Death Cometh Nigh, Ch.'s 3-5

When they finally arrived at the loft, Jim and Blair got out of the old pickup while their strange, new guests parked two spaces down. By the look on Jim's face Blair was guessing that the big guy was having second thoughts. Surely he wouldn't change his mind now. Not when these people were right here and the answers were only minutes away. He found himself bouncing up and down in anticipation. They walked around to stand behind the pickup's tailgate and Jim laid a gentle, yet restraining hand on the excited anthropologist's shoulder.

"Take it easy, Chief. Last thing we need is for you to go bouncing off the walls."

Blair could only answer with a wide grin. This was it. Adrian would explain what this gift he kept mentioning was about. Finally he would have answers explaining his shamanic status. The suspense was killing him.

Adrian, followed by his counterparts, strode over in their direction. He was the only one smiling. Alecia still had that glaring scowl that clearly stated, 'give me one good reason I should trust you' --gee, didn't that sound familiar?--and Bram was all nervousness, eyes darting to and fro, hands smacking out a vague rhythm on the sides of his legs as he walked. Jim wasn't helping out the cause any either with a scowl that was oh so similar to a certain Alecia Wynter's.

How could the detective, a Sentinel detective out of all things, miss a similarity like that? Then again, Blair supposed, he and Adrian were the only two with smiles on their faces.

Blair mused idly over the trio of young adults. They were apparently as close as he and Jim were. Maybe each serves an individual purpose in their team. I should ask Adrian about that.

The tiny group moved towards the building, Jim in the front. Sensing the approach of an uncomfortable silence, Blair was quick to breach it before it was even given adequate time to materialize. "So, how long have you guys been here?"

Alecia and Bram shared similar snorts. Adrian chuckled deeply, in the back of his throat. Bram was the one to answer. "My friend, we are 20 yrs. old. With the exception of Ms. Einstein over here we don't even have our BA's yet. She'll probably have her doctorate at 22. Heaven knows the girl doesn't have any other hidden talents."

They had reached the archaic elevator and consensus was that all five of them would not be able to get on the thing without causing the elevator to protest.

"I'll go with Hunter here," Bram offered. Blair snickered at the glare the green-eyed kid received from Jim. Bram ignored the look. "I had a friend who was a detective once. Well, he was sort of a friend. It would have been better if he hadn't arrested me . . . twice."

Jim pleaded silently with his friend as he got on the elevator with the young man who vaguely resembled a California Golden boy. Blair's fingers waved a tiny bye-bye as the doors slid shut, trying to fight off an impish grin, but not quite succeeding.

"You know," Alecia stated, as soon as doors slid all the way shut. "I think your cop friend and Bram should get along quite nicely."

"We'll tell you everything we can," Adrian assured him. "The problem is where to start."

Adrian and Alecia followed suit. Adrian brushed a long strand of hair behind his ear. "The beginning," he mused. "I think we can do that."

"You should see the view," Bram said, making his way towards the balcony doors. "It's pretty awesome."

"Sure. Any kind of pop will be fine," Bram answered idly, attention still focused on the outdoor view.

Alecia and Adrian expressed their agreement. The uncomfortable silence Blair had been fearing, before they had even stepped into the building, ensued. He joined Jim in the kitchen to grab a few sodas out of the fridge. Jim had already beat him to it. Adrian walked over to his two other friends at the balcony doors and slipped an arm around Alecia's shoulders.

Blair observed this with the interest that could only come from someone in his human interest-oriented profession. So they're a couple. Didn't notice that before.

All three turned around in unison. It was almost funny. It gave the appearance of a single machine, all of its parts working in accord. They turned and headed for the couch facing the balcony doors, Adrian and Alecia's hands clasped together.

Looked like one of the house rules was going to be broken. Blair did as asked and set the cans of soda in front of the college students on the coffee table. It felt rather surreal. Here sat a person who had visited him in a dream, with two of his friends, who had come all the way from Ohio, and he and Jim were passing out drinks. It didn't get much stranger than that. Jim soon joined them in the living room. Alecia, Adrian, and Bram sat on one couch, Blair and Jim on the one diagonal. The sounds of soft drink cans being opened were the only thing to occupy the silence that had descended upon the loft.

Blair wanted to push all of the pleasantries out of the way and break the silence. He could barely keep himself still with pent up anticipation. The sidelong glances Jim kept giving him was proof of the grad student's nervous energy. Perhaps sensing his eagerness, Adrian finally placed the can on a coaster, then leaned back and clasped his hands.

"What you and I have, Blair, is a type of psychic link. There're no thoughts involved, but we can sense others like ourselves. That's how I knew that you had this gift. I could feel it on you. I'm more than willing to believe that yours didn't come as a result of a vampiric curse though. Am I correct in that assumption?"

There was a brief silent exchange between Guide and Sentinel before Blair answered, "Yes. You're assuming correctly."

"Don't worry. I won't pry. It's none of my business," the young man assured him. "I've already received the impression that you two share this link somehow. Do you use it often?"

Adrian nodded as if he had almost expected that reply. "Makes sense. Stacia was the one who helped me with my powers. I probably wouldn't even know they exist if she hadn't come around. Actually, scratch and rewind. I'd know, but they wouldn't do me much good. That's kind of where Alecia and Bram come in." He sighed and shook his head, brushing aside the long strands of his dark hair. Alecia set down her soda and used the same hand to rub his arm comfortingly. He smiled gratefully before continuing. "I'll try to avoid making this confusing and at the same time try to avoid rambling. I'm actually not a talker, despite the amount I seem to be doing lately."

Bram chuckled as if at a private joke. "I'm usually the one running at the mouth. Bet you couldn't guess that."

"Three years ago we were seventeen year-old juniors in high school. The high school we attended was in a small town called Artell. I believe I've mentioned it already."

"It was the sort of town that people just don't die of unnatural causes. Except, maybe, the occasional freak hunting accident; and truth be told I only remember one of those occurring. But anyway, bodies started popping up all over the place. The majority of them were mutilated, all of them were drained completely dry of blood. The police were baffled. Even with the FBI's help they couldn't figure it out. Blamed it on cults, drugs, wild animals, whatever sounded sane, no matter how unlikely.

"I started having visions at about the same time the first victims were murdered. At the time I thought I was going crazy. I pushed everyone away. Finally, Alecia and Bram pushed back hard enough and I allowed them to help me. At the time I thought it was just friendship that let me trust them, but now that I think back on it, I'm positive that it was something more that persuaded me to let them in."

At Adrian's pause Blair seized the opportunity to ask a burning question. "So you three are connected?"

"No. I'm just the one with the more supernatural abilities. Alecia and Bram could almost be termed as superhuman."

That was more than enough to thoroughly enrapture the young Guide. "How so, if you don't mind my asking?"

Alecia took her turn to explain. "Well, I've fought men twice my size and won. We both can run faster than most humans can."

"We won't be winning no world records though," Bram jumped in. "Leesh is also a major brain. We all ready told you about her and the doctorate. She could've probably had it by now if it hadn't been for the circumstances she lived under."

"I'm serious," he said, giving her a wide-eyed appeal that swept onto the two men diagonal from him. "She just got gypped, living with her father who was gone all the time, and even worse, being stuck in Artell."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah right." Then hastily switched back to the previous subject. "There's something else that might interest you two. Maybe even relate directly to you guys."

"It doesn't work with other people, but I can sense where Adrian is. Particularly if he's in trouble. I can't just picture the area he's in, but subconsciously, if I try to find him, I will normally be able to."

"I can usually sense when he's in trouble," Bram added. "Like him I can't read thoughts, and like Alecia it only works on him, but I can sense his feelings. It's really weird."

"Does this work vice versa?" Jim again. Blair looked at him, amazed that he was getting into this discussion so much.

"Yeah, it does," Adrian replied. "It turned out that the killings in Artell were vampires. One of the vampires had a centuries old vendetta against my family. An ancestor of mine had killed his son and he vowed revenge. As it turned out, he had turned my ancestor into a vampire. It was all a game to him. She was a woman and he had little respect for women. Even more interesting, Stacia had been pregnant at the time he crossed her over to the other side. The baby wasn't born like her though, but he did have special gifts that disappeared in his own offspring. Three hundred years later I was born with those gifts. I didn't realize I had them until I was seventeen and the vampire, Auturo, began to speak to me in my mind. My friends were being killed and some were vanishing without a trace. It was probably the scariest experience of my life. One time, a girl I knew pretty well had been murdered. The next day, I was sitting in my class when Auturo took over my mind and gave me his memories of her death." He blanched, emotion welling into his speech. "Gawd, I can't even tell you how horrid it is to be in that creature's body while he's sucking the life right out of a friend. I thought I was going to lose it right then and there.

"About a week or two later, I guess Auturo had enough of his cat and mouse game and came directly to me. He didn't want to kill me. He wanted to cross me over. If it hadn't been for Stacia, he would've won. She showed up and faced him down. At the same time we also learned what was happening to our friends that were disappearing." This time when he fell silent he couldn't resume. Recollecting was too painful.

