First, muchas gracias to my alpha reader, Kathy Ring, and by beta readers, Sandra, Laura, and Joanne (the latecomer! ;-) ). They all made me think harder about what came out of my demented little brain and onto the page.
Second, a sort of explanation for something within this little batch of scribblings. Without giving anything away to anyone I haven't already whined to about this, there is a scene near the end that will seem familiar because of a recent episode of TS. Kathy can vouch for me, I thought of it first! And my beta readers can vouch for the fact that I wrote it first!
Third, the usual disclaimers hold. I don't own any of the characters from The Sentinel that appear in this story. The concept, premise, names, etc... all belong to UPN, Paramount, Pet Fly and the rest of the folks out that way. I only use them once in a while for a little fun!
Shelagh
FIRST INSTINCTS
by Shelagh Collins
"AAAUUUGGGHHH!!! DAMMIT SANDBURG!!!!" Jim tore the headphones off and flung them away, his ears ringing and murder in his eyes.
Blair came racing back to the living room. "What? What's wrong?" His expression exuded abject innocence at the detective's obvious rage.
An increased sense of hearing was the only reason any sound penetrated the combination of beefy hands massaging wounded eardrums and continued ring from the assault. "That damn tape!"
"The tape? They're all the same, sounds with the feed turned down to almost zero." The younger man picked up the scattered cassettes in dismay. "I checked them all before I left the studio." He unplugged the headphones and the speakers were charged with the unmistakable din of a heavy metal band. Eyes wider than should have been possible, Blair hastily switched off the stereo. "Jim - I swear to you, man! You know I wouldn't have done anything like that on purpose! I have no idea how that got here! I don't even like that band!"
Jim waved the torrent of words away, still trying to unplug his eustachian tubes. "Forget it, Sandburg! Let's just can the testing for awhile." He wasn't yet in the mood to forgive and forget, but he was less willing to listen to the barrage coming his way - particularly while his ears were still recovering. "Just shut up for a few minutes."
"Yeah, man. Sure."
Jim stormed away from his confused roommate to the kitchen, trying to force yawns and pulling on his earlobes. Damn, that hurt! He slammed only one cupboard door before realizing his mistake, then, more carefully, poured himself a glass of water. Sound identification! "Just tune into the sounds on the tapes, isolate and identify them."
He had been reluctant to admit the idea intrigued him. Hell, he enjoyed finding out how good he could be at these tests! He'd successfully picked out five separate sounds on the first tape, seven on the second and ten on the third. The fact that the noises were recorded at decibels far lower than most people would even have been able to notice only added to the kick.
He'd been looking forward to that fourth tape - had cued it up himself while Sandburg took a leak just to get a head start.
He drained the glass and nearly banged it on the counter before catching himself. Looking up, he noticed the anthropologist still puzzling over the tape in his hand and shaking his head.
"Where the hell did that thing come from?"
Blair turned to the older man, his face the picture of contrition. "I don't have a clue, man. It's even labeled for the test. Something got majorly screwed up here!"
"You're telling me?
"I'm really sorry, man. How're are your ears doing?"
Jim grudgingly realized the muffled feeling was nearly gone. He focused on a distant sound, identified it as a neighbor singing in the shower and told Blair, "Just about normal, I guess."
Blair asked him what he was listening to and before long the incident was forgotten.
*******
Blair's attempt to stifle a yawn failed.
"Are we keeping you up, Sandburg? Simon asked, voiced tinged with irritation at the offending sound disrupting his briefing.
"Sorry, Simon," the anthropologist said sheepishly.
"If you've finished your nap, can we continue?"
The various sarcastic comments from the others in the room did nothing to ease the young man's embarrassment. He made a point of deep breathing for the rest of the briefing to counter any further interruptions.
"Now, I don't want any slip ups, gentlemen," Simon concluded. "When this bust goes down, I want it to be so clean you could eat off it. Any questions?"
The silence said no.
"Good. Let's do it."
As the others filed out of the briefing room, Jim pulled Blair aside.
"Are you sure you're up for this?" he asked - making sure Simon was out of earshot.
"Are you kidding? This is gonna be great!" He covered another yawn.
Jim looked away not bothering to hide his irritation. "That's what I'm talking about. You're not gonna nod off just when I need you, are you?"
"Hey, man, I'm sorry. I've been pulling a couple of all-nighters, with this paper due, tests to grade and the student film thing ---"
"If you're not sharp, you're dangerous to have around. Maybe you should sit this one out, Chief."
"No, Jim! Look, I'll pop a couple of caffeine pills and I'll be fine! I promise!"
"Sandburg---"
"Come on, Jim! You know me, I'm Mr. Energy!" He opened his eyes wide, popped up his eyebrows, and smiled enthusiastically to demonstrate.
Jim forced down a laugh at the sight in front of him. "All right, Mr. Energy. Let's go. We don't want to be late for your first drug bust."
*******
Jim zipped his jacket closed against the chill night air and focused on the conversation in the not-so-nearby warehouse, only vaguely aware of his young partner watching for signs of zone out. He had to admit - quietly to himself and only in a part of his mind that he didn't check very often - that there had been some feeling of relief at Blair's insistence on coming. The plan Simon had discussed with the other officers had one facet that none but the three "inner circle" were aware of: the "wires" that the officers inside were wearing were dead - no electrical impulses - no chance they would be detected. The only working wire was the one between Ellison and the captain. A little chancy, but the guys they were going after were not just sharp, their entire operation was incredibly sophisticated and based almost wholly on paranoia.
Simon's private plan eliminated a large piece of the risk factor for the undercover men, but almost necessitated Blair's presence at the scene.
"What's happening in there, man?"
"Quiet!"
The anthropologist was getting visibly antsy which only added to the tension. Jim listened intently, waiting for the right moment to alert Simon that the deal was done and the backup should move in.
Another yawn to his right threatened to distract him and he sharpened his focus. The voices sang in his head, seven or eight on the wrong side of the deal, two cops. Focus deepened, sound expanded, floated, surrounded, engulfed -----
---- the frantic tugging on his arm dragged him from the morass of sounds and the hissed insistence of Blair's voice right next to him provided an anchor to hold onto.
"You back with me, man?"
Zone out! "Yeah, just do me a favor and take another one of those caffeine pills."
Blair blinked his puzzlement and complied.
*****
There was no sign of sleepiness in the young man's face as they left the precinct despite the lateness of the hour and the mountain of paperwork they'd had to complete. It was almost more than Jim could stand. His partner's enthusiasm could be worse than a cadet's at times and this time was no exception.
"Hey, Chief!" he interrupted when Blair finally took a breath.
The animated face froze. "Yeah?"
"It's been a long night. Let's just shut it down for a while."
