Jim sat silently at the conference table, listening to the reports of his colleagues as they drifted in and out of Captain Simon Banks' office. It had been twenty-four hours since Blair had driven off to spend a weekend helping out at the monastery, and had disappeared off the face of the earth.

At least that was how it seemed.

None of the calls to area hospitals and clinics had turned up anyone admitted or treated in the last day that matched Blair's description. Hours of driving back and forth along any possible route that he might have taken turned up nothing. They had reviewed the watch reports, for any accident or incident that might have involved Blair. Simon had even called the morgue himself, not wanting to ask any of the men or women in his command to take on that dreaded task. Thankfully, Blair was not to be found there.

He rose and walked over and behind Simon's desk, and helped himself to another cup of coffee. Turning back towards the door, he peered tiredly through the blinds covering the windows. Many a desk in the bullpen was still occupied, many colleagues also unwilling to give up or go home. He'd have to remember to thank everyone when this was all over, he thought. Once Blair was found.

When Blair was found. Alive and well, please God, alive and well.

He returned to the table and picked up the latest sheaf of watch reports, hoping that perhaps these would be the ones that would hold some clue to Blair's whereabouts.

---------------

Cowboy flinched involuntarily as he heard The Doctor slam down the receiver of the phone.

"Damn that Birch! I wish he was still alive so I could shoot him again!"

He slumped down in the chair, trying to make himself invisible. Cowboy had no intention of drawing attention to himself while The Doctor was on one of his tirades. Even before he had seen Birch gunned down in cold blood just for disobeying an order, Cowboy had seen The Doctor on a roll before. And he was certainly fired up now. He could hear him ranting on the other side of the wall, through the open doorway.

"He got those damned cops all stirred up, looking for Sandburg. If he just would've left the damned stereo, they would still be thinking it was just an accident. Goddamned idiot!"

A loud slamming noise followed, and Cowboy guessed that The Doctor had taken some of his frustration out on the chair and desk. Looking over at the bed, it didn't look like the kid was hearing or responding to The Doctor's tirade. He was still lost in a drugged haze, still occasionally pulling against the restraints and moaning, although not as frequently as before.

"That's the second bust in two hours, because the cops are out beating the streets. I can't afford to lose that much product or those connections!"

Another slam followed, and Cowboy winced as he thought he heard the crack of wood splintering. He tried to breathe as quietly as he could. As footsteps approached from the other room, he forced himself to sit still.

"How's he doing, Cowboy?"

"The same. He's not moving around much, and he hasn't said anything intelligible. Pretty much the same."

He dared to look up at The Doctor. Other than a slight reddish hue to his face and an even more intense gaze than usual, he wouldn't have known that he was ranting angrily just a few moments before.

"I'll just give him another dose, then. Wouldn't want our guest from Major Crimes to fall asleep on us, now, would we?" He walked quickly over to the table and grabbed a vial of medication and a syringe, filling it quickly and efficiently. Pulling the rubber strip out of his pocket, he tied it on and quickly injected the drug when the vein stood out in the young man's arm. Pocketing the empty syringe, he reached down and turned up the power on the black box..

The man in the bed became more active, moving more frequently. Cowboy cringed at the predatory expression on The Doctor's face as he watched his subject break out in a sweat again, muscles twitching and jerking against the restraints. Gasps and groans began to emerge from the subject's throat, a thin line of saliva beginning to run from a corner of his mouth as his head tossed back and forth, trying to escape the painfully pulsating lights and sounds.

"Those damned cops. Who do they think they're screwing with? You know, I think they need to be taught a lesson. You don't screw around with The Doctor. And I know just how to teach them." He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, laying a hand on the thigh of the man restrained there, sliding his hand up and under the edge of his damp and sweaty boxers. "I think that after we've extracted the information we need, I'm going to spend a little instructional time with Mr. Sandburg here. I bet that there's a few things I can teach him. And afterwards I think I'll drop him off at Maxie's for a little fun and games. When Cascade PD gets him back, he'll be a new man."

Cowboy sat quietly, not wanting to show any response to The Doctor's tirade. He had long ago learned the benefits of working for the man, despite his personal quirks and passions, and had no intention of endangering his employment by showing his revulsion at The Doctor's plans. He jumped only slightly when he felt The Doctor's hand fall on his shoulder.

"Cowboy, why don't you take a break. I'm going to need you later when we get what we need from our guest and put our plan into action. Why don't you take Johnson and have a little fun and relaxation. Just be back by midnight. Oh, and there's a little reward for you in the drawer of the desk, help yourself. There should be enough for both of you."

"Thanks, Doc. Thanks a lot. We’ll be back by midnight, I promise."

He hurried to get out of the white room, stopping only briefly on his way out to get the baggie of drugs out of the desk drawer. Pocketing his "reward," he headed for the elevator, picking up Johnson from his station guarding outside the building. He could use a little relaxation, and was pretty sure that Angel and her friend Honey would be more than happy to spend a few hours with them for a share of his reward. He wanted to forget, for a while, the fate of the poor man lying senseless in the white room behind him. Nobody deserved what he was in for, even a cop.

---------------

A couple of hours later, Cowboy relaxed back into Angel's arms. As usual, Angel was more than happy to entertain him for a few hours, just for a few hits of The Doctor's special stuff. The man really knew his drugs, he thought happily. He felt like he could keep going all night on the buzz, from just a couple of hits.

Across the room, Johnson was happily engaged in a strip game with Honey, Angel's girlfriend. They were laughing and rolling across the king-sized bed, equally stoned on The Doctor's finest.