Alecia took his place. The ice in her eyes had been melted into something softer, something sadder. "Auturo and his two protégés turned them into zombies of a sort. They were alive, but the vampires had totally taken control of their mind. They knew us, knew who they were, but all their thoughts were dark and forbidding. My best friend, Luella, was one of those people."

Movement to her left caught the attention of Blair and Jim. Bram had buried his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

In explanation of Bram's reaction, Alecia went on. "She was also Bram's ex. After her mind had been enslaved she went after Bram and tried to kill him. Instead, I killed her."

That explained a lot. Blair couldn't even imagine what he would do if he had to take Jim's life to keep the man from killing an innocent victim. No. He would never have to make that choice. Jim would never put him in that position, he was positive of that.

"It was my fault though," a muffled voice argued. All eyes fell on the burly young man who was gingerly sitting up straight again. "If I hadn't been so stupid you would've never been put in the position to do that."

"You don't know that, Bram," Alecia reasoned. "Lu didn't have control of her own mind. Who knows what goes on in the deepest recesses of our mind, save for the psychotic killers? What the vampires provoked could have been there regardless of what happened between you and Lu."

"That's bullshit, Leesh!" He shouted, rising to his feet, face ruddy with a newly rising frustration. "I was the one who put that darkness in her. I was the one who screwed her life up. Shit, what am I doing? I gotta get out of here."

With that said, the young man stalked out of the apartment. Blair and Jim just sat, surprise and not a little bit of discomfort reflected on their faces. Alecia looked as if the young man had physically assaulted her, face hanging down, bangs falling forward, and arms clenched around her stomach. Adrian rubbed his face, arm propped upon the arm of the sofa.

"I thought he was over her." The young woman's voice was almost a whisper. "I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm sorry guys. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"It's okay," Jim reassured the distressed young woman. "What you've told us will help a great deal. Maybe we should just call it quits for now? Let you two help your friend out."

Adrian looked up. "We have to band together. What was said today wasn't meant just for story telling and to provoke damaged feelings. Blair has abilities he didn't even know existed and I'm sure that you, also, Jim, must have your own unique talents. We'll need these. The creature hasn't contacted me yet, which leads me to believe we still have time, but when she does . . . then our time is limited. We're going to have to look for them tonight, and hopefully we can save innocent lives in the process."

"I don't know. Zombies usually are only created when there's a specific purpose in mind. Most vampires don't stay in one spot to feed. It's a bad sign that six victims have shown up two nights in a row of killing. Obviously the vampires want something. What I don't know, but I'm prone to believe it has to do with you two."

"Because of your unique talents. Vampires crave humans with abilities such as ours. Not feed from us, mind you. What they want is much worse. And as the saying goes, there are fates worse than death."

Blair shuddered and a hand rested on his shoulder. He looked to his side and was greeted by a comforting smile from Jim. Whatever they were up against, Sentinel and Guide could conquer it together.

Adrian and Alecia rose, Jim and Blair quickly following suit. Handshakes were exchanged. Alecia proved to have a grip as sturdy and strong as the men's.

"Can we meet you back here at eight tonight?" Adrian inquired. "The vampires will be out of their nest by then."

"He will be," Alecia said. "Bram's old wounds have a habit of opening at the most inopportune times."

Alecia and Adrian left then, leaving Blair and Jim alone in the loft. They turned back to the coffee table and went about clearing it off, taking everything back into the kitchen.

"So you believe in vampires now?" Blair asked, carrying two of the cans into the kitchen.

"They weren't showing any signs of lying. Honestly, Chief, I feel like I should believe them," Jim admitted reluctantly. " Something about those three just feels so right."

"What'd I say?" Blair grinned. "And they turned out to be not as bad as you initially thought."

"Yeah. That Bram Lyte though . . . That kid has some definite demons," Jim said, rinsing the cans out with water.

Blair's grin dissolved into a frown. "I wonder what happened between him and that girl they were talking about?"

"Nah." Blair flopped himself on the couch. He luxuriated in simply stretching out and letting his mind go blank.

Hands clutched at his throat, cutting off his air. Frigid, well-known eyes glared at him, promising death. Blair's eyes flew open, hands going immediately to his bruised throat. He inhaled a shuddering breath. It had just been in his head. Still the feel of those hands, familiar hands, clung like a tenacious residue on his throat. Rest was something he really did not need to be indulging in right now.

His head peered over the couch to watch Jim finish rinsing the last can. Keep it calm. "Jim, we still have to work on your senses."

Jim groaned, somehow oblivious to the flashback Blair had just undergone. "Still haven't forgot, have you?"

"No way, man. Last thing we need is for you to turn into Mr. Hyde while we're trying to track down the killers." Blair couldn't bring himself to say, 'go psycho on me and try to choke me to death again,' despite the unbidden thought's presence in his head. The thought of his best friend murdering him was still too unreal to consider, despite what had happened earlier.

Jim sighed, wiping his hands on a dish cloth. "All right. Let's get on with it."

The muscular cop sat on the same couch as Blair, who had propped himself up with one leg half on the couch, the other firmly planted on the floor.

"Do you agree that the unidentified scent and jasmine mixing together is setting you off?"

The detective nodded. "If it was just the jasmine I'd have gone off on you way before now. In fact, the first case we worked on."

"The Switchman case," Blair confirmed. "When you were trying to track down that particular floral scent. You smelled it, but didn't act like it was affecting you. And if it was just the strange scent then you would've blanked out at the theater. Therefore, what you need to concentrate on is the combined mixture of the jasmine and mystery scent."

Once again Jim nodded to indicate that he understood. Blair drew in a small breath and gradually, bit by bit, let it out of his lungs. His voice dropped in pitch naturally as he spoke the soothing litany of words that would put his Sentinel in a meditative state.

"You know the drill. Just breathe in and breathe out. Relax." He paused a moment, watching the detective take in a few deep breaths. "Just relax . . ."

Not understanding what could be bothering his friend, Blair asked, "What's wrong?"

"If you make me remember the scent I might come unplugged again and try to strangle you. This time Simon won't be around to stop me."

Blair waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "That's not going to happen, Jim. You have to trust me on this. I'm running on instinct, but I don't think that's going to be a problem."

The grad student bit his lip. "I can't be sure," the young Guide relented, "but you have to trust me. Please."

The open plea with which the single word had been spoken was the older man's undoing. Blair sought to be trusted as well as to trust. This was part of his role as Guide--to lead into the unfamiliar. He couldn't lead if the follower wasn't willing to trust him no matter where he may try to go.

"Please, Jim," he implored, once more. Blair needed this. Needed to be trusted. Didn't matter the danger, Blair would go wherever need be to help his Sentinel.

The Sentinel nodded. "Okay, teach. I trust you on this. Do what you have to do."

"All right. We'll start at the beginning again. Just lean back and relax. Let your body go. No more tension. Breathe in deeply and let it out slowly. Good." Blair took in a deep breath of his own. He hadn't planned this out. The only method he knew would have to be applied--winging it. "Okay. Now I want you to focus on the crime scene today at the park. Remember the body we came upon. You smelled something. When you were fully aware you blanked out. Can you smell it?"

Jim wrinkled his nose, his mind testing the air at the park, then replied, "Yes."

That wasn't quite the answer he was looking for, but Blair was sure he could get more than that out of Jim. "Is that what you associate with it, or what you smell?"

. . . Jungles. Vast, humid jungle stretching for miles. The small band of warriors stalked through the dense foliage. Night was descending, but the screams could not go unanswered . . .

. . .The screams had been horrible. Unlike any the Chopec had ever heard come from a human. Jim had heard men scream like that. He had seen men die excruciatingly agonizing deaths. He had heard the desperation, fear, suffering and knew without seeing what these men were going through. Death without mercy . . .

. . . No matter what Captain James Ellison had prepared himself for, it did no good. Some of the warriors had run behind the privacy of trees and vomited. There lay three bodies . . . no, skeletons that had been bodies--had been humans--what must have been just a few short minutes ago . . .

. . . Glassy eyes wide, sightless, pleading to escape from the hell they would suffer in eternally; shrunken lips, pulled back from the teeth, in a horrible imitation of a scream; the bodies shriveled, mummy-like. Even a hardened man like Ellison was having a hard time with this sight. These couldn't have been the people they had heard. It had only been minutes ago . . .

. . . "Please help me! They were chasing me!" The cries came before they saw the woman emerge from the underbrush.

Ellison stepped forward to catch her before the beautiful mysterious woman could keel over. Behind her were two young men, both just as panicked as she.

The covert ops soldier placed what he hoped was a soothing hand on her shaking shoulder. She was tall and her dark eyes did not have to look up far to reach his. He felt intoxicated by them, the power he saw surging there, the forbidden enticement.

A hand latched onto Blair's arm and the younger man jumped from the unexpected contact. "Dammit, Jim! Scare a decade off my life, why don't you?"

