Progression Series 14 Rest in Peace, Blair Sandburg

by Beth Manz

  Jim exhaled a long, weary breath. He really didn't want to talk about the accident. To be honest he didn't want to talk to anyone about anything, yet he couldn't just ignore the man sitting in front of him. Besides, Collins had a right to know what they'd discovered. "It wasn't an accident, Professor," Jim answered after several long moments. "Your tire was blown on purpose and we found an incendiary device had been planted in your van's engine."

  Ryan's eyes widened at the news, then he dropped his gaze. "If only Blair hadn't needed a ride.... Then it would have only been me and Blair would still be alive."

  "Blair's car was tampered with, too," Jim told him softly. "His tire was flat only because the device malfunctioned and blew early."

  Collins was staring up at him again. "You mean we were both targets?"

  "Yes."

  Ryan shook his head, chewed at his lip for a moment as he took in the meaning of what Jim had told him. "Do you think the person behind this is the same person who has been attacking handicapped students and staff?"

  "That's our best guess right now. He was the only one who might have a vendetta against both of you." Jim stepped backward and leaned wearily against the edge of Eli's desk. His mind turned over the facts of the case, such as they were. The Cascade PD had checked the incendiary device on Blair's car for prints but found nothing. Joel Taggert, heartbroken over Blair's death but determined to help find the young man's killer, had voluntarily taken the lead in trying to track down where the parts for the device had been purchased. But that, too, had led only to a disappointing dead end. The only real evidence they had was the ski mask, the vague description of the attacker given to them by the various victims and Sandburg's original composite sketch.

  "I don't understand this," Collins muttered, his voice breaking through Jim's thoughts. "Not any of it." He shook his head again. "I do, however, want you to know that I appreciate the extra precautions the police department has taken to ensure my safety. The nightly escorts to my car, the police cruisers in my neighborhood--they've made me feel so much safer."

  Jim nodded his silent acceptance of Collins' thanks. "Hopefully it will only be a short time before we can pull the men and life can go back to normal for you, Professor."

  Ryan scoffed at that. "Normal. Right now I don't feel I'll ever be 'normal' again, Detective. A colleague has been beaten and another killed." The professor scowled. "How does one get over such things?" Collins was silent for several seconds, then he turned questioning eyes to Ellison. "I've not heard of any further attacks following the one in Olympia, however. Do you think it's possible that we've gotten lucky and this man has left the area?"

  Jim shrugged. "Anything's possible," he answered tiredly. "But whether our suspect has left the area or not really doesn't matter."

  "Why is that?" Collins questioned, his expression confused.

  "Because," Jim replied, pushing up from the desk and walking over to the windows that overlooked Eli's back yard, "I don't intend to stop looking until I've found the man responsible for my partner's death."

  Part Three

  An odd sound penetrated the haze in his mind, reaching out to him in the deep darkness in which he seemed to be lost. Slowly, recognition came to him--it was a quiet humming sound he was hearing, as if someone were standing beside him, singing softly. I'm not alone. Someone is here with me. Blair moaned, struggling to come to full consciousness. He'd been drifting for so long, unable to find his way back to reality. Back to himself. He was ready, ready to break free from of cloud of confusion that had settled across him.

  "Jim?" he tried to call out, but the sound that escaped his lips was only a garbled croak.

  Slowly, he blinked his eyes open, his heavy eyelids fighting the effort. As his vision cleared he realized he wasn't home at the loft. He licked his lips, looking around the room. Hospital, his groggy mind supplied. Was I in an accident?

  "Welcome back, sweetie."

  Sweetie? Only Naomi calls me that... Blair looked toward the source of the voice, realizing belatedly that it was the same voice that had been humming softly moments earlier. An elderly woman was leaning over him, staring down at him with warm brown eyes. Her starched white uniform matched the walls of the room, but her expression was sympathetic, kind.

  "What happened?" he managed to push past his dry throat. "Where's Jim?"

  "Shhhh," the nurse replied, patting gently at his shoulder. "There's no Jim here. Just me."

  The nurse must be wrong... Whenever he was in the hospital, Jim always stayed with him. Jim was always nearby when something happened.

