, this man was a threat.

"I'm here now. What do you want?" Ellison asked.

"No time for idle chatter. I like that. We're much the same, Ellison. I like to cut to the chase, too, but this time I think a little segue is in order. Call it a test."

A muscle in Jim's jaw twitched, but his face didn't reveal his anxiety. Something was about to happen, and it could only be something bad. What kind of test did this guy have in mind? A test of his sentinel abilities?

The man pulled a phone out of his pocket with his free hand and dialed without taking his eyes off Jim. The line picked up, but no one spoke on the other end. "It's me. Do it." That was all he said before disconnecting. Jim didn't need to hear anything else to know what he had ordered. He could swear his heart stopped for a moment, just before he launched himself at the other man.

They fell to the concrete floor together, but in a matter of seconds Jim lost control of the situation as the link blazed to life in his head. He felt a sudden, intense pain in his shoulder. Sitting up, he pressed one hand against an injury that wasn't his and he called for Blair through the link. He received no answer. Turning on the man who was sitting up beside him, he shouted, "Damn you! You shot him, you son-of-a-bitch! You said you wouldn't hurt him if I came alone!"

The man pulled off his mask, using it to wipe the blood from his lip. His casual aspect at revealing his identity wasn't lost on the Sentinel. But that wasn't any more surprising than the revelation itself.

"Randall Thornton," Jim hissed.

The man laughed in response to Jim's reaction and reached for the discarded flashlight that still shone.

Ellison lunged for him again, but Thornton held up a hand in warning. "If my men don't hear from me in the next couple of minutes, they'll finish the job. You didn't think your captain and a couple of cops could protect him, did you?"

"What do you want from me?"

"Now that's more like it." Thornton grinned. "To tell you the truth, my demands are evolving as we speak. First, you have to tell me how you knew I had him shot. I mean, it was pretty obvious from the phone call, what I planned, but your reaction... it was like you felt it."

Jim knew he'd made a mistake, but he thought Thornton might have overlooked his little drama. No such luck. How could he reveal the extent of the Sentinel/Guide link to someone who would only exploit it? But then again, how could he afford not to with Blair's life on the line?

"Time is ticking away, Ellison."

"Okay!" Jim shouted. "I know because I did feel it. Sandburg and I, we know when the other is in danger or is hurt. We don't understand how it happens, but it does."

"You mean that if I had him killed, you would know?"

"Yes." Things were turning from bad to worse, and Jim could only hope his cooperation would buy Simon some time to get his partner out of harm's way. "Are you going to make the call or what?"

"Patience, Ellison. I'm the one in control of this situation, not you." Thornton pulled the phone out of his jacket and examined it for any damage. Satisfied, he flipped it open and dialed. Again, Jim didn't hear a voice on the other end, but the ringing had stopped. "Okay, don't let the kid out of your sight. Make sure you know where he is at all times, and that you can get to him. Every half hour, prepare to take him out. I'll make the call to let you know all's well. If you don't hear from me, do him." Thornton paused for a moment, then asked, "Where did you hit him?"

A voice on the other end answered, "In the shoulder, just a nick."

"Good, good job." Clicking off the phone, he returned his attention to Ellison. "My friend confirmed your sixth sense. What a bonus!"

"Whatever," Jim replied, annoyed at Thornton's enthusiasm.

"Well, now. Since we've created quite a diversion, I think it's time that we get going," Thornton announced.

"Where?"

Thornton laughed again. "I'm not stupid enough to give that away. Just know that these are your last few hours in Cascade. You won't ever see this place again." The man winked at him. "That's a promise, and you know I sometimes manage to keep my promises, Ellison. In fact, I remember telling you they couldn't keep me behind bars."

****

It all happened so fast. One moment, Simon was helping Blair stand, and the next the captain heard the sound of breaking glass and the kid was down. Obviously, the gunman had a silencer. Simon dropped beside Blair, cursing. Outside he could hear his men shouting to each other.

Banks drew his gun and placed it on the floor beside Blair, ready to reach for it if need be. The bloodstain on Blair's shirt was spreading, and the young man showed no signs of coming around. "Dammit, kid. Ellison's going to kill me," he said, opening Sandburg's shirt as he tried to quell his own rising concern. To his relief, he found the bullet had only grazed the top of Sandburg's shoulder. The shock of the impact must have been what toppled him, and the blow from the fall probably knocked him out.

Gently, Simon tapped the side of his face. "Sandburg, hey, come on. We've got to get you out of here." Blair moaned but didn't open his eyes. "That's it, wake up." Simon shook his good shoulder. He hated having to force him to wakefulness, but they didn't have any choice. He had to make sure they were both able to move at a moment's notice.

Blair's eyes opened slowly. "What--what happened?"

"Everything's okay. They shot through the window, but the bullet just grazed you. You're fine, just fine."

Blair lifted his good arm and pressed his hand between the floor and the back of his head. "Ow--did they shoot me in the head?"

"No, the shoulder."

"But I don't..." Blair sucked in a sudden breath. "Okay, now I do."

"Easy now. It's okay," Simon comforted him. "Can you move?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Simon helped Sandburg into a sitting position, making sure he remained between Jim's injured partner and the shattered window. He watched Blair gingerly touch his shoulder. His hand came away red. The young man shuddered suddenly and cast a worried glance at Simon. "Jim was in my head. I felt him, but he's gone now."

"It was probably in response to you getting shot. I'm sure he's okay. What I do know is that we have to get you to a safer place." Simon gestured toward the open door. "Turn around and head toward the door on your hands and knees. I don't want the gunman getting another clear shot."

"What about you?"

"I'm right behind you."

"Simon, what if he's in the house now?" Blair whispered wide-eyed.

The captain picked up the gun. "That's what this is for. Now go."

Blair nodded, turning with some effort.

****

In less than an hour, the immediate area was secured by several cars and a mix of plainclothes and uniformed officers. Blair had been treated at the scene, and though Simon wished he could send the younger man for a thorough check at the hospital, he didn't dare let him out of his sight. He had to keep him safe, and he needed to know if the link became active again. It was their only connection to Ellison.

Banks had a team move on the warehouse as soon as he had managed to get Blair to safety. They hadn't found anything. Jim was gone. Simon didn't have the heart to share the news with Sandburg yet. He could only hope Jim was still alive, and that somehow they could find him and resolve this.

"What a way to spend a vacation, Captain," Martinez quipped, as he stood with Banks in the living room.

"Yeah, it's definitely not what I expected."

"Are we moving him to another location?" The officer nodded toward Blair. He sat on the couch, holding a cup of coffee with both hands. He looked a bit dazed, but was holding up well under the circumstances.

"No, it's unlikely they'll try to get at him again here, but I'm assigning a larger detail to the neighborhood," Banks replied. "Find Reynolds and do another sweep of the area, and make sure there are at least two men out front for now."

"Sure thing, Captain." Martinez went up the stairs to find his partner.

Simon returned his attention to the young man seated on the couch. Blair had placed the mug on the coffee table and crossed both arms in front of himself. He looked up at Simon. His face was an open book etched with grim lines. Walking over and sitting beside him, Simon began, "Blair, we need to talk."

"It's about Jim, right?"

"Yes, look, I sent the squad in..."

"He's gone, isn't he?" Blair interrupted. "You don't know where he is, and you're hoping I can help you find him." The kid shifted slightly, and Simon couldn't miss the expression of pain that crossed his features. He'd been through so much lately, and this was just another blow. "I don't know if I can. I really don't know," he admitted.

"You said that you sensed Jim when you were shot. Do you remember anything about that? Did he say anything?"

Blair reached across his chest to touch his bandaged shoulder. He was wearing one of Simon's long-sleeved shirts that was obviously too large for him. Only his fingers showed through the cuff. A rummage through the bag the officers had left for him had only turned up a T-shirt, so Simon had pulled a flannel out of his own closet and offered it to him. Dressed in it now, he looked all the more vulnerable. "I... uh, he shouted at someone," he finally replied.

"Can you remember what he said?"

"It was something about the shooting. He knew I had been shot, and he was yelling at someone that he'd promised not to hurt me." Blair let his hand drop. "I don't remember anything else."

"And you didn't see anything through Jim?"

"I don't think so," Sandburg replied. "But maybe..." His eyes took on a distant look.

"What is it?"

"Simon, take me to the warehouse," Blair asked.

"Why?"

"Maybe if I saw the place, it would help me remember something."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," Simon said. "Someone just tried to kill you and parading around would only give them another chance."

"Sir, this could be our only chance at finding Jim. I don't want to lose it." Sandburg sighed. "I can't lose it. I'd never... I couldn't forgive myself if... if..."

"Hey, it's okay," the captain interjected. "We'll find him."

"Then you'll take me?"

Against his better judgment, the captain relented. "Okay, but I don't want you out of my sight for a second. Do you understand?"

"I'll stick to you like glue, sir."

Standing, Banks huffed. "Now why doesn't that make me feel any better?"