"Hey, girls," Cowboy called out. "What do you say you run out and get us a couple of bottles of champagne. I feel like celebrating."

Angel eased out from behind him, nibbling on his ear as she did so. "Sure, baby, whatever you say. Come on, Honey, let's powder our noses and get a little bubbly for the boys."

Honey separated herself from Johnson and rolled off of the bed, laughing as she pulled some clothes on and ran her fingers through her hair. She joined Angel at the coffee table and took the baggie of drugs in turn, sliding a hand carefully into the bag and pulling out the tiny spoon. Snorting a spoonful, she giggled as Angel reached over and wiped off the residue on her upper lip, licking it off of her finger.

"Bye, boys," she purred. "Behave yourselves until we get back.." They stumbled, giggling, out of the apartment, not even noticing that the door didn't quite close behind them.

Cowboy watched with a sigh as the two women sashayed out of the room. He lay back on the bed, grinning to himself.

"So what's this big deal that the man's working on, and did he really snatch a cop?" Johnson asked from across the room.

"Yeah, he did. He's brainwashing the poor slob, "conditioning" he calls it, so he'll tell all about this big operation the police are planning to take out McCleary's gang. Once the cops have gotten McCleary out of the way, he's gonna take over McCleary's territory. He's gonna own the city, man."

Johnson whistled in admiration. "Damn, the man doesn't do anything by halves. What's he gonna do with the cop? Is he gonna waste him?"

"No, he's planning to make an example out of him. First he's gonna have some fun himself, then he's gonna turn him out at Maxie's. He wants the cops to find him after they've had him for an evening. He doesn't want him killed, but the cop's gonna wish he was dead by the time they get done with him."

"Jesus…he is one truly sick bastard, isn't he?"

"You have no idea. Anyway, who cares. He pays us plenty good, and gives us all the dope we want, and you gotta admit that it's good shit. As long as you don’t cross him, life is good."

He looked up as he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye, and saw the door slowly swinging inward. Sitting up quickly, he called out.

"Hey, is someone there?"

Lurching to his feet he ran to the door and pulled it all of the way open. Sticking his head out into the hallway, he didn't see anyone but was sure that he could hear the sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs at the end of the hall. Cursing, he turned quickly back into the room and ran to the window, throwing up the sash and sticking his head out.

He heard the slam of the front door and saw a thin figure stumble out and begin running down the sidewalk away from him.

"Damn! I think someone heard us talking about The Doctor and his plans. Get dressed, we've gotta go after him."

"You're paranoid, man. It was just some junkie wandering down the hall."

"I sure as hell hope it was, and we better find out for sure! If he should spill it to the cops and The Doctor finds out that it was us…man, we couldn't run far enough, fast enough. Come on, get your ass in gear, we've gotta catch him."

Grumbling and cursing, the two men quickly got dressed and headed out to the street to find the potential snitch.

---------------

The Doctor paced back and forth as he formulated his takeover plans. He had worked hard to perfect his new drug, and he deserved the chance to distribute it and make the money that he was truly worth. McCleary was a lowlife thug who didn't deserve to have control of the better part of the crime in the city of Cascade. The ringing of the telephone interrupted his reverie.

"What?"

"Doc, it's Weston. I think you're right about the Major Crimes operation to take down McCleary."

"Tell me."

"Well, I just got done spending a couple of hours with the dumb broad from Personnel. Man, talk about someone who needs a life! After a couple of drinks, she was as loose as they come. She said that she's processed some temporary transfers to Major Crimes, and some changes in vacation and other leave plans. It sounds like they're really doing something big on Wednesday and Thursday, something that requires a lot of extra personnel. She didn't have any more information, but it sounds pretty likely that you're right about the target dates."

"Excellent! All right, let's assume that Wednesday and Thursday are our target dates. Grab your uniform and get over here. I need you for the next phase of our plan. Well done, Weston. I won't forget your extra efforts in this matter."

He hung up the telephone, hardly able to contain his enthusiasm as his plan was finally coming together. Walking into the white room and over to the bed, he pressed a different button on the black box and turned the dial down one notch. The subject in the bed slowed in his movements, quieting somewhat as he only moved occasionally and stopped moaning as if in pain. The Doctor watched for a few moments, concerned only that the subject be kept from falling asleep at this point, planning to bring him up to full consciousness shortly for the final phase of his plan.

---------------

The Doctor eagerly opened the front door at the sound of the buzzer.

"Weston! Good, good, come in."

Weston entered The Doctor's apartment, carrying his uniform and hat under his arm.

"Hey, Doc. I brought my uniform, like you asked. What do you need it for?"

"Go on and put it on, and I'll fill you in while you get dressed."

---------------

Blair slowly and gradually realized that something was shaking.

Barely aware of his body, his senses drifting aimlessly in and out of focus, he began to notice a sense of movement. With a bit of concentration, difficult to come by with his mind threatening to slip back into darkness, he finally figured out that it was him.

Someone was vigorously shaking his shoulder.

With that realization, he also noticed that a sound, a voice, was trying to pierce the fog and enter his brain. He put more effort into awakening, fighting against the darkness and the weakness that pervaded his leaden form.

"…burg! Sandburg, wake up!"

The urgency in the voice finally cut through his confusion, and he struggled to open his eyes.

"Wha…" he croaked.

