webpage maintainer's note - This story follows the events in the episode "Survival" but is not exactly a sequel or a missing scene. However, it does make things less confusing if you've seen the episode.
Blair dragged his final overhead off the projector with two fingers, catching it with his thumb and tucking it away. He scanned the classroom, had they caught all of that? His students looked as exhausted as he was. Sad, especially as today rather than achieving his usual classroom dynamics, he'd been restricted to perching on the table next to the projector.
"The exam on Tuesday covers chapters one through eight as well as any additional material included in the lectures. Sorry again about missing last Tuesday. I know we raced through a lot of material today. Any questions?"
Scott Turner tipped a couple of fingers upwards. Scott had taken his course on the prehistory of Latin America last semester. Blair took it as a compliment that he'd signed up for another course with him, especially considering Scott was a math major.
"Yeah, Scott," Blair acknowledged the partially raised hand.
"May I ask what happened to your leg?"
A number of plausible explanations occurred to Blair but he decided to go with the truth. The incident had made the news, denial would only feed campus rumours. "Actually, I was shot." He smiled wickedly. "Anthropology can be more dangerous than you think."
There was an audible reaction from the class. Blair saw an assault of questions coming and deflected them by continuing oh-so casually. "That reminds me, Dr. Barnes wanted me to announce that next semester's special topics course, I think it's SA 355, will be 'The Sociology of Criminal Behaviour'." Blair read Scott's expression. "No, I won't be teaching it. I will, however, be holding my regular office hours tomorrow morning should anyone need me. Feel free to drop by. Dismissed."
Scott fetched Blair's cane from corner of the room and tossed it into Blair's open hand.
"Really, you were shot?"
"Really, I was shot," Blair nodded.
"Anything I can do for you?"
"No, I'm fine. Just a flesh wound." Flesh, he thought with a shudder, skin, muscle, blood vessels... He shoved the last of his papers into his backpack and eased himself off the table. "See you Tuesday."
"Yeah, take it easy," Scott replied, lingering in the doorway for a moment before disappearing into the hallway.
It was Blair's first full day back. Last night he'd spent a few hours in his office completing his lecture preparations or, more accurately, squishing the best parts of two lectures into one. Blair glanced at his watch. He had two hours until Jim had promised to stop by and pick him up. He planned to review his notes and start thinking of exam questions. If I can make it back to my office in under two hours, he grumbled internally as he worked his way through the open hallways of the Hughes Building where he conducted his lectures. Awkwardly, he left the building, pushing through the double doors, careful not to bang his leg.
"Stairs first," he said and slowly began to work his way down them. His leg felt as though it still had something lodged in it. An illusion, he knew. The bullet had past straight through. Jim had told him that on the spot. X-rays had proved it. It wasn't healthy to spend too much time thinking about the empty channel left behind. It had hurt like hell, and now as it healed it still hurt like hell, just a different kind of hell. Even worse, it itched. It itched in a ridiculously painful way. It itched deep inside his leg. So deep he'd have to scratch his way to bone to find any relief from it.
At the base of the steps Blair took a breather, leaning against the rail and absentmindedly pushing his hair back out of his face. Stop thinking about it, idiot. You're making it worse.<i>
He'd never realized how far his office was from the lecture hall. Actually, he knew exactly how long it took walking, jogging or sprinting from Hargrove Hall to the Hughes Building. He was just learning how long it took to hobble. Halfway back to Hargrove Hall, a now familiar stitch in his side seized. Compensating for his leg was screwing up his back. Blair crossed to the nearest bench, sat down and wriggled out of his backpack. He promised his spine he would work out its kinks as soon as he got home, grateful that most of the best back stretches he knew were meant to be done lying down. He leaned back against the bench's rails thankful that the sun was shining.
"Could be worse. Could be raining," he mumbled to himself. A shadow fell across his eyelids. Blair tried to ignore it, hoping it would pass, but the shadow held its ground. He opened his eyes, blinking, expecting to find a cloud stealing his light.
It was Jim.
"Hey Chief. The leg bothering you?"
"No, it was just such a nice day..." Blair knew that Jim could tell when he was lying but he could also trust Jim not to press him on all of his half-truths. "It's just stiff," Blair added hurriedly. "It'll work itself out."
"Uh huh."
Blair glanced at his watch to make sure he hadn't slept. When the adrenaline had released him after his ride out of the forest Friday, he'd lost almost a day to deep, dreamless sleep. A day as in twenty-four hours. The doctor said it was the blood loss. Blair would have also listed cliff jumping, a couple of blows to the head, a few miles of hiking and smoke inhalation. The airlift out hadn't been fun either. He'd never gone for the "confront your fears" approach to dealing with phobias. His watch confirmed that time had resumed its usual, more linear course.
"You're here early. What's up?" he asked.
"You look like you could do to spend a bit more time propped up on the couch." It was a deliberate non-answer Blair noticed. Jim had been mothering him for days. Not that he didn't welcome help making it to the bathroom in a pinch but once he could make it on his own...Jim had stolen his cane. You stay off the leg, Sandburg, doctor's orders.
Blair was not going back to the couch. He plastered on his best eager grin. "No. I'm fine, really. What's up?"
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure." Blair stood to prove his point.
"There's this new case..." Jim still seemed reluctant.
"Lead on. Where's the truck?"
Jim pointed it out, and Blair set off without another word. Jim followed close behind. He thought the limp seemed worse than it had that morning, but he couldn't be sure. Suddenly he felt like he should have offered to take Blair's backpack. He knew it would have only earned him a strange look. Blair always insisted in pulling his own weight. Thank God he had the sense not to be lugging any of his two ton text books around today.
Jim unlocked the truck as they approached then held the door open for Blair. He resisted the urge to offer any further assistance. As they pulled out of the lot, Jim glanced in the mirrors and then at Blair. The kid was getting some colour back, that was good. He'd spent the weekend in the hospital then two days at home. Wednesday night he'd insisted on being dropped off his office, pleading for his sanity, and generally manipulating Jim with his eyes.
Jim's mind fell back to the instant he'd surfaced in the icy water below the waterfall and searched frantically for Blair. After several long seconds Sandburg had surfaced gasping, and Jim had been flooded with relief. He'd assumed the kid was okay. Maybe a bit disoriented by the drop and the spin cycle, but basically okay. Sandburg had hauled himself ashore and carried on without saying a word. Jim knew he carried on because it had to be done, because he knew there was a sniper somewhere above them and he would never endanger Jim by slowing him down. Like jumping despite his fear of heights, Blair always did whatever was necessary. He was a survivor.
After that Sandburg had kept on until he couldn't continue. Somewhere in the churning water, the kid had cracked his head against a rock. By the time he confessed his need to stop, and his killer headache, the kid had been shaking and the lump on the side of his head had been worthy of a concussion.
Will you think any less of me...? Christ. Jim had set their pace through the trees without a second thought for Blair. And then he'd left him behind...with a head injury. Stay awake, he'd told Sandburg. Head injuries didn't go bad just because you accidentally fell asleep with one. Disorientation and loss of consciousness were symptoms of a head injury going bad. 'Stay awake' was so you could catch the symptoms--but you had to be there to catch it. He'd been a medic once. He knew that.
What had he been thinking? Jim would have liked to have thought his concern for Simon was to blame, but it wasn't that. He'd zoned out, pure and simple. Only it was the type of zone out that he was the expert in--not Blair. The type of zone out his military training had held frequent warnings against. He hadn't focused on one of his senses but all of them. He'd focused on the hunt above all else. He'd lost his perspective....
Blair felt Jim's eyes on him. He wished Jim would just say whatever he needed to say. Watching that muscle in Ellison's jaw spasm in silence was unnerving. "Where are we going?" Blair finally asked.
"Crime scene. A twenty-four year old was found dead in her basement suite this morning. Apparently a suicide."
"Apparently? Did your senses catch some hint that it might be something else?" Blair looked at him expectantly.
"I don't know. I didn't get a good look. There was a smell." Jim hesitated, embarrassed. "I had to leave the room."
"I'm sorry, Jim. It must have been pretty gruesome."
"No, that's not it. It wasn't that bad...not that overdoses are ever pretty. She'd vomited several times, but that's not what set me off. I don't know."
