This is very important: I must thank Bonnie who has been extremely wonderful and helpful. To everyone who has e-mailed me and encouraged me: my most sincere thanks. I completed this that much quicker due to everyone's support. I apologize to anyone I was unable to respond to personally.
Last, the disclaimer (ooh, the fun part): I don't own The Sentinel. I'm not making money off of this. If anyone feels like suing all I'd be able to give is a couple of stupid chickens that don't belong to me anyway.

It wasn’t the first time he had ever seen anything like this, and, regretfully, he knew it wouldn’t be the last. The stench of the body equaled the sickening sight of the mutilation, making it hard for the sentinel to bear. Before approaching, he was forced to concentrate and turn down his sense of smell. It didn’t eliminate the odor thoroughly, but at least made it bearable.

Jim Ellison, tall, muscular Cascade PD detective, found himself unexplainably chilled at the sight of the hideously contorted body. Something about it struck home; he just couldn’t explain why. Visions like this weren’t exactly common in Cascade, but he had encountered a similar case or two before. Most definitely had seen his share in Covert Ops. So why was he so spooked now?

The body had been reported at approximately nine AM, floating in the bay. He had arrived at a scene already crawling with cops, examiners, paramedics and such . Not for the first time this morning he wished for the presence of his partner, Blair Sandburg.

Blair had left before Jim that morning, grumbling about deadlines, classes and undergrads. Jim knew Blair was close to breaking down under the stress; to avoid getting his head bitten off, Jim had let his guide - twenty-seven years old and dangerously close to sprouting gray hairs - rave undeterred.

The intruding presence of a dark-skinned man, taller than Ellison himself, broke him from his reverie. Captain Simon Banks was a force to be reckoned with; when he barked, everyone listened.

"We’ve identified the victim," Simon announced. "Kirk Mayfield, twenty-three years old. He was a student over at Rainier."

Jim’s sharp blue eyes flashed. His fears had been founded. "You think that Sandburg might know the victim."

It wasn’t a question, simply a statement. Simon nodded, fully aware that he was treading on unstable ground. Jim’s entire demeanor changed when it came to Blair. If he didn’t know better, he would think Jim was the
kid’s older, over-protective brother.

"You want to involve him in the case."

Simon could read the disapproval in his friend’s eyes, and found himself clenching his teeth, bracing for an argument. "He may be able to provide us with some vital clues."

Jim sighed, rubbing a hand across his eyelids. "I’ll talk to him tonight, but you realize Sandburg has a life outside of Major Crimes. He shouldn’t be constantly immersed in the garbage that goes down in this
city like he is."

"I know how you feel, but the kid is no innocent. He can take care of himself. Besides, he’s a major asset to the department, and I can’t overlook that."

"I’m well aware of the fact, Captain, but you’ve pointed out on countless occasions that he’s a civilian, regardless of how valuable he may be to us."

Having his own words thrown back at him did nothing to daunt Simon, but he reassured Jim, "It’s being kept in mind. We won’t involve him unnecessarily. Just ask him a few questions, that’s all."

Blair Sandburg stared absently at the paper in front of him. He was sure he’d read part of it, but for some reason he couldn’t remember what it was about.

Probably wasn’t important, he thought, still attempting to concentrate on the paper.

Already he’d graded twenty-some papers and there was still a considerable number left. For what must have been the tenth time since starting this particular paper, he glanced at his watch. 10:27 PM. The day had been so long. The only break he’d received was an hour long; that was to have lunch with Celia. She wasn’t bad company, and was quite adamant about not getting seriously involved. So it wasn’t a date as much as female companionship, something he didn’t have enough of these days.

The entire day had been aggravating. He’d arrived at the university to fill in for two classes; in addition to that, he’d tutored about ten students, and then only two hours ago started grading the mid-term papers that were due to be posted in a week.

Worn out, nerves nearly frayed, he now decided his best hope was to turn in for the night. Nothing was going to be accomplished as it was. Conscious of the heavy burden on his shoulders, he shuffled the unread papers together, eager to return home.

"Hey, Chief," Jim greeted his partner, who wearily trudged through the door. "How was your day?"

"Tiring. I’ve been swamped with work and it’s not going to let up for a while."

Jim appraised his long-haired, blue-eyed friend. Those eyes, normally so vibrant, like the rest of him, were showing evident signs of strain. For a brief instant Jim regretted having to ask Blair any questions, but he quickly shoved his concern aside. His friend could probably provide some vital information that would help them find a murderer.

"Do you by some chance know of a guy by the name of Kirk Mayfield?"

"Kirk Mayfield?" Blair thought about it as he plopped down onto the couch. "Yeah, yeah I do. He’s in the Intro to Anthropology class I teach. I don’t think I saw him today, though. I’m guessing you’re asking this question because he wasn’t there, am I right?"

"Exactly. We found his body today. He was murdered."

A look of remorse passed over Blair’s face, saddening his eyes. "Oh. I guess you figured I could help out with the case, huh?"

"You’ve got me figured out. Simon thought you could, actually, but if you’re too busy, don’t feel obligated."

"No, I want to help. Believe me, I do; I don’t think Kirk was a bad kid. I’d like to help you guys find out who killed him. How’d he die?"

"Stabbed repeatedly." Jim didn’t want to go any further than that. He wanted to spare his youthful friend all the gory details. "He was found this morning."

"I’ll do what I can to help. I just wish I had more time."

"Like I said before, you’re not obligated."

"Yes, I am obligated. I’m obligated as a friend and a shaman."

That said everything for Jim.

The next morning when Jim awoke, he noted that Blair was already up.

"Hey buddy, you anxious to get down to the station, or what?"

"Or what. I’m exhausted. I don’t get it, I must’ve had at least six hours of sleep last night."

Maybe that’s not enough. Don’t you think you’ve been working yourself kind of hard lately, Chief?"

Blair gave Jim an incredulous look. "You’ve gotta be kidding me, man. I’m not working hard enough. I still have too much to do."

"Are you sure you don’t want to just skip going to the station today?"

"No, Jim. I’m going. I didn’t go yesterday. Besides, what if you end up zoning out during the investigation?"

"I’m going to question people today, Blair. I doubt I’m going to zone out on their voices."

"I’d still feel better if I was around for at least a little while."

The first people Jim had on his list to investigate were Kirk Mayfield’s parents. Questioning them proved almost pointless. It turned out that Kirk had moved out two years ago, and about one year after that, communication became sparse. All they were able to tell Jim was that Kirk had a girlfriend by the name of Marlena the last time they talked, which had been over a month ago.

In the truck, driving back to the station, Jim decided to get Blair’s perspective on it.

"Did you know Kirk’s girlfriend?"

"Marlena? No, it doesn’t ring a bell."

By any chance did you know any of Kirk’s friends?"

"I’m a teaching fellow, Jim, not a supervisor. I don’t keep track of these kids." He sat back and his face lit up with a sudden thought. "Wait a minute, I know…"

"What is it?"

"Marlena. I think she is in one of my classes. I might be wrong, but it’s worth a shot."

"Which class?"

"The class I have tonight at six." Blair glanced at his watch and groaned. "Oh man. I have to be at the University in an hour. I forgot that I have an appointment with one of the students."

"Want me to drop you off?"

"Yeah, that’d be great. I’m really sorry about this, man."

"It’s no problem, Chief. I understand."

A couple hours after the appointment, Celia dropped by Blair’s office.

"Hey there," she greeted him. "How about lunch?"

"I don’t know if I have the time."

"Of course you do," she replied sweetly. "Come on. You need a break."

"I don’t have time for a break," he muttered, but got up and grabbed his jacket anyway.

The small café they sat in was casual and inexpensive, good for two grad students under considerable financial strain. They ordered their food, keeping the conversation light until Celia made a blunt comment.

"I think you’re pushing yourself too hard, Blair."

"That’s what Jim says," Blair replied, a tiny smile curling his lips.

"Well, he’s right."

"Maybe." Blair shrugged. "But what am I supposed to do about it? Quit school?"

"No, but I can see how worn out you’re getting, and I know others can as well. Maybe you should see a psychiatrist."

"A shrink?" Blair looked at her as if she’d suddenly grown a second head. "I don’t need a shrink."

"No, no," she replied hurriedly. "I didn’t mean like that. Sorry, I should’ve explained myself better. You see, there’s this doctor of psychology; he’s not really a psychiatrist, though. He’s kind of into the New Age deal, you know, of seeking inner peace."

"I have inner peace."

"But it’s not affecting your personal life. What he does is help bring it to the forefront, and help relax your body and mind."

"Sounds nice, but I can’t afford someone like that."

"He doesn’t have a single rate. Go down and talk to him, and I’m sure he could help you out with the financial part. Trust me, Blair, he really does help."

Blair sat studying Celia for a moment, trying to judge her sincerity. Maybe it could help. He had been feeling a lot of pressure lately; maybe this guy could relieve some of that. "I’ll go down and talk to him."

Celia smiled broadly. "Great. I have his card in my purse. Let me get it for you."

After several seconds of rummaging, she pulled it out and handed it to Blair.

Dr. Dominik Morelli. New Age Psychiatrist.

"Guess it wouldn’t hurt," he said thoughtfully, and stuck the card in his wallet just as the food was brought out.

Jim had called Blair around five PM, claiming he’d be at the university by six, when the class started. He might not make it exactly on time, he’d warned, because of paper work that needed to be taken care of. Since questioning the victim’s parents this morning, he had followed up on another lead which quickly turned into a brick wall. The detective’s next step had been to go through Kirk Mayfield’s student records and gather as much information as he could through those. That task took a good portion of his day.

About a quarter ‘til six, Blair watched students begin to enter the door. He grabbed the assignments he had collected from them last week and placed them on the podium at the front of the classroom.

"Your graded essays are here on the podium," he announced, and turned back to his desk as people made their way towards the papers.

As he sat back down at his desk to organize his notes, he heard some groans and knew he’d be hearing plenty of complaints.

"Don’t worry," he reassured them, "we'll be discussing those essays."

At about five ‘til he noticed a withdrawn young woman enter the room. Her face was stricken with grief, and he instantly recognized her to be Marlena. What was her last name? Stillman, Tiller…or was it Tillman? He wracked his brain trying to think of it. He’d just graded her essay, it was ridiculous that he couldn’t remember; he was normally good with names. Oh, yeah - Stiller. Marlena Stiller. Jim had probably already figured that out by now without his help.

The clock read six sharp, his signal to start the class. Pushing all thoughts of Kirk Mayfield to the back of his mind, he got up and walked in front of the podium to address his class.

"Has everyone gotten their papers? I know there were some less than desirable grades, and that’s exactly what I want to address. Maybe we can clue in the clueless."

About an hour into the lesson, Jim managed to slip through the door without attracting too much unwanted attention. Blair glanced in his direction, then quickly back to the class, not wanting to make the new visitor appear suspicious. He continued with his lecture, calling out names on occasion to answer his questions, or pausing so the students could make inquiries. Sometimes he would sneak a look at his friend seated in the back, and was humbled to find Jim’s face radiating pride. A warm feeling welled inside him; he read that look as brotherly admiration. He didn’t reflect very long on it, and continued with the lesson, but the thought floated in the back of his mind, nevertheless.

