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And He Leads Them, volume onePositive feedback and / or constructive criticism ardently encouraged. Disclaimer: Pet Fly Productions owns "The Sentinel" concept and characters, and Gina would never challenge their rights, 'cause she sure as *heck* doesn't have the resources to get the show on the air. Gina Collum owns the Thorntons, the Palmers, Ms. Taylor, and numerous minor characters, plus the story itself. No character's opinions as stated or implied herein should be taken for Pet Fly's or Gina's position. Notes: Thanks to Jen for the nUDGEs. A round of applause for Sammie, who cheerfully brainstormed, who filled in holes in the outline, who beta'd, and who never complained about how long this took. Oh yeah, and she wrote letters to TPTB for The Boys! (Yep, this is from the September auction. How'd you guess?) ...And Sammie *did* look upon the face of slashdom, *and* She said, "Let there be Jim-owwies." And *lo* -- there were Jim-owwies. |
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THURSDAY MORNING "Yes, I was eager. Am eager," Davy said into the phone. "I think it's a great idea. But you should have more time to think about it if you're not sure." He sipped from a clear glass. "All right, I'll talk to you tomorrow." He heard the dial tone, and leaned back in his swivel chair. *Shunk* That would be the mail. Davy kicked off from his desk and rolled to the living room, fetching up against the front door. He put his hands on his knees and leaned over the scattering of -- let's see, Occupant, Occupant, Resident, GTE Customer... The return address on the last envelope was for Jay Palmer. Davy stared at the envelope. Then he kicked off from the front door and rolled back into his tiny office, picked up the phone, and touched the re-dial button. "Tania. Yeah, me again. Listen, I think we should do it. Today." *** Stuffing a hand in his jacket pocket, Detective Jim Ellison walked briskly from the jewelry store on Grand to the Mr. Tube Steak on Waverly, downed a hot dog in three bites, and went into the nearby book store. "Greetings, Jim," Elf said, waving from the counter. "Hi, Elf," Jim replied. He glanced over the magazine rack. "Anything I can force you to buy today?" "No way. What do you think I am, a fairy?" He made the mistake -- again! -- of inhaling too deeply, and sneezed three times. "Poor guy. Glad I don't have allergies. Y'know, you gotta *warn* me when you're gonna come here, and I'll forsake CK One." "Aw, for me?" "Anything for you, Jim." Elf batted his (her?) eyes. The woman who had owned Yes I Will Yes and another book store across town, She Leaned Back, had been killed some months ago, a case that fell to the attention of Jim and his partner, Blair Sandburg. While questioning Elf, Jim had choked on the mysterious clerk's cologne. He'd immediately given up his intention of discerning Elf's gender from her (his?) personal scent, and eventually flat-out asked the youngster, whereupon Elf revealed more than Jim had wanted to know about his/her sociopolitical agenda, which seemed to require that Elf wear a style of clothing that s/he called "genderfuck". After cautious getting-to-know-you noises, Jim had determined that Elf always knew what reading material to recommend, but otherwise it was best not to provoke him/her politically. "We got some new books in," Elf said when Jim stopped sneezing, and steered him to the window display. Jim's hand fell on Elf's shoulder. The youngster looked startled and raised an eyebrow. "Huh?" Jim followed Elf's glance to the slender shoulder. "Uh, I don't mean that." Elf grinned again. "You *have* been hanging out in gay bars, haven't you?" "None of your business." Jim looked down his nose at the clerk. "I-know-a-gay-cop," Elf sing-songed. *** |
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My elbow nearly landed in the salad when I leaned forward to hear Corinna Santiago's lowered voice. I caught the bowl, salad still in it, before it hit the sidewalk, but a kalamata olive bounced out and across the concrete to get slurped up by a Shih Tzu puppy leashed to a blue-haired woman. Corinna laughed. The puppy wagged its butt and coughed up the olive pit. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?" I said, putting the bowl back on the table. I'd learned from my partner Jim that the better part of dignity was pretending that silly things never happened. "I said that when... " Over her shoulder, I caught sight of a leggy blonde with a body like Marilyn Monroe, not looking at me, but poring over a display of jewelry on the other side of the promenade. Tania Taylor. Math and engineering double major; had failed my intro class twice. My skin crawled for a moment before I remembered that she had mentioned more than once how much she liked window shopping in this part of town. "...so what are you up to?" Corinna finished. I opened my mouth, but she stopped me with a raised finger. "The first few months after we met, you and I talked -- what? once? -- once or twice only. Then you tell me one day that you nearly died, and I find you at me every few weeks." Over Corinna's shoulder I saw Tania move farther away from the sidewalk cafe where we lingered over half-empty plates. "Blair, I haven't been cross-questioned this thoroughly since... ever." I gestured aimlessly. "Dying changes your perspective." Yeah, perspective. Running through a forest in the shape of your spirit wolf would be a change of perspective for most