  Blair tried to raise his right hand to his forehead, wanting to rub against the pain that pulsed there. But his movement was hindered. Something pulled at his arm, keeping it close to his side. With great effort, he managed to lift his head and look down at his hand. A padded restraint circled his wrist. He looked left. The same kind of cuff held that one as well, the bonds tethering him in place. Shifting slightly where he lay, he realized he could feel the same type of restraints attached to his ankles.

  Sudden terror rose up within him. "What's going on?" he demanded as he dropped his head back against his pillow. His attention jerked to the nurse who was leaning over him. "Why am I being restrained?"

  But she simply gave him a calm, understanding smile. "Settle down now, David."

  "David?" Blair spat out. "Who's David? "

  "Now, now, sweetie," the nurse soothed. "Just relax. Everything's going to be fine. You'll see, David. Everything will be just fine."

  "No!" Blair protested, shaking his head adamantly. "My name's not David. It's Blair! Blair Sandburg!" He pulled at the restraints again, then groaned in frustration when they failed to give. "What the hell is going on?"

  But the nurse didn't appear to be at all bothered by his outburst. She continued to smile as she fussed calmly with his pillow and blankets. "I know you're confused, honey, but Dr. Collins will be in soon. He'll explain it all to you when he gets here."

  Collins! Cold sweat broke out across Blair's body at the mention Ryan Collins. Fully conscious now, an unbidden memory flashed through his mind: "Do you like my new face? I had to pay a lot of money for it. Funny what a fall into the rapids of a river can do to one's features."

  "No," Blair choked out. "Not Collins." He caught his breath, swallowed hard. "His name isn't Collins, it's Grant! Marcus Grant!" He remembered being in the parking lot at Rainier, someone grabbing him from behind. A cloth had been placed over his face and he'd been pulled into a van...Dr. Collins' van! "He abducted me and brought me here," he told the nurse as the bits and pieces of what had happened fell into place within his memory. Vainly, he struggled again with the bonds holding him down. "You have to let me go!"

  "Calm down," the nurse said, her voice taking on a firm tone. "Are you listening to me, David!"

  "I told you my name is Blair!"

  Suddenly the door on the other side of the room was thrown open, the clatter causing both Sandburg and the nurse to turn startled gazes toward the source of the commotion. Ryan Collins stepped over the threshold, his dark scowl locked on Blair.

  Except you're not Ryan Collins at all. You're Marcus Grant. The thought sliced through Blair, sending a chill down his spine. He knew it was hopeless, yet his arms and legs strained against the tethers, seemingly of their own volition.

  "Thank you. I'll take over from here," Grant dismissed the nurse smoothly.

  "Of course, Doctor." The kindly woman smiled down at Blair a final time before leaving the room and pulling the door closed quietly behind her.

  Blair tensed as Grant approached, his hands pulling into tight fists as he fought against the restraints.

  "How are you feeling?" the doctor asked with a condescending, saccharine tone of voice.

  Blair refused to look at the man who now stood over him. Instead, he focused on the white tiles on the ceiling above his bed. The last several days he'd spent with Ryan Collins flashed through his mind. "You hurt all those people," he accused
softly, loathing underscoring his words. "You arranged the attacks on Rainier, at UW. You were behind it all."

  Marcus cackled with pleasure. "Quite ingenious, don't you think?"

  Finally, Blair looked at Grant. "Why would you go to all that trouble?"

  Grant pulled a chair up to the side of Blair's bed, a feral gleam in his eyes. "The oldest motive there is, Dr. Sandburg--revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge." He leaned closer and ran his hand over his bearded face, lingering at the scars not quite covered by the facial hair. "You see, after my dip in that river I had a lot of time to think. To plan. I spent months recovering from the surgery it took to fix my face and my body. And during all that time, all I could think about was you and Ellison and how I could take my revenge on you for what you did to me."

  "What we did to you?" Blair stared at him incredulously. "You came after me. You dragged me onto that bridge. You--"

  "Blair," Grant cut in warmly, holding a hand up to silence him. "I can call you Blair, can't I? I just feel like we're so much closer now than we were before, so let's drop the formalities, shall we?" He huffed out an amused chuckle. "I know you and Ellison believe you're not to blame for what happened to me but as I told you last time we met, if you had just let me go, if you hadn't tracked me across Europe, this would have all ended a long time ago."