"What exactly happened?"
"I don't know. I walked in, and the next thing I knew I was back outside again. Rafe followed me out. He looked at me..." Jim shook his head. "He looked almost frightened. I told him the girl reminded me of someone. That it just hit me in the gut. He was okay with that."
Two side streets later Jim pulled the truck to a stop in front of an old, multistory house. Trees shaded its mossy roof and the gardens seemed better kept than the house itself. Jim lead Blair down a path which took them around to the back of the house. "The place has already been cleaned out. I figured now would be a good time to take a look around."
"And figure out what set you off," Blair nodded.
There was a short set of cracked concrete steps leading down to the entrance of the basement suite. Jim tried to take Blair's elbow, but the anthropologist tugged himself free and grabbed onto the rail.
"I got it. I got it." Blair waved Jim away as he descended. Jim proceeded to the bottom of the steps and reached for the door intending to open it for Blair.
"Wait a second. Jim, just hang back." Blair reached the landing and straightened up. "Before we go in, I just want to know, can you smell it here?"
"What?" Jim looked at him quizzically.
"I don't know. It. Whatever disturbed you earlier."
Jim closed his eyes briefly. He could smell the flowers in the garden, grass, moss, mint, mold on the steps, the oil in the hinges of the door, Blair. "Nothing."
"Now, you stay relaxed. I'm going to open the door. Don't go in, just stand here and let the room reach out to you." Thankfully, the door was unlocked, Blair turned the handle then gave the door a soft shove. It drifted inwards. He watched Jim for any sign of distress.
Jim riffled through the smells coming from the room. Incense, dust, more mold closely associated with the carpet, weird tea, toothpaste and other common household scents. The forensics team had left a liberal layer of their own smells on top of all that..."Still nothing," he said.
"You ready to go in?" Blair asked. Jim nodded and crossed the threshold. "Just take it slow," Blair instructed. Look who's talking, he thought to himself as he followed Jim.
The suite consisted of two rooms. The first was an all-purpose living area with a couch, a chair, an old black and white TV, and a hastily added kitchen along one wall. A small bedroom was visible, connected to the living room by a short set of open stairs.
Jim entered the room with caution, then gained confidence and proceeded to the center of the main room. Sandburg was with him--he could relax and breath deeply. "Nothing. I don't get it. This morning, I don't even think it was a bad smell, just a shock to the system. If it had been really rank, it would have followed me, you know? I would have been able to figure out what it was." Jim shook his head. "I'm sorry I dragged you out here."
"We're not done yet," Blair insisted. "It's possible the scent has dissipated. It could have been directly associated with the body." The wheels in his head were turning, his free hand moved with them. "The way you describe it--maybe what you told Rafe was true. It triggered memories."
"No. The glimpse I got, it didn't--"
"No, not the sight, the smell. The vomit?"
"Not that, I can still smell that."
"Actually, so can I," Blair agreed. Both of them automatically glanced down at the carpet and then away. "Jim, lets try something." As subtly as he could Blair shifted so he could lean against the short kitchen counter. He didn't want to acknowledge how inviting the purple couch looked, despite the stuffing spilling from torn cushions and the brick holding up its back corner. "Being here should help."
"Okay," Jim agreed with a now familiar look of reluctant acceptance.
"Close your eyes. Feel the room around you with your skin. Feel it with your ears. Follow my voice back to when you first entered this room. There is something disturbing in the room. You prepared yourself for it but it still got to you. Now it's just a memory, it can't get to you this time."
After a moment of self-consciousness, Jim uncrossed his arms and relaxed.
"Breathe in," Blair instructed. "You don't smell one thing first. You smell everything at once but your mind has to go through the scents and identify them one at a time. Go back to the first breath you took in this room. Let your mind work through the signals you received from your senses. Find the scent that disturbed you. Does it stand out immediately? Was it a strong smell?"
"No," Jim answered softly. "It was underneath."
"Then find it there. Underneath."
A full minute passed with Jim standing, unmoving, searching through his memories. Blair began to worry. It wasn't working. If I let him draw this out much longer....
Jim's jaw suddenly clenched. His eyes flashed open and fixed on Blair. "It was you!" he exclaimed.
"What? What did I do?"
"The smell. It was you."
"Uh, Jim, I've never been here before."
"No. I know." Jim was grinning. "I didn't mean you personally. I mean a smell I closely associate with you. I'm still not sure exactly what it is. Maybe a soap you use or something--no, that's not it."
"But you don't smell it this time?"
"No, that's the thing. I did smell it this time, but it was okay because I expected to smell it this time. You are here." Jim nodded sharply, seemingly in agreement with his own assessment. "This morning, when I came in here, I braced myself for the bad smell and the bad scene but I wasn't prepared to find the smell of you--I mean, it's not you, but it's really close--so mixed with the smell of death. I just flashed on something," Jim confessed.
"But it's okay now?" Blair asked, not certain that he'd caught that right.
"Yeah. It just really bothered me not knowing what it was. Let's have a look around."
Blair watched as Jim moved through the room still trying to absorb what Jim had just told him. It didn't take a genius to figure out what the "something" Jim had flashed on was. Now had it affected Jim badly because he was using his senses and I'm his guide or...Sandburg you think too much, Blair told himself.
Jim's circuit of the room took him past a brightly coloured wall-hanging near the entrance to the bedroom. The dancing figures caught Blair's eyes and drew him in. He crossed the room on autopilot, nearly stumbling on a ripple in the old shag carpet.
"What is it, Chief?"
"The hanging. It's from West Africa. I spent a few months there once," he said, drifting in memory. "You know they make the most amazing beer in West Africa. Zom."
"What?"
"The beer, it's called Zom. It's rich and incredibly thick--like cream of wheat."
"And that's a selling point?"
"Trust me." Blair's face held a far-away smile. "I can just imagine Zom playing off a set of Sentinel taste buds and the smell--"
"Do me a favor. Don't describe it."
"This...it's just so familiar, it brings back memories. These figures here represent--" Blair reached for the hanging then shuddered. The girl who owned it was dead. Her travels, however far they took her, had ended in this room. "I'm sorry. It's not relevant." Blair sighed. "She was just passing through. Here for a month, maybe two, maybe longer if someone or something caught her interest but not planned that way."
Jim eyed his guide, letting him continue, curious as to how far he would go with this.
"You can tell more about the landlady than the girl by the furnishings, but the hanging belonged to the girl. Note it's a hanging not a poster or a framed painting. It's durable and compact. She was a traveler, a modern nomad. You can't buy tacks like those on this continent." Blair moved slowly through the room, following almost the same path Jim had taken. "No mail, no loose papers. Only a couple of books."
"Maybe she wasn't much of a reader."
"No, they're well worn. Favorites," he said.
Jim nodded in agreement as, in truth, he'd noticed that as well. "Okay, detective, what else can you tell me?"
Blair shrugged off the title. "It's nothing, I just know this life. You'll find an empty back pack, likely hanging up in the closet to keep the mold from getting at it too bad. There will be a journal tucked away somewhere, probably next to the bed or under the mattress." Blair moved towards the stairs leading to the bedroom. No door. No rail either, he noticed, and spread his free hand against the wall. On the third step of the four, he shifted his knee slightly, an unconscious adjustment of balance. It folded under his weight, pain spiking along the length of the bone the bullet had passed so close to. Blair rapidly found himself seated on the stairs. He unclenched his teeth, realizing that if Jim heard them grinding together he would get sent back to the couch.
"Oops." He shrugged innocently and struggled to rise. Jim silently hooked one arm around Blair's waist. Blair reflexively braced his hand on Jim's shoulder as he was gently pulled up. He stabilized himself with the cane and took his weight back from Jim.
"Okay. You're going home," Jim said flatly.
"No."
"You fell."
"I did not fall. I sat down."
"You sat down because you were going to fall."
Jim had a point there. Blair had precious little energy left for protest, and a glance a Jim's expression told him further protest wouldn't get him far. Spineless goober, he thought to himself as he allowed Jim to usher him out of the suite.