The hand still attached to his arm was shaking violently. The detective's whole body was trembling.

Suddenly, Blair no longer found himself so angry from being startled. Something had upset his friend. Badly. "Jim?" He placed his free hand on the bigger hand clutched to his arm. "What's going on, man?"

Jim squeezed his eyes shut. Dammit. He thought he'd left this all behind. How could he have forgotten? How could he possibly forget all of that?

Foggy details or no, that wasn't going to stop Blair's determination to find out what was going on with his Sentinel. "What were you talking about?"

"I'd forgotten all this time." He opened his eyes to draw seek reassurance from his Guide.

"What did you forget?" Blair laid a reassuring hand on Jim's arm. Jim needed his support now. The anthropologist was bound and determined to give as much as he could to him.

Almost scared to hear the answer, but needing to know, Blair found himself asking, "Did she have the scent?"

"Don't know, Teach. That's where the details go foggy on me. She showed up when we found the bodies. The smell was everywhere, but I'm not sure exactly where. I can't believe I could've forgotten something like that."

"It was a stressful time in your life. Your brain probably selected out certain memories to shove into the back. They're still there though."

"Yeah. I know that," Jim responded vaguely. "Wish I could remember more, though."

"Time's not something we have the luxury of." The Sentinel turned eyes so cold they burned on his Guide. " So far six people are dead. By tomorrow it will probably be nine. The day after that twelve. We can't screw around playing with my memory while people are being butchered every night!"

Blair held up a calming hand. "Whoa. Easy there, Jim. I'm not suggesting we play around with your memory. What's up there," he tapped his partner's forehead, "could be essential to the case. There's a connection there and we just have to get something out of it."

"Right." Jim ran a hand across his face in a gesture of weariness. "You're right. Sorry I snapped at you."

Jim ran a hand through his short hair, leaning against the back of the couch. "Yeah. I was in Peru, with the Chopec. We heard these men scream. It sounded like they were being ripped apart." He shuddered involuntarily. "It was horrible. I've heard men scream, but it was somehow different this time. I can't quite place my finger on it." He paused at that, trying to search for the answer that was escaping him. Not finding one, he continued, "We found three bodies. White men, all hunters. By the time we got to them they were already dead. They looked so shriveled and dried."

Jim nodded. "That's when I saw her. She showed up with those men. They were all scared. She said the monsters were chasing her. I looked into her eyes, very dark eyes . . . I can't remember past that though."

Jim hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face into his hands. He rubbed his face against his hands then straightened back up. "Uh, sure, Chief. Let's try it again. I was getting flashes that time, but maybe we can get something more substantial the second time around."

"Okay." Blair raised both hands as if preparing to conduct an orchestra, making slight punctuating movements with his hands for every sentence. "Start all the way from the beginning. Relax. Lean back and let everything go."

Jim followed the instructions and felt his entire body loosening, almost of its own accord.

A sensation akin to floating settled over the detective. His body felt lighter than air and his mind started to drift along the current of his Guide's voice.

"You're back in Peru. You see the bodies, the woman's there, and so is the scent. Focus on the scent. Do you have it?"

Jim's brow wrinkled. "It's on the bodies, but not just from them. I'm smelling it all over. I smell it . . ."

"Jim?" Blair leaned closer to his friend, keeping his voice low, and placed his right hand on the bigger man's arm, feeling the soft cloth beneath his hand.

Jim remained motionless for several excruciating seconds. Then as if a sudden revelation had just unfolded, he spoke in complete awe. "It's coming directly from her. I can't hear her heart, Chief." Jim opened his eyes.

"I wish I wasn't, but yeah . . . I'm sure. She didn't have a heart beat. Gawd, this is too off the wall. I don't think I can take much more of this. My mind's going blank, Teach."

"No, that's okay," Blair reassured him. "We're just going to have to think on this a little bit more. I'm sure something's bound to come along sooner or later that'll jog your memory."

The detective nodded, unsure of his partner's confidence. "I don't think I can handle anymore right now. Vampires and demons are not things I'm trained to handle. We need to go for something a little more substantial. Maybe there's something that we're missing."

Blair groaned. "Oh come on, man. After everything that's been presented to you you're still going off looking for something that's not there. Jim, think about it, you have more than enough reason to believe me on this."

Jim lifted himself off the couch and looked down at his friend. "That might be so, partner, but I'd feel better if we cover all angles."

With mock seriousness the detective replied, "She was probably a friendly vampire." He walked over towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Blair demanded, following Jim's path over towards the door with his eyes, yet still remaining on the couch. "We didn't fix the problem with your senses!"

The older man shrugged then proceeded to slip on his jacket. "We're going to the station. We'll just avoid the bodies." Then added in a weary voice, "I really don't want to deal with anymore supernatural crap if you don't mind."

Hurt, Blair turned away, hiding the pain that the remark had caused. His friend had already seen the blue eyes widen and the mouth turn down in a frown.

Jim sighed audibly. "I'm sorry, Blair. I haven't been to much fun to be around lately. I don't know what my problem is. Nerves I guess. After we're done at the station I promise we'll work on it."

"Oh yeah." Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. "We'll get around to it. I promise."

"Yeah?" Blair stood up, brushing his curls behind his ear with a small amount of perturbation. "I just hope you're able to keep that promise."

CHAPTER FOUR

Outside the street's on fire
In a real death waltz
Between what's flesh & fantasy
And the poets down here
Don't write nothin at all
They just stand back & let it all be
And in the quick of the night
They reach for their moment
And they try to make an honest stand
But they end up wounded
Not even dead
Tonight in Jungle Land
--Bruce Springsteen

So contrary. The rumbling thunder trailed a path of soundwaves through the atmosphere, vibrating objects with its intensity.

So contrary. Blair Sandburg was as pissed off as the rain gods. That's all he could think about. Jim changing his tune as easily as a radio dial. It was obvious to the younger man what Jim was all about, what he was avoiding, and what he wanted to believe, yet would not allow himself to submit to.

Detective James Ellison refused to give in to the war raging within himself. Blair was right. Blair was right so often, particularly when it came to the strange and bizarre. He gripped the steering wheel, trying not to take his helpless frustration out on it. The grad student sitting on the passenger side of the truck was silent, just as he had been earlier when they had been driving towards the murder scene. This time there was a different meaning to the silence, a different cause.

The detective knew where his faults lay, knew that he should have just let Blair go with the help he had tried to give and his unique perspective on the case. But he was trying to find a substantial way out of what promised to be a very grueling murder case. He was just looking for an excuse to avoid the paranormal. His Guide proposed it, these weird kids show up out of nowhere, and it was just so easy to believe all this talk of vampires, zombies, and the dark side of the human soul. They were so believable, the story they wove in the air was like fine silk tapestry. He had found himself caught in the textures and colors, wanting to believe because Blair believed so wholly. And for a minute the tapestry had entranced him, and he had realized that Cascade was in dire trouble. Then his Guide had tried to help him with that little control quirk . . .

The hands gripping the steering wheel shook slightly, not enough to catch the attention of his passenger, but enough to make him doubt himself. That little control quirk . . . so that's what it was to be called. Because he didn't have the strength to control himself, because he didn't have the strength to face it and defeat it; not even with his Guide there. The strength he had so calmly carried had been ripped out right from his very bowels.

Beneath the fear, tendrils of doubt ran. Blair was being brave; why was he, the Sentinel, the Guardian of this entire city, so damned scared? And of what? Vampires didn't exist. The stories the kids had spoken of were just that--kids stories.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw, much clearer than should be humanly possible, the young man that had become not only his partner and back up, but something much more. Blair was staring out the passenger window, up at the clouds, hair tied back and lightly bouncing hands clasped in his lap. By turning his back on Blair's personal task of trying to help Jim with his Sentinel abilities, he had wounded the young man deeply. The longhaired anthropologist had been doing a fairly good job of trying to cover up the hurt that had surfaced from Jim's sudden need to turn away from Blair's attempts to help. Still, the pain had shone in those expressive eyes and Jim felt as if he had just kicked a puppy that was only seeking to please. It added insult to injury, that he refused to let Blair help him further with that little--little--

Little what? Control quirk. Because deep down inside he was scared. A memory had surfaced that had lain dormant for so long and the power of it shook him to the core. More lay hidden, more that he did not want to uncover, things he would rather just remain secret. Because James Ellison, a man known for bravery and heroic feats, was scared to remember.

Something about the woman . . . so familiar. And there was a strange sensation that encompassed his entire being and took dominion, wiping out all logic and rational thought. A sensation that had accompanied him since that very first moment when he had lost control in the alley, but still heard himself snap at his best friend. That same sensation threatened to overwhelm him when Blair made any attempt to dig deep into the supernatural aspects of this peculiar case. For the most part he had been able to withstand it, but he could not shake that sensation of an ominous presence. It bothered him to think that the presence might become too much for him to bear and turn him on his young companion, the man who meant so much to him and represented his every ounce of strength. It was almost as if that invisible presence knew this and was trying to tear them apart in hopes of ripping away Jim Ellison's power.