people, right? "Don't try to deceive a priestess. What are you really up to?" Taking a bite of salad, I glanced across the tables to the counter, where a tourist was loudly insisting that the foreigner taking orders, a dark man with a French accent, must be Greek. "Corinna, I'm... a shaman. Sort of." "Sort of," she repeated in her smooth, measured voice. If I hadn't had other things on my mind, I could have fallen in love with her for that voice. "There was this shaman," I explained, "of the Chopec -- that's a tribe in Peru -- he died practically in my arms, and the last thing he said was that he 'passed on the way of the Shaman' to me. Only I don't have any training, so I did all this research into Chopec culture and belief. After I... died, I decided to take another tack, y'know, talk to the priestesses I know. And priests." For a little while there, nothing could shake me, not even the truly dumb, weird shit Jim brought to my life. Like protecting the woman who'd killed me. Peace. Yeah. Piece by piece, it slipped away, leaving just... Blair. Blair the anthro guy and amateur sleuth. I had to find another way to recover that focus, that balance, that I'd had for a short while after returning from the other side. Preferably a way that didn't involve a dark tunnel and a disembodied voice saying, "Move toward the light." I took another bite of salad. "Dying does change your perspective, I meant that." "I know," she said. "It did for me, too." "You?" "Blair, there is a young man who lives in Little Havana named Ramos Arboleda. He's a traditional Puerto Rican storyteller. I have seen him stand before a crowd of people and speak of dogs and devils and beautiful women in fishing villages... and he brings them laughter, and terror, and he never tells a story the same way twice. Can you guess how long ago Ramos Arboleda was apprenticed to his grandmother to learn this?" I spread my hands. "Sixteen years, Blair. He was three when he began." Corinna, as she'd told me once, was a full priestess at ten. I put my fork down and folded my napkin. Corinna stilled my hands, holding on. "There is no 'sort of'. Are you a shaman, or aren't you?" I looked at the knot of our hands on the table. "You cannot be made something, you cannot choose to become something, unless it is what you already are. Nor can I tell you what you are not." I didn't watch as she left. *** |
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Outside the interrogation room, Jim inspected his knuckles. They'd turned swollen and purple, and for an hour and a half he'd been hiding them from Timmy Sandretti's view behind his own back or behind Detective Rafe. Captain Simon Banks emerged from the observation room, blinking at the brighter light of the hallway as two uniforms escorted Sandretti to his cell. "Eddie," Banks said, flagging down a man in a gray coverall. "Get someone to do something about that." He showed Eddie the interrogation room. "Shee-it! Some asshole broke a table," said Eddie. "Yeah. Some asshole." Banks turned back to Jim. "How's your hand?" "Nothing's broken, sir." "Good. Good." He nodded, clamping his teeth on an unlit cigar. Then he towed Jim by the elbow -- down the hall, across the Major Crime bullpen, and into his office -- and shut the door gently behind them. "That's good about your hand. Because I wanted to reserve the privilege of *breaking* it for myself." "Sir --" "Shut up." Banks walked into Jim's personal space. Jim dodged the cigar. "If the cost of that table comes out of the Major Crime unit's budget, I'm taking it out of your salary. Do you realize that puny slimeball could sue for mental cruelty, assault, and -- IA, Ellison, do you want to deal with IA? What were you thinking? -- Shut up, I said. You pull these stupid stunts, I start to think you enjoy pushing people around..." Six minutes later (Jim counted the flicking sounds that the captain's clock made every time it changed a digit) he escaped to the bullpen. He shuddered internally every time he thought of Cascade PD's Internal Affairs unit. Aside from his history of bad brushes with them (not many, but one of them too recent for comfort), he and Sandburg, with Banks' sanction, had been fudging reports for years to prevent anyone from officially finding out about Jim's extraordinarily acute senses. The phone rang. Had to be Sandburg. Kid had an uncanny ability to know when someone on the other side of the city was thinking about him, and call them at that exact moment. "Hello, Chief," Jim said. "Hey, Jim, how does Italian grab ya?" "Not that rat hole again, Sandburg. They didn't have soap in the employee restroom." "No, no, not *there*," Sandburg said scornfully. "I just discovered this place -- Bello Figlio. Seven o'clock, meet ya there, okay?" "Fine, whatever," Jim said, glancing at his jacket with the bulge in the pocket. "How'd it go with Sandretti?" "Cracked him like an egg," Jim said. Sandburg made satisfied noises (just like a real cop), then commented that he was late for class and hung up. Jim chuckled over his paperwork. His smile faded a moment later. //"I start to think you enjoy pushing people around,"// Banks ranted in Jim's memory. *** I shoved the stack of papers from the Wednesday morning class off to the side, glancing at the clock (6:10), and started on the Thursday class's essays. //Hope I can get these done before dinner.// My mouth watered at the thought of the cheap but tasty meal I'd eaten at the new restaurant a few days ago. *Tap-tap* "Office hours are over," I called. "Professor Sandburg?" Crap. I knew that voice. "Go away, Tania." "Professor Sandburg, please, it's urgent." Tania was -- well, more than a little weird, but not given to lies or exaggeration. "Oh, all right, come in." The door swung open, revealing that Tania had changed clothes since lunch time, into a light blue sun dress. Speaking of mouths watering... but mine didn't, anymore, not for Tania. Today she looked at me with wide, worried eyes. I did not get up or offer her a seat. Experience had taught me to keep the desk between us -- otherwise, she'd think I was flirting. "What's the problem?" *** |