They met a woman on the path leading around to the front of the house. She held a pair of garden snips and was fussing with the rose bushes that lined the path. Blair noticed her knitted blue socks and white sneakers worn to grey. A flower print dress and checkered apron completed her outfit. Though her expression this morning was grim, he was pleased to note that most of the lines on her face were built by smiles. Happy landlords seemed to be getting ever scarcer these days.
"Have you located the girl's family?" she asked. Blair realized the snips in the woman's hand were motivated more by her need to linger and speak with them than any need to trim.
"Not so far as I know," Jim replied. "I'm Detective Ellison, this is my partner Blair Sandburg."
"Penny Jensen." The woman pulled off her gardening gloves, but didn't offer her hand.
"Can you tell us much about your boarder?" Jim asked.
"She moved in a week and a half ago. A nice girl. She made me tea from the mint growing around at the back of the house. I hadn't even known it was there."
"Did you talk to her much?"
"She told me an interesting story over tea, but I can't see how that would help you. She was a traveler. She didn't know how long she'd be staying, but she gave me a month's rent and a damage deposit. I didn't realize she was so . . . troubled. Rain seemed like such a free spirit."
"Her name was Rain?" Blair asked.
"Yes. She had blue bands tattooed around her wrists, like flowing water. A very free spirit." Penny tucked her gloves into the pockets of her apron. "You don't look well," she said pointedly.
Jim glanced over at his partner and noticed the thin sheen of sweat on his face. Jim knew that if you kept moving, kept pushing against whatever stress you were under, the body's natural endorphins could keep you convinced that you were okay...until you slowed down, that is, and then suddenly you discovered that you were not okay. Sandburg over exerted himself and his body has just caught him at it.
"That's it Sandburg, you're going home," Jim said. Blair was moving towards the truck before Jim even got the words out, his free hand against the side of his face.
"Excuse us." Jim left Penny open mouthed, jogging a few steps to bring himself alongside his partner. "Blair?"
"It's not...it's not..." Blair lost his voice, and found himself caught between turning towards Jim and turning away. His cane struck a ridge in the sidewalk, the jolt separating it from his sweating fingers. He fell as the cane did, and could not stop the yelp of pain which escaped him when his knee hit the pavement.
Jim scooped Blair off the ground, and carried him to the truck with three swift steps. He dragged the door open with the tips of his fingers, then deposited Blair on the passenger seat. Sandburg neither struggled nor protested the manhandling. Jim fetched the cane from where it had dropped. It was only as he handed it to Blair that he saw the tears in his eyes.
"It hurts?" Jim asked.
Blair shook his head though the pain was written all over his face. He looked past Jim then, back at the house from which they'd emerged. "Rain Laurier."
"You knew her," Jim said softly. "Was she your student?"
"Not my student," Blair said, his eyes flashing up to meet Jim's. "My sister."
~-~-~
"What!?!" The word escaped Jim before he could stop it. Blair flinched and Jim immediately wished said something else, something gentler. Any of those words that couldn't touch loss but were routinely offered up around it would have done. A simple "I'm sorry" would have been a much better start. But, even as he thought this, his mouth tripped and asked the question again. "What?"
It didn't make any sense. Blair had never mentioned a sister, neither had Naomi. Her photo album had been full of smiling pictures of baby Blair, and baby Blair alone. That left the other side of the family tree, but Sandburg had insisted he didn't know who his father was. As they drove away from Penny and her rose bushes, an explanation spilled out of Blair.
Rain wasn't Blair's sister in the biological sense, she was just his...sister. Rain lost her mother when she was six. Her father had passed away when she was fourteen. Naomi had known Richard Laurier for many years, and she had moved in with him during his long final struggle with cancer. Naomi, Richard, Rain and Blair had lived as a family for over four years. From the beginning Naomi had introduced Rain as his sister. She wasn't just to be treated as immediate family, she was to be accepted as immediate family and that was just the way it was.
"When Richard passed away Rain wanted to move on with Naomi and I, but her grandparents forbade it," Blair explained. "It wasn't a happy scene. They got court orders to keep Naomi away. Rain ran away from them and showed up at our door more than once. We had to send her back each time. It tore Naomi apart, but Rain's grandparents threatened to charge her with kidnapping. When she was sixteen, Rain ran away for good. Her grandparents blamed Naomi's influence, but that wasn't it. By then Rain felt Naomi had betrayed her. She hasn't had a fixed address since."
"But you kept in touch."
"Yes. I was the only one she felt she had left." Blair had been staring out the window, but the passing streets hadn't been registering. "Where are we going?"
"I told you. Back to the loft."
"No. We need to go to the station. I need to see her."
Jim was silent. The truck continued to move in the wrong direction.
"Jim, when we get home, I'm going to have to call Naomi. I need to see Rain first."
~-~-~
Jim made Blair wait in a chair in the hall while he had a few words with Serena Baxter, the medical examiner. Serena explained that bruising and teeth marks on the girl's fingers indicated that she had deliberately forced herself to be sick, likely trying to save herself in the end. The body had been found stretched out as though she'd been trying to reach the door. There was no phone in the basement suite.
There were other bruises indicating the girl had likely fought with someone prior to her death. Possibly the fight had motivated the girls actions. Serena didn't know what it all meant. The prescription drugs the girl had overdosed on were an unusual choice. Rather than depressing the system like sleeping pills, they would have jacked it up causing very unpleasant heart palpitations.
"She would have been awake and aware that she was dying for an extended period of time," Serena said finally. "Where she got the pills is another question."
"I thought you said they were legal. Prescription medication of some type."
"They were prescription, just not hers. No identification on the bottle at all. Not even indications that a label was peeled off," Serena explained. "I won't be satisfied until I get a few more answers."
"Are you saying she might have been murdered?"
"I'm saying that at this point I just don't know."
"Serena, the girl was a close friend of Blair's," Jim began. "He's outside. Could we have a minute?"
"I desperately need a cup of coffee," Serena decided, slipping out of her lab coat and hanging it on a nearby chair. "Ellison, my preliminary comments are between you and I. I'm sorry, but I'm sure Blair doesn't need to be assaulted with unconfirmed theories."
"Of course."
"And, Jim," Serena paused, her hand on the door, "stay with him."
~-~-~
Blair looked down at Rain and recalled her smile and her voice. What touches you is what you touch, she had always said, quoting a favorite poem. He traced the band of colour across her wrist, composing his good-byes within his mind. He touched her cold fingers, lifted them, then saw the bruising there. Other bruises registered, and Blair looked up at Jim. He'd seen enough. He'd seen too much.
Jim stepped forward and drew the cloth that had been pushed aside back over the girl's face. He guided Blair out of the room.
"I need to visit the men's room," Blair said once the door had drifted shut behind them, trying to keep the tremor in his voice under control. "Alright," Jim replied, realizing Blair needed a moment alone. "I'll have a quick word with Simon, then meet you back here and we'll go home."
Blair nodded, crossed the hall, and vanished through the swinging door.
A moment later, Sandburg found himself crouched in the corner of the green tiled room, overwhelmed not by grief but by panic. He tried to pin the sensation down, define it and force it away, but he couldn't. It took him several minutes to regain control of his breathing, and even then he didn't understand what exactly had hit him.
That was not cool, he thought, thankful no one had walked in on him. Okay, now how am I going to get up?
~-~-~
Jim rapped on Simon's door, then proceeded into his office.
"Jim." Simon greeted him, glancing up from his paper work, and then returning his eyes to the line he was on. "I heard Sandburg came in with you. Is he ready for that dinner we owe him?"
"Not tonight."
Simon immediately picked up on Jim's serious demeanor. He dropped his pen and manner of preoccupation. "He okay?"
"Yeah. It's just--you know the girl that died this morning? He knew her."
"They were close?" Simon asked.
"Like family, it seems. The kid's exhausted, I really need to get him home. Do you need me for anything more today?"
"Go. I'll see you in the morning."
~-~-~
What did you expect she-would-never denials or guilt ridden I-should-have-seen-it-coming confessions? I can't go either way. The context isn't right." Blair realized the anger in his voice was unwarranted. Jim had asked a simple question about Rain and he'd fairly exploded. He tried to calm down. His head ached, his back ached, his leg throbbed, and the he was still shaken by what had happened in the bathroom. I must be more tired than I realize, Blair thought, glad that they would be home soon, and freaking at Jim is not going to help me.