Blair almost managed a smile.

****

Jim had allowed himself to be led out of the warehouse and into a waiting van. Thornton had threatened to kill Blair if he didn't cooperate, and Ellison wasn't about to risk the young man's life. He couldn't imagine how this latest brush with death had affected his partner, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from beating Thornton senseless on the spot.

They'd been driving for a while before Thornton broke the uneasy silence in the back of the vehicle. "You seem rather pensive, Ellison."

Jim shot him a hard look, but didn't reply.

"You must be wondering what all this is about." The mercenary leaned back against the inside of the van, stretching his legs in front of him.

"And I bet you're about to enlighten me," Jim retorted.

"Not quite." Thornton grinned. "I thought you might like to know the name of the person who is actually responsible for all this."

"What? You mean you're not the brains of this operation?" Jim asked, sarcastically. "Why does that not surprise me? I mean, last time you let poor little Veronica call the shots."

Anger flashed in the man's eyes, but he made no move against Jim. "You had no idea what was going on then, and you have none now. You see, we share an acquaintance."

"Besides the mad bomber?"

Thornton chuckled. "Yeah, besides Ronnie."

"Who might that be?"

"Brackett. Lee Brackett."

Jim's entire body tensed at the name. His jaw twitched. Lee Brackett. It took a few moments before he trusted himself to speak in a controlled voice, one that wouldn't betray his sudden sense of dread. "Brackett's behind bars."

"Maybe," Thornton replied, "and maybe not. The fact that I managed to make a break is no small miracle, who's to say he didn't bail with me?" He paused for a moment, then continued. "Regardless of his current whereabouts, he filled me in on your sensory abilities, and about Sandburg helping you. His revelation brought us together that first time. I learned, through the usual covert channels, that Ronnie was looking for someone to help her get back at you. I volunteered myself for the job."

"You knew about my abilities before you kidnapped Blair?"

Thornton nodded. "I met Brackett before his little stint with you landed him in the slammer. He knew my work and had asked me to help him out, but I was committed to another job at the time."

"Why did you agree to go after Blair?"

"Besides the money, it was a chance to get near you, to find out if Brackett was telling the truth."

"Then what?"

"Well, the whole plan went sour when your buddy jumped ship." Thornton shook his head. "He really surprised me. Here I was thinking he was nothing but a cowering hippie, and he goes and jumps overboard."

Jim struggled to control himself. More than anything, he wanted to attack the smug-faced mercenary, but he knew he couldn't risk losing Blair for the pleasure of making this man pay. He had to wait for the right moment, or both Sentinel and Guide could end up dead. "So, what do you want with me now?"

"Well, that's not for me to say. At least not yet. You'll find out soon enough."

Ellison sighed. Thornton had given him a few pieces of the puzzle, but the whole picture remained unclear. He knew the man and his allies were dangerous. He also knew he had to deal with Thornton on his terms. Once Blair was safe, he'd have to take extreme measures if he were to get out of whatever it was the mercenary had in store for him.

****

Sandburg paced the floor a third time, flashlight in hand. Strangely, although he'd never been to this warehouse before, it seemed familiar. He must have connected strongly enough with Jim to have sensed this location through him. He remembered hearing Jim's voice in his head, but the exact words were lost. If only he could recall them. He also wished he had Jim's enhanced senses. Surely there was something here that could lead them in the right direction.

And the link: he knew its primary purpose was to serve the needs of the Sentinel. There had to be a reason Jim wasn't accessible to him now. Maybe he wasn't in immediate danger, or maybe at the same time Blair had lost consciousness, Jim had... No, he couldn't think like that. Sighing, Blair let the light in his hand drift over another expanse of concrete.

"Anything, Sandburg?" the captain asked, his voice echoing.

"I don't know." He stopped walking and wondered if he was going about this the right way. Maybe if he tried to recreate what he'd remembered, it would come back to him more clearly. He lowered himself to the floor; feeling the coldness of the concrete beneath him, he closed his eyes.

He heard Simon come up beside him. "Blair, are you okay? What's..."

"Just a second, Simon," Blair replied, holding up a hand to halt the captain's concerned voice.

In his mind, Blair tried to return to the terrifying second he had felt the impact that floored him. It was coming back as though he were recalling a nightmare hours after waking. There had been a flash in his mind, the link connecting. Jim had been with him, and he with Jim. He heard the Sentinel's tirade. He'd felt the cold floor and caught a glimpse of the masked man, but other than that, there had been only voices. They echoed in his mind as they had in this warehouse and, in his half-conscious state, he realized he'd heard more than he thought. He'd heard a name.

Blair opened his eyes and stiffened with the knowledge. He had to make more than one attempt to speak, and when he finally did, his voice was quiet with the revelation. "Simon, I know who it is. I know who has Jim."

The captain crouched beside him. "Who?"

"Thornton, the man who kidnapped me."

"Randall Thornton? Are you sure?" Simon asked.

"I heard Jim say his name." The memory of his kidnapper was still fresh in Blair's mind. The mercenary had roughed him up more than once in the ship's hold where they'd kept him. He wondered how he'd failed to recognize his voice when Thornton had approached him in the men's room. Maybe he'd been so focused on the gun pressed against his head that he hadn't considered the possibility his assailant could be someone from his own past. How had Thornton found out about Jim's abilities, and what did he want him for?

Simon pulled out his cell phone and dialed while Blair was lost in thought. Sandburg only caught the last part of the conversation. "Yes, that's right, Randall Thornton. He should be at the state pen." There was a pause, then Simon continued. "Yeah, call me when you find out anything. Use my cell number. Fine." Simon flipped the phone up, ending the call. Turning his attention back to Blair, he explained, "I'm checking on Thornton right now. We'll know soon."

"I know now," Blair said. He bent his head as the reality of the situation and the gravity of the night's events weighed on him. His shoulder and back ached. He felt as though all his strength had been drained away with the effort of bringing the truth to light.

He felt a strong hand on his good shoulder, and a resonant voice spoke comforting words. "It's going to be okay. We'll find him," Simon said. "Can you stand? We should get you back to my place. We can wait for the call there."

Blair looked up at Simon and nodded. He braced one hand against the floor still holding onto the flashlight with the other and let Simon pull him to his feet. He felt wobbly but was able to follow the captain's lead. Together, they walked back into the cold night. 'At least the rain stopped,' Blair thought. 'At least we know where to start.' For Blair, small comforts were all he had to hold onto.

****

Simon escorted Blair back to his house and, with the added protection, he felt safe enough to wait there for the information about Thornton. Though he suggested Blair go upstairs to Simon's own room and sleep, Sandburg refused to leave the living area that served as a base of operations.

After Banks notified his men that Blair had remembered hearing his assailant's voice before, and identified it as belonging to Randall Thornton, they delved into the mercenary's past. Two detectives, Brown and Shultz, were going over the case files of Blair's kidnapping and the Switchman bombings in hopes of finding something that would lead them closer to Ellison. They even connected a laptop to one of the captain's phone lines to receive faxes.

Despite all the commotion, Sandburg managed to fall asleep on a recliner. Glancing over at him, Simon was actually relieved he'd chosen to stay downstairs. He felt much better when the kid was within arms reach. The scene earlier had proven that proximity couldn't ensure safety, but it did provide a certain peace of mind.

Simon watched as Brown walked over and covered the younger man with a throw. He caught the detective's eye as the man passed him. "The kid's got staying power," Brown said. "Ellison's got a good backup man."

"Yeah, I know," Simon replied.

Brown shook his head and sighed. His body language spoke of his assessment of the situation.

"I hear you," the captain said. Just then, his cell phone rang. Picking it up from the coffee table, he answered, "Banks here."

On the line, one of his men confirmed Sandburg's revelation. Thornton and a couple of other prisoners had recently escaped the maximum-security prison, killing two guards in the process. A fax with that information had only just come over from the local FBI office. The Feds were always a bit slow in sharing information, and Simon couldn't help but wonder if he would have been able to prevent this situation if he'd known sooner.

Hanging up, he turned to the other men present. "Thornton has been out since last Tuesday."

"Tuesday?!" Brown's frustrated utterance undoubtedly echoed the feelings of his fellow officers.

On the chair, Blair stirred at the detective's exclamation but didn't open his eyes. His mind was elsewhere, searching for the connection to Jim. Even in deep sleep, he tried to reach the Sentinel to whom he was bound, by friendship even more than genetic instinct, to protect and guide. As much as he called for Jim, the link remained silent. He tumbled from the dark formless place that resounded with his own voice, and into the bright and living jungle. Peru.

Blair stood, surrounded by the lush green of the tropics and the chatter of animal life. He'd been here before to help Simon. He'd walked through this jungle, the birthplace of both Jim's senses and his own undying commitment. And now he'd returned to find an answer. "Jim? Jim, please. Where are you? Why won't you let me help you? Jim!" His partner didn't reply to his calls, but something else did. It came at him with such speed that he didn't even have time to think about defending himself. A flash of black broke through the foliage and took him down. Hot breath, sharp claws and the growl of infernal madness revealed the identity of his attacker. It was a black panther.