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Jim arrived at Bello Figlio at around 6:54:38, not that he cared about being on time or anything. A short, round woman with a name tag that said CINDY eyed him up and down, showed him to a table in the window, and ran off with a wink. Jim perused the menu, or tried to. The street outside kept drawing his gaze. None of the passers-by were Sandburg. At precisely seven, Jim glanced at the door. Still no Sandburg. He smiled and touched the velvet-covered box in his pocket. He hadn't expected him to arrive punctually anyway. At 7:04, Cindy finally returned. Jim ordered coffee. "Just coffee?" "I'm waiting for someone." "Aren't we all." Jim gave an annoyed smirk to her retreating back. The coffee arrived at 7:16, with a, "Sorry, grease fire in the kitchen." At 7:40, Jim accepted his third cup (decaf this time) and dialed Sandburg's cell phone number. No answer. Little prick. Jim sighed and dialed the loft. "Chief, did you forget about dinner?" he asked the answering machine, and stabbed the cutoff button as if his phone were to blame. Well, screw him. Jim put his hand in his pocket and again caressed the velvet box. *** "So there's this alligator -- " "Crocodile," Rafe interrupted. "It was a crocodile." Brown swatted Rafe amiably. "So this alligator -- " Rhonda summoned Banks from the detectives and their circle of rookies. "Captain, you have a call from Detective Ellison." " -- and, man, I'm telling you, night shift is -- " Banks closed his office door behind him. "Jim, what's up?" "I swore I wasn't going to do night shift again," came Brown's muffled voice. Banks frowned. "No, Jim, I haven't heard anything." The babble around the bullpen rose to a roar as Brown reached the climax of his story, then fell again. Banks reappeared in their midst. "Ha ha, get back to work, you chowderheads." "What's up with Ellison?" Rafe asked. "He's getting maternal about Sandburg again. He hasn't heard from the kid since this afternoon." "Knowing Hairboy, he probably found a hot date," Brown chuckled. "The two of them were supposed to do dinner, weren't they?" Rafe said. *** Jim emptied his pockets onto the bed. Sandburg never failed to call except when their luck was about to strike. He was out there somewhere. Where to start hunting? *** |
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//How long have I been awake?// I remembered a dark while when my eyes had been covered, or maybe I'd just closed them. My wrists chafed -- //Handcuffed,// I thought -- and so did my ankles. And I was cold. Damn cold. //Handcuffed and naked. And...drugged?// Here I was on a Thursday night, handcuffed... naked... cold... drugged... The drugged part definitely did not add up to "wild fling." //Blair Sandburg is *not* that kind of guy.// I blinked at the ceiling, then turned my head. With some concentrated effort, I focused my gaze. The man who sat on the mattress beside me was a handful of years younger, with dark tousled hair, a half-unbuttoned shirt, and a broad, pleasant smile. I smiled back. I couldn't quite place the guy. "Coming 'round?" The man said. "Eh..." I tried again. "C'd y' loosen th'...um, could you loosen these?" "No," the man said with a smile. The words felt gluey in my mouth. "Why not?" The guy pouted. "But Blair, you promised." "I did?" "Don't you remember?" "Who are you?" He smiled again. "That would be telling." Then his left hand came up, into my field of vision. "My god. That's a cock ring." I had never actually seen one before. "You bet, sweetums." I watched curiously as the guy flourished the cock ring. Then he swooped and took my dick in his mouth. I gasped, tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go, and now the cock ring was already snugged in place. "No. I don't do this. I wouldn't have agreed to this." The man held me still with one arm over my waist. "There, there. You don't want to be a spoilsport, do you?" "What the hell kind of sport do you think this is?" He grinned. "Fishing." I subsided, all the air going out of me at once. "No. No. You won't use me like this. You won't!" "You're right, sweetums. I won't use you." He waved. "TTFN." And walked out the door, murmuring, "Always did have a thing for Tigger." "You're fucking nuts!" I shouted. The man popped his head back in. "If I were in your position, I wouldn't talk about anybody's nuts, Blair." And left again. I queried all my body parts. Sober now? The drug would probably be in my system for a while. Panting, I tried to relax. Cabin. Oil lantern in use. Rustic little room, view of trees out the window, yep, definitely a cabin on the mountain somewhere. I had to be at least half an hour out of Cascade, and it looked dark out there; Jim would be looking for me by now. //Gotta escape.