"Rain was always a bit extreme," Blair began again. "She jumped out of airplanes for fun. But she understood her own mortality--accepted it in a way that was rare, in a way that allowed her to let everything touch her. Not me...as much as I pursue understanding, there are things I block out. Rain was so open, she could read your secrets, and let her eyes tell you hers."
"It's okay, Blair."
"It's really not, Jim," Blair answered quietly, wondering if Rain had touched something that had been too intense for her to handle, wondering what it could've been.
~-~-~
When they got back to the loft, Jim went upstairs to his room to change into a more comfortable shirt and to give Blair some privacy. As a courtesy, he listened only to Blair's more obviously audible side of the conversation.
"No, Mom, take the bus. No. No. Now is not a good time for you to start driving nonstop through mountain passes. Take the bus. Call once you know when you'll be arriving. Jim will pick you up if he can. No, nothing happened to my car. I just wrenched my right knee playing basketball with Jim a few days ago. No, I'm fine. Yes, I saw a doctor. Yes, she said I was fine too. I love--yes, I love you too."
Blair hung up, leaning back against the kitchen counter. He saw Jim coming down the stairs buttoning a light shirt. "Naomi will be here Saturday. Oh, and Jim, I wasn't shot, okay? I twisted my knee playing basketball with you. But don't let her give you a hard time about it, it was a fair move."
"She'll be staying with us?"
Numbly Blair realized his presumption and began to apologize. "She'll only be here for a couple of nights at most. She'll take my bed. I'll take the couch."
"Blair, you need your rest. You're still recovering."
"From a twisted knee?"
"She can sleep in my bed."
"Jim!!" Blair looked at him sharply.
"I'll take the couch," Jim reassured him. "That's final."
"Naomi's going to tell you you're overcompensating."
Jim didn't respond immediately, he just crossed to the kitchen and began rummaging through the cupboards. "You should sit down," he said. "Would you like me to make you some tea?"
"Yeah, that'd be nice," Blair answered and resigned himself to settling on the couch. Jim, man, you are definitely going to be treated to a nice, long, conversational counseling session with Naomi, but that's okay because, Jim, you are definitely overcompensating.
"Can I ask you about Rain?" Jim asked from the kitchen as he filled the kettle.
"You need to, don't you?" Blair replied, leaning back against the couch and closing his eyes.
"When did you last see her?"
"In Sumatra, two years ago--no, wait, Sumatra was three years ago."
"You were traveling together?"
"No, she just wandered through while I was there taking a two month field course on ethnography. Before that, she was in Kenya when I attended a conference there. We met in the Yucatan, other places...I once just missed her in Singapore." Blair shifted around sideways, propping himself on pillows and elevating his leg.
"How did you arrange to take corresponding trips? Neither of you seem, seemed," Jim quickly corrected himself, "to have stayed in one place for very long. How did you keep track?"
"Actually, we almost never arranged to meet in advance. The world is smaller than you think. Rain always loved art galleries, and you can't keep me away from museums. Whatever country we were in, we'd visit galleries and museums, sign and date the guest book, leaving a current address and usually a thumbs up or down on the accommodations. That's how I hooked up with the Ng family in Singapore. They were wonderful hosts."
Blair sat up sharply turning to look at Jim with horror. "Oh my God. I didn't--when the warehouse blew up, moving here was supposed to be temporary. Then somehow it became...not temporary. I've been so busy. I didn't think--I didn't update my address at the galleries."
"Easy Chief. She knew you worked at Rainier University, didn't she?" After setting the kettle on the stove, Jim crossed the living room and sat on the couch opposite Blair. "She could have found you there."
"Jim, I'm only teaching classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays this semester, with office hours on Fridays. I'm assisting Dr. Findley with his 211 student SA 101 class, but that's just marking."
Just marking, thought Jim, he couldn't help but have noticed the huge stacks of assignments Sandburg had been hauling with him everywhere.
"I've hardly been there," Blair continued. "Then last week..." He let the sentence dangle as he ran through events in his head. I went for a ride with you Thursday after class, ended up chasing a cop killer who'd kidnapped Simon. Let's see, got shot on Friday, missed my office hours. I was in the hospital Friday night and for the full weekend, then trapped in the loft Monday and Tuesday, missing my lecture. Wednesday's brief trip to the university in the evening doesn't really count...and Rain died this morning.
Jim was looking at him. Had he asked a question?
"I'm sorry, Chief. I just need to know where she got the money to fund her travels."
"Oh," Blair shook his head as though to clear it. "She worked for Fine Objects International. They ship works of art. You can't just chuck valuable paintings and prints into the holds of passenger planes. Rain has--had--a degree in art history. She studied all over; France, Italy, Germany, China, India. Then about two years ago she transferred all her credits together, wrote a few equivalency exams and got her degree. The degree helped her land the job. I think that's why she finally got it. Prior to that she worked on and off for Global Terminal Transport."
"What do they transport?"
"Human remains."
Jim grimaced. Then the kettle boiled and he disappeared into the kitchen.
Blair was tired and his mind kept blanking. He couldn't accept what Rain had done. This was not her style. And why come to Cascade, if not to find him? Jim was right, he was not unfindable. If she got his last postcard, she knew he also worked with the Cascade police department. If she'd just persisted, she would have found him. Rain would have persisted.
"I'll notify her employer," Jim said from the kitchen. "I want to have a word with them anyway."
"I'm coming in with you tomorrow. I have office hours at the university in the morning but I'll join up with you after that." Man, Blair thought, I didn't even make it to my office today. Jim had dropped him off in front of the lecture hall.
"Blair, I really think you should be resting more."
Jim won't say it's murder, not yet, but he suspects it, Blair thought. He pressed his hands against his eyes and found the image of Rain in the darkness, the bruises on her still form. Suddenly he realized why he had panicked earlier. It wasn't the bruises on her fingers, the ones that had told him that at the very least she'd had second thoughts about leaving this world, but the bruises on the back of her neck, the edge of jaw, and the swelling at the edges of her mouth. Those bruises told him that she'd never wanted to leave in the first place. He'd had bruises like those after Lash...after Lash had tried to drug him by force.
Blair shuddered. His chest ached, it felt as though his heart had collapsed beneath his ribs. He felt the tears in his eyes and closed them, not caring if they fell. Rain, he thought.
Jim emerged from the kitchen, his nostrils full of the warm smell of fresh tea. He found Blair lying asleep on the couch, his breathing even, the tracks of fresh tears on his face. Jim set the tray down on the table and slowly began to remove Blair's shoes.
A few hours, later Blair shifted in his bed and wondered how he'd come to be there. He glanced at his clock, checked that the alarm was set, then fell back to sleep.
~-~-~
The next morning they ate breakfast with large servings of silence. Jim didn't think Blair should be going in to the university, let alone the station. Blair knew he needed to do both. Neither one of them wanted to turn it into a big argument.
"Call me later," Jim said finally as he dropped Blair off at Hargrove Hall. "I'll pick you up and then we'll see."
Blair wouldn't have thought it possible, but it seemed as though he was moving even more slowly than he had the day before. He reached the Sociology and Anthropology departmental office and smiled in at the secretary.
"Hi Janie."
"Blair! How are you doing?" Janie rolled her brightly coloured nails on the edge of her desk then stood and joined him next to the mailboxes. Despite the open question, he knew Janie didn't really want him to vent his problems at her. He also knew that anything he vented at her would become open knowledge in the department.
"Not bad," he replied and made himself busy trying to get his mailbox open.
"One of your students has been by several times. She wanted your address, but you know we don't give that out. I hope you don't mind, but I explained that you'd just been released from the hospital and wouldn't be in for a few days. She got so upset, I had to tell her something." Janie paused then and Blair realized he was staring at her, stunned. She was waiting for reassurance.
"What? No, that's okay."
"She left a note for you."
"Oh my God," Blair muttered under his breath. His fumbled with his keys, missing the lock and dropping them. Janie bent down and picked them up. "I'll get that for you," she said, swiftly opening the mailbox. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah. Thanks Janie." He found the note from Rain, and left all his other mail behind. Leaving the main office, it was his intention to wait until he was in his own office before reading the note. Instead he found himself staring at it in the hall, not wanting to open it, not wanting to take another step without opening it.
