Sentinel - Progression Series 07 Blessed Protector

by Beth Manz

  Why didn't Jim wake me before going to bed?

  He raised his head and looked up to Jim's bedroom, grimacing at the stab of pain that shot across his stiff neck. But even as he focused on the room above him, a sound from the balcony drew his attention. He looked toward the glass doors. Jim stood outside, leaning against the railing, the night breeze ruffling his short hair.

  Pushing himself up from the couch, Blair reached down to drag the blanket back up onto the couch, then he crossed to the glass doors and stepped outside. A violent shiver assaulted his body as the cold night air brushed over him, tousling his hair, tugging at his clothes. He crossed quickly to Jim, stopping beside him.

  "Hey, man." He glanced up at his partner, trying to gauge his mood. "It's freezing out here. What's going on?"

  "Nothing's going on," Jim said softly.

  Blair hugged himself against the cold. "So you're out here in the middle of the night because..." He purposely allowed the sentence to trail off, hoping Jim would finish it for him. But the sentinel remained silent. "Jim, what's wrong? Because something clearly is."

  "I just couldn't sleep," Jim said, still not looking at Blair. "Simple as that."

  "If it's your senses-"

  "My senses are fine," Jim cut in. "Just go to bed. I'm fine, really. I'm just having a little trouble sleeping this week. It happens to everyone."

  "Well then, maybe we could walk you through some relaxation exercises," Blair suggested, moving closer to Jim, their arms touching briefly. "Maybe then-"

  "Sandburg," Jim ground out, turning and pinning him with a cold glare. "Just go to bed."

  Blair blinked up at Jim, taken off guard by his partner's sudden anger. "I was just trying to help," he explained, his own irritation seeping into his voice. "You don't have to bite my head off."

  Jim closed his eyes, lifted his hand to rub at his forehead. "I'm sorry, Chief." Reaching out, he gripped Blair's shoulder. "I'll be in soon. Why don't you go to bed, okay?"

  "Jim, if there's something wrong-"

  "There's not." He squeezed the younger man's shoulder.

  Blair sighed out slowly. "All right, then." With more than a little reluctance, he left Jim on the balcony and slowly made his way to his own room. Dropping down on his bed, he exhaled a long, frustrated breath. He knew there was something wrong with Jim, but until he decided to talk about it...

  What can't he tell me?

  The question flitted, unwanted, across Blair's mind. Blair was positive that Jim was holding something back from him, keeping his problems to himself, unwilling to open up to Blair... or anyone else. And that worried Blair, because without fail, that method of denial had led time and again to problems for both of them.

  Just tell me, man, he sent a plea to his friend. That's what I'm here for.

  He closed his eyes against the silent petition. As he slid under the blankets, Blair could only hope that Jim would soon come to realize that whatever was plaguing him would not go away on its own.

  /

  /

  /

  Jim sat in the passenger seat of Simon's car, his gaze locked forward.

  This is a dream. I'm not here. This is a dream.

  "Jim?"

  He shifted his gaze to the man behind the wheel of the car. The captain stared at him, his brow creased in concern. "We've been sitting here for nearly an hour."

  "This is not real."

  "Jim-"

  "It's a dream."

  "Then if it's a dream, why are you so afraid?" Simon gripped his shoulder. "If it's a dream, then why not look?"

  Slowly, Jim turned and glanced out his window. Resurrection Cemetery spread out before him. "He's not here, Simon. He's home. At the loft. He's home."

  "Just let me show you," Simon said softly. Pushing open his door, he walked around to Jim's side of the car and waited.

  The sentinel sat inside, his fists clenched tightly where they rested in his lap. In the distance, where Grant's family mausoleum should have been, there was nothing but graves. But this is the same cemetery where Marcus Grant imprisoned Blair. I'm sure of it. The mausoleum should be there. His gaze shifted left. And there should be a bridge and water. But again, none of the sites were familiar. The graveyard had changed, was different than he remembered.

  Because that was part of your fantasy life. Your mind created those things. This is real.

  "No," he whispered fiercely. "This is the dream."