// "Blair?" "Tania! What the hell are you doing here? Never mind, just get me out of these." I rattled the cuffs at ankle and wrist. Tania pulled a mournful face that would have been terribly cute if there were a personality behind it that had never made my skin crawl. "I can't do that, Blair." "Why not?" "You'll just go back to that awful man who treats you so badly and has you convinced you're gay." I could not think of a single word to say. Not one. None. "You would, wouldn't you?" "No," I said instantly. Tania shook her head. "Yes, you would. You don't know. But you'll see." She traced a fingertip down my chest. I shivered. "Okay. Tell me about this problem you think I have -- but first, I think you should know that I'm not gay. I mean it. I don't know who you think I'm with." Around the bullpen, the guys said I could sell air conditioners to the Inuit. Just because I once delayed a psychopath who wanted to make me his next victim... I sure wished they were right. "Oh, Blair, you don't need to hide the truth from me. I can forgive you for giving in to temptation. That cop of yours is pretty buff." "Tania, Jim is not my -- " "Did you review the article I gave you?" The dark-haired man came up behind Tania. "Yes, David, but the connection between organized religion and what we're going to do to help Blair and Jim is pretty tenuous," Tania said. David sighed. "I've told you all about neurolinguistic programming, est, Nazi Germany -- you just don't get it, do you?" Tania wrinkled her little nose. "Quit it with the Nazi crap, David. It's not funny." "It's not supposed to be funny, it's supposed to be instructive. You -- Never mind." He looked at me. "If you just follow directions, everything will be perfect. It'll only take a few days. Then he'll be all yours." "What will only take a few days?" I said. Tania petted my hair. "You're in an abusive relationship, honey. I know that isn't what you want to hear, but someone had to intervene. And then when you realize that you have to leave him before he hurts you again, you and I will finally be free to be together." //Oh shit.// The guy called David stood looking over Tania's shoulder. Grinning. *** |
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Rafe and Brown emerged from behind the dumpster. Their witness, a skinny Hispanic kid with "junky" written all over him, slouched off into the darkness, hands in his pockets, looking in every direction at once. "Think he told the truth?" "Maybe. I think -- hey, isn't that Ellison's truck?" "Without Ellison?" They both strained for a better look, then the blue and white 1969 Ford disappeared around a corner. Rafe raised an eyebrow at Brown. "Do you know his plate number?" "No. But knowing those two..." "This means trouble," Rafe filled in. He dialed for the Captain. "Rafe here. Sir, have you heard from Jim?" "What's the matter? I thought you guys were out looking for witnesses to the Otis shooting." "Yeah, but we just saw Ellison's truck -- or at least, we think it was his. Plate number 804 GDT. Driver was definitely not Ellison." "Damn. I talked to Jim an hour ago. He was going to interview someone he thought might have seen Blair. It's a bar, near the university -- The Graduate. Why don't you boys check it out. I'll put an APB out on the truck." Rafe hung up and summarized for Brown. "Shit, Captain must be worried. I wonder where Hairboy is?" *** I had to do something to take my mind off the way she moved against me, her pale skin rubbing my chest. "Why are you doing this?" I said. "Blair, Blair," she murmured in my ear. "I've seen the bruises, the times you came to class with your arm in a sling. Seen you limping around. I can't let him do that to you." Oh, man. The injuries from my work with the police. And I lived with this big buff grumpy dude. "It's not what it looks like," I said. *** When his thoughts returned to him, Jim thought first, //Where's Sandburg?// Then he discovered the rope at his wrists and ankles. //Shit, where am I?// What had happened? *Sniff* Evergreens. Jim opened his eyes and looked around at the cabin. It was a gray, dingy shack; he saw a stove and a fireplace opposite the rusted metal-framed bed he was tied to. A man, about Sandburg's age or perhaps a bit younger, crouched by the fire, tossing another log on. Jim told the clown the first thing that popped into his head. "Abducting an officer of the law is a felony." "Oh. Jim. You're awake. You seem to have come out of it quite clear-headed." The young man looked relieved. "I apologize for the setting. I didn't realize how run-down this place had gotten." Jim sniffed again. He didn't like the flavor in the air, even though he scented his partner nearby. "Who are you?" "Oh, my name is David." He smirked. "You can call me Master." Sex, that was what he smelled. Some *bitch* was screwing his Blair in the next room! *** |