Not too much later the class was over, people began to leave, and Blair watched Jim approach Marlena. He was getting ready to join them when one of his students came up to him and began asking questions. He felt a strong urge to brush off the student so he could join his partner, but resigned himself to his teaching position having first priority. Jim would let him in all the details anyway.

"Marlena Stiller?" Jim asked.

Tthe young woman with long brown hair and exotic, dark eyes turned to face the detective. "Yes?"

Jim flashed his credentials. "I’m Detective James Ellison with the Cascade PD. I was hoping to ask you some questions about your boyfriend’s death."

There was evident strain in her voice as she replied, "I already had cops asking me questions this morning, when they told me he was dead. The only reason I came to class was because I simply can’t afford not to."

Jim and Marlena continued walking down the hallway among a small crowd of college students.

"I know this is hard on you, ma’am, but I really need to ask you these questions. I’m the investigating officer on this case and I’d like to bring whoever did this to Kirk, to justice."

"So would I." She sighed. "But like I told the officers this morning, Kirk didn’t have any enemies that I know of, and yes, I have an alibi."

"I’m not accusing you, ma’am."

"You didn’t have to say it out loud. You’re a cop, you’re supposed to hold everyone under suspicion until you get a suspect."

Jim had to hold back a chuckle at her bluntness. That wouldn’t have been appropriate, given the circumstances. "I’m not accusing anyone at this time. But you’re right, we don’t have a suspect, and you were closest to the victim, which is why I need you to tell me anything you possibly can. Was there anything the murderer might have taken? Jewelry of any type?"

Marlena was silent for a moment before she answered. "Yes, he had an eighteen-carat gold chain I bought him for Christmas. I had our initials engraved on it - KDM and MMS."

"Kirk Douglas Mayfield," Jim muttered to himself, remembering the file he had read just this morning.

"Yeah, that’s it. Did he have that on him?"

"No, he didn’t. Eighteen carats; that’s a lot of money."

"It was, but he was worth it." Her eyes misted over at the statement, and Jim prepared himself to console her.

"I really am sorry. I don’t want to have to ask you these questions, but it’s important."

"I know." This response was much softer than her last words. "Just give me a moment."

Finally, as they stood outside the doors leading into the School of Anthropology, she composed herself.

"Are you okay now, ma’am?"

She nodded.

"I need to ask you this: what about any of his other friends?"

"Well . . . he hung around a lot with two other guys he met about a year ago . . . Matt Turner and Steven Nedder. I’m not even sure where they met, I just know that they were basically best friends. I met them; they
seemed like really nice guys." Marlena shook her head. "Sorry. All I know is that they go to the university here, but that’s it."

Jim nodded. "That’s okay. I want to thank you for your time, miss, and I’m very sorry about your loss."

"Thank you, detective. I just hope you can find whoever did this to him."

The student left, and Blair decided to simply wait for Jim to come back. No use tracking him down while he was questioning someone and interrupting them. He sat back down at his desk to go through his itinerary for the next day, when a thought struck him: that card Celia had given him. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to call Dr. Morelli up and make an appointment. Besides, Celia would be asking tomorrow if he had or not,
and if he said no, she would never let up. Blair grabbed his stuff and headed towards his office.

On the way he ran into Jim.

"Hey there, Sandburg, things are looking up on the case."

"What’d you find out?" Blair asked, glancing at his watch.

"About a year ago Mayfield made friends with two other students, Matt Turner and Steven Nedder."

"Isn’t that when Mr. and Mrs. Mayfield say they stopped talking to their son?"

"Exactly. What do you want to bet that they have something to do with his death?"

"So what are we going to do?"

"’We’?" Jim scrutinized his young partner. Despite Blair’s earlier weariness, he appeared energetic at the moment. "I think we’re going to just let it go for the night, and get a start on it first thing
in the morning."

Blair’s face fell. "First thing? I guess I could work something out."

"I know I keep saying this, Chief, but you’re not obligated."

"I know, Jim. I hear you. It just feels a little more personal when it’s one of my students." Blair looked at his watch again and began walking.

Jim fell into step beside him. "What do you have in the morning?"

"A staff meeting at ten AM."

"Okay, this is what we’ll do. I don’t know where either one of these people live yet, so first we have to track them down. Also, I have another lead that needs to be followed up."

"What’s that?" Blair halted, his attention caught by the announcement.

"Kirk Mayfield had a gold chain that wasn’t on the body when found. His girlfriend bought it for him and had the initials KDM and MMS engraved on it. The killer may have pawned it off by now."

"I have an even better idea. If his buddies are students here at the university, it shouldn’t be that hard for me to get access to information on them. While I’m doing that you can try to track down the gold chain - if it’s even traceable, that is." Again the time on his watch was noted and Blair began striding, his gait quick and determined.

"That’s a good idea," Jim assented, finding it difficult, despite the longer legs, to keep up with Blair's hurried pace. "Are you sure about this?"

"Will you quit asking me that?" Blair asked, irritated. "You’re starting to sound like my mother. Why does everyone think I’m so stressed out lately? I’m fine! I feel perfectly fine!"

The last was an outburst that caused the sentinel to cock an eyebrow. Blair had enough sense about him to flush slightly.

"I’m really fine," he stated again, keeping his voice calmer this time."I have to go down to my office. I’ll see you back at the loft later tonight."

So that's where he was heading to in such a rush. "Do you know how late?"

The grad student squinted at the watch, apparently not liking what it read."Not too sure. Maybe about midnight."

"Okay, I’ll be sure not to wait up."

Blair chuckled. "I bet you won’t."

Inside his office, Blair pulled out the card with Dominik Morelli’s number on it. A strain pulled at his mind, the same strain that had been there since he took on a second "job". Of course he didn’t get paid for his work at the station; but for all the time he put in down there, he might as well have. Sometimes the cases came back to him in the middleof the night, driving him from sleep and into his books, which provided some consolation. He didn’t tell Jim that sometimes it all bothered him; he didn’t want the big guy to think less of him. Finally he was beginning to fit into Jim’s world at the station, and he didn’t want to ruin that.

Then the demands of college life would strike him. He couldn’t give up his teaching position, as it was his only source of income. So he dealt with his dual lives as best he could and watched his social life slowly fade away.

Now he was going to call some shrink and dump all this on him. Celia said the guy wasn’t your average psychiatrist; Blair trusted her, so he picked up the phone and called.

A deep, refined voice intoned, "Dr. Morelli’s residence, Jacobs speaking. How may I help you?"

"Uh, hello. My name is Blair Sandburg. Could I please speak with Dr. Morelli? I’d like to make an appointment to speak with him personally."

"Yes, Mr. Sandburg. I’ll have him right with you in a minute."

As he heard the phone set down, a part of Blair’s mind shrilly protested the entire idiocy of the situation. Jim would have a fit if he found out.

Which was why Blair wasn’t going to say anything about it to Jim.

It wasn’t long before he heard another phone picked up, and another deep, mellow voice answered. "Dr. Morelli speaking. How may I help you, Mr. Sandburg?"

"Hi, I’m a friend of Celia Hernandez. She recommended you to me."

"Ah, Celia." The man sighed blissfully. "Yes, a very kind young woman. What can I do for you, sir?"

"I've been under a lot of stress lately and she told me you could help me find and use my inner peace more effectively."

"I can do that," Dr. Morelli confirmed. "Are you available tonight, sir?"

"Tonight? Well, I don’t know, I have a lot --"

"Forget about all of that," Dr. Morelli interrupted calmly. "First step is to push aside the worries. It only interferes. Do you practice meditation?"

"Yes, I do. I just haven’t had time lately—"

Morelli cut him off once more. "Do not let time be a factor. I will meet with you tonight. I’m sure we have plenty to discuss."

"There’s another thing I should bring up. I don’t have very much money."

"It’s not important," the older man assured him. "Do you know how to find my house?"

"The address is here on your card. I’m pretty sure I know where I’m going."

"When should I expect you?" Morelli inquired.

"Is an hour okay?'

"An hour will do nicely. I'm looking forward to your visit." Without further comment Morelli hung up the phone.

Okay, what did I just do? He sounded a little on this side of eccentric. Jim would really approve of this one, Blair thought, and snorted in derision. He may not be all that bad, though. Celia said he was good, and I have no reason to doubt her.

Another little voice in his mind laughed mockingly. Oh yeah, like all the other women you trusted.

But this was only a visit to some New Age psychiatrist who might help him to relax more easily. Not because he really needed it, Blair justified to himself, but because Celia brought it up and it couldn’t hurt to try. Pushing aside any further protestations, he grabbed his jacket and keys, then proceeded out of his office and made sure to lock the door behind himself.

Pulling up to the main gate at the doctor’s residence, Blair was impressed to note that a guard was posted inside a kiosk just outside of the entrance.

"Yes, sir?" The guard, a fiftyish, slightly overweight man, approached Blair’s Volvo.

"Blair Sandburg. I have an appointment with Dr. Morelli."

The guard consulted the clipboard he carried and nodded. "Okay, you’re clear."

The man disappeared into the building and the gate opened before Blair. A silly smile crawled onto his lips; for some odd reason, this was amusing him more and more every minute.

Morelli’s residence was impressive enough to transform his amusement to awe. The place was gorgeous. The driveway leading towards the two-story mansion was bordered on both sides by a seemingly endless garden of plants and flowers, well lighted by fluorescent lamps looming at least twenty feet into the air. The driveway itself circled in front of the large estate and encompassed a magnificent gushing fountain that glowed with the luminescence of underwater lights. The mansion itself was nothing to scoff at: majestic columns protruded upwards from concrete steps that led to wide double doors. The walls of the stately house were white stone bedecked with octagonal windows.

Impressive. Definitely impressive.

Blair parked the Volvo in front of the stairs. He got out, taking his time to absorb his surroundings. He rang the bell beside the doors, and within ten seconds an older gentleman opened the door to greet him.

"Greetings. Mr. Sandburg, I presume?"

Blair nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Please follow me, sir. I am Dr. Morelli’s butler, Jacobs. I will take you to his study."

Morelli’s domicile was lush, from the cream carpeting that stretched in all directions to the various forms of artwork that adorned the walls. Blair followed Jacobs to the left down a wide expanse of hallway, passing only occasional closed doors on either side. Finally, they reached an open door at what was otherwise a dead end.

Blair’s breath caught in his throat at the unconscious anticipation of what he would see. He stepped forward to behold the New Age psychiatrist, Dr. Dominik Morelli.

It was almost disappointing to admit to himself that the man was far from remarkable, which the voice on the phone and the home’s luxurious furnishings had suggested. He wasn’t even as old as Blair had imagined; possibly he was in his late forties or early fifties. He wasn’t overweight, as Blair had expected, in fact appeared to be in excellent physical condition. His salt and pepper beard and hair were the true indicators of his age, besides the lines around his eyes. If anything, Blair thought his eyes were this man’s most arresting feature. They were a stunningly sharp gray, something akin to those of a hawk in their keenness. They were eyes that saw everything, quick to catch even minute details.

Much like a sentinel’s eyes, a funny little voice whispered in the back of Blair’s mind.

Morelli stood as soon as the anthropologist entered his study and smiled warmly with hand extended. Blair accepted it graciously. "How do you do, Mr. Sandburg? I wasn’t sure if you would actually be able to make it on such short notice. I didn’t want to sound overly demanding, but I thought this to be the quickest way to get to the heart of the problem."