Blair,
I've missed you. I miss you. I hope you're okay.
I need your help. I was supposed to courier a package overseas but the pick up was strange. I don't know why I opened it. I knew opening it would likely cost me my job. It's cost me more. The package, it wasn't drugs, or diamonds, just papers.
Who'd have thought papers could be this bad?
Ray and Peter are dead. I tried to call them...I needed to know if they were in on it. But they're dead, so now I'll never know. I don't want to leave my address here, but I'll leave it where you can find it. If I don't meet up with you soon, I'll have to move on. I'll leave the package for you. Again, it will be where you can find it, just retrace your steps. I'm sorry to drop trouble in your lap. I'm hoping your connections with the police will keep you safe. I'm hoping you'll know what to do with the papers.
My first instinct was to burn them--you can if you think it's the right thing to do--but the documents are numbered originals, I'm sure they can be traced.
This leak must be traced.
Love you always, Rain
He folded the note closed and took off for his office, pushing his limp as hard as he could. He needed to call Jim. He needed to re-read the note a hundred times. He needed to sit down and stare at Rain's loopy handwriting and cry for her. Ignoring the pain as he forced himself up the stairs, he thought through what Rain had written. She'd probably left her address in half the galleries of the city. He was certain he'd find it in the gallery on campus, but would she have written anything else? He'd have to wait for Jim, they could go looking...they could go back....
Blair reached his office, found that he'd forgotten to lock the door Wednesday night, and pushed it open. He realized immediately that he'd made a grave mistake. He had not forgotten to lock the door. Two casually dressed men were in his office casually searching his desk.
"Mr. Sandburg?" the man nearest the door asked. Blair yanked the door closed, turning and trying to hobble away, finding the hallway ridiculously empty. He took a single step, gathering air to yell, and found a gun pressing into the small of his back. The man gripped Blair's right arm at the elbow, effectively keeping him from using his cane.
"Mr. Sandburg, we need for you to come with us quietly," the man said. The second man joined them from his office. He took the note from Rain out of Blair's hand.
"And if I refuse?" Blair asked, stalling, waiting for someone--anyone--to wander down the hallway and see them. The younger man, now rapidly reading the note from Rain, had black hair and a goatee. He wearing dark shirt and light jeans. The man gripping Blair's elbow was older, greying at the temples and wore the type of faded jacket that seemed to be so popular among aging academics. Both were taller than Blair. Neither looked out of place in a university hallway.
"What if we told you we were with the Defense Department?" the older man asked.
"I still wouldn't want to go anywhere with you," Blair answered. "Especially alone and at gun point."
The younger man tucked the note from Rain into his pocket and spoke directly into Blair's left ear, "That's okay because we're not with the Defense Department." Blair turned to look at him and felt a needle punch its way into the muscle in his left shoulder.
"What the hell are you...doing..." Blair gasped, dizziness washing over him. His perspective tipped and he realized his legs were buckling beneath him. The tiles seemed to rush towards him but he wasn't truly falling, he was being held up by either arm. Blair heard his name called, and saw his student, Scott, running towards them.
"Help," Blair said, his voice seeming soft and breathless. "Help," he repeated, was that louder?
"Professor Sandburg are you okay?" Scott asked.
Blair lifted his head and tried to speak but was interrupted. "It's okay Blair, we've got you," the man on his right said reassuringly then turned to Scott. "He just suddenly got dizzy."
"He was shot in the leg a few days ago," Scott told them, reaching towards Blair but not touching him.
"Could be an infection," the man said. "We're friends. We'll get him to a hospital."
"Rain," Blair said desperately, trying to struggle only to feel himself being held more tightly.
"No, sir. It's sunny out," Scott said, worried and trying to reassure Blair. Blair felt himself being half carried, half dragged towards the small emergency stairwell. The hallway was twisting before his eyes.
"Do you want me come with you?" Scott asked, following them closely.
Blair felt the men on either side of him tense. He suddenly realized he could no longer feel the gun in his back.
"No. Stay," he told Scott. Then locked his eyes on Scott's, putting as much force into his words as he could. "Looking for Rain," he said. "Going to find Rain."
"We've got him." The men reassured Scott again, and Blair was pulled into the stairwell. The descent was terrible, each step felt like a hundred foot fall. Blacking out would have been better, Blair thought, unable to control his limbs, first pitching forwards then being dragged. He was sickeningly dizzy. They ignored the sign marking the emergency door at the base of the stairs and shoved it open. Blair waited for the alarm which promised to ring, but heard nothing and found himself being tossed into the back seat of a waiting van.
~-~-~
Jim was half way to the station when his cell phone rang. "Ellison," he answered it. "Hey Simon. I'm on my way in."
"Is Sandburg with you?" the captain asked.
"No, why?"
"Could you bring him in?"
"Why? What's up?"
"Two of Rain Laurier's former employers were murdered a week ago."
"What!?"
"It gets worse," Simon continued. "I just got a call from the Defense Department. They asked a hundred questions about Ms. Laurier. They wanted to know if the girl had been in touch with anyone in town or had any relatives we knew about."
"You told them about Blair." Jim suddenly had an intensely bad feeling about this.
"They want the kid in protective custody until they can speak with him."
"Protective custody!? Did they say why?"
"Sorry. I didn't get any answers. But it's legit and you don't want to know how high up it goes."
"Blair's at the university. I just dropped him off."
"Get him," Simon said. "And Ellison, call me once you've got him."
"Okay, Simon I'm on my way." Jim checked the traffic, then pulled the truck through a wide, fast U-turn and turned the lights on.
Arriving at the university, he parked illegally in front of Hargrove Hall, leaving the police lights flashing. He loped up the stairs leading to Sandburg's office, opening his senses as he jogged down the hall. Sandburg's office door was slightly ajar. He knew the kid wasn't there before he pushed the door open. A knot formed in Jim's gut. The drawer's had been pulled out of Blair's desk. Other familiar objects had obviously been shifted including several heavy ceremonial masks. There was no way Sandburg had decided today would be a good day for redecorating. Someone had been searching the room.
"Are you looking for Professor Sandburg?" Jim heard the question from behind him. He turned to see the student he'd blown past on his way to Blair's office.
"Yes. Have you seen him?"
"Uh. He took ill."
"Where is he now?" The student began to look distinctly uncomfortable. Jim pulled out his badge. "I'm Detective Ellison with the Cascade Police Department. I need to know where Blair is now."
"He left with two guys. They said they were friends. They were going to take him to a hospital. He was really dizzy and confused. He was shot a few days ago, you know?"
"Did Blair say anything?"
"Yeah. Uh, he didn't want me to go with him. I asked, you see. Then he said he was looking for rain. I told him it wasn't raining but he was right out of it. Is something wrong?"
"Yes," Jim answered. "Which way did they go?"
"They took the emergency stairs."
"What's your name?"
"Scott Briswell."
"Scott stay here until either I or another police officer has spoken to you, okay?" Jim ordered then took off down the stairs leaving Scott staring numbly after him. Jim hit the door at the base of the stairs so hard its outside edge swung around, knocking chips from the concrete wall of the building.
He scanned the parking lot, then expanded his search to the limits of his sight. The was no sign of Blair. He closed his eyes and listened, his ears catching the faintest "please" before the voice faded and was gone. It was so faint, he couldn't tell what direction it had come from. He couldn't even be certain it was Blair's voice...except that he was certain.
~-~-~
Each time the van cornered Blair felt as though he was being thrown through the van's sliding doors only to be yanked back into the vehicle as the delayed realization of the inertia shift slammed his senses.
"Please," he said, clutching the van's seat, his head spinning. "Please...dizzy." Another corner and again he felt part of himself fly away--only this time it didn't come back.
~-~-~
Jim stood at the edge of the parking lot, his eyes closed, listening as everything else around him blurred. The feel of the sun and the wind, the smell of the flowering trees, all blended into an even grey background. He listened until a car horn sounded four blocks away deafening him. He covered his ears flinching in pain. It was no use. He flipped his cell phone open and called Simon.
