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.
Rest in Peace, Blair Sandburg
Part Fourteen of "The Progressions" Series
by Beth Manz
Part One
Jim Ellison glanced at his wristwatch, then up at the clock that hung on one of the support beams in the Major Crime bullpen. As he knew they would, both timepieces read the same.
He's late. Twenty minutes late, Jim thought as he bit at his lower lip and tried to decide what, if anything, he should do next.
His gaze shifted to the phone on his desk, worry shadowing the edges of his mind. He tried to push the concerns away. After all, Blair probably just got stuck at school. All it would take to delay Sandburg would be a student stopping him as he was leaving, a faculty member asking him for a consult....
But the uneasiness refused to be nudged aside. Blair was usually pretty good about calling, especially when he knew Jim was expecting him.
The detective waited another ten minutes then picked up the phone and dialed Blair's cell phone. He listened to it ring ten times before he hung up. Next, he tried Blair's office at Rainier, only to reach Sandburg's voice mail. His hand tightened on the receiver as he sighed deeply and punched in the number to Eli Stoddard's office. The phone was answered on the second ring and the chancellor's assistant transferred Jim right through.
"Hello, Jim."
"Eli, hi. I'm looking for Sandburg. Is he there with you by any chance?"
"No, he's not. I thought he was heading in to meet you. We had dinner together and he told me you needed him to work with you at the station this evening."
"Yeah, he was supposed to be here a half hour ago but he hasn't arrived yet. I tried calling his cell, his office...." Jim's voice trailed off. He shook his head. "I don't know, Eli. I can't find him and I'm beginning to worry. I hate to ask, but would you do me a favor and walk over to his office and see if everything's okay?"
"I'll be happy to. I needed to stretch a bit anyway."
In the background Jim could hear the sound of keys jangling together. "I have Blair's office key here," Eli informed him. "Why don't I call you from his phone when I get there?"
Jim thanked the chancellor and hung up. And as he sat at his desk--trying to concentrate on the work piled in front of him--he instead found his gaze wandering between his phone, his watch and the elevator out in the hallway. He jumped slightly when his telephone rang.
"Ellison," he answered.
"Jim, Eli here," Stoddard responded, sounding slightly out of breath. "I checked the parking lot on my way to Blair's office. His car is still here, but it has a flat tire. Maybe he's late because he caught a ride with someone. Has he called yet?"
"No, but I'll bet you're right," Jim agreed, relieved. "He probably caught a ride or the bus; no doubt he'll be here any second." Out of the corner of his eye, Ellison saw Simon's door open. A moment later, the captain stepped out and crossed the bullpen toward him. "Thanks for checking, Eli."
"My pleasure. And Jim...you'll call if there's a problem, right?"
"I'll call, but I'm sure everything's fine. Thanks again." He hung up the phone just as Simon reached his desk. He looked up at the captain...and the expression he saw on Simon's face sent a cold chill down the detective's spine, scattering the relief he'd been feeling only seconds before. "What's going on?" he asked warily.
"Why don't you step into my office, Jim."
"Why? What's going on?"
"Just come to my office. Please." Simon took a deep breath and softened his voice as he added, "It's about Sandburg."
Jim pushed to his feet. "What about Sandburg?"
"Jim--"
"Just tell me, dammit!"
Simon licked his lips, his expression a study in misery. "I'm sorry," he whispered, holding out his hands in a helpless gesture, "but I just got a phone call and.... There's been an accident. A car accident."
Terror bubbled up through the detective, making his knees weak. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and straightened his posture. "Where is he? Is he okay?"
"Jim.... I...."
"Is he okay!"
"No." Simon dropped his gaze as he spoke the word, his voice sentinel-soft. "I'm sorry, Jim, but Blair was killed."
"What?!" Jim blinked several times, sure he had misunderstood what Simon had just told him. "Blair was killed?" No, that isn't possible. It just isn't possible!
Simon looked up at him again, his dark eyes moist. "I'm sorry."
Jim wanted to explain to Simon that he was wrong, that whatever he'd been told had been a mistake, a terrible mistake. But when he opened his mouth, all he said was.... "Where is he?"
"I think he's still at the scene."
At the scene...the scene of the accident. Jim nodded. "I want to go there," he announced.
The captain nodded. "I'll take you."
-------------
Jim sat in the passenger seat of Simon's sedan and stared blankly out at the dark night. He didn't try to see any farther down the road than the distance the headlights naturally illuminated, didn't listen to anything beyond the confines of the car, didn't attempt to pick up any unusual scents brought in through the captain's partially open window. Instead, he concentrated on only one thing--keeping himself from screaming out the rage and denial that seethed inside him.
"I'm sorry, Jim, but Blair was killed."
No matter how many times he replayed Simon's words in his mind, he simply could not believe them.
I would know. If Sandburg were dead, I would know!
He wasn't sure why he was so convinced of that. Why he felt so strongly that Blair was alive. But no matter the reason, he clung to it, refused to let go. Refused to believe the alternative.
This has all just been a mistake, a terrible mistake. Blair and I will laugh about it. Tonight, at home, we'll laugh...