He fought to focus his vision on the blurry and shifting figure leaning over him. He took in the dark pants, light blue shirt, dark tie, and dark hat, noticing last the shiny metal piece pinned to the chest. Unable to make out the face, he could recognize the dress. A uniform. A police uniform.

"Sandburg! For heaven's sake, wake up!"

"What?…Officer…"

His shoulder stopped bouncing up and down.

"Thank God! Sandburg, we need your help."

"What's wrong?" he rasped weakly.

"The operation is blown! You've gotta help us find your partner. You've gotta help us find Ellison."

At the mention of his partner, his mind became marginally clearer, a rush of adrenaline helping to focus his thoughts. He fought to sit up, pressing hard against the bed with both arms and only able to raise his head a few inches before he collapsed back against the bed, muscles trembling.

"Jim…?" he panted.

"Detective Ellison is out on the McCleary bust. He called in a little while ago, saying that he was wounded and trapped by some of McCleary's men. He was cut off before he could radio in his location."

"…McCleary bust…?"

Another round of vibrations, bouncing his shoulder against the bed.

"Sandburg, dammit, you've gotta help us! Wake up! I know you've been really sick, but Ellison needs your help! You've gotta tell us where to find him!"

"…find him…?"

"Come on, Sandburg, you're his partner. You've gotta know where to look for him. Come on, man, he could be dying out there!"

Blair desperately struggled to search his memory for the details of the last task force meetings. What were the locations that the task force intended to hit? Where would Jim be? How badly was Jim hurt?

"Bloxham warehouse?"

"No, we already checked. Ellison's not there. Where else could he be? Come on, man, he could be bleeding to death."

He fought to clear the cobwebs in his brain. "The old terminal…Second and Trent…"

"Good! We haven't checked there yet. We'll send a unit right away. Where else could he be? Come on, Sandburg, your partner is depending on you."

"…uh…Stansfield Dock…?"

"I'll send a unit right away. Where else could he be?"

Blair sought desperately to remember the plans for the bust, the locations for McCleary's men and merchandise that Cascade PD had intended to invade. He pounded one weak fist against the bed.

"…don't know…offices of McCleary Limited…"

"We’ve already dispatched backup to McCleary Limited. Anywhere else?"

"No…"

"Are you sure? Sandburg, are you sure? He could be dying out there."

Despite his best efforts, and with his focus gradually fading, he couldn't think of anywhere else.

"No…nowhere else…"

The uniformed officer stood up and nodded.

"Thanks, Sandburg. We'll dispatch units to those locations. I hope we're in time."

"…please…save Jim…" he mumbled out, eyes drifting shut as he struggled to maintain consciousness against the weakness that overtook him.

"We'll do our best." was the last thing he heard before he drifted off again, frightening images of Jim's fate floating through his consciousness.

---------------

The Doctor watched and listened from the doorway as he finally got the information that he had been waiting for. The subject drifting off into sleep, he gestured to Weston to follow him from the room.

"Well done, well done. Exactly what we needed. Now we know where and when Cascade PD is planning to move."

He turned at the sound of the buzzer, glancing at his video monitor before going over and opening the door. Cowboy and Johnson walked in, looking tired and bedraggled.

"Hey, Doc. How's it going?"

"Very well, Cowboy. We just received the information we've been waiting for. How was your evening?"

"Uh..fine, just fine, Doc," Cowboy stammered. "Thanks for the party favors."

"You're welcome. Now we have the information we need, we can move ahead with our plans." He paced back and forth for a few moments, lost in thought, before looking up at the tired faces of his men and glancing at his watch. "It's late. Nothing's going to happen before Wednesday, so why don't you all go home and get some rest. Be back here by noon tomorrow and we'll go over the plan. We'll need to put some surveillance in place on McCleary's locations, so we know just how to strike when the moment comes, but we can work on that tomorrow."

The three men thanked him and left, leaving him alone in the apartment. Not entirely alone, of course. The subject lay sleeping in the white room behind him.

The Doctor walked over to the doorway and watched the sleeping man for a moment, surpressing a yawn. Now that he had extracted the information, he could take the time for a little recreation of his own. Walking back to the desk, he pulled out a vial of powder and took a couple of snorts. Replacing the vial, it took only a few moments before he felt the rush and a surge of energy race throughout his body. He could do without a few hours of sleep, with a handsome young man to entertain him. This night would be for him, then he would focus all of his energies on the takeover plan.

He walked to the back of the apartment and opened the door into his recreation room, turning on the lights as he entered. Humming to himself, he opened up a trunk and began taking out items, laying them out on the table along the wall as he selected some of his personal favorites. Walking over to the dresser, he pulled out some clothing and undressed, folding his doctor's uniform carefully and placing it in a drawer. Replacing the starchy whites with black leather and silk, he left the gloves and mask on top of the dresser for now.

Pulling a straight chair from the corner, he centered it in place beneath the chains that hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room. Picking up a remote control from the table, he clicked a button and watched as the chains slowly unwound, turning it off when the ends were a couple of feet from the floor.

Leaving the room, he walked back into the white room and up to the bed. Pulling the bedclothes down, he grabbed the subject's legs and swung them over the side of the bed. Pushing and shoving with effort, he pulled the subject up into a sitting position and then quickly jerked the limp body up and over his shoulder, head and arms bumping against his back as he stood. The subject was dead to the world, showing no signs of awakening.

Staggering just a bit with the weight, he regained his balance and headed back to the recreation room. Bending forward, he dropped his burden into the chair, quickly standing and grabbing the chair to make sure that it didn’t topple over as the subject slumped against the back, his head lolling forward against his chest.