Morelli sat back down and motioned for Blair to do likewise.

"I simply wanted to do a psychological evaluation and to get to know you a little better. I did not say this before, but Celia has spoken of you, and quite highly I might add. I was told that you are a grad student working to get your doctorate in anthropology."

Blair nodded. "Yes, sir."

"If you don’t mind my asking, what is your dissertation on? This would give me a better perspective on where your interests lie."

The lie was so well practiced that it came without a second thought. "I’m studying police subcultures and closed societies. I’m a police consultant at the Cascade precinct."

Morelli’s smoky eyes brightened. "That is absolutely fascinating! Are you very involved in the cases?"

"Pretty much," Blair admitted. "I’ve partnered up with detective James Ellison. We’re roommates."

"So you work particularly with this one man?"

Blair nodded. "We’re actually very good friends. I think a lot of Jim."

"How much?" Morelli’s eyes were now searching, once again reminding him of a hawk.

The grad student squirmed slightly under the gaze, but was able to catch himself. He managed to force himself to profess, "He’s like a brother and a father and a best friend. He’s really a great guy, and I depend on him for a lot."

To hear himself actually admitting this to an absolute stranger astounded even himself. What was it this guy was doing, extracting these thoughts from his mind and out his mouth?

"And what do you give him?"

That one caught Blair completely off guard. "Excuse me?"

"If that is everything you get from Jim, then what do you give him?"

"I-- well, I—," he faltered. How was he supposed to answer this? Other than being Jim’s guide, he’d never really thought any farther than that. The next words left a bitter tang in his mouth. "I don’t know."

"I believe I’ve just found the root of all your problems," the psychiatrist announced.

Blair’s penetrating blue irises flew up sharply. "But how can you know so quickly? I’ve barely said anything."

"On the contrary, my dear young man. You have said quite a bit. Stressed out, you say? It comes from more than one source, of course, but I believe it all stems from a very singular anxiety: you’re trying too hard to please."

"That’s ridiculous," Blair retorted, not liking where this conversation was heading.

"I can help you," Morelli admonished. "We can work through the insecurity together, take away the anxiety."

"I really shouldn’t have come. I can’t afford this."

"Don’t let finances be your main concern. I’ll work around it for you. I didn’t amass my wealth from being greedy. Merely because I am good at what I do."

Taking several breaths to calm himself and think more clearly, Blair looked back up at the older man. The guy seemed sincere enough; and much as it hurt to admit, a lot of sore spots had been hit that needed tending to. Eventually Blair came to a decision on the matter.

What could it hurt?, he had continually been asking himself. Not a thing. Not a thing, at all.

"Okay, sounds good to me. When would you like to discuss payment and when to meet?"

Morelli’s grin couldn’t have been any broader. "Tomorrow would be an excellent time, I believe. Two o’clock?"

"I can do it," Blair agreed. "Two o’clock then."

The two men rose and shook hands on the deal.

After leaving Blair at the University, Jim had driven home accompanied solely by the thoughts that had taken up merciless residence in his head. The kid had been witholding something, that much was obvious to the Sentinel; but for all the power of his hyperactive senses, and despite his skill as a detective, he couldn't even help his best friend out of the rut that he had no doubt fallen into.

Another thought occurred to him; gripping the steering wheel tighter, his jaw clenching, he realized that it could all be his own fault. After all, Sandburg had been taking a lot of his own time to assist Jim at the department. Quite a bit of his own work at the University being affected by that brand of commitment.

What dug at him the most was Blair's behavior. Watching the kid teach was never boring to him. He had made it a point to show up early just to watch him in action. Sometimes it made him feel like a proud father. Well, maybe not father so much as brother, and of course that was what the younger man was to him now. The kind of brother that would always sacrifice and give a part of himself, no matter the consequences. Tonight after the lecture though, something had been slightly off in Blair's demeanor. Almost as if the kid were anxious to leave.

Anxious? About what though?

A terrifying thought struck the cop. Was he involved in something illegal? Hastily the presumption was shoved aside. Blair might have a natural talent for seeking out danger in the oddest of places, but he would never get into anything illegal of his own free will. And if he was being forced he would alert Jim to his predicament somehow. Of that much he was positive.

Still, there was something off-kilter and, Blessed Protector that he was, it was his job to figure out what.

Still attempting some semblance of control over the junk threatening to spill everywhere, he managed the door shut and was able to flip on the switch. Light flooded the room and he looked up.

The books crashed to the ground.

"Jim! What are you doing up? Damn, I should've known," he swore. "This is a habit for you, isn't it?

Jim was casually sprawled on the couch facing the loft's door. His entire bearing was matter-of-fact. "I couldn't sleep."

"So you sit on the sofa in the dark, waiting for me to come home so you could scare me to death?"

Jim ignored Blair's vehemence. "I think we need to talk, Chief."

Blair bent down to gather up the scattered books. There was no way he was looking at Ellison right now. "About what?"

"I think you know what."

Yeah, I do. Maybe I don't want to talk about 'what', though. The thought went unspoken, and in its place he replied, "I'm really tired, Jim. Can't we discuss this later? I'd really like to get some sleep. I have to get up earlier than normal tomorrow if I'm going to find anything on those guys."

The Sentinel appeared reluctant to accept the explanation. "I'm concerned about you, Sandburg. I thought we had built a rapport. So why aren't you telling me what's bothering you?"

Maybe because you wouldn't understand. Maybe because you don't feel like you continuously have to prove yourself. Maybe because you would never consider seeing a shrink, no matter what the reason.

Books once again in their rightful place, he stood up, fixing what he hoped was a steady gaze on Jim. "There's nothing to explain right now. Just leave it alone, ok?"

The retort sounded harsh even in Blair's own ears. A wounded look flashed across Jim's face, but he was quick to wipe it clean. No matter, Blair had seen it anyway.

"Just forget it, Jim. I'll see you sometime tomorrow. Good night."

With that he headed straight for his bedroom, the entire way feeling the eyes that were powerful beyond any normal human's, boring a hole straight through his back, and gouging into his heart.

Jim had spent most of his morning in a daze. Off and on his thoughts would drift to Blair, wondering just what was bothering the young man so much that he felt the need to avoid Jim. At this point the detective was well aware that it was more than stress bothering the anthropologist. Ascertaining the actual reason required getting Blair to open up, which at this moment in time seemed like a lost cause.

Brown and Ryf had both aided him in attempting to track down the eighteen carat gold chain, to no avail. Every turn they made ended abruptly in a dead end. Every pawn shop in the city, the jewelers, among others had been of no help whatsoever.

Idly, Jim wondered what Blair might have pulled up. It seemed strange to him that he should depend on the kid so much. There were times he would reflect back to the first few cases they had worked on together, and just how clueless Sandburg had been. As his mind flashed back, a tiny smile sneaked its way onto his lips. With time, Sandburg had become an even better cop than most men Jim had seen on the force. Jim knew it, Simon knew it, basically everyone in Major Crimes knew it, but he had to wonder: did Blair know it?

Something about this particular train of thought sat oddly with him. Before he was able to examine the feeling, the phone on his desk pulled him back into the cacophony of Major Crimes.

He answered the phone. "Ellison."

"Hey Jim." Blair sounded a little more like his old self. Very energetic and excited. "Have I got good news for you. I got the address for Matt Turner and Steven Nedder. They're roommates in an apartment complex."

"Great." Jim allowed himself a sigh of relief. "Thanks a lot, Chief. I really appreciate it."

"I'll give the address to you real quick. I'm on a really tight schedule right now. You have pen and paper available?"

"Yeah. Right here."

Blair read off the address, giving Ellison just enough time to copy it down.

"Got it?" Blair asked.

"I do. You staying out late again?"

"Probably. Honestly, Jim. Don't wait up for me."

"I won't promise you, Blair," Jim advised him. "Just don't give me any reason to be worried."

A sigh of annoyance, then: "Don't worry. I'll talk to you later. Bye."

"Bye." Jim settled the receiver back onto its hook, then turned his attention to the scrawled address. At least this would give him something to turn his mind from other problems.

Sensitive ears picked up two healthy heartbeats inside the apartment, much to the relief of the detective. This way he'd be able to question both of the young men together. He knocked on the door and heard one of them inquire of his roommate who it might be.

"I don't have any idea," was the answer.

The door swung open partially and a pinched, slightly craggy face peeked out.

"Uh, yes?"

Jim presented his credentials, much to the astonishment of the youthful face peering from behind the door. "Detective James Ellison with the Cascade PD. I was wondering if I could ask you and your roommate a few questions."

"Um, ok. Steve, dude, we got company."

As the door opened farther Jim was a given a better view of the apartment's interior. At least it's clean, he thought wryly.

The other man who stepped into view appeared slightly older, and had better luck with his skin. "Hello, detective. What can we do for you?"

"I was hoping you could answer a few questions about Kirk Mayfield."

A shadow swept across Steve's face; Matt hung his head. Steve brushed his long blonde bangs aside, then spoke: "Took you long enough to come around to us. What exactly do you want to know?"

"First of all, I'd like to ask you where you were on Friday night around midnight?"

"Both Matt and I were at a party. I can get you the names of all of the people who saw us there."

The steadiness of the heartbeat assured Jim that this man was not lying to him. Still, a list of names wouldn't be a bad thing. "Good. I intend to check on it."

"Kirk was a great guy, detective. No one I know, which includes both of us, would want to kill him."

"Which brings me to my next question. How exactly did you two meet Kirk Mayfield?"

"We met through a New Age psychiatrist."

Had he heard that right? "A New Age psychiatrist?"

"Yes sir. Actually, Kirk was staying with the man. The guy's loaded. And he was an absolute saint."

"And just what is the saint's name?"

"Dominik Morelli. If you feel like going and asking him questions, you better be real careful. Dr. Morelli took Kirk's death pretty hard. He loved him like a son." Steven spread his arms out. "He loved all of us like his own children."

For the first time since answering the door, Matt spoke up. "We're not a cult, if that's what you're thinking, Detective Ellison. It's nothing like that. He's just a psychiatrist who goes about his job a little bit differently than most people would. And his methods work better than anyone else's I've been to."

"I have no doubt," Jim muttered under his breath. His next words were audibly spoken. "I talked to his girlfriend, Marlena Stiller, yesterday. Now, from what I gathered from her, she didn't have a clue that he was seeing a psychiatrist."

Steve shook his head. "She wouldn't've known. Kirk didn't bother telling anyone. Guess when he sunk into that rut he just didn't feel like expressing it with anyone else. Know what I'm saying?"

Jim nodded. "Yes sir, I do. Who else knew, besides you two, that Kirk was seeing Dr. Morelli?"

"Just a few others. Let's see . . . There was Celia Hernandez, Marcus Walton, Jack Fisher, and Laura Dweiss. I think that was it. We were kind of like a group all to ourselves. We did the group therapy sort of deal sometimes. Kind of to give us a feeling of connection, you know?"

Jim nodded again, though he honestly didn't. However, this did sound like it was right up a certain anthropology student's alley. "Do you have Dr. Morelli's phone number and address where I could get in contact with him?"

Steve nodded and gestured Matt to retrieve the information. About ten seconds later Matt was back and handed an address book to Jim. The information was copied down on a miniature notepad that he kept stuck away in his pocket, before handing the book back. When he put the notepad back in his pocket he pulled out a card.