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"Oh, you mean Blair? Yeah, the other detective was asking about him. Haven't seen him around in a couple of weeks," said the bartender. Rafe leaned over the counter. "What else did you tell the other detective?" "He wanted to know about this other guy, too. David Palmer. Brown hair, Caucasian, 5'11". Minored in psychology, reads tarot cards. He's the sort of guy who -- y'know, if you take your shoes off in his presence, he'll persuade you to let him demonstrate his amazing ability to diagnose your physical ailments and the major sources of stress in your life simply by giving you a foot rub." The bartender laughed and winked. "The foot rubs are worth it, as long as you don't believe anything else he says." "What does this have to do with Hair -- with Sandburg?" Brown said, scowling. "Your detective didn't say." They emerged from the bar shortly thereafter. Rafe checked his watch, then called the Captain again. "Have you heard from Ellison?" "No. He was supposed to call in forty-five minutes ago, dammit. Did you boys come up with anything?" *** I bit my lip as my cock went deeper. Tania's hands fluttered over my face. "Open your eyes. Look at me. Blair, please look at me." So tight, so tight... "Tania, don't do this," I groaned. Then the head of my dick met resistance. //What the hell?// My eyes flew open. "You're a virgin??" Tania ground her hips down. "OH!" as the barrier gave. "N-not anymore." She smiled at me through watery eyes. "No," I said again, though I wasn't sure what I meant. What she was doing with her hands, with her hips, it felt so good, I wanted to vomit. My first virgin. "You shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have, shouldn't...Oh God! Stop, please, please..." The tears started from my eyes seconds before I came. *** The door gave on the third kick. The team fanned out inside, guns ready. "Clear." "Clear." "Clear." "Clear," Rafe called. "Captain, take a look at this!" Brown and Banks joined Rafe in the small side room that David Palmer appeared to be using as an office. One whole wall was dominated by a cork board covered with news clippings. At the center, from which all the other bits of paper radiated in a counter-clockwise spiral, was the cover of TIME magazine, with Jim Ellison's face on it. *** "Had enough, darling?" Jim hissed... Blair's voice sounded faintly from the other room. "No more, no -- Ihavetogoletmego -- oh God -- " ...and watched his hands scrabble by themselves at the mattress, as if they could escape what the rest of him couldn't. Maybe if he'd paid more attention when he first woke up, maybe if he, maybe -- "Listen to me when I'm talking to you!" Jim jerked under the double whiplash of David's shout and the slap on his butt. The firelight trembled. "Did you hear me? Or were you paying attention to your sweetums in there? I can hurt him, too, you know." Jim clenched his teeth. Another slap landed on his butt, jostling the -- whatever -- inside him that was making the ripping pain inside his -- inside. "I said, did you hear me?" "Y-yes." He pressed his face into the pillow. "Yes, what?" "Yes...M-M..." Blair's muffled pleas escalated. With a shiver, Jim swallowed the damning words. Sigh. "You know what I'll have to do to you if you don't say it." Jim shook his head. "No. Never s-say." The -- whatever -- pushed deeper. Jim lunged forward with a gasp, jerking his raw ankles against the rope. "Say it." "Won't." "Won't or can't?" Hiss. "Both, you bastard. Both." The whisper came from right behind his ear. "I can help you, Jim. It's what I'm here for -- to help you grow and find what you've always been looking for. No one else can do for you what I can. Just relax and go with it. You'll see, Jim darling." "God damn you to hell." "Maybe. Now say it. Call me 'Master.'" *** |
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"I wish Banks had sent us with backup," Rafe said again as they passed the Cascade City Limits sign. "He had to send out five teams to check out all the possible locations. This Jay Palmer cat owns too many warehouses. We can't use the entire department's resources on one case," Brown replied. "It'd be different if we *knew* this guy has them." "Man, I just think -- " "Yeah. I think they're at Palmer's cabin, too." Brown checked his watch. Almost 6 hours since they'd seen Jim's truck. "Shit, man." *** After the second round, with Tania cuddled against my side, I gave up. //It could be worse, couldn't it? She isn't hurting me.// She had administered a couple of hard slaps as a part of "David's behavior modification techniques," but that was all. //She isn't hurting me much, anyway.// Not more than I deserved. This had to be the stupidest situation I'd ever gotten into. If I ever told anyone about it, they'd laugh their heads off. Even if they never found out how my eyes wouldn't stop watering. "Tania, when are you going to let me go?" God, please don't let David catch Jim... "Not until you're in your right mind again, my love." She drew lazy circles on my chest with her fingertip. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Should I try to tell her again that Jim and I weren't a couple? I couldn't say it with any conviction, even though it was the truth. "Why are you and David working together?" "We're friends. He's willing to help me out because he thinks there's something salvageable in your guy Jim. I don't get it, but, hey, you're worth it. You deserve a chance at happiness." //I'm bait. I deserve to get my ass plowed over.// Nothing I could say would make any difference. But I had to try. "He'll never catch Jim. Jim's too smart for him." "You're wrong, my love. He already has Jim." I rolled away from Tania, straining toward the door. "No, don't try!" Tania slapped my chest lightly. "Believe me, Blair, you're wonderful, he's a pig, you deserve so much more -- " "I deserve everything that's happening to me -- and twice over if Jim gets hurt because of it. Fuck you, let me go!" "Loyalty's good, Blair, but I'm going to have to punish you. You don't owe anything to Jim." I jerked away, but her fist landed hard enough to stun. Tania scattered praise and kisses over me like acid rain. //She's lying about David and Jim, she has to be.