  Simon pulled his door open. "Jim, please."

  Jim looked up at the captain, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. "He's not here."

  "Let me show you," Simon said again.

  With more than a little reluctance, Jim slid from the car. Simon started across the grounds of the cemetery. After only a moment's hesitation, Jim followed. Ahead, he could see a stone with fresh flowers beside it.

  "The flowers are from his mother," Simon said, glancing back at him. "She has a standing order at the florist to deliver fresh flowers once a week." He shook his head sadly. "She must have loved her son very much."

  "What happened to her?" Jim asked hoarsely.

  "Sandburg's mother? I don't know. Someone pointed her out to me at the funeral. I spoke with her briefly, offered my condolences, but she was really in no shape to talk." He shrugged one shoulder. "I've never seen her again. Don't even know if she's ever come back to Cascade."

  Jim staggered to a halt as the writing on the stone finally became clear: "Blair Sandburg. 1969 - 1996. He touched the lives of all who knew him."

  "No," he breathed, swaying slightly where he stood.

  A hand gripped his arm, steadying him. "I'm sorry, Jim." Simon's voice came from nearby but sounded hollow to Jim, distant.

  "How can this be?" he muttered, stumbling forward and dropping to his knees before the simple stone. "Chief," he breathed, that single word containing all the love and all the grief he felt for the young man buried here. And as trembling fingers traced the cold lettering on the tombstone, the truth finally settled into Jim Ellison's heart.

  Blair Sandburg was dead.

  Part Five

  "So what is the most important significance of the Kennewick Man appearing to have such strong affinities with populations from Polynesia and southern Asia rather than with American Indians or Europeans?" Blair looked out across the sea of faces that populated the freshman Physical Anthropology class. He bounced up on his toes, waiting for an answer, but only blank expressions returned his gaze.

  He sighed deeply as he turned back toward the blackboard. It was a simple question. He turned to face the class again, waited another few seconds, but no hands went up. Now he remembered why he had always hated teaching Freshman level classes--they were filled with bored first year students who thought college life was more about parties and football games than it was about academics. Blair made a mental note: Make it absolutely clear to Professor Girard that this is the last time I am filling in for him...

  Sandburg opened his mouth to provide the class with the answer to the question he had just asked, but before he could speak the back door of the classroom opened and Jim Ellison slipped in. The detective took a seat on the last row and scowled down at Blair. The sentinel looked awful. It was obvious he hadn't shaved that morning, and dark circles had formed beneath his eyes, giving his face a gaunt, hollow appearance.

  This morning, Blair had found Jim asleep on the couch. He'd expected his partner to wake at some point while he got ready for work but he hadn't, a clear indication of the sentinel's exhaustion. But looking at him now... Jim's physical fatigue was more severe than Blair had realized...

  "That'll be all for today," he said, dismissing the class a few minutes early. Above the sudden clatter of books being closed and backpacks and handbags being scooped up, he raised his voice and concluded, "Be sure to read the supplementary material I passed out at the beginning of class. Dr. Girard expects you to be familiar with it by Monday's session."

  Blair stood aside as students began milling past him to
ward the side door of the classroom. But his eyes were locked on his partner, who was now standing near the back wall, waiting for the students using the back door to file out. As the last of the students exited the room, Jim made his way down to the front, to Blair.

  "Why the hell didn't you let me know when you left this morning?" he demanded without preamble. "I woke up and I didn't know where you were."

  Blair stared up at him, taking in the haunted eyes, the pale skin. "Jim, you knew I was teaching Girard's early class today. I told you that last night. Why would I wake you up to tell you again?"

  Jim scrubbed a hand impatiently across his stubbled face. Glancing around furtively, as though he was checking to make sure they were alone, he glared down at Sandburg, eyes icy. "I don't like you running around on your own when there's a killer after you!"

  "What?" Blair's eyes widened in shock, not able to make any sense of what Jim was saying. "A killer? What are you talking about?"

  "I'm talking about Lash. He-"

  "Lash!" Blair cut in, his voice overriding Jim's. "David Lash? Lash is dead, Jim. He's been dead for three years." He stepped forward and gazed up at Jim, scrutinizing him. "What is going on with you?"