"Oh," Blair's enthusiasm fizzled. "Yeah, sure, man. What time is it, anyway?"
"After five."
"Five A.M.?!!! Oh, man!" His head thumped against the window.
"What's up?"
"Me, I guess. I have to get to class in less than three hours!"
"Blow it off and sleep in."
"Can't, man. Major test for this class and I have to be there -- and just sit and stay awake!"
"Well, Mr. Energy, sounds like you need a few more of those pills," Jim grinned.
"Oh, man! I need a nap!"
*****
"I think you're making a big mistake."
"No, man. The mistake was talking you into letting me come along on that bust last night!"
"Aren't you the adrenalin junkie?"
"Adrenaline is one thing, man. We're talking about an entirely different kind of hormone now!"
"Next time don't follow up a late night stakeout with a full day of classes and a date."
Blair opened his mouth to retort again and clamped it shut, backed into a metaphorical corner. A shower! That was what he needed - a cold shower to wake him up.
"Why don't you just postpone the date until tomorrow?"
He answered, not turning around on his way to the bathroom. "Can't! I'm one of the judges for the festival and tonight's the last night for this film!"
"Aren't you spreading yourself a little thin, Chief?" Jim could never understand people that kept piling on one obligation after another. A little like an old-fashioned house of cards. And one good puff or a card set in the wrong place would cause the whole structure to collapse.
Sandburg stuck his head out of the bathroom. "They specifically asked for me, Jim! Do you know what an honor that is?" He withdrew again.
"I know you're gonna fall asleep on your feet if you don't start getting some rest." He realized he was talking to a closed door then heard the shower running. He sighed and set about making an extra strong pot of coffee.
Several minutes later a dripping, shivering and betowelled anthropologist emerged from the bathroom. "I don't need your senses to smell that," he announced, forcing his energy up.
Jim handed him a steaming cup. "I still think you're nuts."
"C'mon! She loves this stuff!"
"Oh, yeah! Especially the part when you fall asleep on her. When did you start seeing Chris again, anyway?"
"She called me," his eyebrows danced. "Must be my charisma, huh?"
"I can't say it's your sparkling personality...."
"I'd better get dressed. She's picking me up in half an hour."
"She's picking you up?"
Blair gulped the last of his coffee and moved towards his room. "You think I'm crazy enough to drive when I'm this tired?" and shut the door behind him.
*******
Jim sniffed determinedly, eyes closed, as he moved slowly alongside the bagged guns arranged carefully on the debriefing room table.
"Don't be so literal, man. Stop inhaling!" Blair's voice penetrated the fog of concentration.
The detective sighed, his eyes still shut. "Would you make up your mind? You said identify which guns had been fired and which ones belonged to which guy! How else am I supposed to smell them if I don't inhale?!"
"Look, when you pass by a bakery or a restaurant, you're not trying to smell automatically. It's a passive thing. The scents are there and your nose picks up on them. Sniffing is one of the responses to the stimuli. I'm trying to get you to refine your sense of smell so you can more readily pick up extremely subtle scents without sniffing for them. Make sense?"
Jim thought it over. It sounded a little over-complicated, but the kid had a point. It stretched the concept of sense of smell to the limits, but it was certainly a different way to use that particular and less obvious of his heightened senses.
He nodded. "All right."
"Good!"
Even without looking at his partner, Jim imagined the satisfied grin and arched eyebrows he was more than likely displaying. "Let's try it again. Walk past the table very slowly and just let the scents come to you."
Without trying, Jim could already smell gun oil and powder from bullets - one step - breath normally - one step - stop. His hand moved over where he perceived a weapon was - "This one - fired by" no forcing the smell into his nostrils - "Donatelli....."
Another step and another - another gun. "This one not fired but we got it from - whatsisname? The bald guy...."
He moved slowly down the line identifying each weapon the same way. At the end of the table, he opened his eyes to look back at Blair. "Well?"
The anthropologist was grinning widely while scribbling furiously in his ever-present journal. "This is incredible! Do you realize what you did just now?"
Ellison shrugged. "Got an A on the final? What?"
Blair looked up. "You not only hit every one on the nose, you never once came close to zoning out!"
What was completely obvious to his partner had passed by the detective entirely. The implications were not lost on him and he grinned back by way of reply. "Progress?"
"Progress, man!"
The cop in Ellison took over then. "All right. Test's over so let's get these things back into the evidence room before they're missed. And from now on check with me before you sign anything like this out."
"I had to get them right away, man. It was gonna be hard enough for you to pick up the scents through those bags!" Blair spoke while packing up the weapons from the two-day-old bust. "I'll drop these off, but I'm heading straight to the university after."
"On a Sunday?"
"Student Film Fest's still going on."
"What's so important about these movies?"
Blair hefted the box. "I told you, man! I'm one of the judges!"
"Sooner or later you're gonna drop, Chief."
"This is the last one in theater. Then the finalists will give out their films on video for the judges to review and I'll be able to watch those at home."
Jim shook his head. "It's your funeral. Just don't let Simon know how over-booked you are. He doesn't approve of cops on the edge."
Blair grinned cheekily as he stopped in the doorway. "Hey man, no problem! I'm not a cop!" And he was gone.
Jim grabbed his coat and left the debriefing room for the garage wondering absently how Sandburg was getting to the campus since they'd ridden over together in the truck, then deducted like a good detective that he'd probably suckered some poor co-ed - maybe Chris again - into attending this movie too.
He was halfway home when his cell phone chirped.
"Ellison."
"Jim," Simon's voice answered. "I just got a call from the D.A. working on the Donatelli drug bust and there's a problem."
"Simon, that was a good bust! Everything was by the book! What kind of problem?"
"Some of the drugs are missing from the evidence room."
*******
The gears in the clock were audible as Ellison continued pacing between the living room and the kitchen. As a cop he was obligated to tell Simon about Sandburg's unauthorized visits to the evidence room. Of course, admitting such a thing wouldn't look good for him either, since he'd known Blair had been borrowing evidence by forging his signature for some time and hadn't stopped him.
As his partner - and friend - he felt a different kind of obligation - to back him up and look out for him. And again there was a sense of shared responsibility for breaking the rules.
Where the hell is he? He glanced uselessly at his watch - 1:30 in the morning. Mr. Energy was going to fizzle out if he didn't start getting some sleep. And sleep was the last thing he was going to get when he finally showed up....
....if he showed up.....
The possibility hadn't occurred to the detective before, but Sandburg could be making a night of it if he'd gone to the movie with Chris. In which case Jim was wearing out the rugs for nothing.
*******
The slow creak of the opening door was not lost on the sleeping Sentinel who had gone to bed with hearing on full alert. His eyes were immediately open - the clock read 4:37. The door clicked shut and Ellison could hear careful footsteps moving across the floor.