// Then I heard Jim's voice, raised in agony. *** "Fucking hell!" Rafe burst out, leaning over the steering wheel. "What?" "We just passed the turnoff. And I think I saw Jim's truck." He put the car in reverse and went downhill ass-backwards, swearing the entire time. As soon as the Ford came into sight again, Brown called the Captain. "We have positive ID on Ellison's vehicle. Send backup." The Palmer cabin was fifty feet deeper in the trees, at the end of an unpaved trail. Brown went around the back of the house and returned, whispering, "No one's getting out that back door. There's a big-ass wood pile back there." *"Put the gun down, Blair. Put it down now, or I'll shoot him!"* Brown and Rafe exchanged a glance. Drawing his gun, Rafe went to the door, while Brown took up position at the window. Rafe wiped his hands on his slacks and looked over at Brown, who, peering inside the cabin, signaled, "Wait." The voices inside the cabin dropped. Brown signaled, "Wait." Rafe felt sweat beading on his forehead. Brown's hand started to lift. Rafe readied himself. "Now!" whispered Brown. Rafe kicked the door in. "Police, freeze!" An armed Caucasian male, aged 25 to 30, height 5'11", turned toward Rafe, who fired once. The man dropped, gun falling from his hand. Rafe scanned the room, spotted no other hostiles, and moved further in, Brown at his back. Ellison lay face down on the bed; Rafe supposed he must be alive if the suspect had been threatening to shoot him. Sandburg, wearing a flannel T-shirt, unbuttoned, and a nasty blood stain on his crotch, stood in the doorway to the other room, blinking at them. There was a gun at his feet. Rafe put a hand out, and Sandburg flinched aside. Rafe scanned the next room, found a naked female, aged 18 to 25, gagged and handcuffed to the bed. "All clear," Rafe called. "How's the suspect?" "Dead," said Brown. "Sandburg, do you know where the keys are to these cuffs?" "On the night stand, detective, but she's not a victim. She's his accomplice," Sandburg said. Rafe Mirandized her, throwing a sheet over her distracting flesh, but did not get her off the bed. He went back to the outer room. Brown was leaning off the porch, being noisily sick. False dawn had crept over the hills. Sandburg crouched over Jim, looking at him with a critical eye. Rafe took a closer look at what Sandburg was doing. "Oh God, what is that...?" Sandburg shifted his grip and pulled. Ellison made a high-pitched sound. Sandburg held the thing up. An old-fashioned Coke bottle. No reason to be horrified at all, right? Rafe swallowed heavily. Several times. "Do you have a knife, detective?" Sandburg had started picking at the ropes. Rafe turned out his pockets. "No." "Find my jeans." Rafe went into the second room, glad to get away from the sight of Jim Ellison, silent, shaking, blood coming from his ass and doing nothing to hide his nakedness or curse his attacker. Things like this didn't happen to cops -- it happened to other people. None of this is real. He found Blair's jeans, underwear, and backpack under the bed. A quick search revealed a Swiss army knife, which he handed over to Sandburg. The anthropologist soon had Ellison free. "We've got to get him to the hospital," he said. "I already called an ambulance," said Brown. Sandburg crossed his arms, paced. Stopped, and said, "It'll take forever to get here and then go back. And he wouldn't want all those people to see him." Rafe and Brown exchanged glances again. "You could take the truck," Brown said finally, to Rafe. "I'd get the collar." "And the paperwork," Rafe shrugged. "Let me help you move him, Sandburg." "He needs to be kept warm," Sandburg said. "Right. There's a space blanket in the kit in H's trunk." *** |
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FRIDAY MORNING Jim's nose told him he was in Henri Brown's car, but not with Brown at the wheel. "Hang on, Jim, hang on, can you hear me? We're almost there. Squeeze my hand, Jim, come on, give me a sign," said Blair's cracked voice. "Keep the dials down, man..." Cold. Someone do an old soldier a favor, turn down the air conditioning, hey? Cold, except where hot hands held his. "Are you hearing me, Jim? Can you squeeze my hand? It's safe now, buddy, you're safe, Jim..." Safe? Where's Blair? Some bastard was holding Jim's hands, breathing in his ear, and where was Blair? Please don't touch me any more. Please. "Jim, we're almost there, just five minutes, Jim. Jim?" "Keep your hands off me, asshole," Jim said to the dark-haired man beside him. He could see -- he could even see that Sandburg was there (thank God, Chief, finally!) -- but it all looked small and quiet and cold. He liked it much more here, where he was warm. *** Will Thornton reached over his sleeping wife and picked up the phone. "This better be good." The clock ticked 6:59am. "Dr. Thornton, it's Nancy. We've got two for you. They're just finishing up the rape kits now." "Damn. Be there in twenty." He slammed the receiver down. "A new patient?" Anita murmured. "Two. I hate the full moon. Always brings out the crazies." "You're a psychiatrist, you're not supposed to use the word 'crazies.'" "It seemed politer than 'goddamned sonuvabitch rabid bastards.'" He kissed her forehead and grabbed his slacks off a chair. *** The technicians performed a mysterious dance of sampling, prodding, photography, arcane usage of black light, and otherwise collecting "evidence" from my body. When they finished, they allowed me to take a shower. I turned the water up as hot as it would go. Then I sat next