Jim checked Blair's office as thoroughly as he could without zoning out, all the while throwing questions at the student who had watched while Blair was dragged away. He took in every word Briswell had remembered and recited back, turning them over in his head. Blair's words...what did they mean? Was it a deliberate message or was had he been too far gone for that?
"Looking for Rain," Jim repeated. "Where were Blair's eyes when he said that?"
"What do you mean?" Briswell was doing his best, but it didn't seem that any of his answers were helping. He hadn't even managed to give descent descriptions of the men his prof had left with. His attention had been on Sandburg.
"Was he staring at the guys he was with, or the ceiling, or the floor--"
"No. He was looking right at me. It was intense."
A message, Jim decided.
He wasn't surprised to see Simon arrive fast enough to have broken speed regulations. He was surprised to see his captain flanked by four grey suits; three male, one female.
"Detective Ellison," one of the grey suits took point, and greeted him.
"Captain, what the hell's going on?" Jim demanded ignoring the greeting.
"We were about to ask you the same question, Detective," the lead suit tried again. "I'm Flynn. Let me introduce Jaffe, Cahen and Galliard. We're with the Defense Department and we're in control of this investigation."
Simon nodded grimly. "We have to give them our full cooperation, Jim."
~-~-~
"Any chance Sandburg's collapse was due to his injury?"
"I'd just dropped him off," Jim replied, though they'd already been through this twice or twelve times. They were wasting his time. "If he was dizzy, or had a fever, I would have noticed. The kid was steady. He was drugged and dragged out of here. The alarm on the door was deliberately shorted. You know this."
"Explain to us again Mr. Sandburg's relationship with Rain Laurier."
"Explain to me your interest in Rain Laurier," Jim pressed, on the verge of losing his temper completely.
Flynn had been listening from a distance. He was aware of the detective's outstanding arrest record and military background. Adding an obviously close relationship with Sandburg as motivation, and he was sure Ellison could help them if he came on side. Flynn stepped in offering information and hoping to receive some in return. "Ms. Laurier disappeared with a number of stolen sensitive documents in her possession."
"What type of documents?"
"I can't say."
"How did she come to possess them?"
"We believe the documents were packaged in with a painting Ms. Laurier was to courier overseas." Flynn paused. "If you locate this package, you are not to open it."
"What exactly does this package look like?"
"We don't know."
"How very helpful," Jim offered a thin non-smile.
"If it's any consolation, we've already apprehended several individuals. When the girl disappeared with the documents, those involved started making desperate, careless moves. They will be caught."
That's no consolation at all, Jim thought to himself, saying nothing.
Twenty-minutes later Jim was finally able to retreat into Sandburg's office where he had a moment to himself. He checked the room again, but found nothing that he hadn't already noticed, nothing that got him anywhere. The only thing that kept him from walking away from the suits was that he didn't have the first idea of where to look for Blair. A package. That wasn't enough information, if they didn't make a move soon, Jim knew he would be compelled to dig answers out of Flynn's brain--with a spoon if need be.
Jim stared out Blair's window. Not much of a view, but Blair had always been proud of it. His eye's fixed on a campus map across the street. Why it caught his attention he would never know, but he found himself reading through the lists of buildings...and suddenly he knew where to go to find Rain.
~-~-~
"We need him conscious. It's been six hours, when is he going to come out of it?"
"He's a light weight. I didn't have time to adjust the dosage. Gun shot wounds tend to weaken the system too."
Blair kept his eyes closed. He did not feel well. In fact his brain seemed to be suffering from intermittent reception problems, which made it difficult to catalog exactly how bad he felt. His cheek was pressed up against a gritty, cold concrete surface. He'd never known concrete to float and tip, but this surface seemed very unstable. Feet shuffled in his direction. He intended to keep still for as long as possible, to delay whatever was to happen next until he was better able to deal with it, but a slap across his face caught him by surprise. He flinched reflexively and discovered his hands were cuffed behind his back.
"Have you been playing possum, Mr. Sandburg?"
There was no point in pretending, so Blair peeled his eyes open. The room around him was blurring and bending like a reflection in a fun-house mirror. Blair closed his eyes again--they were heavy and seemed happier shut.
"Who are you?" he managed, though not very clearly.
There was no answer. He hadn't really expected one. He'd found that real badguys were much less likely to openly talk about there motives and identities than those seen in movies. Blair pushed his eyes open again to take a closer look at his captors. Alright, Mr. X and Mr. Y it is, Blair thought.
"Where is the package?" Mr. X, the older man, asked.
Package? Blair wondered, his resisting synapses suddenly sparking to life. Oh, shit.
"Don't...don't know." Blair lied. He was in some type of garage, one without windows. The dim overhead lighting threw shadows everywhere and the room still seemed to have a dangerous tilt to it. He noticed Mr. X was had his cane and was absentmindedly spinning it. Blair's stomach flipped over and he searched for a more inert object to focus on.
"You're an anthropologist, right?" Mr. Y leaned in close, blocking Blair's view of the van that had brought him there. "How does an anthropologist end up getting shot?"
Blair took a deep breath, it didn't actually help much. There were times when yogic meditation techniques just didn't cut it. He twisted, trying to sit partway up--that helped even less, as his stomach tried to remember what he'd last eaten and whether or not it was worth reviewing. Another deep breath, and Blair forced his brain to take one thought at a time. If they'd gone through his bag, they'd found his identification...whether or not they knew of his association with the Cascade police department, Blair found an answer for them. "I'm doing my thesis on police subculture. To serve and protect and all that."
"You work with the cops?"
"Not exactly work with, I just sort of watch. They were pretty pissed about my getting shot. I can't say I was too pleased, but the cops, they acted like it was my fault. Now it looks like I'm going to have to change thesis topics. It could delay my graduation by over a year." Blair let his eyes drift shut. Okay, I've just plastered a big, neon underestimate-me sign on my head...do you see it blinking? Here's hoping this works to my advantage.
"Tell us about Rain Laurier. Is she an old girl friend?"
"Sister," Blair pushed out through clenched teeth, trying to control his emotions.
"Oh," said Mr. X. "I'm sorry for your loss. You know she died yesterday?"
"Yes."
"Rain gave us your name. She didn't mean to...she tried really hard, but I'll tell you how it went. We would ask a question such as >where is the package', just like we're asking you now. She would shake her head, and we would give her a pill to swallow. Then we'd ask the question again. Do you get how this goes? She really didn't want to tell us anything, but she must've spent those last hours with your name at the top of her mind. The pills hit her system pretty hard, and in the end it just slipped out."
"You son of a bitch!" Blair bared his teeth.
Mr. X cracked the cane against Blair's injured thigh. Blair found himself folded on his side, the pain rendering him speechless while fresh blood seeped through his jeans.
"Rain is dead. You don't have to end up the same way. You just have to answer our questions. Where is the package?"
"I just got this note. I haven't seen Rain for over three years. I really don't know," Blair answered, allowing his voice to be edged with desperation.
"But, you see the note says you do know. Maybe you just need to think a little harder."
Blair let his eyes dart around the room. I'm thinking, I'm thinking, can you tell from my expression that I'm thinking? You must buy this. And Jim, you have to have been listening.
"Would it help you to read the note again?" Mr. Y offered.
Blair shook his head, knowing he would lose it if had to look at Rain's writing while her killers stared down at him.
"What time is it?" he asked finally.
"Why do you want to know?" Mr. X moved in, sensing progress.
"There's this place she may have meant...but I don't know for sure. It closes at six o'clock."
"Where?"
"The gallery at the university. Rain and I, we both travel lot. Traveled. Rain would always leave her address in the guest books of art galleries, so I could find her if I happened to end up in whatever city she was in. Now that I work at Rainier, if she wanted to leave me a message or package--" Blair found himself being yanked to his feet.
"We should just make it," Mr. X told him. "But even if we don't, we don't worry much about locked doors and alarms, Mr. Sandburg."
~-~-~
Mr. X gave Blair distinct directions when they reached the gallery. They were to walk in, ask at the desk if a package had been left for Blair, check the guest book and walk out. Package, or no, Blair was to go with them or risk another dizzy spell or another bullet wound.
"Just stay calm and don't rush," Mr. X said, casually draping his jacket over the gun in his hand.
"You may not have noticed, but I couldn't rush if I tried," Blair replied tiredly. "I'll need my cane."