Rising even more quietly, Ellison descended the steps and flipped the light switch just as Blair reached his room.
The young man spun around in surprise. "Jim! You scared the shit out of me, man! What are you doing up?"
"We have to talk."
"Can it wait till morning? Well - actually it *is* morning. Could it wait till I get a couple hours of sleep? I've got tests to grade tomorrow and that paper due next week and ---"
"No, it can't wait."Jim's tone silenced the flurry of words.
"What's wrong?"
"I need to ask you a question as a cop, so look me straight in the eye when you answer."
Blair's face, a constant window to his emotions, was a panorama of distress.
"Jim, what's going on?" were the only words his mouth could form.
He hated the question, but it had to be asked before they went to Simon with their admission. "Have you ever taken drugs out of the police evidence room for the purpose of sale or distribution?"
Blair's eyebrows nearly touched his hairline and his eyes widened, distress replaced by utter astonishment. "WHAT?!!!"
"Yes or no. Just answer the question, Sandburg." Although the answer, to Jim's extreme relief, was plastered all over his friend's face - right where it belonged.
"No! Where the hell - who - how could you even - " Blair's disjointed questions were punctuated by frantic pacing, and odd echo of Jim's from earlier. "Wait a minute - this is because of yesterday, isn't it? I was in the evidence room to get that stuff and now some drugs are missing, right?"
"That's right. And we have to tell Simon about your unauthorized 'borrowing' of that evidence and every other time you've done it before word gets around and someone else tells Simon first."
Blair froze in mid-pace and locked nervous eyes with Jim's. "I'm in big trouble, aren't I?"
The detective sighed, glad he wasn't as easy to read as his partner. "We'll talk it over with Simon. He's a fair man and he does trust you. But you have to be prepared for the possibility of your access to the department being revoked, at least until they find out who *did* take those drugs."
"Then you believe me?" A wave of tentative relief spread across the expressive face.
"I never thought you took them in the first place. But I had to ask the question - for the record." Jim didn't tell the worried man that his first instinct had always been to trust him.
Blair sighed and ran a hand over his hair. "Thanks man."
"Now you'd better get some sleep. We're meeting with Simon first thing in the morning to get this over with."
"Yeah," his voice and face were already showing anticipation of the worst as he moved dejectedly to his bedroom.
Jim climbed the stairs to finish what his roommate's arrival had interrupted, a muttered phrase from below reaching his still alert hearing.
"How the hell am I supposed to sleep now?
*******
Simon leaned back in his chair and sighed in exasperation. "How long have you been doing this?" he asked unblinkingly at the anthropologist.
"A few months," Blair answered without hesitation. "But Simon, I *swear*, I've never even touched drugs and *everything* I've borrowed was used for testing with Jim and returned by the next day at the latest!"
"Jim, can you verify that?"
Ellison let out his own sigh. He'd known the question was coming. "No, sir. But the logs should be able to. And sir, I know Blair by now--"
"Save it." He turned back to the young man who was looking very contrite indeed. Rising, he advanced deliberately toward the nervous observer as he spoke. "Sandburg, this isn't the university and as much as you'd like it to be, it is *not* your personal playground. As of this moment, your access to this precinct is limited to this floor. Show your face *anywhere* else in this building unaccompanied and I will personally slap the cuffs on you! Do I make myself clear?" He stood over the young man menacingly.
Blair's wide eyes dominated his face as he swallowed a lump in his throat. "Yes sir," he responded quietly.
"Wait outside. Stay in sight of this office. I want you where I can see you."
"Yes sir," he repeated and nearly slunk out of the room.
Ellison was prepared for his turn on the receiving end.
"And you!" Simon barked. "I'm surprised at you, Ellison!"
"Simon --"
"Oh, no! Captain or Sir - we're not fishing buddies right now, detective! Sandburg has a modicum of excuse. He's a civilian and not much more than a kid around here. But you! You knew he was forging your name and you let him go on doing it!"
"Sir, it seemed harmless at the time---"
"And how does it seem now? Did you ever stop to think, if it *is* a cop taking those drugs, that he or she could be intentionally implicating Sandburg?"
The realization that spread over Jim's face was enough of an answer.
"I didn't think it had." Simon sat down heavily and pulled out a cigar. "All right. I obviously don't believe he took those drugs any more than you do. But right now, we have absolutely nothing to back that up. Internal affairs is going to start looking into this and I need *something* to hand them to keep all three of us from stinking to high heaven. He chewed on the unlit cigar for a moment before continuing. "First, I want you and Sandburg to make a list of every date and time he went into the evidence room. The logs have already gone to IA so you'll have to rely on your memories. Then see what other drug busts might have coincided with his little 'visits.' IA is doing a complete inventory tomorrow."
"But we do our own weekly inventory, sir. Won't that work in our favor?"
"Only if nothing else is missing. Otherwise, it could just make us look worse as a station. Now get started on that list. And keep a better rein on that kid this time!"
"Yes sir."
*******
Blair was sunken dejectedly in the chair beside Jim's desk, looking for all the world like a ten-year-old waiting for the principal's punishment. As Jim approached, he straightened up, his face still awash with distress. "What happened?"
"We have a list to make."
*******
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Blair looked up from his distracted examination of the last dregs of his coffee. He hated the stuff in this place, but Chris liked it.
A tall blond waiter stopped by the table with a pot of coffee. Blair automatically covered his mug with his hand, but Chris smiled at the man and nodded. "Thanks, Luke," she said as he filled the cup.
Blair ignored the exchange. "Talk about what?"
Chris' expression changed immediately from concern to mild annoyance. "Fine, if you want to play silent martyr, go ahead."
That's it, Sandburg," he thought. The same thing that got her pissed off before! "I'm sorry. It's been a rough couple of days."
"Then talk to me about it. I've always told you, I'm here for you."
Blair took a breath - he didn't really want to go through this again, but with Chris "I'm here for you" meant "I have to know now." He told her reluctantly about the drug bust and the missing evidence - as much as he could without revealing things he absolutely couldn't. "So now, until they find out who really took them, I'm on the top of the list of suspects. We just spent nearly the whole day trying to remember exactly when I've been in the evidence room. I have tests to grade, a paper to finish and the festival to judge." He yawned expansively. "And if I don't get some serious sleep soon, I'm gonna pass out!"
"Why don't you just come over to my place and take a nap?"
He grinned lewdly. "If I go to your place the last thing I'll be getting is sleep!"
She smiled back. "Or we could pick up those tapes of the films, go back to my place and -------"
"Make some popcorn?" he suggested, still grinning.
"Let's go!"
*******
Blair struggled to keep from fidgeting at the long wait while the guy - what was his name, Perry something? - fussed with the documentation and forms.