  Blair closed his eyes against the words because as Grant spoke, he realized there would be no reasoning with him. Whatever the doctor had planned, whatever game he was playing this time around, no amount of talking was going to halt it.

  "Anyway," Grant continued, his voice wistful, "you asked why I set up the attacks on campus. It's simple really. I discovered that Jack Kelso helped Ellison track me down in Europe. That he was partly to blame for me being hunted like an animal for all those months." Grant laughed again. "So, of course he had to become part of the equation."

  Disbelief wound through Blair. Opening his eyes, he stared at Grant. "You hurt all those people, set up all those attacks, just to get back at Jack Kelso?"

  Grant smiled. "And you and your partner, of course," he answered simply, without remorse. "The attacks at UW were simply a diversion. When I arranged the attacks at Rainier, I hoped you would insist on investigating the case since the attacks were taking place on your beloved campus." Grant laughed again, a triumphant tone in the sound. "I was right, of course. You and Ellison just can't seem to resist the chance to play hero. But imagine my pleased surprise when you actually suggested walking me out nights. I relished that part of it," he whispered. "Being protected by you...and by Ellison."

  "What do you want, Grant?" Blair bit out.

  "The name is Collins. Dr. Ryan Collins. Don't forget that, Blair. After all, I paid a lot of money for it."

  "What do you want, Grant?"

  The doctor sighed in feigned disappointment. "Remain stubborn if you will, Blair, but it won't do you any good. You're really not in a position to be uncooperative." Grant reached over the side of the bed and fingered the restraint around Blair's left wrist. "And besides, a better question would be why are you here? I mean, think about it. Your nurse just called you David. You must have realized by now that you're not in a regular hospital."

  Renewed fear mingled with Blair's anger. "What are you talking about?"

  Grant leaned in closer and whispered, "This is a mental institution, Blair."

  Sandburg's heart slammed into his rib cage. "What?" he repeated, the word nearly dying in his throat.

  "You heard me correctly. I've committed you to a mental institution under the name of David Jacobs. You see, I'm on staff here and--"

  "Jim's going to find me," Blair interrupted, his voice overriding Grant's. "He won't stop looking until he does."

  Grant looked toward the ceiling and snapped his fingers. "Oh, that's right. I've left out an important part of the story, haven't I?" He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled widely. "Do you remember when I told you I wanted to study Ellison's grief? Well, let's just say I'm finally getting the opportunity to do just that."

  Blair's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?" But then the meaning behind the words crashed into him. "You told Jim I was dead?" He shook his head. "No. He won't believe you. There is no way you could convince Jim I was dead without a body."

  "Well, now, I didn't hire Mr. Holsten just because he had such a delicious penchant for violence." He raised one eyebrow when Blair remained silent. "Still don't get it? Think about it, Blair. How did everyone describe the man who was attacking the people at Rainier? Your height...your build...."

  Blair's eyes widened as this additional horror washed over him. "You killed him! You killed your own accomplice!"

  Grant chuckled lightly. "Isn't it just so very clever? And it was all right in front of you the entire time but you never saw any of it. And the best part is that I not only took care of a very loose end when I disposed of Mr. Holsten, but in doing so I also gave Detective Ellison someone to grieve over...to bury."

  "Bury?" Can this get any worse?

  "Didn't I mention that part?" Grant drawled out, his voice laced with false innocence. "I attended your funeral yesterday, Blair. You would have been impressed with the turnout."

  "I don't believe you," Blair retorted, noting as he spoke that he was having an increasingly difficult time drawing air into his lungs. It was all so unreal.... "You're lying."

  "Your mother was there," Grant continued as though he hadn't spoken. "She's a beautiful woman, by the way. Stunning. Did I mention that I have a thing for redheads?"

  "You bastard!" Blair pulled hard on the restraints again, jerking toward Grant. "Don't you touch her! You hear me! Don't you go near her!"

  "Doctor, is everything all right in here?" The elderly nurse leaned in the door, her face a mask of concern.