"I want to thank you gentlemen for your time. If you have anything else, just call the number on the card and ask for me."

"No problem, detective. We hope that you can catch whoever killed Kirk. I'd like to see the bastard behind bars."

"I'll see that I do," Jim assured the young man. "Have a good day."

As he walked away from the door and headed towards the stairs that would take him one flight down to ground level, he extended his sense of hearing.

"You don't think he had anything to do with it--"

"Of course he didn't!" Matt was cut off by Steve's anger. "I just can't believe that someone like Dr. Morelli would do something like that. That man pulled us both from despair. We owe him our lives."

There was no reply, and Ellison's one thought on the matter was: Interesting. Very interesting.

In the daylight the mansion was much less ominous; not quite as oppressive as it was at night. Perhaps the man would also be slightly less eccentric.

Eccentric or not, Blair had to admit that the psychiatrist had, indeed, hit a very sore spot. So here he was, seeking spiritual enlightenment. Something he hadn't bothered with for a while.

Jacobs answered the door and led him down the same corridor up to the same open door. Forgetting to breathe for a moment, Blair wondered: Was this really the best idea?

But it was too late to turn back, so he entered the room. There, rising up from the chair, was Dr. Dominik Morelli, his grey eyes still hawk-like and digging into one's very soul. Despite the sharpness in those irises, his manner was cordial, and he offered a hand which Blair took.

"I am pleased to see you again, Mr. Sandburg. I had to wonder whether or not your presence would be made once again."

"Please call me Blair, Dr. Morelli. And I really wanted to come. What you said to me last night . . . well, a lot of it really needs to be gone through."

Morelli nodded solemnly. "I'm glad to hear you say that, Blair. You are taking the very important first step to seeking inner peace. Realization. Next step is to purge yourself of these problems. If things are left alone they tend to rot and fester, gradually building up into such a state that it can damage a person to unforeseen degrees. The preoccupation festering within you is, as we concluded last night, your insecurity, and doubts about your usefulness. Particularly when it comes to your detective friend. What did you say his name was?"

"Jim. He's a great guy, really. He's done a lot for me. Gave me a home when I had no other place to go. Been the kind of friend I could always count on. Actually, he's turned into my brother. He watches out for me like that, gives me a sense of security that I never really had growing up. I moved around so much as a kid that I could never feel really comfortable anywhere." The older man nodded, letting Blair know he was listening. "I think that's one of the reasons I'm just not totally comfortable now. I've tried hard to fit in, but despite everything I do, I can't help but feel that I will never really fit in Jim's world. I mean, he's a cop. I'm an anthropologist. I'm like a fish out of water, and I think even though there are those who don't mind my being there, there are those who would just as soon I pack my bags and leave. Maybe that's exactly what I should do."

A moment of reflection passed before Morelli spoke. "Does Jim want you to leave?"

"I don't think so. I just don't see that I'm doing him any good anymore. I don't like guns, I don't like fighting, I don't like death -- what good am I to him?"

"Perhaps he sees you as a support."

"Support?" That sounded odd. Despite the fact that he was the man's guide, it often felt like Jim was making the biggest sacrifices. After all, if Blair weren't around, Jim wouldn't have to watch out for him. "I don't know."

"You've given a big part of yourself to help that man."

Blair's gaze flashed up, startled. How did he know that?

"You're a grad student, working on your doctorate, and you give the majority of your time to this person," Morelli went on to explain. "You mentioned yourself that you are very involved with the cases."

"I try to be. I just feel obligated."

"You're insecure," the older man noted.

Blair wasn't arguing the point.

"The only way a problem like this can truly be worked out is if you speak to Jim."

That's what I was afraid of. "Jim may not understand. I don't know if I can explain this to him."

"You have to try. You feel inadequate. The only way to overcome this is to speak to whom the feelings are directed. Do you meditate, Blair?"

"On occasion. Not as much as I used to, though."

"Meditate on it. Give your mind a chance to relax from the problem at hand before you confront it."

Funny how logical all the advice was; and that a person who nearly had his doctorate in hand couldn't handle it on his own. Then again, if this complete stranger wasn't prodding him on and collecting his money at the same time he would never have bothered to face the problem. Standing up to Jim could be daunting sometimes, despite the closeness of their friendship.

It was approaching ten when Blair finally made his way to the loft's door. Ever since talking to Dr. Morelli, he had felt a strange calm accompany him throughout his activities. The fact that the tv buzzed through the door, indicating that Jim had waited up for him, did not bother him in the least. As long as he could get out what needed to be said, this calm would stay with him.

"Hey Jim," he greeted his partner, as he walked through the door. "Did you talk to Matt and Steve today?"

Jim clicked the tv off. "I did. I think we have a suspect, finally."

Blair's eyes lit up. "Oh, really?" He shut the door behind him, tossing the keys in the basket by the door. "So who's on the list?"

"A psychiatrist by the name of Dr. Dominik Morelli."

The young man stood there, bookbag still dangling from his shoulder, jaw hanging slightly open, eyes registering nothing but shock.

"Chief? Hey buddy, you ok? What's wrong?"

Blair shook his head as if to remove clinging cobwebs. "Did you say Dominik Morelli?"

"I did." Jim straightened, instantly reading trouble. "What's going on, Sandburg?"

Blair hesitated. He'd wanted to tell the sentinel, but not under these circumstances. A suspect? That couldn't be possible. "Jim, you're going down the wrong road here."

"What's going on, Sandburg?" The older man repeated.

"Morelli can't be a suspect. Have you even spoken to the man yet?"

"No," Jim answered truthfully. "But I will be, and if I'm given reason enough he will be a suspect. I've made arrangements to talk to him tomorrow. It appears that no one sees him without an appointment. Not even the cops."

"Why is he even a suspect?"

"He was Kirk's psychiatrist."

"That doesn't prove anything."

"And Kirk lived with him?"

This was news. "A relationship?"

"No, not from what I've gathered. It just appears that Morelli did favors for certain people, and would allow those in financial binds to stay at his residence for a time."

"Ok, back up. Listen to what you just said. You're putting a man like that under suspicion. The guy decides to be a Good Samaritan, so he gets slapped with a murder charge?"

"No ones charging him yet, Sandburg. He's just under suspicion for the time being. I'll have a talk with him. What is it with you and defending this guy, anyway?"

Demanding ice-blue irises encountered the candid sky blue ones that fought desperately to keep the emotions hidden. Blair didn't have to answer.

"You're seeing a psychiatrist." Jim's voice dropped, losing its edge. "Why didn't you tell me before?'

"I didn't think you'd understand."

"Understand what? Kid, if you're having problems, you know you can always come to me. Isn't that what friends are for?"

"I can't come to you about everything." Blair implored sympathy. "I had to do this. I was falling apart at the seams, not just physically, but emotionally, too. You wouldn't have understood, Jim."

An expression unlike any Blair had ever seen slip over that stone visage, was visibly fought at bay. He had just wounded his friend's feelings.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Dammit Blair, for someone who can talk so much, you sure are terrible at talking about what's truly important. I can't do this. I have to go back to Dr. Morelli.

"Jim . . ." His voice faltered. Finally, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Then he walked into his room, wondering how he always managed to screw everything up.

Meditate.
Relax.
Focus.

So things didn't go as planned. That could be fixed.

Why'd Jim have to go and ruin it? Blair knew he should've been better prepared. How was he to have known that Dr. Morelli was under suspicion, though? It didn't make the man a murderer.

Focus.
Relax.
Meditate . . .

"You're insecure." He knew that all too well.

Just because his grip was loosening didn't mean his life was falling apart.

Regardless of the fact, it still felt like it.

Relax.
Meditate.
Focus . . .

Everything he'd been attempting to accomplish was dying. There was just too much to do. School, Jim's sentinel abilities, police work, and his crumbling social life.

Social life? What was that? He couldn't recall that far back.

Meditate.
Focus.
Relax . . .

"Isn't that what friends are for?" Yeah, just like he'd said once that it was all about friendship. So he was trying to hide his fears from a Sentinel. Of course the man was going to know something was wrong. It was written all over Blair's face.

I think you want him to notice.

Maybe. There's just something about trying to discuss insecurities and fears with Jim Ellison that can be outrageously daunting.

It's not a big deal.

Then why does it feel like it is?

Get over it.

I'm trying. Man, am I trying.

And not just any shrink, either. No. He had to pick Morelli. How did the kid manage to do that? If his middle name wasn't Trouble . . .

But there was more to it than just Morelli. It had been going on before Kirk's death; it just hadn't really been noticeable until then.

Poor guy thought he was expected to overwork himself. He tried to get involved with Jim's work constantly; simply trying to help. So he decided to try to help out with Mayfield's investigation, a student of his. That had to be really tough on the kid. It seemed that had been the breaking point. When everything became too much to handle.
So now he was seeing a shrink. Morelli. And he didn't even discuss it with Jim.

Even though he hadn't admitted it, that had hurt him.

If he could just talk with this Dominik Morelli, perhaps things could settle into normal once again. And if the guy was actually the murderer? Jim decided it was best not to think on it.

Closing his eyes, the Sentinel focused his hearing on his Guide downstairs.

Amazing. He was asleep. That was good. The young man needed it.

Jim looked up from the papers he'd been reading through. Simon was already turning back into his office. This oughta be good.

Once inside the office, door shut behind him, Jim stood facing his captain. "Yes sir?"

"Jim, tell me if I'm bordering on personal here, but I'm getting the feeling that something's wrong with Sandburg. I haven't seen him around here in a while and, frankly, it's starting to worry me."

Realizing that this was a personal and not business matter, Jim reverted to first name basis. "I know what you mean, Simon. He's been really busy lately, but ever since Mayfield was killed he's been burying himself in work. It's been really weird. Even for Sandburg. He told me last night that he was seeing a psychiatrist."

"A shrink?" Simon squinted his eyes.

"That's what I thought. It gets better."

Jim crossed over to the front of Simon's desk, crossing his arms.

"Guess who the psychiatrist is."

"Great," Simon groaned. "Morelli. So you told him, I take it."

"I did."

"How'd he take the news?"

"Who knows? He seemed upset last night, but this morning, before he rushed out the door, he seemed to be in a good mood."

"I just hope he doesn't go and do something stupid."

"That's all this case needs."

"When's your appointment with the good doctor, by the way?"

"Two PM."

Simon looked at his watch. "Less than an hour. You think he's the one?"

"I honestly don't know. Right now I'm not even sure if I want him to be or not. If he's not, that means a dead end, but if he is then Blair will probably take it real badly."

"Kid's growing on you, isn't he?" The captain mused fondly.

"Terrible, I know."

Blair looked over his glasses, pen poised over a set of notes. "Celia. Hi."

"Just wanted to see how you're doing."

He shrugged. "Okay."

He must have betrayed himself because Celia's brow furrowed and she moved closer to his desk. "Are you sure?"

"I'm fine."

"You talked with Dr. Morelli , didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"So what happened?"

"He pointed out some things. Made some suggestions. Helped me realize some things about myself. He's good at what he does, considering I only talked with him twice."

Celia beamed. "I told you he was good." A frown vanquished the smile. "Why do you look like your best friend just left you, then?"