"Now remember, when you sign this one, you're agreeing that you will *not* duplicate any of the tapes," he asserted. "I copy guarded them myself but you know about those signal boosters. You can't trust *anybody* these days, can you, sweetie?" He smiled coyly and placed another form on the counter.
"What's this one for?"
"As a judge, you have to sign out for these tapes. I'll need to see your university ID."
Blair dug into his bag for the card, barely registering the looks he was receiving from the attendant. Chris covered a smirk with a cough.
"Here," he pulled out his ID and handed it over. "Are we done?"
A frost came over the room that emanated from the man behind the counter. "No. You need to fill this out first." He produced a two-page, double-sided legal-sized form, slid it across the counter, and disappeared into the video shelves.
"Oh, man!" Blair breathed at the form.
"You should be nicer to him," Chris whispered into his ear.
Her warm breath distracted him greatly from the paperwork - in more ways than one. "Why?"
"I think he likes you!"
"Who, that guy?" Blair glanced at the shelves. "Are you sure?"
"He was flirting with you! And you never noticed? You *must* be tired!"
"Well, he's not exactly my type...." He attempted to tackle the form again, doing his best to fight down the hormone rush Chris was giving him as she gently massaged the nape of his neck.
Perry appeared with a bagful of tapes and another form, at the same moment Blair signed the last page, and plopped the load on the counter.
The anthropologist glanced up, then thought about what Chris had said and smiled at the attendant. "Thanks, man."
The chill in the air thawed immediately. "You're welcome! All done here?"
"Uh, yeah. I think so, unless there's something else I need to fill out?"
The form in Perry's hand had somehow vanished and he returned Blair's ID and gave him the tapes with a wink. "Happy viewing!"
"Yeah, thanks man!"
"Bye, Perry," Chris called back as they left. "Thinking of taking up with him?" she teased.
The young man laughed in response and hefted the bag of tapes over his shoulder. "Your car or mine?"
"Yours. I walked today."
By the time they reached the scarred Corvair on the other side of the campus, Blair was feeling his energy draining - and hoped he was up for the afternoon's plans. All he needed was to fall asleep in the middle of making love to Chris!
He leaned down to unlock the passenger door and saw the pile of ungraded tests on the seat starting accusingly at him. "Oh, no!"
"What's wrong?"
"I just remembered - those tests are due back tomorrow!"
"How long will that take?" The tone of her voice matched the impatience on her face.
"I don't know. Chris, I'm sorry. Look, I'll drop you off at home anyway. All right?"
"No thanks. I'd rather walk and burn off the energy I've been building up."
"Chris---"
"I'll call you later," she said as she marched off, not turning around.
Dammit! As though the car was at fault, Blair kicked the door, immediately regretting the action. "Son of a bitch!" Then hobbled around to the driver's side.
*******
Eyes burning, the anthropologist removed his glasses and rubbed at the offended orbs.
Don't it make my blue eyes red, popped into his thoughts. He started giggling, knowing it wasn't that funny but unable to stop until a yawn took over.
"Oh, man! What time is it?" He stretched his arms and yawned again, glancing at the clock - 11:48. The cramped office/storage room seemed unusually dark and oppressive and even the lack of sound seemed to roar in Blair's ears as he leaned back and tossed another test onto the 'done' pile. He noticed with a small feeling of victory that the tests in the 'to do' pile were nearly gone. Another hour or so and he could head for home and bed. He was so tired he barely regretted missing out on the night with Chris - barely.
The bottle of caffeine pills on his desk was almost empty, but he downed three more with the rest of the lukewarm, overly strong coffee that was left in his mug.
Another thought flashed through his mind - calling Jim so he would know to expect him home. Now, wasn't that a weird twist in his life? He couldn't remember when he'd ever had to "check in" with anyone. Even his long-term relationships never demanded such a thing. Or his mom - that was pretty much "come and go as you please" for as long as he could remember.
But now there was a roommate to call, to check in with, to arrange things with. Blair grinned - to chain lock the door if he didn't get home soon enough.
He picked up the phone and hit the speed dial.
"Ellison."
"Hey, Jim. Look, I'm still on campus and it's gonna be a little longer, but I should be able to crash before I have to be anywhere tomorrow so don't lock me out, okay?" He knew the babbling was more from lack of sleep than real concern.
"Sandburg," Jim's voice was tinged with irritation, "if you don't get any sleep tonight, stay home tomorrow. I don't need a partner that's going to nod off on me."
"Sounds like a good idea to me, except I have a class tomorrow."
"Sandburg---"
"I'll see you whenever, Jim. G'night." He hung up before a yawn interrupted him.
With one hand he reached for his glasses, and with the other the next test to grade.
*******
The door to the loft swung open easily, to Blair's relief. He'd been surprised the last time to find the chain off the door without an advance call, but that was an exception - probably because of the circumstances. The anthropologist should have been exhausted and ready to drop onto the bed and become unconscious for the rest of the night, but the extra caffeine and the ride home had provided shots to his system that would take a little time to work out. He dropped the bag of videotapes near the VCR, turned on the television, sound down to almost nothing, and popped in the first of the finalists' films. If I'm up, I might as well do something, he thought. Then while the tape cued up, he went to the kitchen. Moving quietly, he set about brewing a cup of chamomile tea to speed up the relaxation process. Meditation would probably help too, but his focus was completely gone.
The water boiled at nearly the same time that the film started - credits notwithstanding.
Blair carried the steaming mug back to the living room to fulfill yet another obligation in his overly booked life. He mentally blamed this one on Chris - if she hadn't talked him into accepting the "honor" --- then shook his head. He had made the decision, no one had put a gun to his head - this time. He stopped himself from another giggling fit by taking a sip of the tea. He was just too damn tired! There was nothing funny about that at all.....
Suddenly, he realized five minutes had gone by and he hadn't paid any attention to the screen. Sighing deeply, he rewound the tape and started it over again, listening and watching intently until sleep finally came over him.
*******
For the second time that night, sleep was interrupted. Jim had heard his roommate's arrival at around 2:00 am and, after tuning out the downstairs noises, eventually had nodded off. But the sound of voices had woken him once again. The first was Blair's, but the other? He could barely hear it without purposely focusing. The phone then... At - he glanced at the clock - 4:12? What the hell was so urgent that it couldn't wait a few more hours? He hesitated to listen in - invading Blair's privacy went against his grain, but if something was wrong....
The internal war finally found a truce and he focused lightly on Blair's voice, rationalizing that anyone with normal senses could overhear that part of the conversation.
"No....no, man - that's another precinct.......Right..... I don't think so....yeah.... That's us..... yeah, that'd be in our evidence room.... No, I think I can get it.... When?...... All right."