****

Though his internal clock told him that he was losing sleep, Jim remained alert and awake during the remainder of the trip. His training in covert ops had provided him with the ability to function on little or no rest for long periods of time. It had served him well in the jungle and on stakeouts, as it would now.

Across from him, his captor's attention remained fixed on him. Every half hour Thornton phoned his trigger man, granting Blair another stay of execution. At least five hours passed before the van came to a halt. Though tempted, Jim refrained from causing any trouble. He still had no idea why Thornton had kidnapped him, but he sensed he wasn't in any immediate danger. He had to let this play itself out until he had a better grasp on what they wanted with him, and on who was actually running the show.

The doors to the van opened, and Thornton nodded his head toward them. "You first, Ellison."

Jim ducked out of the vehicle, instantly opening himself up to his surroundings. They were in a wooded area, parked a few yards from a rundown cabin. The bite of cold in the predawn hour was just enough to be uncomfortable. Jim tuned down his awareness of it, and focused on his other senses. The noise of civilization was absent, and the scents that assailed him were mostly natural ones. "Where are we?"

Exiting the van, Thornton shook his head. "Do you still think I'm going to reveal that?" The mercenary turned to one of the drivers. "Carlos, scout the area. I want to make sure it's clear."

The young Hispanic man nodded. He pulled a gun out of his jacket and walked toward the rim of trees behind the small cabin.

Thornton turned to the other man. "Let's get our guest inside." The second man pulled his own weapon out, pointing it toward Jim and then gesturing with it toward the cabin.

'Whatever they want, I'll know soon,' Jim thought, as he walked between the two men.

****

 

In REM sleep, Blair slipped from one nightmare to another, trapped in the seemingly endless maze of his mind. Each dream found him in the jungle being stalked by a dark, black mass with fangs and claws. The darkness that came after the dream state was welcome, but short-lived. In the early morning, the panther returned. This time when it sprang, he startled himself awake with a cry of surprise. For a moment he had no idea where he was; but then it all came back to him. He sighed, feeling guilty at the relief of finding himself safe within the walls of the captain's home when he knew Jim, his partner and closest friend, was at the mercy of some escaped convict.

A movement in the half-light caught his eye, and he turned his attention toward it. Joel Taggert stood from his place on the couch and covered the few feet to Sandburg's side. "You okay, Blair?" His large form and strong voice were comforting.

"It was just a dream," he replied, unwrapping himself from the throw. The ache of new and old wounds assured him that he was truly awake. "Where's Simon?"

"He's meeting with some Feds. He asked if I could come over and stay with you for a while. There're still some uniforms outside and a couple of squads in the area. You're safe. We won't let anything happen to you."

"I know, Joel. Thanks, man." It meant a lot to Blair that Taggert had come to watch over him. The big man was from an entirely different division. Bombs were his expertise, but Sandburg knew that Simon trusted him, and he'd probably also considered the fact that a friendship had developed between the two that would likely be enough to assuage any of the younger man's fears. Simon had been right.

"How's the shoulder?"

Blair brushed a hand over it, slightly skimming the surface of the bandage through the flannel. "Still hurts," he admitted, and then added with a sad smile, "Everything does."

Joel crouched, bringing himself to Blair's eye level. "Are you hungry? I can ask the guys to bring you something. Maybe then you can take some pain pills."

Blair shook his head. "Thanks, but no. I think I'll take a shower and try to wake up first."

The larger man stood. "The bathroom is the first door on the left at the top of the stairs."

"Simon showed me where everything is," Blair said, standing slowly and turning toward the stairs. He could feel Taggert's eyes on his back, and he tried his best to maintain a straight and steady pace toward his goal. 'That's it, Sandburg,' he said to himself as he climbed the stairs. 'Wait until you're upstairs to fall apart.'

****

Jim had allowed himself to be tied to a chair. He sat there, a bundle of tension as he waited for the next phase of the ordeal.

Carlos had returned, and now stood at the door with his gun drawn and hanging loosely at his side. The voices of Thornton and the other driver, a man he had referred to as Nick, drifted in from the outside as they walked to the van for some supplies. Their conversation revealed nothing to the Sentinel. They knew about his enhanced senses, and weren't about to give away any pertinent information in their idle chatter.

The one-room cabin was equipped with a dirty fireplace, a cot, a filthy mattress in the opposite corner, and a couple of chairs. The smells assailing Jim's nose irritated him. He'd sneezed several times already. This was definitely a low-class establishment.

Entering, Thornton and Nick deposited a cooler and a couple of bags on the floor near the entrance. "That'll do it," Thornton said. Addressing the drivers, he gestured at the door. "Why don't you leave us alone for a little while. We should be done here in less than an hour." Winking, he patted Nick on the back as he exited the cabin following Carlos.

Though the exodus unnerved Jim, he kept his voice level. "Why the secrecy? What are you hiding from them?"

Thornton grinned. "Nothing, really. They know the drill. I like to keep these exchanges private. Killing is such an intimate act. I'd rather not share it."

For the first time Jim was afraid for himself. He hadn't expected this. He thought Thornton wanted him to do something for him, maybe something that would utilize his enhanced senses. He didn't expect the man to bring him all this way just to end his life. He couldn't believe it. Maybe this was a ruse, some sick game the man had devised to gain control of him.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Thornton crouched beside one of the bags. Opening it, he withdrew a syringe and a vial of liquid. "Even at death's door, your face is stoic, Detective, but I know what you're thinking. Why all the trouble? Why out here? Well, the truth is, we thought it would throw you off." He laughed. "Guess what? It did! And using your partner to ensure your cooperation, well, it all worked rather nicely. But you know, we don't need him anymore." He paused, and, expecting a reaction, he wasn't disappointed.

"Leave him out of this!" Jim shouted, straining against the bonds.

"I can't," the mercenary said. "Poor kid, he'll never know what hit him."

"Why?! Why are you doing this?" Ellison's unwavering cool exterior crumbled as both Sentinel and Guide were given a death sentence. In a blaze of inner fire, the link came to life. 'Oh god, Blair, I'm sorry.' He could feel the younger man's shock through the connection.

Thornton went on to answer Jim's question in a tone that was calm and matter-of-fact, as though he were holding a sane and innocent conversation. "Isn't it obvious? People like you make the lives of people like me miserable, Detective. Now if you were just some Joe-shmo on the street who could sense things better than others but just went about your own business, that would be different. I could let you live. In my opinion," he continued, as he filled the syringe with the fluid, "someone like you can't just lead a normal life. You have to serve and protect, and that's why you have to die."

Thornton looked over at Jim as he stood.

Jim's struggles became frantic. He pulled at his wrists and ankles, but the heavy rope held him fast. 'Blair, tell Simon to move you, now!' He didn't receive a reply. It seemed as though Sandburg were listening to Thornton through him, and ignoring Ellison. 'Sandburg!'

Finally, a reply came. 'Simon's not here. What's happening, Jim? He said... oh Jim... he can't...'

'Sandburg, who's with you?'

No reply.

Thornton was on him before he could try again. He delivered a vicious blow to Jim's jaw. Dazed, Jim stopped struggling long enough for Thornton to roll up his sleeve and administer the injection. Stepping back, he smiled. "There now, all done. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Sandburg must have felt the twinge of the needle through the link; and he was screaming the Sentinel's name over and over. Ignoring the din in his head, Jim spoke to his killer, "Why an injection? What's in it?"

"Full of questions. Always the detective, Ellison. For your information and your Guide's--hey there, Sandburg," Thornton leaned forward and looked deep into Jim's eyes as if he could glimpse the tie that bound the two, "the cleanup is less messy. Besides, I like to consider myself a merciful man. Anyway, it'll take effect soon. There's not really any pain involved. It's my own special blend. You'll become drowsy, then you'll fall unconscious and you won't wake up. It's that simple." Thornton stepped back and pulled one of the other chairs around. "Call me a voyeur, but I like to watch it happen."

Ellison started feeling lightheaded, his vision blurring around the edges. It had begun. Still, the voice of his partner and friend echoed in his head. 'Jim, answer me. Jim, please. Please, don't die, man.' He could hear the desperation in the young man's voice; it was so strong that he could almost feel it. How could he do this to the kid?

'Sandburg, who is with you?'

'Joel.'

'Ask him to move you. You have to get out of there. You're in danger.'

Sandburg seemed not to have heard him. 'Jim, hold on, man. Just tell me where you are...'

'I don't know where I am. Look, Chief, promise me you'll get out of there now.'

'Jim, don't die. I'll find Simon. He'll know what to do. He's...'

'Chief! Promise me!'

'I promise. I'm heading down the stairs now. Just don't leave me. Please, man, don't...'