Denial. The word whispered through his mind, dampening his hope, bringing with it the first feelings of doubt.
Pulling to the side of the road, Simon cut the engine of his car. Ahead, Jim could see a taped off area. Fire fighters and uniformed police officers milled about taking pictures, comparing notes. Without waiting for Simon, Jim pushed out of the car and headed toward the scene.
Just find out what happened, Ellison. Find out the truth for yourself.
He flashed his badge at the officers on the scene as he slipped under the police tape that surrounded a charred area of earth. A few yards ahead he could see what looked like the burned-out hull of a van. A few fire fighters still lingered around the smoldering vehicle, spraying short bursts of water on hot spots.
"Who's in charge here?" Jim snapped, pulling his gaze away from the destruction.
One of the uniformed officers on the scene approached him. "Can I help you?"
Once more, Jim flashed his badge. "Where are the people who were in this van?"
"Well, the driver managed to get clear before the fire. He was taken to the hospital. But I'm afraid the passenger wasn't so lucky. The coroner's wagon just took away what was left of him."<
br />
Jim shuddered at the cold words, pushing away his anger at the young officer's lack of compassion with silent assurances that the words didn't prove anything. None of this proved anything.
Blair is not dead.
"Has there been an ID on the body that was taken away?" he asked.
"Not yet," the officer answered, shaking his head. "The fire did too much damage."
Simon stepped up beside Jim. "I'm Captain Banks of Major Crimes," he announced, displaying his own identification. "My department will be taking over this investigation from this point on."
As Simon talked to the officer, Jim slipped away from them and slowly made his way toward the van. It was Collins' vehicle--he recognized what was left of the license plate. Stepping closer, Jim could smell the unmistakable stench of burned flesh. His stomach convulsed at the strong, repulsive odor. Without even thinking about it, he dialed back his sense of smell.
Moving up to the passenger window of the van, he stood beside it but didn't look inside. What are you afraid of? He squeezed his eyes closed, forcing the question from his mind, refusing to answer it. Just look inside. Opening his eyes, he leaned forward, his gaze sweeping the interior of the van. The seats were burned away, the dashboard and steering wheel warped, melted in areas. But Jim saw only one thing--tucked beneath the bent and blackened dashboard on the passenger side of the van were the charred remains of Blair's brown leather backpack.
No! Jim backed away, his heart constricting painfully in his chest, his breath coming in harsh gasps.
A hand touched his arm. He spun to face the man behind him. Simon took a step back, clearly stunned by the detective's reaction.
"Jim, what's wrong?"
Jim bent forward and rested his hands against his legs. "Blair's backpack," he breathed out, looking up at Simon. "I saw Blair's backpack inside...it was burned."
Simon's gaze shifted past Jim to the burned out hull behind him. "Jim, I'm sorry," the captain said sympathetically. He reached down and placed a hand on Ellison's back. "You shouldn't have had to see that."
"I need to leave here."
"I'll take you home."
"I need to see Dan Wolf," Jim said, clarifying himself.
"Jim, I don't think that's a good idea...."
The detective straightened and shrugged away from Simon's hand. "I need to see Dan Wolf," he repeated, his cool, determined tone leaving no room for argument.
/
/
/
Simon was worried. Since finding Blair's backpack in the burned out van, Jim had gone from quiet denial to barely controlled rage. During the ride back to the station, he'd sat stiffly in his seat, his hands fisting and unfisting where they lay together in his lap.
Now, as they stepped off the elevator and headed toward the morgue, Simon had to work hard to keep up with Ellison. The detective moved with a purpose, his intense gaze locked forward.
As they entered the morgue area, Simon saw Dan Wolf. The medical examiner was leaning over a body, the corpse mostly blocked from view by the sill that separated the anteroom from the examination area in which Dan was working. Wolf looked up as they drew near. Hastily pulling a sheet over the corpse before him, he took off his gloves and mask and stepped from the room to greet the two men.
"Is it Blair?" Jim asked without preamble.
"I don't know yet."
Jim ran a hand over his face and through his hair. "Dan," he said, barely able to control his anger. "How can you not know?"
"The body was burned beyond recognition, Jim. I've already sent for dental records to confirm the identity. Until then...."
"Let me see him. I'll know." Jim tried to move past Dan but the medical examiner stopped him, blocking his way into the morgue.
The two men exchanged level glances but Dan didn't back down beneath Jim's cool glare. "Until we know for sure if that's Blair or not, you're not viewing this corpse," Wolf informed the imposing detective.
"I've seen other bodies," Jim bit out.
"Not in this condition...and never one you thought might be your partner." Dan shook his head slowly, never allowing his gaze to waver. "I'm sorry, Jim, but I'll pull rank if I have to. You're not going in there."
Simon couldn't miss the sudden slump in the strong detective's shoulders, the defeated exhalation of breath. He stepped closer to Jim and placed a gentle hand on his arm.
"Do you think it's Blair?" Jim asked Dan.
"The body is the same height and build...." His voice trailed off as he glanced briefly at the shrouded corpse. "But yes, Jim, I think it's probably Blair."