At the words "evidence room," Jim had sat bolt upright in his bed. What the hell? But in the time it took him to recover and try to focus on the voice from the receiver, the conversation was nearly over. All he'd heard was "at ten o'clock" before the connection was broken.
He had no name for the emotions running through him - disbelief, anxiety, betrayal, rage - none of them could fully describe his utter confusion at the possibility that his --- roommate, partner --- friend had indeed taken those drugs from the evidence room, had forged his name in order to do it and had lied not just in words but in every other way!
Jim rose slowly, trying to contain his fury, intending to confront the stranger downstairs with what he'd heard. Was he really that bad a judge of character, his instincts that wrong? Or was Blair that good a liar and actor? The detective wanted to recall the whole phone conversation, to use the techniques he'd been taught to bring back the voice on the other end of the line, but the very thought of using those methods and who he'd learned them from filled him with such rage he couldn't even attempt to concentrate. Pacing furiously, he tried to rationalize what he'd heard, why such a phone call would take place in the middle of the night. But nothing could explain it away.
He sat down on the bed heavily, finally resolving himself to a confrontation he had no stomach for when he heard the front door close.
He looked over the railing to see the empty living room, vaulted the stairs and opened the door to Blair's room, also unoccupied. He stood there for a moment, then climbed the steps to his room.
*******
The drive to the precinct and the walk through the building to Simon's office felt like a death row inmate's walk to the gas chamber. Not since Jack's disappearance had Jim felt so bereft - numb. The evidence had been against Jack too, but Jim had held onto his faith in the man that had trained him.
But Blair ---
Jim still didn't know what to believe. How could he have been so wrong?
He stood before Simon's door, gathered what was left of his self-confidence together, knocked and entered.
"Sir, we've got to talk."
"You're damn right about that! Where's that partner of yours?" Veins stood out in Simon's temples.
"He's what we have to talk about."
"I know we do! His fingerprints were all over the rest of the bags from the Donatelli bust! Not only that, but he showed up at the evidence room first thing this morning, told the officer in charge he'd left his wallet with the last things he'd returned, sweet-talked his way back in and now a batch of PCP from a small time bust yesterday is missing!"
*******
Jim could hear voices - the television? - from outside the door to the loft. He drew his gun and took off the safety, prepared to shoot the little son of a bitch at the drop of a hat. The complete gall of the man, to come back to the place Jim had welcomed him even now! Downstairs a pair of uniforms awaited his signal - another pair searched the unlocked Corvair parked in plain sight on the street for more evidence against the anthropologist.
In one motion, Jim broke open the door and aimed at the figure on the couch that was now jumping up in terror.
"Freeze!"
"Jim! What the hell are you doing, man?"
"I said freeze!" The detective's voice lowered menacingly, leaving no doubt of how serious he was.
Blair's face wore the emotions Jim had felt only a few hours ago - and one he hadn't - pure astonishment. He stood frozen in place. "Jim, what's going on, man?"
But the detective wouldn't be taken in this time. He had trusted that face before and it had lied. Jim motioned to the uniforms who advanced on the small bewildered man following police procedure to a 'T.' Jim vaguely heard Blair pleading with him for an explanation, one cop reciting Miranda over the frightened voice and some damn art movie playing on the television.
All but the movie stopped at the same time.
"Sir?" The other uniform asked.
Without looking at anyone, his face stone, his voice steady and grim, he replied. "Get that little shit the fuck out of my home."
*******
The depleted man leaned his head back onto the headrest of the plush car seat. He was drained - physically, emotionally and spiritually. Night after night of brief to no sleep and the events of the last two days had left him totally and completely empty. All he wanted to do was climb into his bed -- well *a* bed anyway --- and try to pretend this waking nightmare had never happened - that Jim hadn't had him arrested, turned his back on him, let him sit in a jail cell with no explanation of why.
Gentle fingers combed comfortingly through his hair.
"You can stay with me for now," Chris said. "I'm sure this will all be cleared up soon. You'll see."
The anthropologist couldn't trust his voice to answer her and nodded instead.
He still didn't know how Chris had found out where he was, let alone how she got the money to bail him out. But he was grateful to her for it. He'd used his one and only call to try to get in touch with Jim, find out what was going on, why even his partner now believed him guilty of stealing the drugs. But the answering machine was turned off, there was no response at home - at the loft. And with his mother off on another of her retreats, he hadn't known who else to call. Chris had never even occurred to him.
He closed his eyes, but the vision that had haunted him since he'd been dragged away in handcuffs returned vividly - Jim, his jaw set, eyes cold and hard and the last words spoken in his presence.
Chris' fingers were still moving slowly through his hair. He brought all the focus he could bear to muster on that sensation, soothing, gentle caresses, the almost reassuring movements of the car, tactile things instead of what was in his head, heart and soul --- and briefly, he slept.
*******
Jim hefted another load into the box, uncaring how he handled anything. He was only packing it himself because he had nothing better to do since Simon had sent him home to cool down. He snorted at the thought. Cool down! Like being around this place was going to be a calming influence.
He'd set about almost immediately to erase whatever he could of the little bastard's existence in his life. All the tribal remedies, disgusting leftovers from the refrigerator - containers and all - tea leaves and whatever else from the kitchen. Papers, books, journals from... everywhere. Now he was working on what would once again be the spare room.
He finished filling the last empty box he'd been able to scrounge up and decided to take a break.
Grabbing a beer, he sprawled on the couch in front of the television set and started channel surfing. After a few minutes he realized, as usual, that nothing worth watching was on, picked up the VCR remote, and browsed through his tapes.
When something in the machine started playing, he figured he must have hit the play button. What the hell is that? Then he remembered the art film from the other day. He was about to turn it off and eject the tape to toss into whatever box or bag he could find when an odd sound caught his attention --- something under the voices.
It lasted several seconds then was gone. He wanted to dismiss it, but a strange feeling wouldn't allow him to do so. He back-tracked the tape and listened again, closing his eyes and focusing on the sound. He rewound again and tightened his focus, all the while trying to stay grounded against zone out. Once again he played the same few seconds, and finally recognized a rapidly played track underneath the normal audio. Using the same technique he'd practiced only days before with --- the audio tapes, he filtered out the other voices, then mentally slowed down the one left.
"Hello, Blair. We're going to do this again. Are you ready to relax?"
Jim's eyes shot open. He played the tape again, watching for anything out of the ordinary this time. There was something there - but what? He rewound then slowed down to frame by frame advance. And there it was, mixed in with the rest of the film, spliced-in frames of a man with some kind of spiraling wheel - one he thought he recognized from a hypnotist's show he'd seen a years ago - above the man and his machine on a sign was the name Blair Sandburg.