And that thought alone was enough to truly frighten him to the very core of his soul.

The tension that flowed through Major Crimes, carried by the few, but felt by the many, was felt in overwhelming magnitude in a single room occupied by a single person.

The reporters had found out about the first three killings, and now Captain Simon Banks was in dire need of privacy. The office was not cut off entirely from the Bull Pen and could, in fact, view the entire room. The man, however, paid no attention to the activity on the other side of the closed door. He stood in his office, hand resting on a long table used for meetings, and faced the TV screen's image of a primped woman behind a desk speaking solemnly to the camera in front of her. The handsome, dark face was grim in his anger and the dark brown eyes behind his glass' lenses scowled at the television set. Obviously there was a traitor in their midst, for the reporter was spouting off details she had no right to know, no way to know.

Banks was unsure of who to pin the leak accusation on, but had a sneaking suspicion that the Feds accompanying them on this particular case were not as honest as they would lead the Cascade PD officers to believe. Unfortunately he could not confront the Feds as to his suspicions, not without any substantial evidence. All he had to go on was a bad feeling and plenty of negative past experiences with the F.B.I. As the reporter rambled on about the headlining news story, Simon could not help but listen.

"Sources say that the killers could possibly be vampire cultists. All six victims suffered from massive blood loss, but strangely enough there have been differences in the methods of death. Two of the six victims sustained severe mutilation to the body, while the other four experienced no external injuries save for two mysterious puncture marks resembling fangs. Police are speculating that the killers may be using either medical or mortician's equipment on their victims. Citizens are advised to stay indoors after 11 P.M. if possible; if not, to travel in groups of at least three. On a happier note, one million dollars has been donated to Cascade's orphanage--"

The Major Crimes captain clicked off the TV, seething with anger. For sure, this could only provoke a city-wide panic. Six deaths in two days and more would definitely come. If this leak was not contained soon, panic would be inevitable. And just who the hell was leaking this information to the news media!?

"Just me and Sandburg, Sir." Jim poked his head past the barely opened door, cautioned by his Captain's gruffer than usual tone.

Simon turned away from the now blank television screen to watch his strangest, yet most effective team walk into the room. Once they were both in the room, Sandburg shut the door. Banks walked over to his desk and sat in his chair, feeling the need to sit down after the news report he had just witnessed. His office was slightly darkened by the lack of sunlight filtering through the open venetian blinds. The phosphorescent lights above did little to detract from this air of gloominess and, in a sense, added to it. Not only was the lighting effective in relaying the overall mood, but so was the out of place uneasiness. Discomfort from a man like Ellison was enough to drop Banks' mood even further down into its crevasse. Perhaps he could break the ice a little? It almost certainly would be better than this man with the expression of a convicted killer and the bundle of nervousness beside him keeping a discrete distance. No doubt the kid's nervousness was a result of the earlier incident. By the dark bruises coloring his neck, Simon had little reason to doubt that the smaller man had every right to be. So what was with Ellison's ice-cold act? Nothing good, Simon determined.

Blair's eyes flickered towards him and he noticeably attempted to curb his nervous energy.

The police captain thought he could see frustration radiating from those soulful orbs, but before Blair could open his mouth to confirm it, Jim beat him to the punch.

"All's taken care of, sir," he replied, in that same distancing tone that had been so much a part of him before Blair had settled into the detective's life. "We addressed the problem and I don't think it will be an issue for us later on in the investigation."

Simon nodded, but still noticed the evident frustration radiating from Blair's open mien. He was about to remark on this when, once again, Jim spoke.

"Sir, has Wolfe narrowed down possible weapons that could've inflicted those particular puncture marks on the victims?"

Banks examined his detective, standing ramrod straight, hands clasped behind his back, looking straight at him. "I spoke to him half an hour ago and he said he would have the results of his latest testing done within the hour."

There was no missing the shocked glance Blair gave his partner that time around. Something was most definitely wrong.

"Are you sure this little problem of yours has been taken care of?" Simon inquired, leaning back in his chair, clasping his large hands together. Then added, "I'm asking as a friend. Not as a superior officer."

Blair cast his line of sight down, fighting a visible battle. As expected, Jim answered first. "Everything's fine, Simon. We handled the problem."

Simon softened as he turned his attentions on the fidgeting police observer. "Blair?"

There was a pause as both of the larger men looked at the young man, waiting; expecting. Finally, Blair turned his gaze up, straight at Simon, his face surprisingly calm and stoic.

The elder man accepted the statement, but not without a grain of salt. Maybe it was the regard that came from being a father, or his responsibility for the lives of so many men and women under his command; but Simon Banks could not help but feel slightly suspicious and more than a little concerned for his own personal dynamic duo standing before him.

Jim nodded once in acknowledgment and opened the door. Before moving out he looked towards his captain, Blair doing likewise. Simon nodded and the eyes barely visible behind the glare on his lenses sent out a silent prayer to both of his men.

Striding side by side, office sounds heard as mere background noise in the hallway, Blair wanted an explanation. There was no way in hell Jim was going to get off easy for this one.

Stoic Jim--God love the man--said nothing, speeding his stride minutely, and that damned granite-hard visage firmly intact.

Blair's anger calmed below the point of boiling and this time he implored. "We didn't solve anything. If you go in there you could snap again. What if you kill someone?"

Blair couldn't see his face for the man was now one step ahead of him. He attempted to lengthen his stride, but forgot his efforts when Jim spoke, calm and controlled.

Blair nearly protested. He wasn't going to stand on the outside if Jim ended up needing him. That would be sheer cowardice on his part.

The tall, muscular detective could have read his mind for the assurance in his next words. "I'll pull out both bodies. If there are no adverse reactions within a couple minutes it's a very safe bet that all's clear."

"Aren't the other bodies kept in there?" The grad student couldn't help his uncertainty. He knew the importance of studying the bodies, particularly with Sentinel senses, but some sixth sense was tickling the back of his neck and spider-crawling along his scalp. Danger. Danger.

"Yes they are, but they'll be locked away. The two bodies at the other crime scenes had no affect on me until I was up close and personal with them. I remember smelling them, then this all-consuming darkness, and then hearing my own voice as if a mere echo."

This new bit of information quickly rooted out the scientist in Sandburg. "You heard yourself? I thought it was a total blackout?"

That's what the Sentinel had wanted to believe. This charade he was unable to play out, however, even with himself. He didn't want to admit that he had been aware of what had happened, most definitely not to the person that he had so violently attacked--his best friend he had so violently attacked.

"It wasn't a total black out. I had no control and I saw nothing, but I heard. I could hear my words and I heard yours, and I felt furious when I heard you. I couldn't control it . . . couldn't stop it." The emotions were beginning to overwhelm him and he almost choked, forcing himself to say what had to be brought out into the open, if not for his own benefit, then for Blair's. "I felt my hands on your throat and I thought to myself that I really wanted to kill you. I don't know where the feeling came from."

Jim stopped abruptly and Blair walked right into his side letting out a soft exclamation of air. A hand reached out grasping the anthropologist lightly and steadied him, then the entire body turned around to face him.

Blair couldn't help the smile from crawling onto his lips. The concern he saw was just so . . . well, reassuring for one. "I know that, Big Guy. I told you all ready that I trust you. You're not in control of what's happening."

The young man inclined his head slightly, his determined gaze settling on the detective's wary one. "Which is why I'm here. We're a team, remember? There's nothing we can't overcome together."

Ellison chuckled lightly and patted his friend on the shoulder. "Glad to have you by my side, Teach. What would I do without you?"

With that he lifted a hand to Blair's face, tapped the cheek gently, then turned and started walking again. Behind him he could tell that the kid was standing still, perhaps processing Jim's little confession. There was a tiny huff of breath then the fall of footsteps rushing to catch up.

Dan shook his head and leaned against the island counter in the middle of the room. "Doesn't look like medical equipment after some of the extensive testing was done. I'm almost prone to believe that they're fang marks."

Diagonal and behind, Blair drank in the words. Vindication. This was what he had been seeking.

"I'll take care of it." Jim stopped him, taking a step forward, hand raised. "I want to look over them in private."

Dan lifted an eyebrow, but turned away from the drawers. He picked up a manila folder lying on the counter and sifted through it. "These are the reports done on the bodies. We didn't do a full autopsy on Simmons, Morow, or even Parrish. But we did on yesterday's victims. The mutilation found on both Minsky and Parrish can only be described as the result of incisors ripping out the flesh."

The Medical Examiner noticed Blair's reaction and apologized immediately. "Sorry, kid. Guess I'm not exactly eloquent."

The young man gave him a tiny smile. "It's okay, Dan. I just can't get used to death."

Wolfe sighed ruefully. "I don't think anyone ever does completely. Some of us just hide it better." He turned his attentions back to the detective. "We discovered something else. We took DNA samples from the wounds on the bodies and came up with some . . . ah, interesting results."