'I'm sorry, Blair. You don't need to feel this.' Jim knew he couldn't wait to find out if his partner was safe. The thought of dying without knowing whether Blair would live hurt more than anything Thornton could have done to him, but he couldn't risk destroying Blair's mind with the moment of his death. Though he'd chastised his Guide for doing the same, with one sure surge of energy he cut the bond between them.

The resulting flash in his mind overwhelmed him, and for a moment it burned out all of his senses. Alone, in a dark, soundless place, he thought it was the end, but soon his vision cleared somewhat and he could make out Thornton still watching him from the chair. "Almost, Ellison. Almost, but not yet."

****

Blair hadn't even started taking off his clothes when the link came to life. Leaning his hands on the sink for support, he listened through Jim while Thornton pronounced the Sentinel a threat. Even as it happened, Jim had feared for his Guide's well-being, urging the younger man to find safety. All Blair could do was listen in horror, feeling the sting of the needle as it entered his friend. All he could do was beg Jim not to die.

Promising Ellison to seek refuge, he stumbled out of the bathroom and down the stairs. He'd almost reached the bottom when, in his head, he heard Jim say that he was sorry. Immediately, Blair knew what the Sentinel was about to do and, before he could protest, he felt an awesome surge of energy electrify his entire being, exploding in his head and igniting every nerve ending. It felt as though he'd been struck by lightning. Falling the rest of the way down, he landed in a dark place. His last coherent word before he succumbed to the void was a whispered name. "Jim."

Taggert surged forward when he saw the young man stumbling down the stairs, but he was too far away. Blair fell only a few steps, but once he was down, he didn't move. Kneeling at his side, Joel checked his pulse. It was strong and steady. Sighing with relief, Taggert searched for a new injury. Surely, someone couldn't have gotten into the house and done something to him. "Blair? Come on, kid. Help me out," he called, as his hands and eyes moved across Sandburg's unconscious form, finding no cause for his sudden collapse. "Damn it!"

He left Blair alone just long enough to open the door and shout at the two uniformed officers on the porch to call an ambulance.

****

The meeting with the FBI agents assigned to the case hadn't gone well for Simon. Silently, he cursed their secretive nature as they exited his office. They'd agreed to share what they could, but insisted that some of the information was classified. Pulling off his glasses, he rubbed his eyes, wondering how long it would be before he could get any sleep. Just then, the phone rang. He picked it up. "Banks here," he barked into the receiver.

"Simon, it's Joel. I'm at the hospital. You'd better get down here now."

"Oh, no, not the kid," Simon moaned. "What happened?"

"I don't know. He tumbled down about six stairs and passed out. He hasn't regained consciousness yet. They don't know what's wrong with him."

This was getting worse, far worse. Simon's gut instinct told him the link was somehow responsible for the young man's current state. "Did he say anything before he passed out? Did he give any warning?"

"He just came barreling down the stairs with this look of terror on his face, but as he fell he said Jim's name."

Simon leaned his head back. That could mean anything, but in his mind, it meant only one--Jim was dead. Sandburg had felt it though the link and was unable to process it, so he'd shut down.

"Simon, are you there?"

"Yeah." Banks cleared his throat and continued, "I'm on my way."

I covered my gold-friend in the darkness of the earth, and from there I crossed the woven waves, winter-sad, downcast... (set adrift).

from "The Wanderer"
unknown author
collected in the Exeter Book (975)

Part Three

 

'Jim? Jim, where are you? I can't see anything. It's dark. Where are you, man? You're not... you can't be... please, answer me. You can't be dead.'

Not even the sound of Blair's own voice broke the silence. His world was a dark and empty space. He had become the antithesis of a sentinel, unable to use any sense, trapped in nothingness--lost in a place where something had once been, but was burned away. The lifeline was gone. The remarkable gift of the Sentinel/Guide pairing had ceased to exist, and it had taken Blair with it. He was alone now. Alone, and very afraid.

He didn't know if it was hours or days before the light came again, flooding his open eyes with welcome colors. All he knew was that it seemed like forever before he could identify the figures drifting in and out of his field of vision, and even longer before he could understand what they were saying. Once he understood, he desperately wanted to make contact with them; but that ability seemed gone for good. He was unable to utter a word, to move, to do anything to show he was aware of their presence. It wasn't much better than the void.

A nurse neared his bed. She had blond hair and kind blue eyes, and spoke to him as though he could answer. "Good morning, Mr. Sandburg. I hope you had a pleasant night," she said, as she changed the IV bag at his side. Her badge read "Amy Davison." He'd have to remember her, and ask about her whenever he got better--if he got better. No, he would. He'd come this far and he had to believe he could return to the waking world entirely. If nothing else, he needed to tell Simon about what happened to Jim.

The thought of his friend's death made him want to cry, but he couldn't even do that. At least not in the real world. He had cried plenty in the darkness and the dreams that had eventually filled the void. He had even once dreamed of Jim's funeral. If there ever was one, he doubted he'd be well enough to attend. He was a vegetable. It was a horrible word and a heartless way to describe what he'd become, but it was true. He could only hold onto the hope that this would pass. He wanted out of this prison.

Simon would be arriving soon. The captain had been coming to visit him in the morning and then again in the evening. Blair was sure Simon hoped that somehow Blair could convey what had happened to Jim, but he also believed the older man actually cared about him. There were signs in the tone of his voice and the sadness in his eyes. Simon Banks was a good man, one who felt responsible for his men, and Blair, though once an outsider, had become one of those men. Sandburg wished he could tell the captain how much those visits meant to him.

It wasn't only Simon who came. He had other visitors from the station. Brown, Ryf, Taggert, and others had stopped by. All he could do was watch them and hope somehow they could see the recognition and gratitude in his eyes.

****

Captain Banks stood in the hallway outside Sandburg's room. He paced back and forth, waiting for the doctor who had agreed to meet him there. Finally, Guiterrez, a short, balding man, approached. He held a chart in his left hand and offered his right to Simon.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, releasing Simon's hand. "My morning rounds took longer than expected."

"I understand. Thank you for seeing me again, Doctor. Is there anything else you can tell me about Blair's condition?"

"Well, we've conducted several tests so far including a CAT scan. As far as we can tell, he hasn't suffered a stroke or aneurysm. We're also relieved that he's at least achieved a semi-conscious state. We are going to continue to look for a physical reason for his unresponsiveness, at least for the next couple of days. After that, I may have no choice but to transfer him to the psychiatric wing."

The words sent a chill up Simon's spine. "Do you think this is the result of some psychological trauma?"

"I can't rule that out," the doctor replied. "His current state closely resembles what is commonly referred to as catatonia."

"Is that a reversible disorder?"

"That's anyone's guess, Captain. I wish I could be more positive, but we really don't know anything definite at this point."

Banks didn't like what he was hearing. It was very likely that his best detective, and long-time friend, was dead. Now the man's partner, a genius kid, might be catatonic for the rest of his life. It was unfair. The two had been through so much together to end up like this. Banks considered the grim fact that he might never know what had really happened to either of them. Even so, the kid was still alive and he'd be damned if he didn't do all he could for him.

"Thanks, Doctor. I appreciate your time."

The older man smiled slightly and patted Simon's arm in sympathy. "I will keep you up to date, Captain." Turning, he left Simon to his thoughts.

****

The door opened and Blair watched as the tall man entered his room. Simon. He wanted to smile, to acknowledge the captain's presence, but he couldn't. He could barely get his eyes to focus on the approaching figure.

Pulling up a chair, the man sat beside his bed. "Hey, Sandburg!" he began with a smile.

What followed was a few stories about the current state of events at the station including some pieces of gossip Blair had always considered beyond the captain's usual interest. Then again, Simon had to talk for the both of them, and Blair knew full well that filling in his side of the conversation was taxing to say the least. The younger man had no illusions about his own ability to converse about anything and everything for long periods of time. He wondered how this latest twist of fate was making the captain feel. It had to be unnerving to see someone who was known for talking up a storm in such a quiet state. It was unnerving enough for Blair not to be able to hear his own voice commenting on Simon's stories. He truly wished he could express his gratitude for not being forgotten.

More than anything, he wanted to tell Simon about Jim. The secret he held inside ate at him like a living thing. Devouring him from the inside. Jim was dead, and no one else knew that for sure. They were still searching for him. The detectives who came to visit spoke of him as though he was alive. But Blair knew the truth. He'd heard Thornton talk about how he was going to kill Jim. He'd felt the needle enter the Sentinel's body, and then the overwhelming sensation of the link being cut. He didn't know if his current state was a result of that severing or a reaction to Jim's death. The cause itself was unimportant. He needed to come out of it. He had to share his grief.

More than half an hour passed before Simon excused himself, patting Blair's arm and promising to stop by on his way home from the station. Sandburg watched him leave.

Then, before Blair knew he had fallen asleep, he was dreaming. He'd returned to the cemetery where a service was being held in honor of Jim Ellison. He was outside himself, watching his wasted body. He sat in a wheelchair unable to move, speak, or acknowledge anything going on around him. Suddenly, he was inside himself again, looking through his own eyes at the casket being lowered into the ground and wondering why he couldn't remember when they'd found Jim or what had happened to his killers, wondering why he couldn't grieve in the way he desperately wanted to, needed to.