  Suddenly, Jim swayed backwards and dropped down into one of the seats on the front row. His breaths were rapid and shallow and Blair could see that his hands were trembling.

  "Jim?" Blair took a step closer to his partner and stared into his bloodshot eyes. Reaching out, he gripped his upper arm, holding tightly. "Talk to me," he entreated, fighting to keep his growing sense of panic from evidencing itself in his voice. "You're scaring me. Tell me what's going on. Please."

  "I... I need to talk to you," Jim whispered out, staring at Blair, his eyes wide, unstable.

  "Okay," Blair said, crouching down in front of him. He reached up and touched gently at Jim's pale cheek, surprised at the coolness of his partner's skin. Slowly, he dropped his hand and rested it against Jim's knee. "What's all this about David Lash? Why is he suddenly so much on your mind?"

  "I... I don't know," Jim said, his eyes taking on a lost look. "I... thought he was dead... but now I'm not so sure."

  "I don't understand--"

  "I think... I think he's coming after you," Jim whispered fiercely.

  Blair's heart seemed to stop in his chest as Jim's words and the conviction behind them stole over him. What is wrong with you? "Jim," he began, pitching his voice low, using the deep tone he often did when working as the sentinel's guide. "David Lash is not coming after me. You put five bullets in him, remember?" He squeezed gently at the knee beneath his hand. "Jim, he's dead. Dead."

  "No--" Jim shook his head, his expression manifesting firm denial.

  "Yes," Blair insisted, reaching up to firmly grasp Jim's arms. "There is no one after me. I'm fine. I'm safe."

  Jim shook his head again. He looked around desperately, breathing gasps of air in and out through his mouth. "I don't know... I... I don't know what's going on," he muttered. He returned his gaze to Sandburg, his eyes filled with despair. "I... I need to get out of here, get some air."

  "You're not going anywhere," Blair warned, tightening his grip on Jim's arms.

  But at that moment, the doors at the back of the classroom were pushed open and students began noisily filing in, taking their seats in preparation for the next class. Jim, staring blankly at the gathering students, stood slowly and made his way over to the side door, Blair close behind him.

  "Jim," he appealed as the sentinel reached out to open the door, "Don't do this. Don't leave." Again, Blair placed a restraining hand against Jim's arm. "I want you to go to my office and wait for me there. I can run through my lecture with this class and be there in fifteen minutes."

  But if the sentinel heard him, it wasn't apparent. Jim was staring out across the expanse of the large classroom, his gaze flitting from student to student.

  "Jim, did you hear me?"

  "I... I can't stay," Ellison answered, his gaze shifting languidly from the students to Blair. "I need to get to the station."

  Blair nodded. "Okay, listen Jim, you go to the station. You go there and you wait for me. Can you do that? Can you go to the station and wait for me there?"

  Jim looked down at Blair, his brow creased, his eyes slightly narrowed. "Sure, Chief. I'll go there and wait for you." And with that, the detective opened the door and stepped out into the busy corridor.

  Blair stood speechless, watching after him as Jim made his way to the exit and slipped out of the building. Glancing up at the clock that hung at the other end of the hall, Blair realized he still had almost five minutes before his next class was scheduled to begin. He stepped back into the room, crossed to his backpack and dug out his cell phone. Stepping into the hall again, he punched in the speed dial to the station, shuffling on his feet impatiently until Rhonda answered. He asked to be put through to Simon.

  "Banks," the captain's gruff voice came across the line.

  "Simon, its Blair. Listen, Jim's on his way into the station and something isn't right."

  "What are you talking about, Sandburg?"

  "I don't really have time to explain...and I'm not even sure I could. But trust me on this, Simon--something is wrong with Jim. I'm going to get someone to cover my afternoon classes, then I'm coming in. Can you try and keep Jim there until I arrive?"

  "Sure," the captain agreed, concern evident in his tone. "Does it have something to do with his senses? Are they off-line?"

