Sentinel - Progression Series 11 Pilgrimage Part 2

by Beth Manz

  Disclaimer: The characters depicted within this story do not belong to us, but are the property of Pet Fly, UPN, Paramount and The SciFi Channel. No money has been made from the writing of this story.

  Note from the Authors: In our Sentinel universe, the events depicted in "The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg" did not occur. Therefore, any "canonical" references that may be found in this story are related to episodes up to and including "Most Wanted."

  Dedication: This series is dedicated to friendship, for only through caring for others can we truly find a sense of peace and belonging.

  Pilgrimage, Part II: Ascent into Light

  Part Eleven of “The Progressions” Series

  by Beth Manz and Shiloh

  Part One

  Jim Ellison finished thumbing through the in-flight magazine then pushed it back into the pocket of the seat in front of him. He exhaled a long, rather petulant sigh. He was tired and bored, he was hungry, and worst of all--he was horribly cramped within the limited space allotted to coach-fare flyers. He swept the cabin of the plane with a disinterested glance, wished absently that he were somewhere else, then turned his attention to the man seated at his right.

  One look at his sleeping partner and Jim's rather insignificant problems fell away. Any discomforts or inconveniences he was experiencing were, after all, on Blair's behalf and therefore more than worth it.

  Sandburg was tucked neatly between Jim and the airplane window. The young man sat curled in Jim's direction, his head resting on a small pillow, his mouth slightly open. To the casual observer he appeared serene, at peace. But Jim knew the horrible truth--it had been just a week ago to the day that Blair had identified the men who had murdered three Rainier students and had almost killed Blair as well.

  Ellison frowned as he thought back to the incident and the harrowing days following. The detective had hoped that, after identifying the men in a series of police lineups, some of Blair's equilibrium and exuberance for life would return. But that hadn't been the case. If anything, the young man had become increasingly withdrawn and morose.

  Jim was certain that Blair's problems were centered in more than just the death of the three students. It was as though the young man were having a crisis of faith…. Something had happened on the side of that mountain during the two days and nights Sandburg had lain helpless in the rain and cold. Something so traumatic that Blair was unable--or unwilling--to deal with it. He'd been shutting down emotionally, dying piece by piece before Jim's eyes.

  So it had been Jim's idea to get out of Cascade--to let Eli work out the details at the university and Simon at the station. He needed to get his guide away for a while, needed to put them both in a place where they could be alone and rely only on one another without distraction. And it was Jim's hope that during their "down time," Blair would open up to him, would finally let him help him in some way.

  Sandburg shifted slightly and a soft sigh escaped his lips. The small movement caused a few strands of hair to fall across his cheek, and Jim reached over and carefully tucked the wayward locks behind Blair's ear. He studied his friend. His skin was too pale, the half moon-shaped circles beneath his eyes were too dark, and there were fine lines of worry and exhaustion etched in his forehead. But worst of all, just beneath the skin there remained tiny red splotches around the young man's eyes and mouth--a silent reminder of the duct tape that had rendered Blair blind and speechless during his ordeal on the mountain.

  A fresh wave of anger coursed through the detective at the thought of what his partner had endured. But he pushed it aside, determined to make the best of this trip. Absently, he picked at a stray thread in the blue and gray patterned upholstery material of the seat in front of him as his thoughts turned to the week ahead--a week during which Jim hoped to again broach the subject of the wolf….

  He hadn't told Sandburg yet that he'd spoken to Eli the week before, that the chancellor was putting together some documentation on shamanism. He'd been hesitant to bring up the subject of his conversation with Dr. Stoddard because he knew Blair's reaction would be one of anger, denial, a further shutting down. His partner was scared of something--something to do with his animal guide.

  Checking on Blair once more, satisfied that he was sleeping soundly enough that Jim's moving wouldn't disturb him, Ellison unbuckled his seat belt and levered his cramped body into an upright position. Apologizing softly to the man in the end seat, he stepped out into the aisle and made his way to the back of the plane where the rest rooms were located.

  Even before Blair opened his eyes, he knew Jim was no longer beside him. Blinking slowly, he opened tired eyes and looked at the vacant seat beside him. He wasn't disturbed by Jim's absence, knew he was probably in one of the rest rooms, yet he found himself wishing for his partner's return.

  Turning in his seat, he looked out the window at the unbroken cloud cover over which the plane was flying. The ground, several thousand feet below, wasn't visible through the clouds, but a clear blue sky stretched out above the cover for as far as the eye could see.

  Blair stared out at the distant horizon for several long seconds, hoping to stay awake, but it wasn't long before the unmistakable pull of sleep beckoned him back into its folds. He fought the weariness with only half-hearted resolve. Sleep had evaded him most nights since he'd come home from the hospital, so he welcomed the respite, gave himself up to it.