Suddenly, he was somewhere else entirely. He stood on the dam, a place that had taken up residence in his mind since the link had emerged. But now, there was nothing on either side of the mammoth structure. A blackness had taken the place of the grand vista. He couldn't hear any rushing water or feel the cool mountain breeze. But he had a voice here, and he used it to scream at the darkness.

****

A thousand miles away, Jim Ellison woke to yet another day in his own prison. After the injection he had been sure would end his life, he had broken the link with his Guide and lost consciousness as promised. But death didn't take him. Instead, he'd regained consciousness a day and a half later in a place far away from Cascade. That was days ago.

Though he had attempted to contact Blair, he'd failed. The link was broken, and apparently he'd done a good job at shutting it down. He wished he and Sandburg had talked more about what had happened in the wilderness when Blair rebuilt the bond. Maybe it would have helped him to reconnect with his Guide now.

Jim sat up on the hard cot. The small shack where he was being kept held a dresser with a bowl of water that had to be filled at the pump outside, and a single chair.

Standing, the detective walked over to the dresser and cupped his hands in the warm water, bringing some to his lips. He dipped his hands again and spread the precious liquid over his face and bare chest. It was hot, and would only get hotter as the day wore on.

As far as he could tell, he was somewhere in the desert of west Texas or eastern New Mexico. They'd brought him here for training. He'd been right all along. They wanted to use his senses to expand the capabilities of their growing mercenary group. Each day Thornton had threatened him with Blair's life, and the Sentinel had endured his training with a clenched jaw. It was all elementary to him, everything they'd had him do so far. They'd tested his senses by putting him in the field and having him peg distant targets, making him listen for a mock ambush, and find 'enemy' camps by their scent. Today would probably be more of the same.

In his mind he quietly plotted his escape, but in his heart he knew he couldn't try anything until he knew that Blair was safe. If that meant he had to play their games for a few more days, so be it. He wouldn't risk Sandburg's life.

After dressing, he exited his guarded shack and made his way over to the meager meal provided for him and his fellow mercenaries every morning. He ate and, as he finished, Thornton joined him. The man had an unsettling grin on his face. 'This isn't good,' Jim thought.

****

Simon entered the young man's room, trying to keep his face from revealing his concern. No one had proved to him that Blair didn't actually see what was going on around him or hear what people were telling him, so he did his best to remain as upbeat as possible when he came for his visits. It was becoming increasingly hard. Each day, the kid seemed more frail than the last. It had been more than a week since he'd collapsed, and there'd been little sign of improvement.

Banks silently cursed Ellison for leaving the young man in his hands, but the anger immediately turned to a sense of deep loss. Jim might never come back, and he had to do all he could to help Blair through this. The captain refused to believe his condition was permanent. And though they were about to move him to the psychiatric wing, he knew Blair's state wasn't your typical mental breakdown. It was more like a psychic one.

They'd turned Blair on his side to prevent bedsores. The kid was facing him, eyes open and staring. His arms were bent, his hands curled beneath his chin. An IV tube trailed from the back of one hand to the bag positioned by the bed.

"Blair, you really didn't think you could get rid of me, did you?" Simon said with a smile, as he took his place on a chair beside the bed. He reached out and gently patted the unresponsive man on the shoulder. "I tell you, things are crazy back at the station."

Simon went on for a few minutes about some current cases. But he knew what he had come for, and realized he had to tell Blair what was about to happen to him--about the changes that would take place in the next day. He hated this, but he felt the kid had a right to know. "Blair, the doctors have made a decision about your care. I've been trying to reach your mother, but I can't seem to find her. The only other person listed as an emergency contact is Jim, and he..." Simon broke off. "You probably know more than I do about that too, but here's the deal. They are moving you to the psych ward. I met one of the doctors there, Bell--Dr. Frank Bell. He asked me all sorts of questions." Simon shook his head and smiled sadly. "He asked if you had experienced any auditory or visual hallucinations. Of course, I said no. He wanted to know if you'd had a traumatic experience lately. I couldn't lie about that one. He would have found out on his own. He really thinks you've lost it, kid." Simon coughed back his emotions. He took a moment to regroup, then continued. "He thinks you might be schizophrenic. He said most people develop the disorder around your age, and that your current state is probably catatonia. He claims you'll come out of it to an extent, and then become very agitated. He wants you under supervision and on medication. I know he's wrong, but he wouldn't believe me if I told him the truth. I only hope their treatment doesn't do you more harm than good." Simon leaned closer to the younger man, gently massaging his shoulder. "If there was ever a time to come out of it, Sandburg, it's now. Can you hear me, kid? You need to come back to us before they take you."

Blair heard and understood every word of Simon's plea. He felt the strong hand that touched him. He wanted more than anything to break free of the stifling bonds that held him, but he didn't know how. He felt as helpless as a bound hostage, tied, gagged, and left in a place where no one could find him. And the only person who could reach him was... dead.

****

"You want me to do what?" Ellison asked, staring at Thornton as though the mercenary had lost his mind.

"Kill him, that's all you have to do," Thornton explained, motioning to the man held between two mercenaries.

The man's eyes were wide with fear, but Jim didn't think he understood the gravity of his own situation. So far he'd only muttered a few words in Spanish. He was probably some poor illegal who'd come across the border seeking a job, a way to care for his family. He didn't look much older than Blair.

"I can't do that," Jim said.

"You can, and I want you to do it with your bare hands. This is another test, Ellison. Fail this one and your friend dies."

"But why? What does this prove? You know I can do it."

"It proves precisely that. It proves you can and you will. When the time comes, Ellison, you'll be asked to breach the defenses of an encampment in El Salvador. You'll go in and kill the person we need taken out, and you'll do it knowing we have a gun to the head of your partner. What did you think these last few days were for? Sport? You know better."

The world spun around Ellison. He'd known what they'd been after, but he always believed he would manage to escape before it went this far. He was wrong. He glanced over at the young Mexican. The man was staring down at his dirty sneakers. Jim knew he couldn't do this. There was no way he could kill a man for no reason. They'd picked the wrong Sentinel.

'Blair, you know I can't. I know you wouldn't want me to, but DAMMIT, I don't want to lose you.' His thoughts seemed to assume an intact link that wasn't there.

Suddenly, Thornton was in his face, screaming like a drill sergeant. "Do it! Do it or your Guide dies! Is that what you want? Do you want me to give the order that will end the life of that punk kid you call your partner? That kid who shares your apartment with you? What else does he share, Ellison?"

One of Thornton's men snickered. He knew what the thug was insinuating, and it didn't matter. They could think whatever they wanted to. What mattered was figuring out a way to save his Guide and the young Mexican who stood waiting for his execution at Jim's hands. And whomever else Thornton would send him after.

"Time's up." Thornton motioned to one of his men, who tossed a gun to him. In split second, Thornton aimed and fired at their captive. The Mexican took the bullet in the head and went down without a sound.

"NO!" Jim screamed, lunging at the mercenary. They both fell to the ground grappling over the gun. Before Jim could take the upper hand, he felt the barrel of a gun pressed to his head.

"Get up," a voice demanded.

Jim rose to his feet followed by the leader of the mercenary group. Thornton nodded at Jim. "Good try, but not good enough." He tossed the gun back to one of his men and demanded a cell phone. One was produced and handed to him.

This was it. Jim couldn't let it happen. "Wait. Once you kill him, you won't be able to control me. I swear, Thornton, you kill him and you are dead."

The man laughed. "I don't think so. I can still get to others like your captain, hmm, maybe your ex-wife. Isn't she in San Francisco?"

"Damn you!"

"Whatever." Thornton took the phone and dialed.

Jim silently prayed it was a bluff. It couldn't be happening. Thornton was about to give the order that would completely change his world. His blue eyes sparked. His hands clenched. He couldn't let that happen. He started forward, but the gun pressed against him became more insistent, and a hand grabbed his arm. "No further, amigo," a voice behind him warned.

"Yeah, it's me. I want you to do him."

At first, Jim didn't focus on the reply, but when Thornton spoke again, he noted the agitation in the man's voice. "Yes, now."

The voice on the other end said, "He's been moved to a locked psych ward. I can't get in without some trouble."

"I don't care how you get in! Just do it! Kill him!" Thornton hung up the phone and tossed it to one of his men.

"Damn you, Thornton," Jim said in a voice that echoed with unrestrained hatred. "You've just made a mistake."

"How's that?" the man asked, smiling.

"You've given me some time."

Before anyone could react, Jim felled the man behind him with a well-placed elbow, and took the gun from his nerveless fingers. As shouts of alarm rang out and weapons were drawn, Ellison fired at the group surrounding him, taking down every one of Thornton's five men before they could hit their target. In the space of a few seconds, Ellison found himself aiming his last bullet at Thornton, who in turn was aiming a gun at him.