to Jim, wrapped like a burrito in the blankets from the second bed, and watched him. I had to be here when he woke up. Maybe if I could say... Maybe there'd be something I could say. Anything at all. *** Will found Dr. Wilder in the waiting room talking to a tall white man and an even taller African-American, who both leaned toward her as they listened. She'd gained her residency after Julie Chaney and Burt Phelps had been arrested for attempted murder earlier in the year. She broke off when Will caught her eye. "Dr. Thornton -- uh, Captain, Detective, excuse me." She moved away with him and put two folders in his hands. "Our patients are cops." "Partners?" "Yes." While she briefed him, Will's eyes skipped over Wilder's handwriting, which was almost as bad as his own, and went straight to the raw data. Damn, damn. Sandburg was assaulted by a woman. Will had only dealt with one other adult male patient who'd been victimized by a woman, but he couldn't name off the top of his head any therapist in town who had more experience with this. He followed Dr. Wilder into the patients' room. One lay on his side on the far bed. The other sat on the chair between the beds, facing his partner, wrapped in blankets. "Blair?" Dr. Wilder said. The patient didn't respond. He was short, about thirty, with a mess of brown curls, a mild shiner on one eye, and a much worse contusion on one side of his mouth. His wrists, chafed, resembled raw meat. Will diagnosed fatigue underneath the psychological trauma and then shoved the observation into the back of his mind. "Blair, this is Dr. Will Thornton. He'd like to speak with you." "Hello, Blair Sandburg," Will said. Sandburg finally looked at him. Wilder ducked out. "Are you the rape counselor?" "Yes. Do you mind if I call you Blair?" "Whatever." Sandburg turned back to Ellison. Will dragged the other chair to the foot of Ellison's bed and sat down. "Would you like to tell me what happened?" Shrug. Mumble. "I couldn't stop it. I heard him screaming and I couldn't do anything to stop it." "That must have been difficult." Sandburg's mouth firmed and he shot Will a heated glance. "No kidding. You think he had a wonderful night?" "When I asked what happened, I meant, what happened to you?" Sandburg looked directly at him for the second time. "Nothing. Aren't you supposed to be here to help him?" "I'm here for you as well, Blair." "I don't need any counseling." Will clasped his hands. "Even if you are not ready to talk about what happened to you, what happened to your partner affects you. A moment ago you sounded ready to talk about that." Sandburg flinched. "What if I don't want to talk to *you*?" "I can recommend other therapists. I hope, for your sake and for your partner's, that you *do* talk to someone. It's entirely under your control, of course." The patient stared, mouth working with tension. Finally he leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. "The first thing I knew I was in this room I'd never seen before tied to the bed naked and there was this guy I vaguely remembered from -- school, I think. He was holding this leather strap... adjustable cockring. He put it on me, and walked out. Then T -- then sh -- then -- " He twitched upright. His voice went flat. "I'm not going to talk about this in front of him. I can't." "Okay. Would you like to move to another room?" Sandburg leaned toward the bed. "He needs me." *** Later, in the hallway, Will takes a deep breath. He hates working with patients who've been sexually assaulted, and he hates the beginnings of these cases more than anything. He knows too much psychology to ever allow himself to admit that he hates his life. *** |
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Slowly, thoughts came to him. //Hospital. That's what all the noise and antiseptic smell is about.// Then, //That's Blair.// Blair talked to him, then to the small plastic box with the red button on it. //That's the nurse's call box,// Jim was concluding just as someone came in the room. The new person talked to Jim also, and eventually went away. Jim remembered the cabin, how it smelled like dead cedar and live pine, and the racing heartbeats in the other room, one of which had been Blair's. //Alone with Blair now. Good. Safe.// Sandburg was the only memory that didn't have its teeth in his throat. "I'm sorry," Blair was saying. "You won't ever be disappointed in me again." And, "I'll get you through this, I promise." And, "Please come back to me. Please come back. Jim..." Blair rested a hand on the edge of Jim's bed. Jim considered touching it. *** Blair Sandburg was standing near the nurses' station when Rafe visited in the late morning. He had a pile of quarters in one hand and appeared to be contemplating the automatic coffee dispenser. "Hey," Rafe said. "Hi, Rafe," Sandburg said without looking up. Hair obscured his bruised face. "Um, how are you doing?" "Okay," he shrugged. "I just wanted to tell you, H and the Captain and I are going to keep it quiet. We told people around the station you'd been abducted and beaten, I mean, but that's it. This way you can make your own decision about who knows..." Rafe waved a hand. "...things." "Oh? Oh. Thanks, Rafe." He put a nickel in the machine. Rafe glanced at the LED readout and saw a total of 35 cents. "And Captain said to tell you your paperwork came through yesterday, so it's official: You're now a paid consultant. With health coverage." "Hm," said Blair. "How come no one ever uses your first name, Rafe?" Rafe