  "I honestly don't know, Simon," Blair admitted softly. "Something's been wrong all week but he wouldn't talk to me about it. Now...something's really wrong." Blair glanced into the rapidly filling classroom. "Listen, just keep Jim there. I'll be in as soon as I can."

  /

  /

  /

  Jim stood at the edge of Resurrection Cemetery staring across the unkempt grounds. He hadn't planned on coming here. Had been driving to the precinct when suddenly he found himself here instead.

  The wind picked up, flapping the remnants of the police tape left on the old wooden bridge that crossed the river. The bridge from which Marcus Grant had fallen to his death.

  Jim's gaze shifted right, to the mausoleum. It was all here, just as Jim remembered it. Just as it should be. All but the grave stone bearing his partner's name.

  Slowly, Jim started across the grounds. He could see the area where the stone had been in his dream. There was nothing there now but weeds. Yet Jim needed to go to that spot, to be sure.

  As he walked, his mind cycled back to this morning when he'd woken on the couch. He could still feel the panic that had swept through him when he realized that Blair was not in the loft. And in that moment, only one thought, one desire ran through him -- find Blair. Make sure he's safe. Alive.

  Jim stopped and stared down at the area where Blair's grave had been in his dream. In reality? No! He closed his eyes against the word that whispered through his mind. This is reality. That was a dream.... a nightmare. But as he opened his eyes again, Jim couldn't shake the chill that stole over him.

  /

  /

  /

  As Blair placed his backpack on his desk at the station, he glanced toward his partner's desk just a few feet--the PC was off, files were stacked neatly in the in-box, and Jim's coat was absent from the coat hook behind the desk. Worry crept up Blair's back but before he could ask anyone if they'd seen Jim, Simon's office door was pulled open and the captain stuck his head out.

  "Sandburg," he called. "My office. Now."

  Blair made his way across the bullpen and stepped into the captain's office. Closing the door behind him, he walked over to stand in front of Simon's desk. The captain stood across from him, arms folded across his chest.

  "What's going on with Jim? Where is he?"

  Cold fear gripped Blair's heart. "What do you mean 'where is he'? He's supposed to be here."

  Banks shook his head. "He hasn't shown up since you called. And I haven't been able to reach him on his cell phone."<
br />
  "He never came in at all?"

  When Simon answered his questions with a shake of his head, Blair rubbed at his temple, a headache beginning to pound just beneath his temple. Moving over to the windows, he looked down at the street below. "This is bad, Simon. This is really bad."

  "Just what is going on with him, Sandburg?"

  Blair turned to face the captain, running a hand over his face. "I don't know exactly, Simon, but he showed up at Rainier talking about David Lash, telling me that Lash was after me."

  Simon's eyes widened. "What!"

  "Simon, he hasn't been sleeping. I think he's having nightmares but he won't talk to me. Now with this... I'm worried something's happened to him."

  Simon crossed back to his desk. "I'm putting out an APB on his truck."

  Blair looked down at the busy street beyond the glass, listening as Simon put out the alert on his partner. Where are you, Jim? He turned and glanced absently around the bullpen as he tried to figure out where to go, where to start looking...

  "Where are you, Jim?"

  /

  /

  /

  The final remnants of daylight faded into dusk, afternoon becoming evening, but Jim Ellison was unaware of the passing of time. The temperature dropped rapidly once nightfall set in and a cold wind picked up, but the sentinel sat motionless, arms resting on against his knees, head bowed. It wasn't until a light mist began to fall, blanketing everything with bone-chilling dampness, that he raised his head and looked out across the cemetery grounds. He was surprised to find that night had fallen--he'd been sitting here, in this one spot, since he'd left Rainier earlier in the day.

  It crossed his mind that he should probably be a bit unnerved by the fact that he was sitting in an rundown cemetery in full darkness, but Jim didn't find the blackness or the solitude disturbing at all. Rather, he relished them... they matched the darkness and emptiness that had invaded his own being, reflecting in a more physical, tangible manner what he already felt within his soul--what he had felt ever since the dreams had come to visit him...

  I don't know what's real anymore...