'A Mexican stand-off,' Jim thought. 'How appropriate.' Without hesitation, he spoke. "You know what I can do. Put it down."

"You won't shoot me. Who else knows how to save your partner? Who else can make the call?"

"I don't need your help. Put the gun down NOW."

"My man is trained to give his life to take out a target. He'll get to the punk kid, even if he has to blow himself up in the process, Ellison. Think about it."

"This is your last warning, Thornton."

"That long-haired hippie is going to die a horrible death. Real messy. And it'll be all your fault, because you wouldn't--"

Jim fired. He hit Randall Thornton right between the eyes, silencing his taunts forever.

Dropping the empty gun, Jim found the cell phone Thornton had used on one of the bodies. He punched the redial button, oblivious to the tremor in his hands. He had to play this right; Blair's life depended on it.

When the other end picked up, he didn't bother to wait for a greeting. "You're out of luck. Thornton and the other mercenaries are dead. I killed them, and before they died they told me who you are and what you look like. There will be dozens of cops waiting for you. If you're smart, you'll get your ass away from that hospital and on the next plane. If not, you're dead, too. That's a promise."

"You're bluffing. You have no idea."

"No, you have no idea." Though he didn't raise his voice, the tone conveyed barely restrained rage. "You won't even get within a few feet of him before they take you down."

"You're wrong there, buddy. They really didn't tell you who I am, now did they?" The line abruptly went dead.

Jim stared at the phone as if it were a live snake coiling around his hand. This couldn't be happening. He knew who this man was and he guessed he had mere seconds before this person breached the psych ward. He dialed furiously, and the line immediately picked up.

"Banks here."

"Simon, this is Jim. Where are you?"

"Jim, my god, what...?"

"There's no time to explain. Blair's in danger. Thornton has a man on the inside. I think it's Reynolds. He's been ordered to kill Blair. You have to get to him, protect him. Get as many men over there as you..."

Jim heard the distant sound of a gun discharging. "Simon!"

"I'm here, Jim. That was outside in the hall. I'm with Sandburg now. Excuse me if I cut our little conversation short."

"Simon..." Jim left the rest of his plea unvoiced, but the captain knew what he was asking.

"We won't let anything happen to him, Jim."

The line went dead, and Detective Ellison took a deep breath, hoping it would steady him. The carnage around him reeked. The sun beat down unmercifully. As far as he could see and hear, he was alone in this desert. Alone, and miles away from doing any good for his friends. He didn't even have the link to rely on. He wouldn't know if Reynolds had carried out his orders.

He sat down amid the bodies, still holding the phone in one hand. There was only one thing left to do, and this would be over, at least on his end. He dialed the emergency number and put the phone to his ear again. "This is Detective James Ellison of the Cascade Police Department. My badge number is 714." Jim's voice went on to mechanically explain his situation. He was assured that help would arrive soon. Now if he could only find out what was happening back in Cascade.

****

"Get him out of here!" the captain barked at the uniforms that held Reynolds. Standing just outside of Sandburg's room, he watched as one of his own was escorted away. Simon shook his head and looked back toward the figure huddled in the corner.

Joel Taggert knelt beside the kid, gently smoothing his shoulder as he rocked back and forth. Simon sighed. It'd been too close.

Luckily, Blair hadn't been alone when Thornton's trigger man used his badge to gain entrance to the locked ward. Believing the guard near the door would be his only obstacle, he immediately shot him, but when he opened the door to Blair's room, both Taggert and Banks had their guns aimed at him. Knowing that he was preparing to shoot anyway, Banks fired, hitting him in the shoulder. It was over in seconds. Jim's warning saved them all. Without it, Simon would have hesitated, if only a moment, to draw his gun on a man in uniform, and they'd probably all be dead.

"How is he, Joel?"

The big man turned toward Banks and shrugged. His expression was pained.

Sandburg's condition had changed over the course of the last couple of days, but different hadn't necessarily been better. With the drugs, he'd come out of the immobile state he'd been in and was now eating on his own, but the few words he'd managed had made no sense. Bell had called it a "word salad," and used them to further validate his diagnosis of schizophrenia. But now that Jim would be coming back, Simon had hope. Maybe their lives could actually return to normal.

****

Jim managed to endure a day of questioning, before being allowed to board a plane to Washington. There would be further inquiries into his actions, but so far there was no hint he'd be facing any charges. He'd been kidnapped and asked to kill for a group of mercenaries who had long eluded the authorities, and he'd dealt with them in the only way he could have. End of story.

But it wasn't the end of Jim's own story. His discussions with Simon had not prepared him for the sight that greeted him upon his return to Cascade. He wasn't prepared for the guilt that washed over him in waves. He'd been responsible for this. No one had to tell him it was his fault. No one had to explain to him that breaking their bond had had a traumatic effect on Blair. It could be the only explanation for the younger man's psychosis.

Jim entered the room slowly, followed by his captain. Blair sat on the floor in the corner, dressed in white hospital clothes--a shirt and pants--that were more dignified than the typical gown. He wasn't wearing any shoes. Jim wondered if his feet were cold.

The younger man slowly rocked back and forth, his head buried in the arms that crossed his knees. His hair was a wild mess. Jim was amazed when Simon told him they'd wanted to cut it, but that the captain had protested, granting Blair a reprieve from the shears. 'Who would have thought,' Jim wondered.

Ellison took a few steps toward his partner, but felt a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Take it slow," Simon warned. "I haven't told him that you're alive."

Jim nodded and felt the pressure disappear. He approached Sandburg cautiously, as though he might bolt when he noticed him. But Blair made no move to even look up. He'd have to catch his attention. "Hey, buddy," Jim called. "It's me." Blair heard him. He stopped rocking, but didn't look up. Jim dared to continue, speaking softly, "Blair, it's Jim."

Sandburg's head snapped up. His eyes were bright with a wild intensity Jim had never seen before. They locked onto him, and recognition was immediate. Jim didn't expect what came next. Blair took an audible breath and went limp, slouching against the wall behind him; but his eyes were still alive. They followed Jim as he rushed to his side.

"Blair, oh god," the Sentinel whispered hoarsely, then called over his shoulder for his captain. "Simon, what...?"

"I don't know, Jim. It must be the shock," he offered.

****

From deep in his mind, Sandburg watched the man lean over him. He looked like Jim, and talked like him, but he couldn't be him. It was a lie, some ruse to coax him out of the quiet place to which he'd been confined. 'Don't they know?' he wondered. 'I can't come out, even if I want to. Even if it is Jim, but it's not. It sounds like... no, it's not, and I can't...' He couldn't think anymore. He felt like he was drowning. Hadn't he drowned before? He felt somebody lift him off the floor. His head fell back at an uncomfortable angle. And the world turned upside down. It was making him sick. He closed his eyes.

****

Jim gently rested Sandburg on the bed and sat beside him. His eyes were closed now, but the detective sensed he was still conscious.

"I'll get a doctor," Simon offered, leaving the room.

Jim nodded, keeping his attention focused on his inert partner. "Chief, it's me. Open your eyes, buddy. I know you can hear me." Sandburg's breathing became faster, shallower. He was getting through. "Blair, it's Jim. You need to open your eyes. Look at me. Come on."

Suddenly, Blair lurched forward, grabbing Jim's jacket. Supporting him with a hand on his back, Jim talked in soothing tones. "It's okay. It's me, Chief. Open your eyes." Lashes parted. "Yes, that's it." But it was a small victory. There wasn't anything inside Blair's gaze that spoke of lucidity. It was a terrified, pleading stare. "I'm going to bring you out. I promise," the Sentinel said.

Simon burst through the door at that moment. "Bell is on his way."

Jim turned toward the captain. "No, keep everyone out of here, Simon. You can stay, but I don't want anyone else coming in this room. Not until I'm done."

Realization dawned on Simon's face. "You're going to try to reach him." It was a statement, not a question.

"I have to. I did this to him. There's no other explanation." At first, when Simon told him about Blair's condition, he had suspected as much; seeing him only confirmed it. This was more than just Blair's reaction to Jim's supposed death. This was a mental trauma caused by the broken link. No, not merely broken. It had burned out and taken Blair with it. What had he done? This hadn't happened to him when Blair severed the link. What was it about their psychic connection that put the younger man in danger whenever it was tampered with?

Blair began to struggle, alternately clutching and shoving at Jim. "Easy, Blair," Jim said. "Everything's going to be alright." But the soothing words had no effect. The younger man threw one of his legs over the side of the bed and attempted to get some leverage. Without much effort, Jim wrestled him back. "Work with me, Chief. I can't do this without your help."

Sandburg took a deep breath and muttered one word. "Can't."

"We CAN do this together," Jim insisted, holding him by the shoulders. "You've got to help me out here."

A knock at the door caught Simon's attention, but Jim didn't acknowledge it. The captain walked out into the hall, talking softly with Dr. Bell, but the Sentinel didn't bother to listen in on their conversation. He was consumed with trying to get through to his Guide.