"Like what?" Jim rested his chin in his right hand and used the left as a makeshift prop for his right elbow.

"The saliva in the DNA we gathered is . . . strange. I've never seen anything like it before. I don't even think I can describe it. If I didn't know better I'd say that the saliva came from something that's dead."

Blair had been studying the room up until this point. At this new development his head shot towards Dan. "How is that possible?"

The ME could only shrug hopelessly. "We're just going to have to do more tests. I'm going to leave you two alone with the bodies now. The file numbers are in the folder. If you need me for anything you know where to find me."

Jim nodded and accepted the folder Dan handed him on his way out of the room. Once alone, he gave Blair a look the grad student was well accustomed too.

"I know I know," Blair grumbled. "Wait outside. That's me. On the outside looking in."

Jim chuckled at his friend's good-natured complaints and guided him out the door with a hand placed in the middle of the shorter man's back. "Stay out here until I wave you in and make sure no one else comes in here while I'm looking at the bodies."

Jim closed the door and eyed the large window beside it to see Sandburg already taking his position in front of the glass. He opened the folder Wolfe had handed him. The first document had Simmons' name typed at the top and a number scrawled beneath. #057. Jim closed the file and perused the labeled drawers where the bodies were kept until being moved into the autopsy room or shipped off to the mortician. Close to the spot Dan had been standing was the drawer he was looking for.

The question popped into his mind before he could even grip the handle--what if the body did have that ungodly scent? Then what? He hesitated, hand hovering mere inches from the drawer. His peripheral vision caught the image of Blair caught up in apprehension and concern, yet still curious. He couldn't let this investigation go by the wayside because he was afraid. Determined, not allowing himself to cave in to his own misgivings, he gripped the handle and pulled out the sheet-covered cadaver.

The customary tang of chemicals and deceased flesh permeated the air; then a cloying miasma soon followed and the detective nearly choked on its enveloping presence. He almost panicked, thinking that it was that same intoxication that had driven him over the edge; but he forced control on himself and realized that he didn't detect jasmine in the hideous smell. This horrid stench was not normally found on well-cared for bodies, he knew. It was familiar, and he realized that it was the same reeking odor that had accompanied the jasmine fragrance that set him off, and it had been found on those two unfortunate kids in the theater.

Steeling himself, Ellison pulled back the starched, white sheet to reveal the body hidden beneath. His hearing picked up a sharp intake of breath as the ghastly pale corpse was revealed; a glance to the side confirmed that it had been his intently staring partner. The sight was no different from either of the kids they had found the previous day. The body was pallid and shriveled, having been drained of blood, and already in an advanced stage of rigor mortis and putrefecation. Jim frowned. This was wrong, rigor mortis and putrefecation shouldn't be setting in this quickly. He had no validation that this was a common occurrence for this particular type of death, as he hadn't studied the other bodies after they were taken to the morgue. Was it just this particular body that was suffering from this phenomenon?

Jim lifted the manila folder dangling by his side in one hand and opened it. He flipped past a couple sheets with medical and autopsy information typed out on them. Finally, he came to one with Morow's name printed across the top and another file number, #058; the one to the right of Simmons. He sighed heavily, not really wanting to do this, but not really having much choice in the matter. This had to be done. Without any further thought on the matter, he reached for drawer #058 and opened it, already bracing himself for the pungent stench.

It was the same thing all over again. The odor was like an excretion that had no business being there, most certainly should not be there, yet was undeniably making its foul presence known. Jim wrinkled his nose in disgust, remembering to turn down the dials in his mind again to manage the acrid odor. It did not take long for him to control it and determine that there was no jasmine present.

Noting this, he looked towards the large, rectangular window Blair stood behind. The young man appeared decidedly pale, but Jim guessed his partner's reaction had a lot to do with the two bodies he just pulled out that belonged to men the police observer once knew. The wan complexion caused the detective to hesitate. Letting Blair into the room would be a stress on the young man, but he was imperative for keeping Ellison grounded when using his senses deeply. The tiny battle played out in his mind in a matter of seconds before he finally made the decision to motion his partner in. Neither of the bodies smelled of jasmine and he knew that if Blair truly could not handle it, he wouldn't hesitate to inform Jim of that. That thought in mind, he gestured for Sandburg to join him.

It was rather fitting, Ellison supposed, that the best way to describe the silence of the morgue was that akin to a mausoleum's--a quiet so disturbing that if one listened well enough he or she could hear the screams of the damned. The hollow clicking of the door opening and closing and his partner's soft breathing were signs of life that the detective welcomed in this sanitary tomb.

"I think we're in the clear." Shit. Even his own voice seemed strangely loud in this freezing Death Room.

"None. You can handle this, right?" Jim's eyes swept over Blair's ashen face, revealing his discomfort at Blair's anxiety.

A light pink tinged the young man's previously wan countenance. Irritated, he replied, " If I couldn't handle this you'd be the first to know. Besides, it's imperative that I be here with you. You know that, Jim."

A lump formed in Blair's throat and traveled down, along and past his Adam's apple. Despite his assurance to Jim, he kept a discrete distance from the cadavers. He observed both bodies from where he stood. "These bodies . . . they're not mutilated like the one in the park and the one in the alley."

"Don't you find it funny that the ones that are mutilated have that distinct jasmine scent and these only carry that other odor?"

The Sentinel stood silent for a moment, contemplating the bodies before him and Blair's question. It left no doubt in his mind that they were in deed dealing with more than one killer. "Maybe we should pull out the two bodies from the theater. I'd like confirmation on this."

Blair nodded. "Confirmation would be good. I'd still like to know what it is about the jasmine that makes you flip out."

Blair shrugged acquiescently. "Whatever you say, man. Do you have the file numbers on you?"

Ellison flipped through the manila folder. "Yeah. Right here. Tiffany Nelson and Mark Bloom. Leonard Minsky's in here, too."

Jim smiled at his friend's reaction to that. What happened earlier may not have been funny, but his partner's exaggerated resolve helped him feel better about the whole ordeal. He scanned the picture of the young woman, Tiffany Nelson. Now known as the body in #121. His attention shifted from the paper to his fidgety Guide. "Would you care to do the honors?"

Blair snorted, knowing exactly what Jim was referring to. "You've gotta be kidding me, man. I'd rather sit through another round of presentations from my Intro to Anthropology course."

Jim walked to the back of the room, followed by Blair who remained at a comfortable distance. The detective reached the back of the room and stretched out his hand to open up the drawer. The hand froze in midair and his head swung around to address Blair, who was keeping a healthy distance between himself and the morgue's pullout shelves. "She won't bite, Sandburg."

The look on his New-age idealistic friend was far from joking. He pointed a finger at drawer #121, which was waist level to Ellison. "Don't joke around about the dead, Jim. That's laying some serious bad karma on you."

Jim raised his hands in a defensive motion. "Hey. Last thing I need's more bad karma on an ever-growing pile. I take it back."

The grad student nodded, but the look of unease didn't leave his expressive face.

The drawer was opened and the sheet drawn back. The hollow, skeletal body, of what used to be Tiffany Nelson lay on the cold metal slab.

"Yeah. I think that'd be the smart thing to do. It would be better for making a comparison."

Blair walked around the island counter slipping behind Jim and a couple feet to the left. The counter end was eight feet from the drawers and Blair kept his distance from them by leaning up against the counter.

Ellison pulled out drawer #120, still smiling at his partner's sarcasm. He went to pull back the starched white sheet, but his hand hovered above the edge of the crisp linen. A peculiar sensation tingled at the tip of his nose and crawled up through his nostrils. The death and decay that oozed from the other skeletal bodies, the completely alien odor that exuded from every opening, and seemed to fester at the fang marks. And in the midst of it all, an exotic sweetness that melted into the others and elicited an overwhelming response.

The hand grabbed the sheet without the aid of Ellison's conscious thought and yanked.

Blair gasped, horrified eyes jerking up to meet the rigid composure of his friend. Where the body of Mark Bloom was supposed to be, was the prostrate form of Leonard Minsky.

Ellison froze like a statue of ice. Then his statue-like composure melted, and his head drooped down and his back hunched over as if he were in pain. He drew in a hissing breath that prodded Blair into sliding away from Jim, pressing his side against the counter. Not a word dared to pass his lips, lest he provoke another attack from his larger friend. His attempt to maintain silence did little good, for the Sentinel heard him anyway. The curled form straightened itself, leaving the dead body laying stiffly on its cold, metallic slab.

Time stopped as Sentinel and Guide faced off. Blair's body betrayed him, refusing to budge another inch, paralyzed by fear. By denial. This can't be happening again. What if he kills me this time? He'll never be able to forgive himself. Never be able to live with himself.

"Still trying to keep your distance, Sandburg?" The gravely voice taunted. "Weak, pathetic. Why're you still here, kid? Trying to prove your worth?" Jim (the monster) sniggered. "Trying to prove what a man you are?"