Blair did his best to control his expression as they entered the gallery. There were six people scattered around the main room of the gallery all staring quizzically at the modern art on display. Only one of them looked young enough to be a student and he was wearing a grey suit. Not obvious at all guys, Blair thought as he spotted Taggart in the back corner.
Officer Erika Kilmer stood behind the counter near the entrance. She smiled warmly at Blair, and the men with him. "Can I help you? Would you like to check your coats?" she asked gesturing to the racks in the small room behind her.
"Actually, I was wondering if you received a package for me, a painting that should have been delivered to my office."
"And you are?" she asked.
"Blair Sandburg. I'm a graduate student in anthropology."
"Oh, that's right. A girl delivered it. I signed for it before I realized it was a mistake. Jim?" Erika turned and called towards the backroom. "Do you know where that package is?"
Blair's relief at the sight of Jim was immeasurable, but it only lasted an instant because, whatever the plan was, Jim's expression told him that it was about to go terribly wrong.
~-~-~
Jim had been informed via an ear-piece the instant the van had entered the parking lot and Blair had stepped out of it. The grey suits were running the operation, but were drawing extra manpower from the police department. There was no way they could've kept him out of it, but he was thankful that Flynn hadn't even tried, assuming he'd play a key role from the start.
The gallery was so close to closing when Blair arrived, that Jim had worried that he'd gotten it wrong. There were dozens galleries and museums in the city, but on his hunch the Defense Department had stationed people at each one. That alone suggested the magnitude of the situation Rain, and now Blair, had been dragged into...it was off the scale.
Jim approached Blair, rapidly assessing his condition. The kid's heart was racing, but he was keeping his cool. There were spots of dried blood on his jeans, but otherwise he seemed okay. This was where things got tricky. The guy standing behind Blair obviously had a gun trained on him. A second man, younger but moving with a predatory certainty, stood a few steps back and to the right. Jim spotted indications of a shoulder holster and knew if threatened the man would not hesitate. Jim hoped that the tightly packaged painting he was about to offer Blair was roughly the right size and wouldn't incite immediate suspicion.
In his ear Jim heard a quiet message: "Wait for it."
The young suit standing closest to Blair, rubbed his ear and glanced at Blair.
Of all the stupid... Jim thought. The mistake was spotted. Jim saw the hand reaching for the shoulder holster and launched himself over the counter. He dropped the guy with a single punch, feeling the man's teeth through the flesh of his cheek, feeling the man's jaw break. In a single, smooth motion, Jim turned and drew his weapon. The room was instantly bristling with guns from all corners, and Blair was being drawn backwards with one firmly planted in his back.
~-~-~
Mr. X's arm had locked around his neck so tightly, Blair could scarcely breathe. He could feel the gun grating against his vertebra as he was dragged back so quickly he could scarcely keep his feet beneath him. Mr. X stopped as soon as he had his back against the nearest wall.
Oh, great, Blair thought, a stand off and I, of course, end up in the worst position in the room. From his perspective, it seemed as though Jim's gun was pointed directly at him. He dragged a breath past the pressure against his throat and tried to remain calm. Blair forced himself to look up from the deep, dark barrel of Jim's gun, bringing his eyes to meet Jim's. Another breath, then he shifted all his weight onto his bad leg, allowing it to collapse beneath him, twisting and striking out with his cane as he fell.
Mr. X hesitated as the living shield he held before him collapsed. Unable to bear Blair's full weight, his elbow unlocked releasing Blair's neck. The motion was so natural, he didn't recognize Blair's intentions and was instinctively moving to train his gun on the police officer in front of him when Blair's cane cracked across his knees. His gun went off while his elbow was only partially extended, not even clear of the falling anthropologist. Six other guns fired simultaneously.
Mr. X didn't have time to realize he was dead.
The first thing Blair realized was that he was lying against a dead man. It was only as he tried to push himself away, and found that his right arm wouldn't work, that he realized some of the blood surrounding him was his. As soon as he realized he'd been shot, he was absolutely certain he'd been shot. Nothing else hurt in quite the same way.
"Jim! I'm...sorry...I..."
"It's okay," Jim responded automatically, crouching by the anthropologist and pushing his sleeve gently up and out of the way. The bullet had torn through the underside of Blair's right arm. Jim could see the surging blood all too clearly.
"I can't believe I--" Blair shifted feebly. "Not again!"
"It's okay. Chief, you have to lie still. This is bleeding really badly." Jim glanced around the room, immediately finding what he needed. He tore apart a sculpture made of dangling strips of red and white cloth attached to sticks suspended on fishing line.
"Hurts." Blair said as Jim tightly bound his arm above the wound, then shoved a stick beneath the loop of cloth and began twisting it tighter and tighter. "Hurts. Hurts. Hurts."
"Can't you think of a better mantra than that?" Jim asked as tied the stick into its final position with the ends of the cloth he'd bound around Blair's arm.
"No. Can't." Blair gasped. "Hurts."
"Chief, do you have a pen?"
"Pen?"
Jim checked Blair's pockets, found an overhead pen and uncapped it. He checked his watch then wrote "TQ 5:54pm" on Blair's forehead.
"What?" Blair blinked up at Jim, wondering if he was losing touch with reality.
"Nothing. Just writing a note to myself," Jim answered reassuringly.
It was then that Blair felt things begin to fade. The pain was easing and it seemed to Blair that he could think very clearly. He realized then that there are things he had to say.
"Jim, they killed...Rain," he began, his voice also seeming faded. "Rain said...package...retrace my steps. Jim, please...the warehouse."
Blair's final words were so soft that only Jim heard them. In fact, Jim was so focused on Blair he scarcely noticed the others crowded around him, listening. Then the ambulance arrived.
~-~-~
It was midnight before Blair's condition was upgraded to 'stable'. Simon had joined Jim in the waiting room less than an hour before. He'd been needed at the gallery, and then had to endure several lengthy antagonistic phone calls about jurisdiction. The surviving perpetrator was already in a jail cell though it was still unclear who would have final control over his fate.
Although accusations about Jim's actions had flown about at the time of the incident, the tapes made by the gallery's security camera's clearly showed action and reaction order of what had happened down to the split second. Flynn had been more than satisfied and Simon had later heard him yelling at the underling who had been closest to Blair when things went down. The same underling who had been repeating "we had everything under control" the loudest.
Simon, despite his rank, had been unable to get information about Blair's condition over the phone and had rushed to the hospital as soon as he could only to find Jim hadn't heard much more than he. He was glad that someone was finally talking to them and that the news was good.
"He lost a lot of blood and it will take him time to recover, especially considering his other recent injury. However, he should recover completely," the doctor reassured them. "He's asleep at the moment and not to be disturbed," she added firmly, "I recommend you get some rest yourselves and return for visiting hours in the morning. I'm just going to check in on him once more and then hopefully I won't be needed until morning rounds."
"Thank you," Jim said sincerely. The doctor nodded, then disappeared through a set of double doors.
Simon watched as Jim's expression grew distant. His eyes remaining focused on the now closed doors....No, Simon corrected himself. They're focused on something on the other side of the doors. Is this a zone out, Simon wondered, am I supposed to shake him out of it?
Jim sighed then turned to Simon.
"What did you just do?" the captain asked.
"Followed her to Sandburg," Jim said. "He's sleeping. Everything nice and even." Jim's next words surprised him. "Simon, could you stay here for the next hour or so? I have an errand I need to run."
"What?"
"Something Blair asked me to do."
"Something I should know about?" Simon asked suspiciously.
"No," Jim answered. Simon nodded his acceptance, and Jim snagged his jacket from chair the he'd been waiting in. "Call me on my cell phone if there's any change. And Simon, if he wakes up, will you keep the suits away from him. He doesn't need to deal with them right now."
Together they glanced at the pair of grey suited individuals who were casually drinking coffee and staring at magazines in the other corner of the waiting room. Again Simon nodded.
~-~-~
Jim found the package without difficulty. The lot where the warehouse Blair had rented once stood was abandoned and unlit. Even the nearest street lamp had burnt out. It didn't matter. Jim didn't need light. He found the scent which reminded him so much of Blair and followed it to the package. It was hidden under a charred board. It still amazed him that Blair had lived here prior to the explosion which inspired his move into the loft.