The younger man had stopped struggling. His hands clung to Jim's jacket, and his eyes gazed up with a look that approached sanity. "That's it," Ellison encouraged. "Just relax. Lie back." Gently, he disengaging Blair's fingers from his jacket and pushed him back against the bed, "I'm going to try to reach you, but you have to keep still. Can you do that for me?"

Jim trapped Sandburg with his arm on one side of his prone form. With the other hand, he took hold of Blair's wrist, pinning it to the bed with little force. He expected a violent reaction from his captive, but didn't receive one. Instead, Blair complied. Though Jim could feel the heart racing beneath his touch, the blue eyes that stared up at him were no longer fearful, but filled with trust. "That's it. It's okay."

Simon walked back into the room alone. He watched Jim leaning over his partner, speaking softly. It was amazing. The kid had calmed down and seemed to actually understand what was happening. 'Their link might be broken,' he thought, 'but their friendship seems to be intact.'

"Simon," Jim called, without taking his eyes off Blair, "I need you to watch us."

"I'm right here," the captain said. "What are you going to do, and how can I tell if something goes wrong?"

"I'm going to attempt a zone-out and try to repair the link," Jim replied, finally meeting Simon's concerned gaze. "I think you'll know if anything goes wrong. I need to bring him out of this."

Simon nodded. "I'll be waiting."

Jim looked back at the still figure. For the first time, he noticed how thin Blair had become. His face had markedly changed. His cheekbones were more prominent, his eyes looked larger, and he looked far younger. It had only been a little over two weeks since he'd last seen his Guide. Even then, he had only just started to recover from the accident on Wilton's Peak. "I'm sorry, Chief," he whispered, "but I won't let you down this time. I promise."

It was time to begin. In preparation, Jim isolated the different sounds around him. He filtered out the commotion of a busy hospital, concentrating his hearing on the room. He then removed Simon's life functions, and his own, drawing his focus down to include only Blair. And then he centered only on his heartbeat, feeling the pulse at Blair's wrist and hearing the slowing thrum. The younger man wasn't as agitated as he had been. That was good.

As Ellison focused, he pictured a thread--a lifeline--connecting him to his Guide. Using every ounce of energy he had, Jim barely breathed as he worked. It was difficult, like trying to re-grow a limb that had been amputated. He knew that, when complete, the psychic bond should somehow reveal its presence. There'd be some sign.

After what seemed like hours, it happened. He felt a sudden jolt, and then he was standing on the dam in Blair's mind. It was dark, and the blackness was more oppressive than night. Even his Sentinel sight couldn't penetrate beyond the small patch of road on which he stood. "Sandburg!" he called. "Where are you? Sandburg!"

The voice that answered seemed small, unsure. "Jim?"

"Yeah, buddy, it's me." He followed the voice, arms outstretched to keep himself from running into any obstacles. Before he knew it, he was standing near the railing, overwhelmed by the void beyond the railing. "Blair?"

"Over here." Blair managed to sound relieved, incredulous, and frightened at the same time.

Ellison was just thankful that he sounded close, very close. The detective took a few steps to his right and almost stumbled over his partner, who sat, bound, with his back against the concrete wall. He knelt at Blair's side, looking first into his eyes and then at the ropes around his wrists and ankles. "Hey, Chief. Let me get those for you."

Blair shrank away. "You can't be Jim," he stated simply, shaking his head.

"It's me, Sandburg. I'm very real. Please believe me."

His Guide tilted his head slightly, examining him. "How do I know that?"

"Because I'm with you in the hospital. Can you feel that hand on your wrist?"

"That could be anybody."

"It's me, Blair. Now's not the time..."

"But I think it is. What if... what if you're going to throw me over the railing? What

if..."

"Whoa, slow down. I'd never hurt you. You have to believe that," Jim said, stunned at the silence that followed his claim. But then it hit him--he had hurt Blair, however inadvertently, and this was the result. "Look, I didn't die with that injection," he explained. "Thornton was bluffing. He wanted me for a mission, and he held your life over me. It took a while, but I escaped. I'm with you now at the hospital."

"But how..." This time, Blair stopped himself short with a sudden breath. He pressed his bound hands up against his forehead in obvious pain.

Jim touched his shoulder. "What? What is it?" he asked, on the verge of panic.

"My head..."

Jim wondered what was happening. Was something going wrong? If so, he needed to get them both out of there as soon as he could. He quickly untied the ropes around Blair's ankles, muttering, "You're okay. I'm here." Pulling Blair's hands away from his face, he started on those ropes. Blair leaned his head back. His face was a mask of pain--eyes shut tight, brow furrowed, and his teeth biting his lower lip. 'We've come so far,' Jim thought. 'Not now. Please, not now.'

Once Blair was free, Jim stood and leaned over him. Placing his hands under Blair's arms, he pulled him to his feet. He met little resistance. All questions had been forgotten in the wake of what appeared to be blazing pain. Jim managed to get Blair to lean into him and hold on while Jim lead them though the darkness. Ellison kept one arm wrapped around his Guide, while he stretched the other out in front of them. He counted on his own connection to the outside world to be a compass for him.

The light that greeted Jim was blinding compared to the darkness he'd endured. Fluorescent hospital overheads. A touch on his shoulder confirmed Simon's presence in the room, but his focus remained on Blair. His Guide was moaning, his free hand pressed against his forehead. His other wrist remained trapped. "Blair? Are you okay?"

"My head hurts. Can I have my other hand back, please?" Sandburg's voice was hoarse with disuse and pain.

Jim released him, and Blair brought his other hand up to his head. He hadn't opened his eyes yet. In truth, he was afraid to. The apparition in his mind had looked and sounded like Jim, but would he really be there when he looked? He couldn't take another disappointment. It would overwhelm him. Even though the voice that had asked him if he was okay sounded like the Sentinel's, he didn't dare hope. And the pain--he couldn't think straight with the pounding. He'd only had a migraine once, when he was much younger, but he knew one when he felt it.

"Blair? Come on, open your eyes."

He didn't respond to the voice.

"Please, Chief."

No one else called him 'Chief.' It had to be Jim. He opened his eyes and the face above him gradually came into focus. It was tanner and leaner, with a day's growth of stubble, but still totally recognizable. 'Jim isn't dead. He's alive. And he's right here.' He sighed and pushed himself up with some effort. He found himself caught in a tight embrace that he returned with his as much strength as he had. "It's you," he muttered against Jim's shoulder. "I thought..." he couldn't manage anything else.

"It's okay," Jim said. "How's your head?"

"It hurts."

Jim gently pushed him away, and taking his face in his hands, looked into his eyes. "Your pupils look normal." Without turning away, he spoke to the captain. "Simon, maybe you should get the doctor now."

"Sure thing," the captain said. "Hey, kid, it's good to have you back."

Jim released Blair and the younger man looked over at Simon. He smiled weakly. "Thanks, man."

After he left, Blair covered his eyes with one hand. "Uh, Jim, I'm getting real nauseated here, and that light..."

Ellison sprang into action. He grabbed the trashcan by the door and deposited it at the edge of the bed. "Just say the word, and I've got you covered."

Blair peeked out from behind his hand. "What about the lights, man?"

"I think the doctor needs them on so he can examine you. We've got to figure out what's wrong."

"I think I know."

"What?" Jim couldn't believe Sandburg had already figured everything out. Hell, the kid was smart, but he'd just come back from the edge of madness.

"Jim, it's the link." Blair's tone was matter-of-fact. He moaned, and pressed both palms against his forehead. "Oh, man. I'm seeing stars here. This really hurts."

"Take it easy. Maybe you'd better lie down." Jim took his shoulders and tried to guide him back against the bed.

Blair resisted, gripping Jim's arms and pushing back. "No, wait. I think I'm going to throw up now," he announced.

Jim snatched up the trashcan and placed it between them as Blair began to retch. He didn't expel anything, and finally fell back against the bed exhausted. Jim returned the trashcan to the floor. He hated to see his friend like this, but was grateful he had at least come out of the psychosis. "You said it's the link," he prompted. "How so?"

Blair kept one hand over his eyes, protecting them from the harsh light. "When it was broken, the backlash or whatever was really powerful. When you reconnected it, the power coming across the link--I felt it. It's healing, Jim. And sometimes, healing hurts."

"You mean I did this to you?"

"Don't take it that way, man."

"If I hadn't broken it in the first place..."

Blair removed his hand and opened his eyes, staring straight into Jim's. "You thought you were doing the right thing. Just like I did. This is no different."

Their conversation was cut short by Simon returning with Dr. Bell. The psychiatrist asked Jim and Simon to leave, but Blair insisted they stay. He acquiesced, and proceeded to ask Blair questions and examine his vital signs. He called a nurse in to administer a pain reliever, and then suggested a barrage of tests be performed.

Blair moaned. "No more tests, please. I just want to go home."