  His eyes had just slipped closed when he felt a slight brushing movement against his lower left arm. He opened his eyes, expecting to find that Jim had returned, but the seat beside him was still empty. Again, he closed his eyes…and again there was a slight brushing against his arm, like a small insect had landed on his skin. Reflexively, without bothering to open his eyes this time, Blair shook his arm. But the movement was suddenly curtailed by the sensation of his forearm being caught in a painfully tight grasp. His eyes flew open and he looked down at the hand that was now clutching his arm, then up into the face of.…

  "Incacha!"

  It can't be! Blair blinked several times, shook his head slightly to clear away the vision. But Incacha didn't disappear. The Chopec warrior sat beside him, silently enigmatic. Sandburg stared into Incacha's intense brown eyes for a few seconds, then tore his gaze away and quickly looked around to see if anyone else on the plane had noticed the man in tribal dress who had taken Jim's seat. But his fellow passengers were reading, sleeping, or chatting quietly among themselves. No one seemed to have noticed anything unusual. Not even the man in the aisle seat looked over.

  Again, Blair blinked, expecting Incacha to disappear when he focused back on Jim's seat. But the Chopec warrior remained, his hand still firmly encircling Blair's lower arm. A hard fist of fear gripped the young man's stomach. Jim's former shaman had never appeared to him before, and though he had at times envied Jim's "visitations" from Incacha and the spirit world, now that the dead Chopec was seated next to him in the airplane, he regretted ever having felt envious.

  "Incacha," Blair spoke the name more softly this time, but despite his lowered tone, he could still hear panic in his own voice. "What are you doing here?"

  The Chopec’s gaze bore into Blair. “You have lost your way, young shaman," he answered cryptically. "You must find it for yourself...and for your sentinel.”

  "What? I don't understand…."

  "You must find your way…." Releasing his arm, Incacha reached up and placed his hand against Blair's forehead. Slowly, the Chopec warrior ran his fingers down across Blair's eyes, forcing them gently closed….

  Blair jerked upright in his seat, his eyes snapping open. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. H
is breath came in sharp, quick gasps. He looked to his left.

  "Chief?" Jim asked him, his brow furrowed in concern. "What's wrong? You all right?"

  "Jim…." The detective sat in the seat Incacha had occupied only moments before. A bemused look replaced Jim's earlier expression of concern.

  "Yeah, it's me," Jim chuckled. "You were expecting someone else?"

  Blair shook his head, reached out and touched lightly at Jim's arm, happy to feel warm, solid skin beneath his fingers. All was as it should be. "You were gone…."

  Again, Jim chuckled. "Yeah, I had to use the men's room. That okay with you?"

  Blair stared at his partner in bewilderment. In his mind, Incacha's presence was still all too real. He half expected to blink his eyes and again find the shaman sitting next to him, dressed in full ceremonial garb and spouting obscure directives about finding one's way…. "Hmmm?" Blair intoned at last, realizing belatedly that Jim had asked him a question. "Oh, oh, yeah. Of course it's okay…."

  "Blair," Jim continued, sitting up straighter and leaning close to his guide. The sentinel's voice was worried now, and he kept his tone low as he studied Blair. "You're white as a sheet. What's going on? Are you feeling all right?"

  Blair grimaced and leaned forward to look around Jim, to study the passengers seated near the two men. "I don't know, man," he whispered to Jim as he settled himself back against his seat. "I just had the strangest…dream. It was unbelievably real."

  “You want to talk about it?"

  Blair bit at his lip, unsure of whether he wanted to share this particular dream with his partner, knowing it would only invite questions. But Jim was studying him, his gaze intent, determined, and Blair seriously doubted Jim would allow him to easily drop the subject now. The sentinel had been over-protective ever since Blair had come home from the hospital. At the loft, it was possible to evade the older man, retreat to his room if Jim's questions or solicitous attitude threatened to come too close to what was bothering him. But here…well, there wasn't really any place he could go to escape Jim...or his concern. "It was about Incacha," he answered after several long seconds.

  "Incacha?"

  "Yeah, man, and it was more real than any dream I've ever had before." Blair could hear his own voice increasing in pace and volume. He took a moment to calm himself; the last thing he needed was to draw unwanted attention from nearby passengers. He leaned in close to Jim and whispered fiercely, "He was sitting right there where you are now. He grabbed my arm just like he did that day in the loft. It was freaky."

  As he talked, Blair rubbed absently at the spot where Incacha had held him in his dream. He wasn't even aware of what he was doing until he caught Jim's gaze traveling downward to his arm. Then--suddenly--Jim sat up even straighter and his eyes went wide with surprise.

  "What are those marks?" Ellison demanded.

  "What? What marks?"

  "Let me see your arm!" Jim reached over and pulled Blair's left arm toward him. Carefully pushing up the loose shirtsleeve, he ran his fingers gently across the skin above Blair's wrist. Blair followed his friend's gaze, watched in horror as Jim traced a series of small bruises that discolored his arm--bruises that could have only been made by the strong fingers of a man's hand.