First removing the subject's sweaty t-shirt, The Doctor reached over and grabbed one of the chains, fastening it tightly around a limp wrist. After similarly securing the other wrist, he picked up the remote and clicked it again. The slight hum of the motor sounded loud in the otherwise silent room as it winched up the chains, gradually pulling the subject's arms up and away from his body. The Doctor watched eagerly as the subject began to stir, the pressure on his arms and shoulders growing as he was pulled up from the chair.

Once the young man was pulled just off of the seat, The Doctor clicked off the remote. He removed the subject's boxers and then tightened chains around each of his ankles, securing them to bolts on the floor. Pushing the chair out of the way, he used the remote to raise the subject further until he was fully upright, spread-eagled naked in front of him.

As the subject moaned and tried to lift his head, The Doctor walked over to the dresser and pulled on his mask before picking up a vial and syringe from the top of the table. Filling the syringe, he glanced over at his subject and decided to add a little more from another vial. Walking back to the center of the room, he injected the drugs into the man's hip. Dropping the syringe onto the table, he turned and walked slowly around the body suspended from the ceiling, licking his lips in admiration as he ran a hand down the softly furred chest.

"Very nice," he almost purred, "very nice indeed."

He patted the subject on the cheek and turned to walk over and click on a spotlight, then turned off the overhead lights. Returning to the table, he took his time deciding what he might want to do first, the excitement of anticipation beginning to arouse him. Finally making his choice, he turned to face the awakening young man that would be his entertainment for the evening. He'd never had a cop before. This was going to be special.

---------------

Blair was driven from sleep, awakening suddenly and painfully from a troubled rest. He blinked his eyes against the bright glare as he raised his head. Vision blurry, he could still make out that he was naked, his arms raised uncomfortably above his head. The ache in his shoulders and wrists grew as he struggled momentarily, but was unable to do more than sway his body a few inches.

He could feel his heart pounding and his skin crawling, every nerve in his body feeling like he'd received an electric shock. Trying to look around him, he could only see the bright circle of light against the darkness. The edge of the circle seemed to shift and flow as he tried to concentrate, tried to figure out what was happening to him. He looked down towards his feet and saw chains wrapped around his ankles, unyielding as he tested first one and then the other, able to move each leg a few inches only. Even as he watched the chains shifted and morphed, becoming wildly colored snakes that hugged his ankles and began writhing up his legs. He screamed, jerking frantically against the chains.

A figure emerged from the darkness in front of him, stopping just at the edge, shadowed and barely visible.

"Help me," Blair gasped. "Please, help me."

The figure slowly emerged fully from the shadows. A hideous red face swam into his view atop a black amorphous body, coming closer and closer.

He struggled against his bonds as the demon approached and touched him, leaving a trail of fire against his skin. He screamed again as the demon grabbed and clawed at him, unable to escape the scalding hot touch.

---------------

Jim dropped his keys into the basket as he passed, moving woodenly and automatically into the loft from the hallway. Stopping just a few feet inside the door, he just stood and stared, as if uncertain what to do next.

Behind him Simon entered the apartment and closed the door. He walked up to the still figure and gently grasped an arm, propelling Jim into motion. Guiding him to the sofa, he waited until Jim sank into the seat before returning to the kitchen area and dropping the bag of carry-out food on the counter.

He removed his coat and hung it next to the door and then walked over to the refrigerator and peered inside.

"What do you want to drink, Jim? It looks like you've got bottled water, juice, soda, beer…"

He waited for a response from the other room. Getting none, he reached into the fridge and pulled out two cans of soda. Beer sounded awfully good, but as tired as they both were, it would probably knock them on their asses. He pulled a couple of plates from the cupboard and divided up the sandwiches and fries. Not exactly gourmet cuisine, but there was something to be said for comfort food in the face of a crisis. And of course, Wonderburger was one of the few places in town that was open all night.

Heading back into the living room, he handed one plate to Jim and set a can of soda in front of him on the coffee table, then joined him on the other sofa. He took a quick bite of his burger, closing his eyes and reveling in the taste of the secret sauce. It had been an incredibly difficult twenty-four hours since Blair's Volvo had been found, and both men were exhausted. He thought that he had eaten once or twice, but he wasn't sure that Jim had.

Jim had been entirely focused on finding Blair. He'd read every watch report twice, he'd driven for hours along the streets of the city, he'd called every snitch he could think of. Nothing had produced a lead. After hours with no clue as to Blair's whereabouts, or whether he was even dead or alive, Simon had finally insisted on driving Jim home for a few hours of rest. Jim had put up quite a fight, but Simon had insisted, leaving word with the communications operator to call him at the loft when anything at all came up.

Now he watched as Jim ate robotically, just staring down at the floor as he slowly and methodically worked his way through the double burger and fries. Finally finished, he set the plate down on the coffee table and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

Simon stood and picked up their plates and took them into the kitchen. He returned to the living room and gave his detective a pat on the shoulder before returning to his seat on the other sofa.

"We'll find him, Jim. Nobody can just disappear from the face of the earth. And no one's giving up. We'll find him."

Jim nodded mutely, not even raising his head to respond. Just as Simon was about to try to get him to go to bed, the phone rang. Jim jerked upright and grabbed for the phone.

"Ellison."

Simon watched Jim stand and walk over to the windows as he listened to one side of the conversation.

"Put him through."

Jim paced for a few moments, listening, then came to an abrupt halt, the color draining from his face.