Jim opened the package rapidly, knowing he didn't have much time. He'd been followed from the hospital. The vehicle had parked part way up the block, and his follower was fast approaching.
"You weren't supposed to open that," the comment came from behind him, as Jim pulled the papers out into his hands.
"It's too dark to see anything anyway," Jim said, absentmindedly flipping through the pages. He offered the papers to Flynn and turned to walk away.
"You let me follow you here," Flynn stated.
"642 FSE," Jim recited the license plate number of Flynn's vehicle, leaving him to wonder how he had gotten it. Sentinel eyesight had distinct advantages.
"How did you know they'd be here?"
"Just another hunch," Jim answered. "Sandburg used to live here."
~-~-~
Blair had memories of being prodded at some unknown hour by a nurse. Apparently, she'd either taken what she wanted or given up as she hadn't shown up in his next set of memories. Those involved waking feeling as though his head was full of dry cotton balls. Beyond that he hadn't felt much of anything, which bothered him a bit because something told him he ought to have been hurting like hell. The bright light streaming through the window had bothered his eyes. He'd wanted to pull the curtains. Moreover, he'd really wanted to brush his teeth and was thinking about toothpaste and the taste of water when he noticed Jim.
Jim had squeezed his hand, and Blair had smiled, or thought he had, and then slipped back into sleep.
Aware again, Blair tried to connect those memories with his present circumstances. Shot again, he thought, you'd think I'd get better at it. His head still ached, but that pain no longer had top priority. He couldn't move his right arm for all the bandaging, but that was okay because he was pretty certain he didn't want to be moving that arm anyway. He noticed his teeth still needed cleaning. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve such a bad taste in his mouth. While he was still taking stock, Jim had tossed aside his newspaper and said something. Blair opened his throat but made no sound. He noticed Jim beginning to look concerned and tried again.
"Hey Jim," he managed.
Jim's expression opened up into a bright smile.
"Did you bring my toothbrush?" Blair tried to ask but his throat only got him as far as "Did you?"
"I found the package," Jim said.
Blair processed that, his brain seeming to belatedly follow the rest of him into wakefulness. "I wasn't sure you heard me," he finally responded.
"It contained documents," Jim informed him, "including detailed plans for uranium isotope separation, and triggering mechanisms. I was supposed to turn them over without looking at them, but I thought you deserved to know why."
Blair nodded not trusting his voice and not knowing what to say.
"Naomi called," Jim continued. "I was just about to go pick her up."
"Don't tell her...Tell her...got hurt playing..." Blair stumbled, trying to think of a sport that wouldn't be ruled out by a wrenched knee.
"Chess," Jim filled in.
Blair laughed, then coughed. "You are going to...get me...get me in trouble, man."
"Get some rest. I'll be back in an hour," Jim said noting that Blair's eyes were already closing.
~-~-~
Jim was waiting when Naomi stepped off the bus. She was more tired than he had ever seen her, though even in grief there was a light to her presence that Jim found hard to define. He'd accepted her bag, and carefully explained why Blair was not there to greet her. After the initial shock, she accepted his reassurances. She asked questions all the way to the truck, first about how Blair had come to be hurt, then focusing entirely on his present condition.
Jim had been deliberately trying to keep the sage that permeated Naomi from affecting his allergies, but once they were in the truck it was hard to ignore. He sneezed, taking another involuntary deep breath and sneezing again. That was when he caught another scent beneath the sage and reached a startling conclusion. He couldn't bring himself to ask until they were approaching the hospital, then he found he couldn't keep himself from asking.
"Why didn't you tell him that Rain was his sister?"
"What do you mean?" Naomi asked, adjusting her skirt, her fingers trembling. "Blair knows Rain was his sister."
"Okay then, why didn't you tell him that Rain was your daughter?" Jim asked, careful to keep any accusation out of his voice.
Naomi was silent for a long moment, then she answered softly, "Because I made a promise to two dear friends."
"Did Rain know?" Jim knew it was none of his business. If she didn't answer, he wouldn't press, he just wanted to understand.
"Yes, I think Rain knew. I think her grandparents told her...to demonstrate just what kind of woman I am." She was surprised how much it still hurt her. Naomi, let it go, they lost as much as you and a son besides.
"Rene Laurier suffered from endometriosis," she explained. "She was unable to bear children. When Richard's cancer was first diagnosed, they knew the treatments would likely render him sterile. They were both dear friends. Blair was only one then. They were so good to him, but you could see the pain in their eyes whenever they looked at him. Rene was so afraid of losing Richard, of being alone."
Jim nodded. No, Naomi thought, he didn't just nod, he accepted and understood and conveyed that without cluttering it with words.
"We had no regrets. Richard went into remission. Later, when Rene died in a car accident, Richard asked me if he should tell Rain. I made it his choice. He told me Rain had my eyes, but Rene's smile."
"Naomi, you are a wonderful woman," Jim said.
~-~-~
Naomi had spent all Sunday with Blair, quietly chatting with him when he was awake, stroking his hair while he slept. Although Jim had given them privacy, he knew they'd spoken at great length about Rain. Monday morning he drove Naomi to the hospital for a final visit with Blair prior to dropping her off at the bus station. Jim returned to the hospital for a lunch time visit and found Blair just finishing his meal. Blair reviewed the horrors of the textureless, grey fish-paste that had been forced upon him and then fell oddly silent. Jim waited, concern that there was something more Blair needed to tell him about Rain.
"Thanks, Jim," Blair said finally, studying his desert. "For, uh, the tourniquet and all."
"Don't mention it, Chief," Jim replied easily, relieved. "We're even."
Blair looked up at Jim quizzically, trying to figure out how Jim saving him again made them even.
"We're even," Jim repeated, smiling. Then he sat back and watched as Blair tried to eat jello left handed. Blair noticed Jim working hard to flatten his smile, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly.
"It's not funny," Blair said. His surly expression was met with peels of laughter from Jim.
"You could at least offer to help."
"Oh." Jim pulled his chair closer. "Can I help?"
Blair considered this carefully. "No." As soon as he'd said it another glop of jello escaped his spoon, gooping down the front of his shirt. It practically set Jim off into hysterics. Blair gave up on the spoon, tossing it aside and using his fingers to scoop up the errant green jigglies.
He would never understand Jim. He figured that getting shot two Fridays in row--he didn't expect to be allowed out of the loft ever again. He'd thought he would never hear the end of it, in fact with Jim he'd never even hear the beginning, he'd just watch that jaw twitch in silence. But here was Jim laughing at him...how did we end up even?
"They refuse to release me," Blair said, his grumpiness now feigned, his fingers in his dessert.
"Can't blame them," Jim said, humour still in his voice. "Look what happened last time they released you."
He'd spoken with the doctor earlier and agreed that Blair still needed at least another day. The injury to his arm meant he wouldn't be able to handle a cane or crutches to keep weight off his leg. Besides he needed rest, so much so that his body was still forcing it on him, dragging him into long naps. He'd practically fallen asleep part way through saying good-bye to Naomi that morning. In fact, the doctor had asked Jim to take Blair's portable computer away, saying that the kid was already pushing himself too hard.
"Jim, since we're even," Blair began cautiously, "I need to ask a favour...."
~-~-~
Jim took a calming breath. He knew he owed Blair the favour no matter how far out of his element it put him. He took a second calming breath, practically hearing Blair's pleading voice in his head, and pushed through the door to be greeted by thirty-six sets of staring eyes.
"Is this Anthropology 314?" Jim asked. The room full of students nodded as one. "Professor Sandburg regrets that he cannot be here today. I am here to administer this midterm on his behalf."
"Who are you?" a girl in the front row asked.
"Detective Ellison of the Cascade police department," Jim answered as he began handing out exam papers.
"Was, uh, Mr. Sandburg arrested or something?" was the next tentative question.
"No."
"What is it? I mean, he's okay isn't he?"
"He was shot."
"Again!?" Exclamations came the from all corners on the room. Jim silenced them with an icy, blue stare.
"You have one hour," he told the students as he settled himself at the front of the room to watch them. "Don't cheat."
End.
Please send all comments to Shelagh I'll forward them to the author.