Blair's lips pressed together firmly, trying to stifle the pain and anger the biting remarks had elicited. He kept his words calm, hoping to lead his friend back to sanity. "You don't know what you're saying, man. That scent's affecting you again. Control it. I know you can."

Ellison rotated the rest of the circumference to face Blair fully; an overwhelming despair overcame the shorter man.

"No, Chief." Jim (the monster) grinned maliciously. "I don't want to control it; I'm stronger with it."

Blair stumbled backwards, right hand clutching at the smooth counter surface for support. Jim matched his pace, halting when Blair did. Sandburg was scared, more than he had ever been in his life. Faced with these emotions he found his eyes shutting in desperation and a tiny moan escaping from deep within his throat.

Jim bared his teeth, beast-like, ravenous and dangerous. Body moving with fluid grace, he approached his intended victim, murder floating in the pools of his irises. "Come on, Blair. I thought you trusted me?"

Blair crept back a few more steps, praying not to trip and fall. "I trust Jim Ellison. You're not him."

The young Guide stared at the familiar face and the not-so-familiar glare. "A monster who's taken over my friend's body."

Jim (the monster) blinked; then he pounced forward with deadly grace, catching his opponent off guard. Blair saw the massive body charging towards him before it actually registered. The earth-shattering impact of a solid body that carried the momentum of a speeding semi brought him fully back to his dire predicament. Frigid metal drawers jarred into his back with bruising force and powerful hands clutched at his arms. He wanted to fight, but this was Jim's body. Not the enemy's.

The hands left his arms and clamped around his mottled neck. "I'm a monster, am I?"

Not again. Not again. Blair sucked in a fragile thread of breath in miniscule, sporadic spurts. Before him was all the fury, rage, and murder he had wanted to avoid; he struggled fruitlessly against the merciless hands. There was nowhere left to go and he knew that the only way he could live through this was to fight back. He didn't want to hurt Jim, but the familiar suffocating pain was enough to tell him he had no choice. No one could help him now.

The aching in his lungs burned its trail up through his chest, encircling his struggling heart. Fingers tingling with needle-like pricks, he gathered the last reserves of his waning strength, and muttered a quick prayer for forgiveness under his dying breath--then exploded in a flurry of motion. He jerked his right knee up and cringed inwardly as he felt it ram into Jim's crotch. The bigger man gasped loudly and Blair shoved him roughly, allowing the hands that had been clutching so tenaciously before to limply fall away.

He didn't turn around or pay any attention to the harsh wheezing of the writhing man behind him. He dashed for the shut door, heart jack-hammering all the way, and flung it open. He didn't hear Jim groaning behind him, struggling to get to his feet. He simply ran through the sparsely populated halls and prayed that whatever had possessed Jim would soon wear off.

Confused, disoriented, and in considerable pain, James Ellison stumbled out of the morgue. He knew what had happened, but the suddenness of the attack had completely thrown him off balance. He didn't even know it was coming before he was violently shoved into the back of his mind and replaced with burning coals of fury. The words that had come from his mouth, the searing, scorching words . . .

Jim shivered. He rubbed his hands against his arms, trying to warm his goose-fleshed body. The flames that had resided in his soul had been purged, but he feared that if he didn't get help soon they'd return.

Blair couldn't have gotten too far. Jim had the keys to the truck, which meant he was still in the station . . . somewhere. Would he go back to Simon? Most likely; but Jim didn't want to think about him saying anything to the Captain about what had just occurred. At the thought, Jim was overcome with shame. He had insisted that everything was fine when everything was not. He hadn't let Blair finish his job. He had been condescending to his young friend, and his actions could never be forgiven. Still, he wanted to apologize and at least try to clear the air. He could only hope that Blair understood that those vicious words had been nothing but lies.

Jim hobbled in the direction of the Major Crimes division, careful of the throbbing pain that radiated from a very delicate part of his anatomy. His intestines felt as if they were being crushed by stones. Well, at least he didn't have any plans for children in the future. He knew Blair had only hurt him as a last resort and he didn't blame the kid in the least. The physical pain was nothing to the mental anguish.

He had a sneaking suspicion Blair had indeed gone to Simon's office. What really bothered him was that Blair would be telling Simon that Detective James Ellison was nothing more than a self-serving liar.

"Whoa." Simon held up a hand from where he sat at his desk, halting Blair's aggravated pacing. "How is this your fault?"

Blair gestured dramatically as if the answer were plainly evident. "I should've tried harder. I could've done more. I let him go to the morgue knowing that it wasn't safe."

Simon sighed. "Sandburg--" He rubbed his eyes wearily, pushing his frames up in the process. "Jim is a grown man who makes life or death decisions on a daily basis. Yes, he has made the wrong decision once or twice, but you can't control him and tell him what to do. This is the second time today he's almost killed you."

"Why didn't you say something before when he said the problem was taken care of? Just because he makes the wrong decision doesn't mean you have to go along with it."

Blair shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I just wished that he was right." He paused. "We need more time, Simon." Banks opened his mouth, but was abruptly cut off. "I know I'm asking a lot, but this could affect Jim's ability to perform his duties. We may even be able to discover something vital to the case this way. It won't take too long. We got pretty far earlier, with just a little time this should be taken care of. For good."

For a moment the news didn't register, then Blair's eyes widened and his mouth parted slightly. "You're not worried about Jim . . ."

"You're the only person who can help him. I think whatever happens, you'll be able to control it."

The click of the door interrupted him and both men turned their heads to watch it open. Blair could barely form the name on his tongue and all it amounted to was a sand-papery murmur. "Jim."

The detective looked worn-out and beaten. "Chief . . ." His words were barely any more substantial than Blair's own. "I'm sorry. I know that doesn't make up for everything that I've done, but I truly, honestly am. I would kill myself before I ever hurt you again. I can't excuse what just happened and there's absolutely no reason in this world for you to forgive me, just please don't hate me for it."

"It's not your fault. That wasn't you. Look, I just explained the situation to Simon here and he agrees that we have to get this taken care of pronto."

Jim nodded, studying the floor intently. It was the first time Blair could remember seeing him so lost and unsure. "Thanks, Simon. I mean it. Thanks for understanding and not treating me like a psychopath."

"You're not only my best detective, but you're also one of my best friends. I don't understand what's going on with this Jekyll and Hyde routine, but I have faith that you two will get it taken care of this time."

Jim nodded once, and turned around leaving the door open as he walked away. Blair moved to follow and paused when he heard the Captain's deep baritone.

Just as Blair asked the question, the elevator doors opened and the answer became evident. They stepped out and Blair looked from side to side. He turned on Jim, disbelieving.

Jim prodded Blair into a walk and the latter felt a disconcerting buzz beginning to invade his mind. The feel of Jim's hand on the back of his shoulder sent inward trembles coursing through his body. He couldn't help it. Just the knowledge of what those hands had done and the suddenness--

"Relax. We're not going back to the morgue," Jim replied blandly. "We're going to talk to Dan Wolfe."

Jim tucked his hands inside his pant's pockets and pretended not to acknowledge Blair's discomfort. "That body wasn't supposed to be there. Someone either made a potentially fatal mistake or the bodies were switched."

They found Dan easily enough in his office. The NativeAmerican man looked up from a file he had been writing in. "Hello, guys. Did you find anything out?"

Dan's eyebrows shot up. "Really? I'm sorry about that. It was probably one of the interns. They've been given permission to handle the bodies. Someone did the same thing just a couple days ago. It's even worse when we have an influx like lately. Names and numbers tend to get mixed up and mistakes end up being made. I'll look into it if you want."

"No, that's okay," Jim assured him. "I think we'll be able to handle it. Thanks for your time."

"No problem, Jim. Good luck with the case. It's getting way too busy around here."

The atmosphere surrounding Blair and Jim thickened considerably once exiting Dan's office. Blair couldn't bring himself to even look at Jim. Ellison was wrapped deep within his own thoughts. They entered the first elevator that opened and entered it alone. Jim punched the button for the lobby.

"What about the possibility someone else did it?" Blair shot Jim a sidelong glance.

"That someone may know about you. May be trying to stop us from finding out the truth."

"You know," Blair burst out angrily, turning to fully face Jim, "You really need to get over this whole denial thing. You're not doing anyone any favors."

Jim's face flushed bright red and he reached out a hand. Blair cringed away violently and Jim took a hurried step back, his face having lost all traces of blood. "Sandburg--Blair. I wasn't going to--you didn't really think I was going to hit you, did you?"

The elevator chimed, announcing the arrival of their destination. Blair hurried off, followed by a very stunned Jim. "You don't know," he mumbled under his breath, then loud enough to hear, "What do you mean you don't know? I told you I would never hurt you!"

"I know that, Jim! I couldn't help it, okay?" Blair retorted, striding away ardently towards the truck.

Yelling at him won't help, Jim reminded himself. "Blair c'mon. I don't want to be the villain here."