---------------

"What did you say?"

Jim's heart was racing as he strained to focus his hearing on the voice at the other end of the phone.

"I asked if you'd misplaced a cop recently, Ellison. I just might know something about that."

"Who is this?"

"Your old friend Jinx. Remember me? We had an arrangement back in the old days."

"Jinx…what about the cop?"

"Not so fast. This is going to cost you. I need enough money to get out of town fast. Meet me in an hour at the old place, you remember? Bring five hundred bucks and make it quiet."

"Where is he? Is he all right?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.

"As far as I know, he's alive. Just meet me in an hour, Ellison, and no funny stuff. Be there."

A click sounded and the hum of a dial tone sounded in his ear as he slowly lowered the phone. He stood just staring at the receiver in his hand until Simon's voice interrupted his reverie.

"Jim, what is it? Jim?"

Jim turned back into the room and set the phone down on the coffee table.

"We may have a lead on Blair."

Simon leapt to his feet. "What is it? Where is he?"

"I don't know yet. That was Jinx, a snitch I used to run when I worked Vice. He said that he knows something about a missing cop."

"That's great! Where is he?"

"He wouldn't tell me, he just said that Blair's alive. He wants to meet me in an hour and told me to bring him five hundred dollars to get him out of town. He'll tell me then."

"Can you trust this guy?"

"He used to be pretty reliable. It doesn't matter, Simon, I've got to go. It’s all we've got." He pulled out his wallet and began to count the bills. "Simon, how much cash have you got? I've only got about a hundred."

Simon pulled out his wallet, grimacing at the few bills he had and handing them to Jim. "Not much. I've got my ATM card, though. We can get it out of my account, as long as the machine has enough bills."

"Thanks, Simon. I can cover it with my own bank card, though. I'll stop on the way." He glanced at his watch. "I'd better get going. It'll take me a half hour to get to the meet, and I want to be sure to be early."

"What about back up?"

"Forget it, Simon. I don't want to spook this guy. It may be our only chance to find Blair alive."

"All right, but I'm coming with you, and no arguments. This could be a set-up."

Jim began to argue, but gave up at the stubborn expression on his captain's face.

"OK, Simon, thanks. I guess I could use the company."

They all but ran out of the loft, energized by the freshened hope of finding their friend alive.

---------------

Blair prayed for darkness to overtake him.

He'd never really believed in hell, but he knew that was where he had to be. He must have deserved it, for letting his partner down, for letting Jim get killed while he was lying weakly in a clinic bed with a little case of the flu.

Now he was locked in eternal torment, unable to escape as the demon tortured him for his sin. A demon with a touch of fire, a touch that burned him and stabbed him with electricity. Laughing, punching, licking, biting, clawing, the demon danced around him and reveled in his pain.

He jerked and cried out as he felt the lash fall again across his shoulders. A warm trickle, probably blood, wended it's way down his spine. He stiffened again as he felt the demon's paws touch his back, intercepting the flow and stroking downward from there. The claws scraped down, between his legs, as he tried helplessly to squirm away.

A scream was torn from his lips as the demon's grasp became a jolt of fire. His body arched and jerked involuntarily as pain exploded within him at the touch.

He would have prayed for death if he hadn't been certain that he was already there.

---------------

Jim walked through the open door of the building that had formerly housed Diamond Lil's, a dive of a bar that had closed a few years ago. In it's time it had been popular with the red-neck crowd, and well-known for the Saturday night brawls that broke out on a regular basis. He had met Jinx in or behind Lil's a dozen times, trading a few bucks for the odd scrap of information on wheelers and dealers in the drug trade.

His eyesight adjusted to the darkness, only a trace of light from the streetlights penetrating the grime on the windows. Listening carefully, he gradually discerned an approaching footstep. He forced himself to wait, despite the urge to race forward and grab the man to shake the information out of him.

A tall, thin figure emerged from the back room. Jim moved into the light from one of the windows to make sure he was seen.

"You haven't changed much, Ellison. The years have been good to you, I see."

"I wish I could say the same for you, Jinx. But enough of the small talk. Tell me what you know."

"Money talks or I walk. Show it to me."

Jim pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket and opened it, revealing a stack of bills. He held it out in front of him so that it could be seen.

Cautiously shuffling forward, Jinx came close enough to check out the money. Jim was startled at the changes in the man that he hadn't seen for almost five years.

Previously handsome and muscular in a wiry sort of way, Jinx was now practically emaciated. His greasy hair fell lankly to his shoulders, and he had the face of a fifty year old, not the thirty-something that he knew him to be. Formerly a male prostitute, he looked like he would have to pay someone now for the same services that he used to sell for a pretty penny.

"It's all here. Spill it. Where is he?"

Jinx coughed and spat.

"You ever hear of The Doctor?"

"Sure, we've heard rumors of some new player in the drug trade by that name, but nothing has ever come of them. Why?"

"He's for real, all right, and he's got your boy. He's trying to take over the drug trade in Cascade, and he's been working him to get information on some big bust you guys are planning."

"Working him?"

"Supposedly he's been drugging him, brainwashing him, to get the information. I heard that after The Doctor gets what he wants, he's gonna have a little fun with him. That dude is totally whacked, man, who knows what he'll do to him. They say that he can't get it off in the usual ways, if you know what I mean. You remember the body that was found in the alley off of 21st a couple of months ago? Rumor has it that The Doctor went a little too far while he was having his fun and offed him accidentally."