"Because." Blair removed his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "He did what he was supposed to do, but I didn't. I screwed up. Again."

"If you still feel like you're having problems, then go back."

"It's not that simple."

"What's wrong, Blair? Tell me the truth."

Could he actually say this? He could at least try. "Dr. Morelli is a suspect in Kirk Mayfield's murder. Jim told me last night that he was questioning him today."

Celia shook her head at the shocking news. "You believe he did it?"

"No! At least I don't think so. I hope not. I mean . . . how could he?"

"I don't believe he could ever kill anyone. Especially not Kirk. Kirk was like his son. Your friend's wrong. He'll find that out when he talks with him."

Blair nodded. "Right. You're right. Besides, Jim said that it wasn't final. Why didn't I talk with him when I had the chance?"

"You'll have time later," Celia offered.

Blair sighed, staring at the notes scattered across his desk amidst the books. "Yeah. Later."

"Thank you, sir, but I prefer to stand."

The salt and pepper-haired man behind the desk gave a slight shrug. "Suit yourself, detective. You're Mr. Sandburg's friend, aren't you?"

"How did you know that?" Ellison demanded suspiciously.

Morelli sank into his plush chair. "The young man has spoken highly of you. From what I gathered, you're practically his only family."

"He has family."

"But you're the closest," Morelli pointed out.

"I didn't come here to discuss Sandburg."

"Oh, of course. Please forgive me. I was merely concerned."

"Concerned? Over what?"

"His insecurity. His compulsion to prove himself."

"He doesn't have a thing to prove to anyone. Everyone already knows how intelligent and capable he is."

"Everyone else knows, but he doesn't. It's you he's the most concerned with. The brother he never had. That's how he thinks of you."

Silently, Jim sank into one of the chairs, digesting every word.

Snapping himself out of his reverie, his ice blue eyes settled onto the equally penetrating smoky gray of the other. This was ridiculous. He wasn't here to talk to a doctor; he was here to talk to a possible suspect. "Dr. Morelli, this is all quite fascinating, but I need to ask you a few questions."

The psychiatrist smiled woodenly, ingratiating. He was trying too hard to be likable, in Jim's opinion. "I'm sorry. My work has a tendency to get the best of me sometimes."

Either that, or you're trying to avoid the subject.

"What was your relationship to Kirk Mayfield?"

"Kirk was my patient."

"I understand he was living here with you."

"He was," Morelli assented. "He really had nowhere else to go."

"His parents?" Jim inquired, focusing on the doctor's pulse.

"They didn't care about that young man. Of course they wouldn't tell you that, but that's how it is. He told me about them and if the truth be told, Kirk isn't the first person I've taken under my wing. After all, it's my job to help people and I intend to do just that. Most of these college kids find themselves in the worst predicaments, which I why I've focused my therapy on the New Age ideals. They react much better to it. Just like your friend, Mr. Sandburg." The heartbeat had remained regular throughout the explanation; still, Jim could sense something off base. "Where were you Friday night?"

"Here the entire night. I went to bed at 11 PM. Jacobs will testify to that."

"Was it normal for Mr. Mayfield to stay out late at night?"

"He did on Fridays and Saturdays. Normally he would come in after I was asleep. I had given him full access to the house."

That sounded questionable. "You trusted a 23 year-old college student with a troubled background?"

Morelli spread his hands wide. "I would like to believe, Detective, that everyone can be trusted. No matter their background. I worked intensely with Kirk. I grew to love him dearly. I've never had the chance to have my own children, and it has always been a joy for me to take these kids in and treat them as if they were my own."

"Have you ever encountered problems with anyone you've ever taken in?"

"I haven't. I would sincerely like to believe Kirk isn't the last student I am able to help."

"You mean to tell me that, despite all that's happened, you're willing to do this again?" Jim asked, incredulous.

"I am. Because tragedy strikes is no reason for me to recede into a shell. It would defeat the purpose of my job."

"Did Kirk have any enemies, or anyone he was having problems with?"

Morelli shook his head. "None that I knew of, which makes this that much more sad. He was a very friendly person. He made quick friends with a few of my other patients. My job is to understand people, but for all I've tried, I can't even begin to understand this atrocity. What a terrible way to die."

"Terrible way to die?" Jim studied the older man sharply.

"Stabbed to death," Morelli offered, without a hint of discomfort.

"How did you know he was stabbed to death? The media wasn't given details into the murder."

"Blair told me. He said it was horrible."

The explanation didn't make sense to Jim.

Perhaps he should ask Blair about this.

The grad student had never been much for gory murders, not even talking about them. It wasn't a weakness Jim saw, but a love for humanity and life. Violence was the opposit of everything Blair stood for and believed in. Picturing Blair talking openly about Kirk's death was ludicrous.

Instead of voicing his skepticism, Jim merely went on to inquire: "May I take a look at his room?"

Shadowy defensiveness darkened Morelli's cloudy irises. "I wouldn't mind, but I'm going to have to ask that you obtain a search warrant. Having someone snooping around my home puts me ill at ease. Too many problems could arise."

Ellison nodded. "I understand. I'm not expected to make another appointment, am I?"

"Not at all, Detective Ellison. And please tell Mr. Sandburg that I'm looking forward to our next meeting."

"I'll do that." He handed his card to the psychiatrist. "This is my number in case you have anything else you would like to share before I return. Thank you for your time."

"Of course, sir." Morelli smiled openly as Jim stood up, following suit to shake hands. "Good luck with your investigation."

Jim looked up into those eyes and could've sworn that he'd seen-- if for just a moment-- a challenge. Good luck, because you're going to need it.

"What did those Sentinel senses of yours pick up?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. If he's lying, he's doing a hell of a job covering it up."

"So what makes you think that he is lying?"

"Instinct. Personally, I think I'll choose instinct over my senses. I've known it longer. And there's something else that he said that really sat oddly with me."

"Like what?"

"He knew how Mayfield was murdered. I asked him how he knew and he told me that Blair had told him."

"Sandburg?" Simon snorted, reflecting back on the cases where he'd seen the kid take off as soon as he caught sight of the body.

"He wouldn't be able to go into detail about the murder. He simply doesn't have it in him. Sure, he would bring it up, but not discuss it."

"Wouldn't Morelli know this though?" Simon asked.

"That's another thing. I think the man's taunting me."

"Taunting you?"

"Yeah." Jim struggled to form his thoughts into words. "He has this look in his eyes. I don't know." He shook his head, giving up.

"Have you asked Blair whether or not he discussed it with Morelli?"

"Not yet. I headed here directly after I talked with Morelli. I'll call him and ask him about it."

"You do that, and perhaps you should look into this guy's background."

"I'll get Brown and Ryf to help me out in that department."

"Sandburg! Great, you're in."

"Uh, yeah." The voice on the other side was colored with amusement. "And what exactly can I do for you, Big Guy?"

"I was just talking to Morelli and brought up something that I thought I should ask you about."

"What would that be?"

"Did you ever tell him how Mayfield was murdered?"

"No . . ." Blair answered the question warily, unsure of what point his friend was trying to make. "Why?"

"He knew that Mayfield had been stabbed to death."

"So?"

"He said that you were the one who told him that."

A moment of silence ensued. Finally Blair found his voice. "It doesn't prove anything."

"No, it doesn't," Jim agreed. "But it does make him look that much more suspicious. Chief, there's something about this guy that's really different. I just have this strange feeling about him."

A pause, followed by the tone Blair adopted when in Guide mode. "What kind of a strange feeling?"

"There's just something about him that seems very familiar to me. The look in his eyes, certain movements he makes, stuff like that."

"Now that you mention it, there is something familiar about him."

"Blair, I want you to listen to me. Don't call him or go to see him. I don't trust this man."

"I don't think he's the killer."

"You don't know that."

"You don't know that he is."

"That doesn't mean he shouldn't be handled as if he is. I don't like this guy. I don't want you around him."

"You're not jealous, are you?"

"Jealous? What is this, Sandburg? What makes you think I'm jealous?"

"Because he's more understanding of me than you."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this!"

"You know it's true. I can't tell you anything. I had to go to him to let everything out."

"You never gave me a chance," Jim shot back.

"No," Blair admonished. "You never listened to me. I tried to talk to you, but the way you act sometimes makes me feel stupid."

"I've never tried to make you feel that way, Blair. Listen to me--"

"No," Blair cut him off. "I'm sick of always listening to you. You listen to me for once. Maybe there's something you don't like about Dr. Morelli, but there's something about him that I do like. He's been understanding in a way no one else has."

"He's a psychiatrist, Chief! It's his job!"

"And he doesn't yell at me like you do, either," Blair added. "I don't think he's just been doing his job for me. He's not a killer, Jim. I have to go. Bye."

Before Jim could argue the phone clicked, immediately followed by a busy tone.

Dammit kid. What is going on with you?

Blair's smile was forced. "I know. He told me."

"Did he?" Morelli leaned back in his chair, hands pressed together, prayer-like, against his lips. "I take it the problem was not resolved."

Dark brown curls shook along with the head.

"I see."

"You're a suspect," Blair blurted out, before he could catch himself.

"I'm aware of the fact," the psychiatrist responded lightly. "It does not bother me."

For a second Blair considered asking if the man had actually killed Kirk, then opted to keep his mouth shut. Morelli's openness and the warmth with which he treated Blair could hardly be faked, now could it? How could someone like that be a killer? The idea was downright preposterous.

"Blair, I would like you to join me for dinner."

"Dinner?" The young man's sapphire eyes shined at the prospect. "Really?"

"I would be honored to have your presence. You're an intriguing young man. I don't think I could have much better company."

"Dominik Morelli doesn't exist," Brown announced.

"That's what I was gathering."

"Ryf has been digging around, but he's only come up with a dead end. We can't figure out who this guy really is."

"I don't like this."

"Have you told Hairboy?"

"No." Jim picked up the phone and punched in a number. "That would be a good idea."

After about ten seconds Jim slammed the phone down. "He's not there."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. Wait, his cellular." Jim picked up the phone again and dialed another number.

Heading back in the direction of the dining quarters, he was halted by the shrill of his cell phone.

"Hello?"

"Blair, where are you?"

Blair rolled his eyes, a motion that was wasted over the phone. "Why must you track me around everywhere I go?"

"Where are you?" Jim demanded again.

"I'm at Morelli's."

"What are you doing there?"

"I'm having dinner."

"Blair, you have to leave there now."

"What! What makes you think you can--"

"Shut up. Just let me finish. Brown, Ryf and I have been doing some digging. Morelli doesn't have a past. He's practically nonexistent."

"But how . . ."

"Chief, I know you're mad at me, but you have to trust me on this. Leave now."

"But we're supposed to have dinner. What am I supposed to tell him?"

"I don't care. You're the master of obfuscation."

"Okay." Blair could feel his heart beat increase. Jim sounded much too serious and worried. "I'm leaving."

"Great. I'll see you later."

"Right. Bye."

Blair cut the phone off, his mind whirling as he trudged down the hallway. It divided, and he turned right, to step directly in front of Morelli.

"Blair."

"Um, Dr. Morelli, I have to go. My friend called and he had an emergency. I need to go down to help him out."

"I don't think so, Blair."

Saliva caught in his throat.