Irritated, Jim called out to the man still keeping his rapid gait. "Will you just stop a minute?" Blair stopped walking. "Thank you. Now would you please look at me?"

Blair turned around and crossed his arms across his chest. "We need to get going. We're not going to solve anything if we just stand around in the parking garage."

"Yes." But he had hesitated and it didn't hold the conviction Ellison had been seeking.

"No," Blair answered honestly. He was getting sick of all the deception. "It's not that, really. I trust you as a person. I don't trust the circumstances and I don't trust myself."

"Everything that's happening and I can't even stay on top of the situation. We've never seen anything like this before and I'm trying to help you through it, but I'm failing at my job. If anyone's to blame it's me."

Blair sighed. "Simon already gave me the whole spiel, but I'm not totally convinced. I still feel like I could've done more."

"No, it's not. The bruises on your neck . . . I inflicted those. You know I, as a person, would never do anything like that, but I did when I had no control."

Blair didn't budge for several seconds, then, slowly, on what might've been sheer will, raised it. His mouth was turned down in a frown and his usually vibrant face was marred by anger. "Happy?"

"Who do you really blame for what happened in the morgue?" Jim asked directly. He had no reason to mince words, nor any time.

Blair's distressed expression fell from Jim's calmer one. "What are you trying to prove here, Ellison?"

"This situation is creating a rift between us. If we want to be able to work together effectively, we have to be aware of what the other is thinking."

"This isn't therapy, Sandburg. It's friendship. Deep down you don't actually blame yourself, do you?"

Blair's azure orbs flickered around the garage, not settling on anything. "Not really."

A struggle took place inside of Ellison. Truth and deception warred for ultimate dominance and he could no longer turn away from certainty. The statement pained him, but he released it anyway. "You blame me."

Sandburg's thick lashes squeezed shut; his voice came out rough. "Yeah. You're right." Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe? "I was trying to help you and you turned me down." He opened his eyes, targeting Jim with vehemence. Blair fingered the bruises semi-circling his neck. "Why didn't you at least let me finish what I had started?"

"Honestly? I think it was pride, stubbornness. Too much pride in my strength and abilities. Stubborn because before I met you I never really had to depend on anyone else's help. Never even wanted to. Things got to be too much and I thought it was something I could handle on my own."

"Of course I am." Jim reached out a hand, fearing what Blair's reaction might be. To his relief the young man didn't flinch away as he had earlier. He rested his palm lightly on Blair's shoulder. "I trust you."

The ride back had been quiet. A mutual agreement had been made between them in silence. Nothing had to be said, nothing needed to be said.

They stepped into the loft and Jim shut the door. Every single sound in the loft was a stress-induced amplification. The door clicking into place, the footfalls, even breathing. Even to Sentinel-enhanced senses it was all blown out of proportion. The result of increasing tension and the knowledge that things were swiftly coming to an apex was deluding the two men and nothing was quite right in their world.

Blair headed for the couch and for the first time since finding him in Simon's office, Jim noticed that the young man was walking somewhat stiffly.

"I know," Blair murmured. Jim noticed a slight waver in his composure as the young man spoke falteringly. "How about you? I . . . um, kneed you pretty hard."

Jim smiled lightly even though Blair did not see it. "Let's put it this way--don't let any of the guys back at the station tell you you're weak."

Blair flopped down on the couch and leaned his head back, groaning from weariness. "I really didn't want to hurt you."

The grad student stared off into nothingness. "It was." Then coming back to himself, "I knew if I didn't fight back I'd die, but if I had seriously hurt you I wouldn't be able to forgive myself."

"I understand you totally. I can never forgive myself for what I've done to you."

"I thought about that, too. How you'd never be able to live with yourself, let alone forgive yourself, if you killed me. Even though you couldn't control it. It's amazing what goes on in your mind when death comes knocking."

"Yeah, it is." Jim walked to the couch and sat to the left of Blair. He clasped his hands in his lap and leaned closer to Blair. "It'll never happen again. Not because of me. This time we're not quitting."

"Glad to hear it from you." Blair smiled. "Personally, I never had any intentions of quitting this time around."

"That's what I like about you, Chief. You're determined. Probably the only person who could put up with me."

Blair laughed. He tried not to, but he really couldn't help himself. "That's probably the best compliment I've ever been given. You know what I like about you?"

"You have the courage to admit your faults. You're undoubtedly the bravest man I know."

"Thanks." Jim's face flushed slightly as he fumbled for words. "That says a lot to me. I, um, guess we should start?"

At Jim's embarrassment, Blair mentally added humility next to bravery. "Yeah. We don't really even have much time until Adrian and the others show up."

"I don't know," Blair answered slowly, contemplating the query he had given absolutely no thought to. "It would probably be best. This may even be something they're familiar with. It may help solve this mystery."

Blair wriggled a little so he was practically leaning against his confidant. "Maybe. Are you willing to believe?"

Jim exhaled in a short burst of breath. "I'm still not sure. This time I may. It's time to walk on the wild side all over again."

Blair grasped Jim's shoulders and gently pushed him against the couch's back. "I'm going to make this work. I don't know how, but I will. Okay, you know the whole drill. Relax, breathe, and just let your mind go. Focus on my voice and let it guide you."

Almost immediately Jim's breathing became shallow and his entire body relaxed. De ja vu tickled the base of Blair's brain stem. The detective's chest rose and fell with every steady breath and Blair remembered that this all had, indeed, happened before. Just today, only hours ago. Yet it had felt as if they had tried this weeks ago. Time had revolved so fast at the station that he couldn't keep up with it.

Hazy memories of earlier flickered across a wide screen theater before his inner eye. As he watched the action playing out in his mind he found himself mimicking everything that he saw there. Precedent commands passed through his lips with an ease as natural as respiration. He knew what he was doing; knew what he had to accomplish. Here and now he was no longer a grad student or police observer. Here and now he was a Shaman and Guide, dedicated to the purpose of helping his Sentinel and saving the city.

"Remember Peru. Remember the scent. It reminded you of death." Jim's nod was so minute Blair almost missed it. "You and a band of Chopec heard screams and you ran to them. You found bloodless corpses and yourself surrounded by a foreign odor. Ominous, foreboding. Then a woman and two men appeared. She was screaming and panicking, but it may have been a ruse. She came to you for help and you noticed she had no heartbeat and the scent came from her. Was she dead?"

"How could she be dead?" The question for a question response was a mixture of sincerity, sarcasm, and unbridled bafflement. How indeed could a woman who moved and spoke be dead? And in the same regard, how could a woman who moved and spoke not have a beating heart? And what was that smell?

"Yes you can," Blair calmly pushed. A memory blackout was hardly to be unexpected. "It's just cloudy. Push the clouds away. If your five physical senses are heightened, something mentally must also've been affected. Use that to your benefit. See past the mental barriers that have formed."

Concentration wrinkled the Sentinel's visage and each breath became progressively hard-pressed. Blair had never seen Jim in this state of being before and it unnerved him a little. It gave Jim the appearance of being only seconds away from a full-blown epileptic seizure. Blair remembered he had told Jim to push away the clouds, but he was changing that order to himself. Whatever was blocking Jim from that certain part of his past sure as hell wasn't clouds. It was London fog.

"O . . . kay." He was shoving at his last reserves simply to speak now. He moaned pitifully and his torso folded over. Blair used both hands to steady him and lend support, as he could only do at this point. The rest was up to Jim.

Ellison was a strong man. He had taken out men bigger than himself, faced down cold-blooded killers on many occasions. But he had never gone into a situation quite so - what could he call this?- transcendental. He had never been his worst enemy, and now he was, also, his only savior. The tools that were his only hope were his greatest adversary, as well. His mind, thoughts, memories were nothing but a jumbled mess and he had to make use of them, somehow. It was all clumped together in what could only be termed as chaos, with no rhyme or reason. The only way to make sense of the clutter would be to slowly pick at it, hoping for the best, hoping the clump didn't constrict and become harder to unwind.

He couldn't figure it out. There was too much, and the suffocating confusion was sucking him in. He tried fighting it, but it had turned into a tornado, relentless and hungry. He was alone in this dark, smothering confinement and he couldn't see what he'd been seeking and now he was all alone . . .

From without the chaos, an angelic incantation descended, offering support and unwavering commitment.

"I'm here. I know you can do it. Dig deep into yourself to find what you're looking for, but don't fight it."

Without hesitation he released the grip he had stubbornly been maintaining, allowing himself be whipped into the torrent. His tangled memories unraveled as he did so and the twister slung him into their midst and he saw.

"I slept with her. She seduced me and I slept with her ." And from there he went . . .

Ensconced in humid darkness, two men watched the frantic lovemaking. Silent. Intent. A long, sharpened nail tipped his chin up and their mouths met in a passionate kiss. The first kiss. The only kiss. Her tongue burned in his mouth, as if injecting a scorching poison down his throat; but he did not struggle. He had no mind to.