Jim remembered the case all too vividly. The man had been raped and tortured. The cause of death was either strangulation or drug overdose, difficult to determine because of the condition of the body when it had been found. It had taken all of his experience to keep his lunch in place when he had seen the body, and he had looked away to give Blair privacy when he had run down the alley and thrown up in a corner.

"So where can we find him?" he asked grimly.

"He's got a couple of places, I don't know which one he's at. One is the top floor of the old Richall Building, the other is a houseboat in the Back Bay Marina. It's gotta be one of those."

He reached out a grimy and shaking hand for the envelope, and Jim handed it over.

"You'd better be telling the truth, Jinx, or I'll hunt you down myself. You can count on it. How'd you get this information?"

"I heard two of his men talking about it while they were partying with some hookers. It's the truth, Ellison. And I'm out of here. I'm not going to hang around and see if The Doctor's men can find me afterward. I don't know if they saw me or not, but I'm not gonna take any chances."

He turned and began to shuffle off, turning just before he left the room.

"Hey, Ellison, I'd hurry if I were you. They said that after The Doctor was done, he was planning to turn him out as the main course at Maxie's."

Jim saw him shudder, then raise a hand in a brief farewell before turning and walking out. He turned and jogged out of the building, fear for his partner sending a fresh flood of adrenaline through his veins.

Maxie's was a "social club" for men and women with very specialized tastes. Bondage, S & M, rape, fetishes - almost anything and everything could be had for a price. It had been rumored that snuff films had been made and distributed from there, but Vice had never been able to nail it down. "Dinner" at Maxie's referred to a group event where one or two "courses," either men or women, were enjoyed and shared by all.

He ran out to the car, climbing in and urging Simon to get it going before he even had the door closed.

---------------

The loud buzz of his private phone interrupted The Doctor as he was lying back on the chaise lounge, sipping champagne as he took a brief break from the evening's entertainment. He glanced at it with irritation, but stood and walked over to it anyway. Anyone who had this number and would be calling at this hour of the morning would know that it had better be important.

"Who is it?"

"Doc, it's Thomas. I don't know who, but somebody's sprung a leak. It's gone crazy here at the precinct, and the word is that they're after you and know where to find you and that missing observer. You better get out of there, Doc."

"Observer? I thought he was a cop."

"He's just an observer that rides along with Ellison in Major Crimes. He's not really a cop, but they treat him like he's just another detective. Listen, I've gotta go. Better move it, Doc."

He slammed the phone down on the table. Who had dared to squeal to the cops? There weren't more than a handful of men who knew what was going on.

And his subject wasn't even a cop, just a police observer? That angered him even more. It had heightened his enjoyment immensely, thinking that it had been one of Cascade's finest that he'd been playing with.

He walked over to the table and began grabbing his toys and implements and throwing them into the trunk, followed by a few handfuls of clothing from the dresser. Changing quickly into jeans and a casual sweater, he prepared to go. He looked angrily at the man that he had thought was a cop, now hanging limply from his chains, the slight rise and fall of his battered chest the only sign of life.

Opening drawers and pulling out vials and baggies of drugs, he dropped a bit of this and that into a glass before stowing as much as he could into the trunk and his doctor's bag. Stalking over and grabbing his champagne, he poured half of it into the glass with the drugs before downing the rest in one gulp. He quickly stirred the mixture, then walked over to his captive.

Grabbing a handful of hair he lifted the man's head and tilted it back, pouring the liquid into his open mouth. He quickly clamped the mouth shut and watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed reflexively. Letting the subject's head fall forward again against his chest, he patted the top of the sweat-soaked head.

"Have a nice trip, my friend. I'm so sorry that we've got to cut our date short. Maybe we'll meet again some day. Remember me."

Glancing quickly around to make sure that he wasn't missing anything essential, he set his doctor's bag on top of the trunk and picked it up, striding quickly from the room.

---------------

Jim waited impatiently by the door of the freight elevator as the other members of the team took their positions. He had insisted on leading the Richall Building team himself, certain that the marina location was just too open and public for The Doctor to conduct his activities from. He watched Simon as he approached, two officers in tow. All four men were heavily armed, dressed in black fatigues with kevlar vests strapped over their chests. Barking into a shoulder microphone, he finally finished and clipped it back into place.

"All right, Jim. We've got all of the entrances covered, all teams ready to go in at your word. You've got the call."

Pulling up the gate, Jim lead the men into the elevator, then dropped the gate back down. He unclipped his own microphone as he faced the elevator controls.

"Team One, ready, and go on my mark. On five…four…three…two…one…mark. Go! Go! Go!"

He pressed the button and replaced the mike at his shoulder, turning the bill of his cap around to the back of his head and swinging his assault rifle into position in front of him as the elevator creaked into motion. All four men held their weapons at the ready as the floors slid by, but there was no sign of the building's occupants.

Grinding to a halt at the top floor, Jim wasted no time in throwing up the gate and running out of the elevator into a small lobby area. He pointed at the video camera mounted over the single door as they ran to take positions on each side of the door.

"Jim," Simon whispered in his ear, "what are you getting in there?"

Jim held up a hand as he extended his senses through the door and into the apartment. Using his hearing first, and straining to filter out the sounds of the men around him, he finally heard a heartbeat. A single heartbeat. Racing and irregular, but there was a heartbeat.