"You see, I've had access to your work on Sentinels. I've found it to be most fascinating. I think you would be even more surprised to find out that there is not only one full-fledged Sentinel out there."

Blair's eyes widened.

"I heard every word of the conversation with your friend."

As soon as Jim made the call to Blair, he scanned through the few files that Brown and Ryf had managed to pull on Dominik Morelli. His stomach unsettled as he read through the small amount of information that had been found. Finished reading, without a word, the detective moved out of the chair and headed directly for Banks' office. He barged in without even knocking.

Simon scrutinized the detective. "You may enter."

"Sorry, Captain," Jim said, without a hint of conviction. "Things aren't looking up. I just got a hold of Blair and he's at Morelli's. I told him to get out of there. As it turns out, Dr. Dominik Morelli doesn't exist."

"Doesn't exist?" Simon echoed.

"There is no proof that he existed before twenty years ago. It's as if he just appeared from nowhere at the age of thirty."

"That's strange," Banks muttered.

Jim nodded his agreement. "The most we can get is that he went to a small private college in California and received his doctorate in psychology. Five years ago he opened his own private practice centered on New Age ideals."

A frown appeared on the dark man's face. "I'm heading down to the courthouse. Hopefully, the search warrant will be ready within the hour. "

"Right. I think I'm going to have a talk with Marlena Stiller."

"You think she held back information?"

"I'm not sure. I just want to double check. She's the only person I've met so far that knew Kirk and had nothing to do with Morelli."

"Did you tell Blair to come to the station?"

"I didn't tell him where to go, but he knows where I am. He'll probably head here."

"Do you honestly think that he got out without any trouble?

This is Sandburg we're talking about here," Simon pointed out.

Jim sighed. "I hope so. I don't know . . . there's just something about the way he acts when Morelli's mentioned. It's almost as if that man has some sort of hold on that kid. I can't figure it out, but I can assure you, Blair hasn't been impressing me lately with some of the decisions he's made."

"You don't think it's just stress," Simon stated.

"No. I just can't get rid of this feeling. Something is very, very wrong, and it's not just my suspicions that Morelli's the killer. There's more to it than that; I just wish I knew what."

"Hello?"

"Hello, Ms. Stiller?"

"Yes?"

"This is Detective Ellison. We talked earlier."

"I remember."

"Do you think I could ask you a few more questions."

The suspiration he heard on the other end indicated that she was less than enthused by the idea; when she spoke, however, she sounded agreeable. "Okay. If you need to."

"What was Kirk's major?"

Jim could tell the question caught the young woman off guard by the following pause. "Major? Journalism. Kirk was so sure that he'd be able to work for one of the big papers. He kept talking about a major story he found; right before he died, too."

I can't believe I didn't think of this before. "Did he mention what the story was about?"

"Not really. He said he wasn't ready yet."

"Did Morelli know about it?"

"I don't know. Maybe. The way Kirk acted, the man didn't. Kirk said he kept all his information hidden; that no one should know where it is. Funny I didn't think of it before," Marlena mused. "That sounds really suspicious. I must've been so distraught that I forgot all about it."

"It happens," Jim assured her. "If we can find what he was working on, I think it might help my case along."

A moment of silence ensued and Jim realized that the young woman was thinking. Finally she spoke again: "I think I know where his information is. I believe he kept most of it in his laptop."

"Is the laptop at Morelli's?" Jim asked, warily.

"No. For some reason he didn't want to keep it there. It's here, at my place."

"Did you ever try to access his files?"

"No. He has a password on them. Besides, I didn't think there was anything of significance in them. I guess I was wrong."

"Do you mind if I come over with someone who'll be able to break the password?"

"No. I insist, in fact."

A rush of relief flooded Jim. Finally, he was getting some cooperation. "Thank you, ma'am. I'll see that we're over there within fifteen to thirty minutes."

Before heading to Marlena's apartment with Ryf, who insisted that he'd be able to crack the code, Jim left a note behind for Blair with Brown.

"Make sure he gets this when he shows up," Jim instructed the other detective. If he shows up, a little voice in his head mocked.

Jim wasted little time in getting to Marlena's. Ryf wasted even less time breaking the code.

"That was fast," Jim noted, impressed.

"I figured it out from the chain. The password was the initials."

Of course it'd be that simple.

Ryf scrolled through the files and found one particular article that caughtboth of the detectives interest. Marlena watched the screen with fascination.

A scanned news article had been pulled up. The title read: "Psychologist Wanted for Murder of Local Policeman". The article was dated twenty-one years ago. Within the article was a picture of a young man that vaguely resembled Morelli, with a much different name in the caption: Vincent Maretto.

After skimming the article, Jim made an observation. "This happened in Georgia. He got his degree at a small, private university there. That means he has two doctorate degrees in psychology. Two of his patients, both college students, had disappeared without a trace. The cop, Donnel, was sent in undercover to investigate."

Ryf pulled up another file. This time the title declared that the local cops were still searching for Maretto. The article was dated a month later. More files of a similar nature were brought up, all announcing that Maretto was still under suspicion for the murder of the policeman, Mike Donnel, and wanted for questioning about the disappearance of the two college students. Donnel's body was found, mutilated, in the woods. Going further through the files they came upon a personal entry by Kirk.

"I believe this is the story that'll give me the career boost I need. I knew that there was something about Morelli a little off key, and now I know what. It took months to do the research, but I finally came upon the news articles about Vincent Maretto and realized that there must be a connection. After all, Maretto and Morelli looked much too similar to ignore. So I decided to go in a little deeper. I decided to use my pathetic relationship with my parents as an excuse, knowing the man tried to put on a front as a Good Samaritan. As I expected, he took me in. What he didn't know was that my motives were admittedly deceptive.

"I've felt real bad about this whole thing. Leaving Marlena in the dark I mean. But I can't take a chance, if this man is who I think he is. The longer I stay with him the more unsettled I feel by him. This is no normal man. There's something in his eyes, or rather, his eyes period. Even stranger, he seems to be able to hear things that he couldn't possibly hear. Sometimes I get the impression that he knows when I'm lying to him. I hope this story is worth it. I know that it'll shock a lot of people to know that the Spectacular Dominik Morelli is actually Suspected Cop-Killer Vincent Maretto.

"I know that Maretto and Morelli have to be one and the same. Consider the following: Both have doctorates in psychology; Maretto was a con-artist, Morelli is a con-artist; Maretto was alleged to have used hypnosis of some sort, I am led to believe that Morelli uses hypnosis of some sort on his patients; Maretto handled college students, as does Morelli; Maretto was known to take in students who had no home, and as I should know very well, Morelli does too. Coincidence? I hardly think so. It's my theory that when Maretto was suspected of the killing, he took off. He's a rich man, and I'm sure he knows people in high places. He was probably able to pay someone in cash to give him a new identity and alter his appearance. Obviously they didn't go overboard changing the man's looks. I think the most they did was trim the hair and give him a new nose.

"On occasion I've noticed Morelli going upstairs. When he comes down he's rather moody. I think the story behind Maretto is there. I intend to go up there and see just what it is."

The three readers sat in stunned silence, Marlena struggling to keep her composure. In a weak voice she managed a raspy, "Oh God."

Ryf looked back at the young woman, then turned to Jim. Their eyes met, Jim's set and determined. Ellison's eyes drifted back to the monitor, to the written thoughts that had been Kirk Mayfield's undoing.

"Now," he announced, "we have a motive."

Slightly less than an hour later, Jim got back to the station and noticed that Blair had not shown up. He pulled out his cellular with hopes of being able to get in contact with his friend that way. It rang several times before he finally gave up.

Brown and Ryf had been watching expectantly as he made the call. At the agitated look on his face, Brown remarked needlessly, "Hairboy's not answering, is he?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't like this at all. I think--"

A deep, booming voice cut him off. "Gentlemen! We have the search warrant!"

The tenseness in his taut visage was allayed at the his captain's announcement. At least they were making progress. Hopefully Blair was okay. Right at this point all he could do was hope.

His question was answered by the gun that appeared from under the doctor's jacket.

Idiot idiot idiot. You think a person would learn after the first several mistakes. But not you. No, you have to sit there and argue with a Sentinel!

"I'm going to take you on a little trip into my past. I know a curious mind like yours can't pass up an offer like that."

Blair had to admit, he was intrigued despite the danger.

Morelli pushed Blair ahead of him with the gun and prodded him into a walk. "Your partner is a smart man as well and I figure he'll be here with the search warrant before too long. We, however, won't be here to greet him."

"Where are we going?"

"I understand you enjoy the outdoors. I've had a lot of experience with it myself. I spent a year hiding out in the mountains. That was when I first noticed these miraculous abilities that seemed to have come from nowhere. I thought the gods had bestowed this gift on me. After some researching I ran into Burton's Sentinel studies. Needless to say, I was intrigued."

"Is that why you took such an interest in me?"

"Observant." Morelli chuckled. "My patients were willing to do anything for me. Celia was the one who connected your thesis paper with Sentinel studies. I was rather amused when you gave me that other story. You're a smooth liar, I must admit. Has Detective Ellison noticed this little trait in you?"

"I don't lie to Jim."

"Of course not."

Morelli and Blair entered the dining room.

"Jacobs, plans have been canceled. Is everything ready to go?" Morelli circled around in front of Blair, keeping the gun trained on the young man.

"It will be in five minutes, sir."

"Everything ready . . ." Blair murmured, the meaning of the words slowly dawning on him. "You were expecting this to happen! You wanted him to figure it out!"

"Incredibly bright!" Morelli laughed.

"But why?"

"Why not?" Morelli retorted. "Chances are I would've been figured out anyway. A college student managed to figure me out within no time. Certainly a detective would. I thought I'd just help him along. And that his partner is a Guide . . ." The psychiatrist's voice trailed off and a devious smile took its place.

"What did Kirk figure out?"

"That I'm not who I appear to be. You really are the curious one, aren't you? I can see how you managed to discover Ellison."

Still confused, Blair attempted to make sense of his situation. "How were you able to control your senses? Is Jacobs your Guide?"

"Jacobs?" That notion amused Morelli. "Not in the slightest. He's merely a very faithful man who knows all my little secrets. Though, it doesn't hurt that I pay him very well. As far as controlling my abilities goes -- well, that's what I intend to use you for."

"I'm not helping you," Blair replied, stubbornly, despite the tremors of fear that ran along his spine.

Morelli smirked. "That's what you think."

Jacobs entered the room. "Everything's ready whenever you are, sir."

"Ahh, great." Gun still trained on his captive, Morelli gave the young man a wide grin. "You're going to enjoy this, Blair. Think of it as our final session. No more worries ever again."

Not for the first time since Jim's phone call, Blair regretted having not listened to his partner. What was Morelli planning on doing? From the way the man was grinning, Blair didn't think he wanted to find out.

"Dr. Morelli left," the guard sputtered.

"I don't care if he's in his Jacuzzi right now," Simon informed the apparently uncomfortable man. "We have a search warrant, we're going to search."

The guard opened the gate, allowing Simon and his miniature entourage access to the expansive estate. The pudgy man followed behind the cops in a motorized cart. At the front door he produced a key that allowed them inside.

Once inside Simon issued orders. "I want everyone to spread out. Stevenson, Parrish, Mink, Deerey, I want you to take the bottom floor. Ellison, Brown, Ryf and myself will take the top level. Let's get a move on it!"