  Jim looked over at Sandburg and fought against the urge to try to question his partner again. Blair sat with his face turned toward the window, effectively shutting the sentinel out. Jim clenched his jaw and forced back a frustrated groan. Once Sandburg had seen the marks on his arm, his already pale skin had turned even more pallid and he had refused to answer any of Jim's questions. All Jim knew was what little the kid had told him before he'd discovered the bruises--he'd had a dream about Incacha and the shaman had grabbed him.

  Jim's eyes wandered down to Blair's arm again, to the sleeve that had been meticulously pulled down and positioned to hide the darkening bruises. No dream Jim had ever experienced or heard of had ever left physical marks on the dreamer. This was much more than a dream. But exactly what was it? Something was going on--something regarding Sandburg and that strange spirit world Jim had encountered on occasion since his sentinel senses had come back on-line. And he wouldn't rest until he knew just exactly what that something was….

  Jim's worry was instantly forgotten as a violent shudder coursed through the length of the large aircraft. Passengers gasped at the unexpected tremor, then began conversing softly with one another, speculating on what could have caused the disturbance. The plane continued to vibrate, though not as roughly, and Jim extended his hearing to take in the noise of the engines.

  "Jim?" Blair questioned from beside him. "What's wrong? It's just a little turbulence, right? We’re not--”

  Jim held up his hand to halt Blair's words and concentrated more fully on the engines, listening until he could pick out the distinctive sounds of each one--could distinguish one from the other. After a few seconds, he sat back in his seat and leaned toward Blair. "That was no turbulence, Chief," he explained softly.

  "What was it?"

  Jim reached over and lay his hand softly against Blair's arm. "I don’t want anyone else getting upset, so I want you to try and stay calm when I say this, but...we've lost an engine."

  "What?" Blair hissed out. "Oh, man!"

  "Calm, Chief," Jim reminded him, patting lightly at his arm. "Stay calm."

  "So, how bad is it when a plane loses an engine, Jim? I mean, we have three others, right?"

  "That's right." Jim cocked his head and Blair fell silent, more than used to the characteristic posture that indicated that Jim was listening to something only he could hear….

  "What is it?" Blair asked after several seconds. "What do you hear?"

  "The pilot is asking for a vector to the nearest runway.” He looked over at Blair, gave him what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “They’re looking for a place to land, Chief. Looks like we may be setting down sooner than expected."

  “Oh, man.” Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew his glasses and put them on. Then he leaned forward and pulled the emergency landing information card from the seat back and began scanning it. “I can’t believe this,” he grumbled. "We're going down. I just know we’re going down.”

  Jim watched his guide, wishing he could offer words of encouragement. But he'd heard what the pilot and navigator had been discussing in the cockpit. The problem was far worse than just the loss of an engine. The captain had said something about an electrical malfunction…. Bottom line--they were going down.

  Blair glanced up from the card he was reading and visually checked the aisles. “Where are the emergency exits?” he asked Jim as he glanced around the interior of the cabin.

  Before Jim could answer, there was a slight crackling sound, then the pilot's voice came across the intercom system: "Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Wilder. I'm not going to lie to you. We're in some trouble here and we need to land as soon as possible. It's a certainty that that our landing will be a rough one. However, in spite of our circumstances, I need everyone to remain calm and to listen to the directions of your flight crew. We've spotted a place where we believe we can take the plane down, and rescue and medical personnel are on their way.

  "Once down, we'll need to evacuate the plane. Ladies and gentlemen, I can't emphasize enough how important it is that you remain calm and allow our crew to do their jobs. We're trained for these circumstances and I assure you that if you'll follow the crew's instructions, this landing can be effected with a minimal amount of danger or injury. Thank you."

  With that the intercom crackled again, then went dead. The unnatural quiet that followed was nearly palpable in the cramped cabin. Passengers sat in stunned silence then one by one began talking, asking questions, sharing concerns, demanding more information.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, please!" the lead attendant's voice cut through the confusion. "I need all of you to make sure your trays are up and locked and that your seats are in an upright position. Once that’s done, I need you to put away anyth
ing you might have out--magazines, books, laptop computers. Also, please remove eyeglasses and any jewelry you’re wearing.”

  Jim watched as Blair stuffed the information card into the seat back before pulling his backpack out from under the seat. Settling it in his lap, he withdrew the two earrings from his left ear and dropped them into a zippered pouch on the side of the bag. "I'm sure they're just taking the necessary precautions," he muttered as he untied the cord at his neck and dropped the amulet he always wore into the pouch along with the earrings.

  “I’m sure you’re right, Chief,” Jim assured him, unable to miss the slight trembling in the younger man's hands.

  “Yeah, I know I’m right.” He held out a hand to Jim. "I need your watch.”

  "What?"

  "Your watch," Sandburg repeated, nodding his head toward Jim's left wrist. "I’ll put it in my pack with my stuff."

  "Oh, right," Jim said distractedly. Quickly, he unfastened the watchband. As he passed the timepiece to his partner, the plane lurched again.

  Blair clutched his pack as it threatened to topple from atop his legs. “I wish it would stop doing that,” he muttered through clenched teeth, his features etched in strain.