"I'm only getting one heartbeat. Hold on…"

Dialing up his sense of smell, he searched for the familiar odors that he associated with his roommate. Aftershave, deoderant, shampoo…again he had to work to filter out the scents of the building and his teammates, but he began to identify the familiar odors. As he began to gratefully drink in the familiar scent, his nose was assaulted by other odors blended in. Blood, saliva, chemical odors…and a strong, musky, distinctly male odor that was not Blair's…he staggered back, gasping as his control slipped and he was overwhelmed by the smells.

Simon grabbed him, holding him up against the wall to keep him from keeling over.

"Jim! What is it? Jim!"

He shook his head to clear it, then looked up into the concerned face of his captain.

"I'm all right, Simon. It was just…too much. I'm fine." He regained his feet. "Peters, Simon, call for an ambulance, then you two stay out here and cover us. Let us know when the medics arrive." Ignoring their curious looks, he gestured for Simon to come closer. "Simon, Blair's in there, alone. He's injured and…I'm not sure what else. But I don't want anyone else to see him until we see what condition he's in."

Recognition dawned on Simon's face as he grasped the meaning behind Jim's words, quickly replaced with a determined glare.

"You've got it, Jim. Ready when you are."

He reached over to try the door knob, just in case, and was surprised when it turned easily in his hand. Nodding at Simon, he turned it and eased the door open. Holding his gun at the ready, he stepped into the apartment, Simon at his heels.

The large room that they entered was sparsely furnished, groupings of furniture and art here and there. Ignoring the interior décor, he focused his hearing and walked briskly towards the back of the apartment, towards the open door on the right. That was where he heard the sweet sound of Blair's heartbeat emanating from.

He stepped through the doorway and stopped abruptly in his tracks, suddenly breathless and unable to move as he spotted the limp figure of his partner hanging in the center of the room. He staggered forward as Simon ran into his back, cursing, and his rifle fell from nerveless fingers as he somehow forced one foot in front of the other.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," he heard Simon gasp behind him.

Walking faster now, he came to a halt in front of Blair and his eyes raced over his battered body. Naked except for a grotesque harness of leather and chain, he was suspended from the ceiling by chains around bloody and swollen wrists. Chains also enclosed his ankles, equally battered. His head was slumped forward, his chin on his chest and his face hidden by a curtain of sweat-soaked hair, but Jim could also see a chain, a choke collar, around his bruised neck. Bruises and burns sprinkled his torso and limbs, and blood and other fluids were smeared all over exposed skin and hair. Dozens of fine cuts leaked blood from a series of welts across his back and shoulders.

He reached over and carefully released the collar and the leash that draped down Blair's back, throwing it across the room as he ensured that Blair was still breathing, his heart still beating. Other than a few barely noticable twitches, Blair remained unmoving. Jim prayed that he was unconscious and hoped that he had been unconscious for much of his ordeal. Quickly following the chains upwards with his eyes, he spotted the motor and winch on the ceiling.

"Simon, there's gotta be a control or switch to let him down. Find it while I get him out of this."

First freeing Blair's ankles, made difficult by the way that the chains were embedded in the swollen flesh, he stood to remove the harness. Just the sight of it, combined with the stench of blood and another man, made his stomach churn in disgust. He fought against the surge of bile and emotion, trying to steel himself to do what had to be done, for Blair's sake. He carefully unfastened straps and snaps, finally sliding it down Blair's legs and off over his feet.

"Got it, Jim!" Simon waved a remote control in the air, the sound of a motor humming to life overhead.

Jim spotted a straight chair in a corner and went and grabbed it, setting it carefully in place as Blair was slowly lowered. He guided the limp form onto the seat, straightening his legs in place, and eased his head against the back of the chair. Grasping one arm, he struggled to release the chain that was deeply embedded into his wrist. He could hear Simon cursing under his breath as he fought to free the other arm. Both men finally succeeded, and let his arms down to rest on his thighs.

"Simon, help me to get him down on the floor. Let's get something under him."

Simon ran over to the bed in the corner, sweeping the bedclothes off and bringing them back over to the center of the room. Spreading a blanket on the floor, they eased Blair off of the chair and onto the blanket. Jim raised Blair's head and placed a pillow underneath, then pulled the comforter up over his naked body.

Now that Blair was freed and covered, Jim could take a moment to check him out. He knelt beside him and gently brushed the damp and sweaty hair from his face, revealing reddened and swollen eyes encircled by dark rings of fatigue, illness, or pain. He could see Blair's eyes in jittery motion behind the closed, swollen eyelids, active in dreaming or, as the odor of chemicals on Blair's breath made itself apparent, in drug-induced hallucinations. His face was bruised and scratched, his skin sticky with blood, dried tears, and other partially dried fluids that he didn’t want to think about.

Jim stood and looked around, spotting the bathroom and running towards it. Grabbing a towel and wetting it in the sink, he returned to kneel by Blair's side. He began carefully wiping the slack face, desperately wanting to remove the visible traces of his tormentor's presence.

Blair began twitching and moving at his touch, cracked lips parting and a soft moan escaping. Jim started talking softly, soothingly, a comforting mantra to reassure Blair of his safety.

"It's all right, Chief, it's me, Jim. You're safe now. You're gonna be all right. No one's gonna hurt you any more. You're safe…"

He took a deep breath as Blair's eyes suddenly flew open, the pupils of his eyes so widely dilated that they appeared almost black. He started to smile in relief, but his smile was short-lived as Blair cried out and threw both arms up in front of his face, shoving Jim hard in the chest. Jim lost his balance and ended up on his backside as Blair tore the covers away and scrambled to his feet, staggering and swaying.