blinked. "It's Dutch. No one can pronounce it." "I've been meaning to ask that for, y'know, forever." He put another nickel in and pushed a button. The machine beeped and asked for a quarter. Rafe had the strangest suspicion that this wasn't Blair at all. The man he and Brown had rescued from that nasty shack this morning had been just as calm, just as alien. What had he expected from Sandburg? He had to have expected something, or he wouldn't be so discomfited now, would he? He shifted his weight to his other foot, watched Blair watch the paper cup fill with steaming black liquid. "Well, if there's anything else I can do for you..." Blair blinked. "Oh. Um. P-please?" "What?" "Dr. Wilder said they might discharge us in a few days. Could you do a couple things at the loft for me b'fore then? Go into the trunk under my bed, get the spare blankets and sheets, toss them on the sofa. Get Jim's sweats out of...I think he keeps them in his upper left drawer...and put them on my bed. He'll need to stay there for, for a while. And get the grocery list off the fridge? We're low on some staples, if it wouldn't be a problem for you?" "No problem. Anything, Blair, I mean it." "We can pay you back later, of course. I wouldn't have asked, but Jim -- Jim needs -- " His eyes lost focus. He sipped his coffee and grimaced. "Tastes like arsenic. Um. Keys. Come on." "Are you sure you're okay?" "I'm fine." "Is it all right for me to come in like this?" Rafe said in the doorway. "With him, I mean. Is he...?" Jim's eyes were open. "I don't think he knows you're here." Blair opened the closet, stared blankly. "What was I looking for?" "Keys." "Right, right. Here." *** |
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"I knew he was here," Jim whispered. I spat the last of my coffee back into the cup. "Jim! You're back. Talk to me." "I'm sorry, Chief," Jim whispered. He said no more. I tried to keep up an encouraging commentary, but Tania's skin kept flashing into my mind, and words -- mostly mine, mostly last night's vacillating between placation and defiance. Rafe and Brown cornered me down the hall later. "We need a statement, Blair," Brown said. "Captain's sitting with Jim," Rafe added. Funny. Two days ago it was "Ellison and Hairboy", now it's "Blair and Jim". Was this how it was going to be? I blurted, "I can't talk about it." "We don't want to make you uncomfortable. Can you write it?" For an hour, sitting at one end of the hospital cafeteria while Rafe and Brown discreetly hovered at the other end, I chewed on a pen and scribbled a few words, chewed a little, scribbled more, until the words came fast and easy despite my shaking hand. I told myself that I had nothing left to compromise, that it didn't hurt at all to perjure myself. That the truth would do Jim more harm than this patchwork of lies and half-truths. *** Anita heard the front door snick shut. "Hello?" "Hey, sweetheart," her husband's voice returned. She frowned and shut down the computer. "Bad day?" "No, no. Most of it was fine." He appeared in the hall outside her office. "Then, on my way home, I was thinking -- you know, about the call this morning." "Your new patients?" He nodded, drifting toward the living room. Anita cooked a bland pasta that Will got half way through before he remembered it was his turn to cook. "Guess you owe me another one," she said with a leer. Will nodded, stirring his peas. Hm. She collected the scattered remains of the paper while Will washed the dishes. She'd seen an article about a couple of university students, one fatally shot and one arrested for abducting a couple of cops. Sometimes it wasn't hard to guess who Will's new patients were. They settled into the sofa, Anita occasionally glancing up from her book to look at Will -- what she could see of him around the newspaper. "Oh my God." The paper slipped out of Will's hands and shushed over the floor. Anita put her book down. Then she got a better look at his face, and scooted closer to him, putting an arm over his shoulders. "What is it?" "Jay Palmer's little boy is dead." "Who?" *** An orderly came with dinner. Jim saw Sandburg lift one forkful halfway to his mouth, then drop it to the plate. Sandburg rubbed his face, and finally pushed the whole tray aside. "Dammit, Chief, eat!" Sandburg jumped, then stared at Jim. Now that he'd started, it was easy to continue: "Think you can subsist on sunshine and air? What use are you going to be if you faint away from hunger?" How could he protect Sandburg if he didn't protect himself? How would they watch each other's backs, now that... "Sorry, man, I'm not hungry." "Yes, you are." "Okay, I am, but I can't -- I mean, how into food are *you* right now?" Jim visualized sticking a fork in his mouth. Like Master had stuck -- He clapped a hand over his mouth and concentrated, but, after several deep gulps, lost the fight, and threw up. The miraculous Sandburg got a bedpan there in time. The stink filled the room. //I can't take this,// he thought. //I'd rather die.// The thought went down into the darkness where he didn't have to look at it. He had things to do. The Sentinel would have things to do. Wouldn't he? *** Will knows that he's dreaming, that he must wake up and do...what, he can't remember, but there's someone behind him, at his ear, whispering, "Had enough, sweetums?" Anita wakes him, finally, wiping the salty damp from his face. *** ~end of volume one~
And He Leads Them: |
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Volume One
Volume Two