"Jim...." Simon's hand, still on Jim's arm, tightened. "I'm so sorry."
"I want to talk to Ryan Collins," Ellison announced abruptly, his gaze shifting past Dan to the covered body in the next room. "I want to know what the hell happened."
/
/
/
"Jim, this man has been through a severe trauma. You can't just barge in there and--"
"And what, Simon? Ask him why he's alive and my partner is dead?"
The two men stood outside Ryan Collins' hospital room. They'd already talked to the doctor on staff, knew the man was going to be fine. "He's barely bruised," the physician had told them brightly, and in that moment Simon had thought his overwrought detective was going to punch the young man in the face.
"You're going to get us thrown out of here if you don't calm down," Simon warned.
"Fine. I'll be calm." Jim held up his hands in a signal of surrender. "I want to know what happened, that's all."
Simon nodded and the two of them entered the room together. Collins lay in his bed, eyes closed, his face turned toward the door. There wasn't a scratch on him.
Jim stepped up to the side of the bed. "Dr. Collins?"
The man shifted slightly where he lay, slowly blinking his eyes open. "Detective," he responded thickly. "I've been trying to stay awake until you could get here. No one will tell me anything. Is Blair all right? Is he here?"
As Simon moved up beside Jim, he saw his detective reach out and grab the guard rail on the side of the bed, his knuckles whitening instantly from the tight grip. "Professor," he managed levelly, "I need you to tell me what happened tonight. Why was Blair with you?"
"But--"
"I'll answer all your questions once you answer mine," he interrupted.
The professor's gaze shifted from Jim to Simon and back again, searching, confused. "All right," he said at last. "Blair and I were walking out to our cars together. When we got to the Volvo we found it had a flat tire. Blair said he didn't have time to change it, that you were expecting him at the station. So I offered him a ride."
Simon's gaze cut to Jim as the sentinel stiffened beside him. He was in that van because he was trying to get to Jim...and now Jim knows it.
"Go on," Ellison grated out.
"We were driving toward the station when one of my tires blew. I was trying to keep the van on the road when I heard this loud pop, and then the engine suddenly started on fire. I...I couldn't see and I must have driven off the road. I hit something and then we stopped. There was so much smoke and I was choking, so I just pushed my door open and got out as fast as I could. As I was crawling away, I realized I couldn't see Blair. I yelled for him but then...then the van burst into flames. It was just consumed by fire." He shook his head, his hand moving to his forehead. "I think I must have passed out because I don't remember anything more until the paramedics revived me."
Simon frowned. What are the odds of both Sandburg's car and Collins' van both blowing tires in the same night? And why the hell would an engine just start on fire?
"Sounds like this was deliberate," Jim said from beside him, putting voice to the captain's thoughts.
Banks pulled out his cell phone and called the station. "I'm going to get a team out to go over Sandburg's car--have them check to see if it's been tampered with."
"So...is Blair all right?" Simon heard Collins ask just as the line was picked u
p at the station. He stepped away from the bed, allowing Jim to answer. He wasn't able to concentrate on the words Jim actually spoke--but the lack of sympathy Ellison was feeling toward Ryan Collins at that particular moment was more than clear in the coolness of the detective's voice.
----------
Twenty minutes later, Simon and Jim pulled into the parking lot that serviced Rainier University's Hargrove Hall. A forensics team had already assembled and taped off the area around the deserted Volvo. Two technicians lay on the ground, the upper half of their bodies hidden beneath the chassis of the small car.
"There's a device of some sort on Sandburg's car," Ted Stanley, one of the technicians, told them as they exited Simon's vehicle. "Our guys are trying to remove it now. Amateurish from their description. We won't know the specifics until we get it into the lab and have a chance to analyze it." His gaze shifted to Jim, his face masked in sorrow. "I heard about your partner. I'm sorry."
The sentinel nodded but said nothing. Ted opened his mouth as if to say something more, but then he seemed to think better of it and instead moved back toward the scene. Jim leaned on the car behind him, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze locked on Blair's car.
He hadn't spoken since leaving the hospital. Simon had tried to engage him in conversation--to discuss Collins, to ask who might be behind the possible sabotage to each vehicle, what the motive might be. Nothing had worked. Jim had simply withdrawn into himself, so deeply that at one point Simon actually feared he might be zoning.
What will I do if that happens? Without Sandburg...
Simon followed Jim's line of vision, staring at the small green Volvo. The car, like Blair's backpack, were distinctly Sandburg. One of a kind. The captain bit his trembling lower lip, swallowing the emotions that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him. Not now. Not here.
Without warning, his thoughts turned to the last time he'd stood on this campus and been convinced that Blair Sandburg was dead. Involuntarily, his gaze wandered from Blair's car to the fountain in the distance. He could hear the sound of the water as it bubbled up through the internal pumps then exploded against the water's surface in a rain of heavy drops. He shook his head at the sight and the sound. It seemed absurdly unfair that the kid's sabotaged Volvo sat in full view of the fountain where he had almost lost his life two years ago....