At his last command they dispersed.

Following along beside Ellison, Simon noticed the grim set to his jaw and knew why it was there.

"You think Morelli has him, don't you?"

Jim nodded. "It's all my fault, too. The kid was having problems and I never noticed. I should've noticed. He's my Guide!"

"It's not your fault," Banks admonished. "Sandburg was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. As usual."

"I could've prevented it. I think Morelli hypnotized him, like that article said he did to his patients."

"You really believe that hypnotizing theory?"

"It makes sense. He was depressed by Mayfield's death, but he turned antisocial after seeing Morelli."

"You told him to leave Morelli and he was going to, wasn't he? If Morelli's been hypnotizing him, as you put it, then he hasn't gotten to him all the way." Simon thought about what he had just said. "It sounds really far-fetched to me."

"So does the idea of a Sentinel. It's still a theory, but I think there's really something behind Mayfield's hypnosis idea. It's like he's brainwashing his patients. Brainwashing takes time. He hasn't had that kind of time with Blair."

"I still think it's a stretch."

Jim's jaw twitched. "It probably is; but I don't think it should be discounted yet."

After finally reaching the top floor Jim and Simon split. Up here, there was no scent of Blair that he had detected on the first floor. In fact, he couldn't sense that this level had had too many visitors any time recent. The only scents he was picking up were Morelli's and the butler's. Allowing his sense of smell to direct him --just as Blair had shown him-- he found himself walking down a deserted stretch of hallway. In the distance he could hear the padded footfalls of his cohorts.

Don't zone. You don't have Blair here to pull you out of it. At the thought of his friend a tiny stab of pain seared through his heart. You better be okay, kid.

Morelli's scent was strongest to the right. Here at this door. Jim turned to look at the door he was now facing. He reached out and turned the knob, only to find it locked. There was an easy way to fix that.

With a quick, sharp movement, his leg lashed out and the door cracked under the blow.

The dustiness of the room got to him, provoking a sneeze. His keen eyesight swiftly adjusted to the dark and he was able to make out a switch on the wall. At a flip of the switch, the room was flooded in a dull, yellow light.

The Sentinel rotated, absorbing his surroundings. Cardboard boxes, covered in thick dust, were piled on top of two cedar chests alongside two of the short walls, in front of and to his left. The third wall, adjacent to his right, was a bookshelf filled to capacity with various volumes. Upon closer examination he found that the majority of the titles dealt with myths and legends, the explorations of Burton, tribes, and hypnosis, along with other related topics. His insides felt a cold tugging, causing them to shiver with dawning realization.

One of the boxes was slightly opened, catching his attention from the corner of his eye. In the cramped room, he was standing in front of it in one step. He opened the box and found it to be filled with picture albums. Deciding that there might be something of use inside, he picked one and opened it.

The pictures were at the very least twenty years old. Most of them were of a young couple. A man with a dignified air who seemed to be perfectly happy. The woman was beautiful, with a genuine smile and sparkle in her eyes. It was a picture of Vincent Maretto and his wife.

Going further through the album, Jim ran into an article that did nothing to alleviate the tension he was feeling: "Pregnant Woman Murdered By College Students."

As Jim skimmed over the article, the dread knotting his stomach clenched tighter and tighter. Maretto had been a successful psychiatrist at the youthful age of twenty-eight. His wife, twenty-five years old and in her sixth month, had been stabbed to death while the couple had been on vacation in the woods.

Jim's mind flashed back as he recalled the article he had read earlier on Kirk's files. The cop's body had been found stabbed in the woods. Two of Maretto's patients had disappeared. Was it possible that the man had killed them and buried them in the woods, as had happened to his wife?

Kirk must've found this room somehow.

The next box he came to was just big enough to fit a jewelry box. He opened it and found the piece of evidence that he had been searching for.

The eighteen carat chain with the initials KDM & MMS engraved on it.

His eyes wandered back to the books, the jewelry box clenched in his hands. Burton, tribes, hypnosis . . .

The sharpness of those gray eyes.

It couldn't really be possible, could it?

Another box was opened and Jim felt his knees nearly give way. It was Blair's research. How had Morelli gotten his hands on this information?

The doubt was replaced with a certainty.

Morelli was a Sentinel; and he had Jim's Guide.

"I lived in isolation for a year. That's when I first noticed these senses. My first notion was that I was gradually losing my sanity; then I stumbled upon the Sentinel research Burton did. It mentioned that a Sentinel had a partner, but I knew of no one who could fill that place for me, so I turned to meditation, a practice that I would've considered quite archaic before I lost Jessica. It helped a great deal, and I found that I could exert some control over my new-found powers. Still, it isn't the same and I've been rather hesitant to find out what the extent is. I'm sure you could show me just how powerful I am, and I know that there are certain barriers we must overcome. Your loyalty to Ellison being one of them; but I don't think that will be a problem much longer, do you?"

The drugged man stared at him through dazed eyes.

"Of course Ellison will try to come after you. That's what I'm counting on, in fact. I don't think he realizes just who he's up against, yet."

Morelli paused, collecting his thoughts.

"I understand that the detective was in the army before coming to Cascade to become a detective; before he met you. I also understand that he was very good. If he's as good a detective as I'm led to believe, then I think he'll find out more about me than just the Sentinel bit. I was in the army, too. I served in Vietnam in fact. Saw more than any man should've seen. I came back to the States trying to clear my head of the horrors. Got a doctorate in psychology, met Jessica, married her, and settled in for a happy life. One to clear away the nightmares. It worked . . . for a little while. Then those bastards killed Jess and I was left without anyone to cling to. I had to get revenge, and I knew I had the perfect training. Unfortunately, that damned cop pinned me and I had to kill him and escape. Thanks to a considerable fortune, and friends I'd made during my days in 'Nam, I was able to change my appearance and escape to California.

"I spent a great deal of time alone in the mountains. Like I said before, that's when I noticed the senses. I had to start all over again, but I thought that it could be done. Escape everything that had gone wrong in the first lifetime. It didn't happen that way, but I don't think I care so much anymore. I have you here, where I need you. With any luck, I can establish control over what has evaded me for twenty years, something that has always been with me, yet remains a mystery. Being a Sentinel and trying to teach oneself the tricks of the trade just doesn't seem to work as effectively as having someone else to help one along. "

Morelli chuckled.

"I know you don't think you'll ever be willing to help me; but, trust me --I have a talent for the art of persuasion. Even with time running out."

He gazed out the open window that shed a bare minimum of light into the murky room. Jacobs had gone to retrieve his equipment. He was ready to work.

The sigh that escaped him was a mixture of relief and dread. The gold chain in the box was the most solid proof they had at this point, but it also meant that Morelli was definitely the one; and Blair’s last known location had been with him here at the mansion. Hardly a good thing for the police observer.

"I found articles, Simon. There's more to this Maretto than meets the eye." Lowering his voice, he leaned closer to the captain to keep anyone who might be close by from overhearing. "I think he's a Sentinel."

"What!" Simon stared sharply at Jim. "How's that possible? I thought you didn't notice your abilities until after your time in isolation, after Peru."

"I didn't, but this man has also spent time in isolation. He disappeared in Georgia, and a year later he shows up in California. In that year I think he was hiding out in the woods. There's more though." Ellison motioned the taller man to follow him. "Something Mayfield failed to discover was what happened before Maretto began hypnotizing his patients and killing them. He was a married man. He and his wife, who was pregnant at the time, were in the woods. While there she was murdered by college students. He's exacting his revenge for her death on his patients."

When they reached the room, Jim moved out of the way, allowing Simon access to the small space. The police captain went through the albums, engrossed by what he found. After finding Blair's research, Jim detected a hitch in Simon's breath.

"I don't like this, Jim. Do you think Morelli might have . . .."Simon's voice faltered, unwilling to voice his fear.

"No , sir, I don't. Morelli knows what Blair is now; he's going to use that to his own advantage --against us."

Jim and Simon went through more boxes. In one particular box Simon found, there was several pieces of jewelery, all of different styles. A couple books were at the bottom.

"Souveniers," he noted.

Jim held up another newspaper article he had just found. "He was in the Vietnam war."

"A soldier," Simon muttered. "Do you think you know where he is?"

"The woods is the most logical place. That's where his wife was killed, and where he murdered all of his victims."

"That's a lot of territory to cover. How are you going to find them?"

"I'm not sure, but there has to be a clue . . . somewhere."

"Yes . . ." Blair winced at the pounding in his head. It felt like some little demon had taken an ax, and was now busying itself hacking away at his brain. "But you can't be right."

"I'm a Sentinel, correct?"

"Yes."

"And you're a Guide?"

"Yes."

"What is the Guide's responsibility?'

Trying to make sense of the confusion that was his mind, Blair's tongue was sluggish in responding.

"Blair," Morelli urged. "Answer me. What is the Guide's responsibility?"

"To protect and aid the Sentinel."

"I've been good to you, my Guide. I've been patient and understanding. For years I have gone with this cursed blessing without the proper guidance. Years I have gone alone, finding my own way through the dark. It seems only fitting that you should subject yourself to me."

Blair's brow furrowed in bewilderment. The drug-induced state of being he had been thrown into distorted his perception and cognition. Something in his subconscious was trying to scream out that the words were wrong, but overall he could see little reason why. After all, the man was a Sentinel and it was his duty as a Guide to help him. The other though . . ."Jim?"

"Jim wouldn't help you," Morelli spat. "Where is he now? Where was he at the mansion? Your thoughts and feelings mean nothing to him. Didn't you tell me that you couldn't talk to him? That he didn't understand?"

He had said that, but still . . .

"Who was it you came to for help, when you needed it most?"

The voice came out as a cracked whisper. "You."

"Ever since we've known each other, you knew who was most trustworthy. I've been the one, my friend."

Nonono. Wrong, that's wrong. Jim . . .

But he couldn't think straight, and that bit of insecurity tucked away was being dragged out. Morelli wasn't the one hurting him; Jim had left him to this fate. Morelli was a Sentinel. Blair was obligated to him.

Wasn't he?

"Wh-who?" The pudgy man gave Ellison a bewildered look.

"Who do you think?" Jim all but growled. "Morelli and Blair. Where did
they go?"

"I don't know!" The man-- Myers according to the name tag--cried. "I swear I don't know anything!"

Sentinel senses zoomed in on the accelerated heart beat, raspy breathing, and the beads of sweat starting to form. "I don't think you're telling the truth."

"I ain't lyin'! Honest, I'm n-not!"

Jim could feel the presence of Simon and the other detectives, off to the side. Overwhelming as the urge was, he couldn't inflict bodily harm on this louse in front of them. Patience wearing thin, he grasped the shirt that clung to an oversized body. At least he could make this look believable. He wasn't going to hurt the guard, but the man didn't know that.

"Did you know that your boss killed college students? Slashed them up like so much meat, then tossed away the bodies to rot. And did you know that he's also a cop killer?"

Myers quivered at the words, still not willing to talk.

"He has my partner now, and if I find his body cut up…" The words came out bitter and distasteful. "I'm gonna come back to you and show you what it feels like."

The guard paled.

"He must be paying a lot for you not to say a word about this. I hope you like it in jail as an accessory to murder."

The latter sentence caught Myers’ attention. His eyes enlarged, mouth dropped
open, heartbeat spiked all over again.