"I really can't allow that, Mr. Sandburg. You've had a severe psychotic episode. I'm not convinced you've been miraculously cured."

"Stop right there, doc. You can't keep him if he wants to go unless you commit him, and I'm not about to let that happen. As soon as you can tell me this headache isn't a symptom of something insidious, I'm taking him home."

Blair looked at his friend and smiled. Jim Ellison--protector of the tribe, the city of Cascade, and one Blair Sandburg. He couldn't ask for a better one. A headache, no matter how severe, was a small price to pay in exchange for being drawn out of the darkness by his Sentinel. He had been sure Jim was dead, and now his joy at finding out otherwise had begun to lessen the ache in his head. 'Either that, or the medication is kicking in,' he thought, still smiling.

They compromised. Blair stayed in the hospital for another two days, during which he endured one other migraine of unknown origin. Otherwise, he was given a clean bill of health. Dr. Bell had asked him to continue outpatient therapy and, in accordance with rules and regulations, had to be evaluated before being allowed to return to the station as an observer.

That was just fine with Blair. Another few weeks without any action would give him the chance to recuperate and to re-examine what had happened with the Sentinel-Guide link. He had an idea but was reluctant to share it with Jim, given the detective's already guilty conscience.

It wasn't long before the detective came to his own conclusion, one that was very similar to his own. Blair walked out of his bedroom in the early morning hours, after having endured another long night of pain, and found Jim sitting on the couch. "What are you doing up, man?"

"I could ask you the same thing, but I know. You had another headache, didn't you?"

Blair couldn't lie. He nodded. "It's almost gone now."

Jim's intense gaze left his own and wandered toward the window. "I think I know how this, you know, this link we have works, Chief."

The anthropologist's eyes grew wide. "What? How? What do you mean?"

"It's you."

"Jim, what are you talking about?"

"You are the link, Blair."

Jim heard his partner's intake of breath and the sudden increase in his heart rate. Alarmed, he looked over and watched the color drain from Blair's face. He stood immediately and took his friend's arm. "Come on, sit down."

"How did you...? What makes you say that?" Blair stuttered.

"It only makes sense," Jim explained. "The hyperactive senses are my genetic enhancement. The link must be yours. And when I tamper with it, it affects you, not me. When you broke it, I didn't lose myself; but when I broke it, you..." Jim faltered, but started again almost immediately. "Now that I repaired it, you're the one who's healing."

Blair nodded.

"What? Are you agreeing with me for once?"

"I'd been thinking about it, too, man. I think you're right."

The weight of that revelation seemed to fall on both their shoulders. Jim had to endure the guilt of knowing he had inadvertently burned out Blair's mind, and now Blair knew that the mere existence of something that shouldn't exist came from his own psyche.

"We'll work through this, Jim," Blair offered. "Now that we know, or at least think we know where this comes from, maybe we can control it."

"Yeah, maybe," Jim replied. He touched Blair's shoulder lightly. "And maybe you should go back to bed and get some more sleep."

Another compromise: they both did.

He wakens again... sees the yellow waves before him, the sea-birds bathe, spread their feathers, frost and snow fall, mingled with hail.
Then the wounds are deeper in his heart, sore for... his dear one.

from "The Wanderer"
author unknown
collected in the Exeter Book (975)

Epilogue:

 

Walking into the building, Jim immediately knew all was not right upstairs. His senses told him that much, but he could almost feel it too, a kind of empathetic pain. It wasn't coming directly from the link, as it would in times of severe stress. Instead it came from the part of him that held onto the guilt. This had been his fault. The person upstairs was suffering because of him.

He took the steps two at a time, and turned his key in the lock. There were no lights on in the loft, but he could still see the figure huddled on the couch. It shifted and whispered, "I'm sorry, man. I didn't make it to the bathroom."

"It's okay, Chief," Jim replied in an equally soft voice. He put his keys on the counter and took his jacket off, placing it on the peg by the door. He maneuvered through the kitchen effortlessly, his enhanced sight compensating in the darkness. Grabbing a bowl, he tossed some paper towels inside. Then he took a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the fridge. He took everything over to Sandburg, careful not to step on the mess by the couch. "Here, rinse your mouth into the bowl." As Sandburg complied, cleaned up the floor, dumping everything into the bowl when done. He brought everything back to the kitchen, threw away the towels and washed out the bowl.

He took a kitchen towel and soaked it with cool water. Returning to Blair, he offered it to him, patting his shoulder with his other hand. "How long have you been like this?"

"For a couple hours, but it just got really bad a few minutes ago." Blair took the towel and pressed it against his forehead. He released a shaky sigh and leaned back against the couch.

Jim sat beside him. "Did you take your pain pills?"

"I couldn't keep them down."

Jim grimaced. That had been a problem before, and probably would be again. God, he felt so helpless. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No. Well..."

"What?" Jim asked as Blair hesitated.

"Maybe you could help me to my room so I can lie down."

"Are you sure you want to be alone?"

Blair shrugged.

Jim stood up and said, "Stay right where you are. I'll be back in a second." Entering the anthropologist's room, he found three lavender scented candles Blair had been burning to help him sleep. Jim retrieved them, along with a box of matches. Walking out into the living area, he set them on the coffee table and lit them. Their glow filled the room with gentle light and they emitted a pleasant aroma.

In response, the younger man tipped his head up, keeping one hand pressed against the cloth. His questioning gaze followed the Sentinel as he sat down at the far end of the couch. "I'm not that offensive, am I?"

Jim smiled. "No, Chief, you're not. Come on, lie down," he said, pulling a pillow against his thigh.

"What?"

"Lie down," Jim repeated, gently reaching for his friend's arm.

Blair moved closer, but made no move to recline. The look of pain in his eyes made Jim's jaw clench. The younger man must have noticed. "It's not your fault, man. You don't have to..."

"Not another word, Sandburg," Jim's voice sounded sterner than he intended.

Blair looked away for a moment and then moved closer. He settled himself on the couch, laying his head on the pillow. The Sentinel gently arranged the cold compress on his forehead. Blair closed his eyes, but Jim could still see the pain etched in his face.

For a long time, they both remained silent. The Sentinel monitored his Guide's breathing, hoping he'd fall asleep eventually, but it didn't happen. Finally, Blair lifted one of his hands and pressed it against his forehead, not opening his eyes.

"Chief?"

The strained voice that answered him tore at his heart. "It hurts."

"I know it does," Jim replied, softly. "Just take a deep breath and try to relax."

"I can't, man. It hurts--it hurts--it hurts."

"Shh, I don't think that mantra's going to work," he said, only half-joking.

Blair's attempt at a laugh turned immediately to a moan. Unshed tears glistened on the younger man's eyelashes. "God, Jim, make it stop." The words were born of desperation, but they also reminded Ellison that he was the cause of this.

Carefully, Ellison put a hand under the pillow, easing it off his thigh and sliding himself off the couch. He knelt on the floor beside his partner and pulled the younger man's hand away from his face. "Shh, take it easy, Chief," he comforted, removing the compress and placing his fingers on Blair's temples. He massaged them in a circular motion. "Just focus on my touch, Blair. Take a deep breath," he suggested. Sandburg complied, but Jim could hear the catch of barely controlled emotion. "That's good, just keep focusing." It wasn't long before Jim felt tears falling against his sensitive fingers. They burned like fire.

"I'm sorry, man," Blair whispered. "It hurts."

"I know. If I could take your pain right now, I would. Please believe me." He hated to see Blair in so much pain, and hated the fact that he was the cause of it.

Blair opened his eyes. His pupils were huge in the semi-darkness. Jim watched them overtake the blue behind the wash of misery. "Don't, Jim, please. Don't blame yourself. This isn't anyone's fault. You couldn't know."

"I should have known," the Sentinel replied. He removed his touch, feeling helpless in the face of such pain. "Chief, you are the link and I..."

Sandburg closed his eyes again, and muttered, "Please, Jim, don't."

Ellison berated himself. How could he wallow in his own guilt at a time like this? Blair needed him. All he was doing was making things worse. He wanted to apologize for that too, but he knew apologies were not what his friend needed. He reached for one of Blair's hands, holding it in his own. "Whatever happens next, we're in this together. I will do everything in my power to help you through this. Everything."

The younger man turned his head slightly toward Jim's voice. His forehead wrinkled with pain, but when he opened his eyes, the Sentinel saw hope. Blair squeezed his hand. "I know you will, because I know you." He smiled, sadly.

Jim had a hard time maintaining his composure, but he didn't look away. Returning the smile, he spoke, "We'll beat this together, Chief." He raised his other hand, placing it on Blair's forehead.

In the early morning hours, Blair finally fell asleep. The Sentinel had remained at his side, drifting off only when he heard his Guide's deep, even breathing. Jim dreamed of the black panther. He followed it through the jungle to a place he'd been before. There, it became a native man.

'Another choice is at hand,' he said in a deep resonant voice, 'But it will not be yours to make.'

THE END