  "No, it isn't," Grant said, immediately slipping into the role of the professionally concerned doctor. He pushed to his feet. "Our Mr. Jacobs is out of control." He turned to the nurse. "I need a sedative. Stat."

  Sedative! The word sent a ripple of fear through Blair. "No! Wait!" he blurted out, but the nurse was already gone. Blair's gaze darted to Grant. "Don't do this. Don't pump any more drugs into me."

  "You should have thought about the consequences of your actions before you got all worked up."

  The door opened again as the nurse returned. Blair's eyes widened as he focused in on the syringe she carried.

  "What is that?" he rasped out. "Don't give me that!" He thrashed against the restraints, twisting and jerking in the bed.

  Hands pressed against his shoulders, pinning him to the mattress. Blair looked up into the eyes of Marcus Grant. He leaned over Blair, smiling down at him with predatory glee.

  "Give him the injection, nurse," he ordered.

  The woman stepped forward and gently swabbed his arm.

  "Listen to me," Blair said to her, working hard to get the words past the restriction in his throat, "my name is Blair Sandburg. This man you're calling Ryan Collins is actually Marcus Grant. He's tried to kill me twice before. He--dammit!" he cried out as he felt the prick of the needle in his arm. Moments later, the nurse stepped back from the bed, the syringe she held now empty.

  Grant released Blair. "Thank you, Nurse. I'll stay with him until he falls asleep again."

  The nurse's worried gaze shifted to Blair. "Rest well, David."

  David. "That's not my name. Please. You have to believe me. He's lying to you--"

  "That'll be all, Abby," Grant instructed, cutting off Blair's protest mid-sentence. "I'll let you know if I need you again."

  The nurse nodded and left the room.

  "It's doesn't matter what you tell anyone here." Grant took the seat beside Blair again. "No one on this staff will believe a word you say. I made sure of that before you ever opened your eyes."

  "Jim will know I'm not dead," Blair reminded Grant, already feeling the pull of the drug, his eyes blinking slowly, his limbs growing heavy. "He'll know."

  "Don't you think it's ironic,
" Grant whispered just as Blair was drifting into unconsciousness, "that this time, it was Ellison who buried you alive?"

  /

  /

  /

  Jim sat on the couch that faced the loft's balcony and stared out at the early afternoon sunshine. The weather's too nice, he mused. It shouldn't be this nice. He knew the sentiment was totally irrational, yet he felt he was right. Blair's dead and life goes on. It doesn't seem fair.

  He wiped his hands along the top of his pants--his dress pants he realized a moment later. He looked down at himself, at his wrinkled shirt and creased trousers. He'd slept in his clothes, the clothes he'd worn to Blair's funeral yesterday. I don't even remember falling asleep out here. Don't remember coming home. Not sure where the morning went today.

  A sound from behind him drew his attention. He turned toward the small bedroom beneath the stairs. If he tuned down his hearing and didn't listen in to the unfamiliar heartbeat of the person moving around in that bedroom, he could pretend--just for a moment--that it was Sandburg.

  He rubbed his forehead. Not the healthiest thing to do, Ellison. Blair is gone and you need to face it. He leaned back against the couch cushions, letting out a long breath...and tuned into the heartbeat. Not Blair's. It would never be Blair's again. But along with the sound of the heartbeat he heard something else. Soft crying. Naomi was crying again.

  Pushing slowly to his feet, Jim wearily made his way across the loft. He stopped just outside the French doors and looked inside. Naomi stood in front of Blair's desk, holding a picture. Jim knew by the frame which one it was--it was the photo that had been taken on Blair's first expedition, the young Sandburg surrounded by a group of colleagues.

  "I always thought he looked so young in this photo," she said, running her fingers across the image of her son.

  Jim stepped into the room and moved to stand beside her. "He was young," Jim said simply.

  She nodded before turning puffy eyes to Jim. "A freshman at Rainier." She laughed softly as her gaze shifted back to the photograph. "He wasn't even eighteen yet. I can still remember the pile of waivers I had to sign before the university would agree to let him go." She shook her head fondly. "He was so determined...told me if I didn't sign he'd either forge my signature or have someone else do it." She lifted tired, wet eyes to Ellison. "Could I have this one, Jim? Would you mind?"