The extra frames lasted for quite awhile, long enough, Jim guessed, to hypnotize someone - and the subliminal suggestions had been aimed directly at Blair.
He ran through the rest of the tape, stopping every time he heard the now familiar sound to decipher the words and then watch one frame at a time what was on the screen.
When he was done, he removed the tape, massaged the back of his neck - stiff from his intensity while examining the frames - and picked up the phone.
*******
Blair sunk heavily into the couch, Chris settling beside him. "Do you want to talk about it?"
He honestly didn't, but was almost fearful not to - the one thing that seemed to tick Chris off the most was when he wouldn't confide in her. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to tell her a little, but even the thought of bringing up the whole fucking mess constricted his throat. "Maybe a little later?" he suggested, hoping this time she would understand.
Her face took on an edge as did her voice. "Fine."
"Look, Chris, I just can't right now! I've barely slept in a week and Jim--" The words caught. "Not right now, okay?" He rarely pleaded for anything, it was much easier to wheedle or obfuscate - and the last time was when Jim had tried unsuccessfully to cheer him up about Maya. His friend had understood then. Why couldn't Chris? It was like a personal insult if he didn't open up every time and if she didn't like what she heard that was no good too.
"All right," she answered to his surprise, sounding only marginally convinced, for which Blair was unconditionally grateful. His eyes closed against his will and he felt himself falling asleep. An odd sensation - he'd never been consciously aware of such a thing before. If he'd been able, he would have jotted the feeling down for posterity ---
The sharp jangling of the phone shattered the internal silence he'd found as his eyes shocked open and whole body tensed up again.
Chris snatched the phone up before it could ring again. "Hello?..... Oh, Luke, hang on." She covered the mouthpiece and turned to Blair. "Why don't you lie down in the bedroom. It's quieter in there."
He was about to protest that the couch would be fine, but Chris' pointed stare, even to his numbed brain, interpreted the suggestion as a little more like an order. He nodded, gathered himself up and trudged to the quiet, solitary bedroom. Only after he'd closed the door and settled on the bed did he hear her speak again to Luke - whoever he was.
Even the prospect of a rival couldn't keep his eyes open and his brain functioning at that point. He drifted off, Chris' distant voice the only sound in the apartment.
*******
"What are you saying? Someone hypnotized him by videotape?" Simon's incredulous voice boomed over the phone line.
"I know it sounds crazy, sir, but I went through the entire tape from beginning to end. It's filled with subliminal messages and post-hypnotic suggestions. I don't think Blair ever knew he was taking those drugs."
"What about that phone call you said you overheard?"
"That was part of it. The last of the clips directed him to call someone and get further instructions from there."
"And who was that?"
"A girl he's been dating, someone named Christine Hong."
"Did you say Hong?'"
"Yes, sir."
The silence on the other end of the line was interminable.
"Then we've got another problem."
*******
Voices in the living room gradually brought Blair back to wakefulness. At first, in the dark, he wasn't sure where he was. Only that he wasn't home - that indiscernible feeling that the surroundings were not altogether familiar. The disorientation woke him completely and he became more aware of the conversation in the other room, his current reality returning to him as the voices gained in pitch. He lay there unmoving, trying unsuccessfully to make out the words and finally shifting to the voices. Chris, annoyed with something, followed by a frantic, marginally familiar male voice - where had he heard it before? - and a third, also male, in commanding tones that shushed the other two immediately.
He rose blearily, rubbing the feeling back into his face while trying to wake himself up and clear his foggy brain. As he opened the door he thought he heard hurried footsteps running out of the room. For a moment, Blair paused, then slowly he turned the corner and saw Chris sitting alone on the couch watching television. Had he been imagining things?
"Chris? Who was that?"
"Blair, what are you doing up already? You've only been asleep for an hour!"
"I thought I heard voices." His tired eyes searched the room for some sign of assurance that he wasn't losing his mind.
"Blair, no one else has been here. You must have heard the television. I didn't think it was loud enough to wake you."
She looked the picture of innocence, almond eyes wide and concerned. Blair was beginning to think she was right. "But I thought I heard ---"
"Go back to bed. I'll get you some tea to relax you. I think you're just so tired you're starting to hear things." She spun him around and pushed him back towards the bedroom. "Go on. I'll be there in a minute with your tea."
Yawning hugely as he shuffled back to the bedroom, he stopped again, listening to the voices from the television set. Is that really what I heard? Finally, fatigue won and he accepted Chris' explanation. He moved zombie-like to the bed and settled back down.
"Here, drink this," Chris ordered, entering with a steaming mug. "It's chamomile. Guaranteed to soothe that restless brain of yours." She pressed the tea into his hands and sat on the edge of the bed.
"My restless brain is mush right now. What'll chamomile do for that?" He took a careful sip, then blew on the too-hot liquid.
Chris just smiled and watched him, the epitome of the inscrutable oriental.
Blair stared silently into the mug for a few seconds, a bit uncomfortable under the close scrutiny. He sipped again, then reached for Chris' small hand, still hot from the mug. "Chris, if I didn't say this before, thanks. If you hadn't bailed me out, I---"
"You can thank me right now by drinking that tea and going back to sleep. Later, when you're up to it, we'll find other ways for you to express your gratitude." She smiled and leaned down to deliver one of the most sensually charged kisses the grad student had ever experienced. It was long, deep and full of expectations.
He laughed gently as she pulled back, tongue lingering lightly on his lips for a few moments. "Does this mean I'm now a kept man?"
She smiled back. "If you're good, I'll keep you." With a fluid motion, she rose from his side. "Finish your tea. I'll see you when you have a little more energy." With her meaning obvious, she left.
Laughing again, Blair downed the remainder of the hot tea in a few gulps and set the mug on the nightstand. An odd taste lingered on his tongue as he drifted off.
*******
The pickup parked in front of the apartment building. Jim put on the brake and pulled out his chirping cell phone.
"Ellison."
"It's Simon. Where are you?"
"In front of Chris' building. Is the back-up on its way?"
"Them and me. If this girl is our only lead, I want to be on hand. And, Jim, all of this has to be by the book, understand?"
"Right, Simon." They broke the connection., leaving Jim to stew silently, only noticing why the silence was unusual after a few minutes - with no chattering anthropologist at his side the quiet was more than a little disconcerting. And it left him to rage inwardly again at the bastards that put this scheme together, at the whole set-up that had thoroughly incriminated his innocent friend, at himself for falling for it.
His instincts had been right from the start. Never mind that only chance had led him to discover the actual plan, that Sandburg's guilt had been so absolute it would have taken a psychic to have figured out the truth otherwise. Self-recrimination was useless but inevitable.