"What the…" he heard Simon behind him.

Blair staggered in place for a moment, holding both arms up in front of him as if to protect himself. He looked wildly around the room, panting with the effort of staying upright.

"Blair…" Jim started to say as he regained his feet.

Raising his hands to cover his ears, Blair screamed out "noooooo" in a hoarse voice. Turning his head frantically from side to side, he seemed to focus suddenly on a closed door at the back of the room. Before Jim or Simon could react, he stumbled into motion and threw himself bodily at the closed door.

"No more…" Blair gasped out as his hip and shoulder collided with the unyielding wood and he fell backwards. He staggered for a moment, then launched himself against the door again.

Simon ran to intercept him, catching him when he bounced off the door the second time. The two men went down in a whirl of arms and legs.

"Simon, hold him!" Jim called out. "He's been drugged, we've got to keep him from hurting himself!"

Wrestling on the floor, desperately trying to escape, Blair's flailing elbow connected with the side of Simon's head. Simon fell back, stunned, as Blair scuttled backwards and scrambled to his feet.

Again he glanced around frantically, searching for a means of escape. With a broken cry he spotted the window and began staggering towards it, picking up speed as he crossed the room.

Jim broke into a run. With a desperate burst of speed he launched himself into the air, intercepting Blair's hurtling body just a few feet short of his target. They went down in a heap, Blair's head striking the floor with a sickening thud as Jim landed on top of him.

"Oh, God," Jim gasped as he rolled off of Blair and struggled to his knees by his partner's limp form. "Oh, my God…Blair…"

He frantically felt over Blair's head with both hands, searching for signs of additional damage from Blair's contact with the floor. Not finding any blood, he did feel the faint beginnings of a lump on the back of his head. Working with speed but with great care, he rolled Blair onto his back and gently straightened his arms and legs on the floor. Placing one hand on Blair's chest, he felt for heartbeat and breathing. The heartbeat was racing and erratic, but it was there, and the chest swelled up and down shallowly. He was still alive.

Hearing Simon grunt as he regained his feet, Jim scrambled over and grabbed the pile of bedclothes and returned to Blair's side. Afraid to move him again, afraid of aggravating any new injuries from their collision and crash to the floor, he just pulled the comforter over the still trembling body. He folded the blanket several times and then tucked it around Blair's head and neck, hoping that it would keep his head and neck still and reduce the chance of more damage if Blair began to move. Damage that he might have caused.

He jumped at the touch of Simon's hand on his shoulder.

"Thank God you were fast enough, Jim. How's he doing?"

His shaking hands wandered over Blair's body, straightening the comforter, tucking the blanket more firmly around his head, brushing non-existent hair off of the bruised face. He had to clear his throat to answer, his voice rough.

"I don't know, Simon. He hit the floor pretty hard. His head hit the floor pretty hard."

Simon's hand grasped his shoulder more firmly.

"Jim, if you hadn't tackled him, he would've jumped out the window and he'd be dead by now. You did what you had to do. You saved his life."

"My God, Simon…"

They were interrupted by the arrival of the ambulance crew. Stopping only momentarily as they entered the room, their eyes grew wide as they took in the dangling chains and the implements on the table and floor before pulling the gurney over to join them.

Jim stood to greet them. "Thank God you're here. He was knocked unconscious in a fall just a few minutes ago. We're not sure about the extent of his injuries, but he was also drugged."

One of the medics pulled out a pad and pen. "His name?"

Jim interrupted as Simon began to speak. "Smith. John Smith." He glanced meaningfully at his captain, making a small gesture that took in the room and its contents. Simon nodded.

The medic looked up dubiously. "John Smith."

"That's right, Smith. Now get on with it. He needs to get medical treatment now."

Simon and Jim stepped back as the medics pulled the comforter down and checked out the injuries of their patient. Jim looked away uncomfortably and walked over to the doorway, gesturing one of the waiting officers over and talking with him for a moment. Simon joined him, keeping an eye on the paramedics as they worked.

"Are you sure that's necessary, Jim? It's not like Blair chose this."

"Simon, you saw the look on their faces. This is the kind of thing that gets discussed over coffee, passed down the line…Blair doesn't deserve that humiliation. He can just be John Smith, as far as anyone else needs to know."

He watched nervously as they lifted Blair and settled him on the gurney. Starting to turn away, he froze as he heard one medic whisper to the other.

"What do you think? Did his pimp do this, or one of his johns?"

Before he knew it he had the medic by the front of his shirt, slamming him up against the wall.

"Listen to me, you son of a bitch! This man was kidnapped, drugged, and assaulted. If you want to keep your job, you damn well better treat him with the care, courtesy and respect that he deserves. You'd better treat him like the goddamned President of the United States. You hear me?"

His blood boiling in his veins, he didn't back off until Simon forced an arm between them and shoved him back forcibly.

"That's enough, Jim! Let him go!"

He released the medic's shirt and fell back a step or two, still breathing hard. The medic quickly straightened his shirt and rushed over to the gurney, helping his partner with fumbling hands as they tightened the straps securing Blair in place. With just a quick backwards glance they began pulling the gurney from the room.

"What the hell was that about?"

Jim ran a hand over his face as he paced away, anger in his stride.

"He thought Blair was a male prostitute."

"He what…" Simon growled, spinning and glaring at the retreating men.

"That's what I mean, Simon. That's why Blair's gonna be John Smith for now. Come on, let's get out of here, I wanna get to the hospital."