"You talk and I'll get you off easy."

Finally, dejected and overcome, the man bowed his head and mumbled, "He doesn't pay me that much."

"A Sentinel."

"What are you?"

"A Guide."

"What am I?"

"A Sentinel."

"Who is James Ellison?"

Hesitation. "My betrayer."

"Who am I?"

An utterance. "My Savior."

"Who are you?"

A pause. "Your Guide."

Jacobs entered the room. Silent as the man had been, Morelli heard him and turned to face the older man.

"I have the phone, Sir." Jacobs handed the cellular to Morelli.

"Thank you, Jacobs. You may leave now if you wish. Things are going to get rough and I don't think you want to be around when they do."

Jacobs nodded. "Indeed, Sir. That'll be all then?"

"Yes."

The butler turned to leave, hesitated, then faced the psychiatrist again. "Sir?"

"Yes, Jacobs?"

"Good luck."

Morelli grinned. "Of course. So far it seems to be with me."

"It seems so." And with that Jacobs turned and exited the door.

Dominik Morelli, a man who was once known as Vincent Maretto, looked out the sole window of the bare room he and his patient were in. Darkness was settling. The other Sentinel would be along shortly.

He turned on the cellular and punched in a number. Now to make sure the odds were kept fair.

After the dire threats Ellison had used, Myers told them that Morelli went away to the woods often. That they already knew. The location, three hours away in complete solitude, they didn't.

After checking out the terrain on the map, Simon had come to the conclusion that a helicopter wouldn't be able to land in the woods, but at least it would transport them faster than a car. Besides, they could easily jump out of a hovering helicopter. With a team of his men and Jim's Sentinel abilities, finding Blair and Morelli should be a breeze. That was if they could get the damned chopper here now.

"I don't care who's on vacation! This is a life or death situation!"

The shrill ringing of Ellison's cellular caught him off guard. Exchanging puzzled glances with the captain, Jim answered.

"Ellison."

"Ahh, Detective Ellison. How good it is to speak to you again."

"Morelli." Jim's words carried all of the warmth of Antarctica.

"I know you're looking for me, and I have just a few words of advice: don't bring anyone else into this. It isn't good for our youthful friend's health."

"Morelli, if you dare hurt him--"

"I haven't the slightest compulsion to hurt him. I rather like the young man. But if you force me to, I have no qualms about inflicting pain of any kind. No one but you. You're a good detective, I know it shouldn't be much longer 'til you solve my little mystery. Goodbye."

"Mor--" His protestation was abruptly cut off.

Solemnly, jaw muscles working overtime, he turned off the phone. Still grasping the phone in his hand, Simon stared at him, momentarily forgetting his demands for the helicopter.

"He said he'd hurt Blair if anybody else showed up," Jim informed him.

"If he's a Sentinel, too, he could easily kill you."

"If he's a Sentinel, too, he'll know if I'm not alone," Jim retorted. "I can't risk Blair's safety. I have to go in alone. There's no way around it. He's a highly intelligent man. Even if we tried to trick him, he'd find out somehow."

Face grim, Simon reflected on their limited options. A voice on the line jerked him out of his musing and he barked, "Yes I hear you! I have a very bad situation here, and if I don't get that chopper it could get worse. Do you hear me?" He waited for the response, then, "Good. There are only two men going. Myself and Detective James Ellison."

An argument formed on Jim's lips.

"All right. Thank you." He hung up the phone and faced his best detective. "This is a trap if I've ever seen one. I'm going to at least wait on the helicopter while you go down to search for Blair."

Jim nodded. "I can agree to that."

"I just hope you can pull this off. He's a Sentinel, too. This could get very dangerous."

"I can, Simon. I have no other choice."

The suave business look was gone. Dominik Morelli was dressed to hunt. Army fatigues and boots. Memories of a time long past, one he didn't care to revisit. He knew he was getting old, fifty was hardly the age to be combating, but he had kept himself in good physical condition, and experience told him he was still capable.

Pacing the cabin, gun clenched within his grip, he tuned his hearing into the small room he had just recently come from. Blair was in there now, asleep on the cot. If his wife had ever lived to have the baby, Morelli thought that he or she would've been something like Blair. Intelligent, kind, creative, and dedicated. Winning the battle against Ellison was not just about eliminating another Sentinel, or claiming a Guide for himself. It was about gaining a son. Someone who was willing to do anything for him, even sacrifice himself. Blair had been that for Jim; now he would do it for Morelli.

He sighed. One more session. There was enough time before the other Sentinel arrived, and he wanted to make sure that there was no room for failure. Silently, he slipped into the room to observe the sleeping young man. No room for failure. After all, he had the most dangerous weapon.

The chopper had hovered above ground , allowing Jim to jump off. Simon wished him good luck and informed him that if he needed backup, he should not hesitate to use the walkie-talkie.

Darkness had settled upon the woods. The advantage of superhuman eyesight was a godsend in this Cimmerian landscape. Using his razor-sharp hearing he was able to detect a voice calling out to him, mocking him.

"Detective, I'm glad to see that you've taken me seriously. Now that you're here, the games can commence."

Using the voice as a beacon, Jim stalked through the maze of vegetation. He took a deep breath and concentrated deeper and was rewarded by the thump-thump of a familiar heartbeat --Blair's.

So deep into concentration had he slipped, that he would've zoned out if a bullet slicing past his ear hadn't brought him back to awareness. Immediately he ducked behind a tree, tucking his body in tight, service revolver held at the ready.

Detecting movement with his hearing just ahead, he swung back around and fired in the vicinity he could best sense movement. The only reaction was the rustling of a person taking off at a run. Deciding it was safe, he took off after his quarry, the only things guiding him through inky blackness being an acute sense of sight and the heavy breathing ahead of him, zigzagging through the trees.

Jim had the sensation of being led into a trap. Certainly Morelli wouldn't have instigated this stand-off if he was ill-prepared.

Ahead he could see a shadow darting through verdant undergrowth and forestry. Without warning it rotated and fired, a shot that any normal human being would have hardly any chance of making. Morelli wasn't a normal human being.

The detective had barely enough time to throw himself to the side when he felt a searing pain slice through his right arm. Contented that his pursuer was no longer a threat, the psychiatrist turned back around and kept running. Jim gritted his teeth against the fire radiating throughout his arm. With no way to make a bandage, one-handed he picked the gun up, with his left hand. He had little training shooting with that hand, but in times of crisis desperate measures had to be taken.

So far Morelli's plan was working like a charm. Jim was now wounded, yet he hastened to catch up with the doctor.

A taunting voice floated through the air towards Jim. "Come on, Detective. Your young friend's waiting for you."

Blood flowing down his arm, Jim struggled to his feet, already imagining the revenge he would exact on Morelli. In his mind he envisioned the pain dial, and concentrated on turning it down to a more bearable level; one that would at least give him the comfort of uninhibited movement. He couldn't hear any more footstep, but he did hear voices. Morelli’s and Blair's voices came to him, from inside what he could only assume was the cabin.

"He's coming. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"You know what has to be done?"

"Yes."

The dull, monosyllabic answers were disconcerting to Jim. And what did it mean, he knew what had to be done?

A dismal light appeared from behind the trees as he pressed on, striving to reach the cabin. The situation felt hopeless, but he had to try. Finally, after what felt like ages but only took slightly over a minute, he reached the cabin. He had approached warily, not wanting to be shot again. His right arm dangled uselessly at his side, a reminder of what thoughtlessness could do. Inside, the only sound he could detect was Blair's heartbeat. Morelli was nowhere to be discovered. Taking the chance –his mind screaming set-up-- he sidled through the cabin door, gun up and ready to fire. What he saw froze him.

Blair Sandburg, friend, partner and Guide, stood in the middle of the room, eyes glazed over with contempt, mouth set in a thin line, hands expertly holding a gun pointed at Jim's chest.

"Chief?" Unbelieving, Jim took a step forward.

"Don't," Blair warned.

"Buddy, what's going on?"

"You betrayed me."

Jim blinked rapidly. Betrayed? "Maybe we can talk about it, Chief. I never meant to betray you at all."

"You don't care about me. Dr. Morelli says you lied."

Oh no. How did he manage to brainwash him this thoroughly so fast?

"Blair, you're my Guide. We're a team, remember? I would never do anything to betray your trust. I would never lie to you. You're too important to me."

A flicker of doubt crossed Blair's eyes; the gun wavered, only to be strengthened by the voice that came from behind Jim.

"Drop the gun, Detective." Morelli came around him, a .357 Magnum in hand.

"I didn't hear you," Jim said incredulously.

"A meditation technique I learned some years ago. Now drop the gun."

Jim complied, keeping his features stone-faced.

Morelli turned his attention on the young grad student, who was still keeping Jim well within his sights.

"I want you to shoot him, Blair. I am your Sentinel, you must protect me. He is trying to kill me. Do your duty. Shoot him. Eliminate the danger."

"Blair," Jim kept his voice calm, soothing. "Remember Kirk Mayfield? Morelli is the one who killed him. He's killed others, Chief."

"He's lying!" Morelli shouted. "Kill him!"

Blair glanced at Morelli, then back at Jim. "How can I believe you?"

"By this." Cautiously, so as not to evoke any drastic actions from his distraught partner, he slipped his good hand into his pocket and removed the shiny article that he had tucked away. He held up the gold chain so Blair could have a good view of it. "Remember the chain Marlena talked about? The one she had given Kirk, that was missing? This is it, Blair. It even has the initials on it. Do you know where we found it?"

"Don't listen to him!" Morelli spluttered; his visage flared cerise. "He lies!"

Dazed, unsure of what to do, Blair shook his head, the gun shaking in his hands.

"Fine, if you won't kill him, I will."

Morelli raised the gun and pulled back on the trigger. The thunderous explosion was not followed by intense pain, and Jim looked around, slightly dazed that he wasn't on the floor, dead. Instead he saw his partner, the gun now slipping from his hands, staring mutely at the body sprawled on the floor.

Jim raced forward, grabbing the dangling gun from the numb fingers before it could fall to the floor and discharge again.

"Jim . . ." Blair stared at him, eyes wide, unwilling to accept that he almost shot his best friend. "I didn't believe him. I knew he was lying."

"That's okay, buddy," Jim soothed. "It's all over."

"I could've--" Blair's voice disintegrated as the tears threatened.

"You wouldn't have," Jim assured him. "You're stronger than he thought."

He set the gun down and gathered the young man in a reassuring embrace. Quietly Blair allowed the tears to fall as the horror of the day caught up with him. The doubts, insecurities, fears . . .

"I should've talked to you. If I'd just tried to tell you how I felt--"

"Blair, this wasn't your fault. If anything, I should've paid closer attention to you. That's not what matters right now, though. What does is that you're okay and we're both alive."

"Morelli almost won."

Jim held Blair out at arm's length and shook his head. "He thought you were weak, easily influenced. That was his entire plan. Our bond is a lot stronger than any hold he might've had over you. You beat him, Chief. You did it."

The tears had ceased to fall, now drying on his cheeks. Blair's lips curved in a tiny smile.

"What do you say we get out of here now?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me."

Blair followed behind Jim. Before exiting the cabin he cast one final glimpse at the lifeless body on the floor. His insecurities beaten, he could finally be at peace.