With a start, he realized he'd been sitting there and hadn't even thought to seek out Blair's or Chris' voices, to find out if they were even in the building. Focusing carefully, ever mindful of his vulnerability to zoning out without his guide, he zeroed in on the voices in the building.
Again using the exercise from earlier, he singled out and separated all the voices and sounds that came to him. It seemed like hundreds floated through the air and as he eliminated and discarded the completely unfamiliar voices, the cacophony gradually died down to a more manageable number.
"I gave him the tea - "
There! Chris' voice!
"Did he drink it? All of it?"
And there - the voice from the videotape. He brought his focus to the conversation.
"I don't see why we had to---"
Unfamiliar but that one was in the same room.
"David doesn't want any loose ends," Tape Man said. "He'll be here any minute."
"He should have been here half an hour ago," Chris said. "He said he was coming straight over?"
"And we were to wait here, yeah."
"What if he's not coming?" the second man said. "What if he's taking off and leaving us here holding the bag?"
"You've been in too many bad plays, Perry. David will be here," Chris said.
"What did you put in his tea?" Perry asked.
"Just some dust," Tape Man said. "Did he drink it all?"
"After our little talk?" Chris said. "You bet your ass he did."
Jim grabbed for the cell phone and speed dialed as he jumped out of the truck and made for Chris' apartment.
"Banks."
"Simon, I'm going in ---"
"Ellison, I told you ---"
"I think they gave Sandburg a dose of PCP!"
"Understood. I'll call for the medics. But watch yourself. You know what that shit can do to a man!"
"Understood."
Ellison was on the floor to Chris' apartment as he broke the connection. He drew his pistol and unlatched the safety, then knocked with a restraint that astonished him. If they thought he was the man they were expecting, so much the easier to gain entrance. As he'd hoped, footfalls from the inside approached the door. He kept to one side, out of sight of the view hole. The door swung open.
"David!" The tall blond man in front said. "Where the hell have you ---"
Before they could react, Jim shifted position, jamming a foot beside the open door and aiming his weapon at the man in front. "Police! Freeze!" Surprise on his side, all three did just that. "All right. Now back up slowly."
The trio was very good at following orders, so he went for broke as he followed them in at better than arm's length. "Where's Sandburg?"
They glanced at each other, guilt written on Chris and Perry's faces.
"Who's Sandburg?" Tape Man asked, beginning to recover. "Look, we know our rights. Where's your warrant?"
"Where's Sandburg?!!!"
Sirens were approaching from a great distance. Closer, he heard an oddly familiar giggle - from down the hall.
"Sandburg?" he called out. The giggling continued with no response to the shout.
He was torn between checking on Blair and keeping his suspects on hand. With only one set of handcuffs, he couldn't restrain all three of them. Glancing around the apartment, he improvised a solution. Threading the handcuffs through the refrigerator handle, he motioned Chris and Tape Man over to them. "One on you -" pointing at Chris, "and one on you." They hesitated then complied as he cocked the gun.
"Now you -" Perry went white as the gun was pointed at him. "Into the closet."
The trembling man almost fell over his own feet in the effort to comply. Ellison jammed a chair under the door knob and moved cautiously towards the giggling.
It had started quietly but now was almost hysterical as Jim opened the bedroom door.
Blair was on the bed in the darkened room, convulsed with laughter and pointing upwards. He became aware of Jim after a few moments. "Look, man! It's dancing!"
Jim moved slowly, resetting the safety on his gun and returning it to its holster. "What's dancing, Chief?"
"The ceiling! It's dancing, but they're playing a waltz and it's doing a tango!" The anthropologist was shaking so hard in his hysteria that he tumbled off of the bed
Jim smiled patronizingly down at his young friend. Arguing would do no good. "Yeah, that's pretty funny. Blair, why don't you come with me? I have a friend I want you to meet."
"Blair?" The laughter cut off abruptly. "Who's Blair?" The young man's eyes were wild, crossing slightly. He sprang to his feet and into a defensive crouch.
"Aren't you Blair Sandburg?"
A maniacal grin spread over his face. "I used to be Blair Sandburg."
"And who are you now?"
The laughter escaping from those lips was frightening in its insanity. Jim never knew what hit him, stunned for a moment by the sheer speed of Blair's attack. The small man's strength seemed to have increased tenfold. And as quickly as he had pounced, Blair was gone.
Jim shook himself out of the shock and followed the laughter into the living room. Breaking glass was punctuated by a soft thud.
Ellison saw the shattered window and ran to look out. On the grass two stories below he saw Blair doing what looked like some kind of ceremonial dance. Jim wrapped his arm with a curtain and cleared away more of the shards from the windowsill, then leapt out hitting the ground rolling.
Blood was streaming from cuts all over the young man's body, but he seemed not to notice any of it. He completed his dance and faced Jim again.
"Stand back, Viracocha! Even you are powerless against Supai!" He drew himself up and spread his bleeding arms wide, face to the sky as though calling something down from the gods.
"Blair ---"
"I am Supai!" he screamed.
Police cars began arriving, sirens wailing and flashing lights strobing about the two men on the grass.
The wild-eyed man crouched and circled outward like a rabid animal, facing the advancing officers.
"Stay back!" Jim barked out. "Don't draw your weapons!" He moved cautiously towards his young friend. "Blair---"
"NO!"
What had he called himself? Jim almost frantically tried to remember the name, and was completely unprepared for the second assault by the overwhelmingly powerful little man. Breath knocked completely out of his lungs, Jim couldn't make a move or sound as he saw one new arrival draw his weapon and aim at the crouching figure. No!
Adrenaline spiked and Jim leapt from the ground, tackling Blair with his full body weight and pinning him to the ground. He felt the wiry body beneath him rearing up again, threatening to topple him over. No other choice left to him, the detective doubled his fists and delivered a powerful hand-numbing blow to the contorted face.
He felt the tensed muscles in the small frame go limp. Relief and guilt welled up in his soul as he rolled off his partner's still form and collapsed.
Simon appeared by his side calling to the paramedics.
*******
Jim watched through the window, barred from entering by the nurse inside, as his partner writhed and convulsed against the restraints. The doctors could treat the symptoms but the drug had to run its course and Jim felt thoroughly useless.
He'd taken some of his anger out on the keyboard earlier that day at the station while typing up his report on the drug ring - a glorified term if he'd ever heard one. What he'd really wanted to do was give each of the bastards a dose of the stuff they'd given Blair - and let them go through the same kind of hell he was.
There was more than one way for justice to be served.
Inside ICU, Blair screamed and cursed viciously at the apparently oblivious nurse.
Jim could barely recognize the twisted features and did his best not to look away. He could have tuned down his hearing to block the ranting, could have walked away, saved himself the pain of watching his friend go through this once again. But his own guilt wouldn't permit such a thing. Although logic told him that the evidence stacked against Blair cleared him of any real responsibility in the situation, nothing could keep him from remembering that he'd left his partner - his friend - out to dry, had believed what he should have known in his heart couldn't have been true.