"Memory shall envelop this day and night and nothing shall remain in your mind. It shall seize up and shrink upon itself becoming nothing more than some distant nightmare." The whispered words tickled at his ear. Her lips slipped down and her breath cooled his sweat-stained cheeks. "Do you understand?"

"Good. You are yet ripe, but that shall change. In the future there will be another. A person who will change you. Mold you. As it was in the past it shall be now, you will be a powerful, inseparable team. Then I will come and tear you apart. You will become mine and the Guide as well. No longer dependent on each other." She smirked. "Dependent on me. Desiring and wanting of only me. Will you surrender yourself to my ultimate control, James Ellison?"

"I have already dominated you. I have become a part of you and when I am near you will know. Your Guide will become your enemy and I your ally. My species will become the deity and before me you will fall on your knees. You will be my vassal, I your liege, and you will be the means to bring your second half to me for I have no control over their abilities."

She looked up, in the direction of a dark corner and he could see the two men who had trailed behind her in the jungle - her followers. She grinned at them like a lioness with her fresh kill. Primal. Ferocious. Her eyes gleamed in the darkness with a preternatural luminescence and the followers returned it with intent satisfaction . . .

Seconds ticked by, followed by minutes. Blair was in complete awe, astounded by the story Jim had shared. The Sentinel had yet to open his eyes, but he didn't appear to be caught in the hypnotic spell anymore. Cloth rustled softly as he shifted uncomfortably on the couch, eyelids squeezing tighter. Overwhelmed as he'd been, Blair had forgotten to remove his hands from the older man's shoulders. Words found him and he spoke quietly, awestruck.

Jim rubbed his eyes, blinking as if they were sore. "I have no idea, Dr. Freud. Why don't you enlighten me?"

Blair's grip fastened more securely on the broad shoulders. His tone was simmering with barely restrained energy. If the wild-eyed look was any indication, the energy was ready to explode. "She was a vampire. Don't you get it? You slept with a vampire!"

"Well there's an important part of my sex life I shouldn't've forgotten," Jim retorted wrily.

"This isn't a joking matter. Man, I can't even begin to marvel over the implications. She knew what you were. She knew you'd meet someone who would become important to you. Special. Which, of course, must be me."

"You're special all right. Even though I could think of better words to describe you." The hand that had been resting supportively on his shoulder drew back, formed into a fist, and punched him solidly. "Ow! You could've warned me."

Blair ignored the pout and went on with his hypothesis. "Obviously she met other Sentinels and Guides in her time. And from everything you've recalled it sounds like she placed some type of spell on you. Her scent is ingrained in you, so you associate it with her commands; it acts as a catalyst. It's interesting how she was able to make you forget everything."

"It was another part of the spell. Don't you remember? 'Memory shall envelop this day and night, and nothing shall remain in your mind.' It just took her distinct odor to bring it out. Every body you've been in contact with that made you lose control, has been the one she fed off of. Her two followers are probably here in Cascade with her." Blair hesitated before carrying on with another difficult issue. "Now, what I want to know is if it's possible for a vampire to become pregnant."

"Chief, her heart wasn't even beating. How in the world could she have a baby? Besides, have you ever seen a vampire have a baby in the movies?"

"Jim," Blair sighed in exasperation. "We're talking about Real Life here. Not mainstream Hollywood. Vampires aren't exactly going to publicize themselves, along with their secrets and stories. The craze brought on by writers like Anne Rice is nothing more than that. A craze. It's fictitious and imaginary. None of those stories have any actual bearing or semblance to fact."

Jim almost laughed, but, thankfully, caught himself in time. "How do you know it's all fiction? Perhaps a vampire visits Anne Rice at night and shares his many exploits with her. I'm sure stranger things have happened."

"Stranger things have happened," Blair replied, deadpan. They've happened to us."

Playfully, Blair rubbed the back of his head as if Jim had actually hurt him. "I am exhausted, man. This day feels like it's been going on forever."

Blair allowed himself the luxury of sinking back into the comfortable cushions and closed his eyes. He exhaled blissfully as his aching body relaxed into the couch.

Jim watched affectionately as his youthful, exuberant friend finally allowed himself a short break. It gave him the impression of a worn-out child that would only rest when his body finally betrayed him. Hardened he was, but the sight of this person, brother, friend, melted the brick layers into something much softer. Recollections of attacking Blair settled deep within his mind, where other buried memories resided. This was something he didn't want to root up again, and if Blair was willing to forgive him then he should be able to forgive himself. It was that simple.

Blair's eyelids snapped open and he sat bolt upright. Jim started, caught off guard by the sudden movement.

"She might've been pregnant!" Blair twisted to look at Jim straight on, alight with excitement. He ran a hand through his wild mass of curls. "Oh man! Why didn't I think of this before?" He asked no one in particular.

"I don't know," Jim answered, wondering if his friend had finally broken under the pressure. "Why didn't you think of it before?"

Blair ignored Jim's response and went on with his train of thought. "Do you remember what Adrian told us?" He rambled on without waiting for Jim's reply. "He knew a vampire personally. Stacia something or another. He told us at the time she was crossed over she was pregnant. She had the baby while she was a vampire."

Blair frowned, the train momentarily losing steam. "That's true . . ." He relented. But it wasn't enough to keep him slowed down for long. "But it's still possible."

"Yeah, but there's still a possibility. Like I said before, we don't know anything about vampires other than myths and what we've seen in books and movies. Stacia was human when she became pregnant, but, my point is, it didn't die when she was crossed over. I just think we shouldn't completely shrug aside the chances of this vampire-woman having become impregnated," Blair replied stubbornly.

"Okay. I'll bite." Jim grinned. "Nothing is impossible, just very, very improbable."

Blair gave him a scolding look, as if to say 'Just let me have my fun, okay?' "It's improbable yes, but we have to be prepared for anything. And if this vampire you slept with did have a child, she has more at stake then just crossing us over. She'll be after you because you're the father."

"It's a fascinating theory, Einstein; but a little farfetched. Don't you think?"

Jim pursed his lips. "You're probably right. Guess that means I won't have to rent a tux. Too bad. I was going to let you be best man."

Blair grinned, trying to suppress his laughter. "Darn. My lifelong dream down the drain."

Jim found himself grinning widely at the thought of a vampire wedding. "She probably would have Elvira as the Maid of Honor."

"Guess Dr. Frankenstein would marry us off then." Jim's grin widened even more as he took in the young man doubled over with laughter. "Maybe Count Dracula will give her away." Blair toppled over, straight onto Jim's lap as he tried to control himself. Jim helpfully set him up straight again.

Blair sniffled, still chuckling. " 'S not. Your fault, man." He moaned. "My side hurts."

"Maybe I should enjoy this while I can. It's not every day I have you in stitches."

"Quite the comedian, Jim." He looked around, eyes still watering. "Where's the nitrous oxide? I swear I must've inhaled laughing gas somewhere along the line."

"And I just thought it was that ungodly stuff you were eating for lunch earlier."

The humorous mood drifted away and they were once again presented with the reality of the problem. The vision tugged at the edge of Jim's thoughts and it bothered him that he knew what the problem was now, but still had no idea how to control it.

Blair bit his bottom lip. "I really hate to say it, Jim, but it doesn't look good."

Jim blinked. "What do you mean 'doesn't look good'? You can't fix this? I thought you could?"

There were several biting remarks that popped into his head, but Blair simply held up a warding hand and said, "I'm not God, Jim. I can't perform miracles."

"And this is gonna take a miracle?" Jim sounded incredulous and Blair didn't blame him in the slightest.

"I never thought that it was so . . ." He faltered, digging for a word, and finally settled on, "deep."

"Bluntly speaking," Blair allowed. "I can put you in a trance, but I've never had to lift an actual spell."

"She's not human, she's a vampire. Different rules apply. Her power is far greater then any I could ever imagine. What she did was, yes, a hypnotic suggestion, but she has paranormal abilities. Preternaturally it would be a spell. We're talking Merlin the Magician stuff here." He laughed, or that's what it sounded like to Jim, albeit dry and humorless. "I think I'm out of my league."

"There's nothing we can do?" Jim demanded, feeling that nasty sense of helplessness descending upon him. Oh god. This was - not - good.

"In most cases a spell such as that can be lifted when the spell caster is eliminated."

Jim stood up, suddenly feeling restricted in his stationary position. He began pacing, such as a caged animal would do. Or say a panther. "What about those kids? The longhaired one. What's his name?"

"Adrian Ward." Blair looked up, watching his friend go back and forth, back and forth. Nearing the kitchen, turning right before the table, coming parallel to the coffee table and back again to repeat the cycle.

Jim sighed loudly, frustrated. "If it comes to that then we will. We're running out of options and three more people are going to die tonight."

Blair didn't respond. Jim had shocked him into silence. It was almost exactly what he had said earlier. The detective had been suspicious at the time, but now he said it for himself. Jim was no longer a skeptic. He believed.