Blair's convulsions ended abruptly as he collapsed, hospital nightshirt soaked through, hair plastered to his face.
As though the wind had just blown down a house of cards, Jim thought, his analogy from days ago returning to him.
The nurse methodically checked the unconscious man over - eyes, mouth, pulse and blood pressure - I could have filled her in on those, Jim thought absently - then carefully covered him, brushed the hair from his face almost tenderly and left the room. The gentleness she showed in that last gesture surprised Jim after her previous lack of any kind of concern for her charge. He could feel her staring at him as he continued his watch.
"He probably won't wake up for some time, you know. Why don't you go home and rest for awhile?"
Jim nodded without looking away. "I'm fine, thanks."
"Detective, you aren't taking his pain away. You're only adding to your own."
He turned to face her at the comment, but didn't reply.
"I read his chart. I was also here when he was brought in so I know he didn't do this to himself. What you're putting yourself through won't help your friend. And when he needs your support, what good will it do either of you if you've spent all the time he's been here simply blaming yourself for what's happened?"
Jim was dumbfounded at the stranger's honest appraisal of the situation. "I-I guess...."
"Do you have someone you can talk with? Because if you do, I think you'd both be helped if you went to see him."
She left without another word, leaving a very confused man behind. Jim glanced after her, then looked back at his unmoving partner, orderlies having come apparently from nowhere to change soaked clothes. He thought long and hard about the nurse's sincere words.
Then pulled out his cell phone.
*******
Blair ran a hand impatiently through wet curls as he emerged limping from the bathroom and glanced, not for the first time, at the clock on the wall of his hospital room - 2:15. He was clean, he was rested, he was ready to check out. But where the hell was Jim?
The past week was still patchy - the doctor had said he might never remember the times during his reactions to the PCP - repeated over days as the drug worked its way through his system. And he was, quite frankly, rather relieved. From what Jim had hinted at, he wasn't so sure he really wanted to remember what he'd done. His physical injuries had been confusing enough. But he was slowly recovering from those. The large bruise on the left side of his face where Jim had hit him was only now starting to reduce in size; the swelling had lasted for several days. Cuts all over his body were healing, the last of the stitches on the worst of them had been taken out that morning. Bruised ribs only ached occasionally now, and his ankle, sprained during his jump from the window, was feeling as well as could be expected.
His head and heart were another matter.
Jim and Simon had explained to him how the whole frame-up had been executed - the subliminal messages in the films at the theater and videos, inserted by Perry Williams and Luke DeJean - Chris' boyfriend.
That one hurt more than any of the physical pain, more than Blair was comfortable admitting.
But the whole thing had been dreamed up by someone named David Trevor, a friend of DeJean's - an MBA student who, it turned out, was financing his degree with drug pushing. Chris had told DeJean about Blair's work with the police who in turn had told Trevor. And somehow, Perry had become involved with the scheme. But he was also the first to break down under interrogation and lead Jim and Simon to Trevor, who had indeed left the others to take the fall after telling DeJean and Chris to give Blair the PCP.
Another glance at the clock - 2:30. Where the hell was Jim with his clothes? He'd had enough of hospitals to last him a lifetime. All he wanted now was to go home and sleep in his own bed - and get back to the paper that had been due two days ago with an extension from an understanding professor.
Maybe he'd go join the monks at St. Sebastian's - they had a vow of celibacy and considering his current track record with women it might be a healthy idea.
2:35
He rose and went to look down the hall - and ended up with the door slamming into his face. "Ow! Dammit!"
"Sorry about that, Chief!" Jim grinned seeing no new damage done. "You okay?"
"Yeah, sure - only if you've got my clothes."
Ellison hefted a gym bag onto the bed. "They - uh - might be a little wrinkled." He scratched the back of his head and moved away as though embarrassed.
"How long were they in the bag?" He pulled out an extremely wrinkled shirt and stared at it.
"Only about an hour - but they were in a garbage bag for a few days."
"Garbage bag?"
"I'll fill you in on that later, Chief. Oh, by the way, that little screw up with the audio tapes last week? It was connected to the rest of this."
"What? How?!"
"Same way. You were probably the one that switched the labels with that heavy metal tape. DeJean isn't fond of the police and he planted a suggestion for you to do something to piss me off."
The forlorn look on his partner's face at yet another piece of damning information made Jim regret the light way he had delivered it. "Chief, it wasn't your fault."
"Like that helps."
He snatched up the gym bag and limped into the bathroom to change.
Jim sighed and let the matter rest for the time being. Sidney, the department shrink, had told him it would be awhile before Blair would be completely back to normal after the head game he'd been put through. It hadn't been easy for the young man to learn he was technically guilty of each and every act of which he'd been accused. The detective silently thanked the nurse who'd pushed him into seeking out the psychiatrist's counsel. And it certainly hadn't hurt Jim to talk his own feelings out either.
Sidney had just told the detective to trust his instincts on handling his friend's emotional healing process - as well as his own. Instincts he should have trusted from the start, he reminded himself.
Blair emerged from the bathroom looking extremely rumpled. "What the hell did you do to my clothes, man?"
"I'll explain on the way home. And as soon as you're up to it, Simon wants to take your statement personally."
Blair nodded, staring downwards. "I don't remember much."
"We still need it for the record." At his friend's silence and continued examination of the floor, Jim approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Look, Blair, no one is blaming you on this but you. Sidney checked out the frames and audio from those videotapes and he's backing you all the way."
Blair glanced up finally, his face missing its normal spirit.
"And so am I," Jim added following the instincts he'd ignored when he'd led the others to arrest his Guide.
A familiar flicker crossed the morose face for a moment as Blair nodded again. "Thanks man."
"Let's go home," Jim said slapping the young man lightly on the back.
The orderly appeared at that moment with the obligatory wheelchair. Blair grimaced but sat down obediently.
"By the way, who's Supai?" Jim asked matter-of-factly as they moved down the hallway.
"Supai? He was the Incan god of death. Where'd you hear that name?"
"Crossword puzzle," he lied. Well that figured - PCP users sometimes experienced delusions of godhood. Trust Blair to pick a South American god.
Another thought occurred to Jim just then. "We might want to stop at one of your nature supermarkets on the way home."
"Why?"
"I'll explain on the way. And I need to pick up some more of those red containers while we're at it."
His partner's puzzled look elicited an uncomfortable feeling in the older man. Embellishment and obfuscation didn't come as easily to him. "I did a little housecleaning a few days ago...."
The end
EmailShelagh Collins
Email Lisa Gosselin
