Sentinel - Progressions Series 02 Hidden Truth

by Beth Manz

  "Grant may be a jackass, but you have to admit that he's pretty impressive."

  Jim glanced over at the captain. "Why? Because he has a bunch of degrees on his wall?" he snapped. "Blair has degrees, too, Simon. He's just never had them framed and mounted."

  Simon was surprised by the sudden venom in Jim's voice. Venom that seemed to be directed at him. "Hey, I didn't say anything about Blair. And Jim, you don't have to convince me that the kid is smart. I'm aware of how smart he is."

  "I know that, Simon." Another long breath escaped him. He glanced at Simon again and the captain could see thin lines of tension around his eyes... tension that had not been there seconds before. "It's just... this guy, he made me think about Blair. About what he could have. What he should have."

  "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, Jim."

  "You and I both know that Blair should have his Ph.D.," he said simply. "With all the work he's put into helping me with my senses, the theories he's come up with that prove to be right time and again... He deserves that degree, Simon."

  "And he'll get it," Simon insisted.

  "When?" Jim bit out. "We both know that the only reason he doesn't have it now is because he's protecting me. He all but told me that himself just this morning. And when is that ever going to change?"

  Simon stared at Jim, unable to come up with an answer. "Jim," he began after a time, "I think if you asked Sandburg, he'd tell you that he'd gladly give up that Ph.D. in a heartbeat if it meant staying with you. You may have started out as his research subject, but all he can see now is his friend and how he can protect you when you're out in the field. He's your partner in every sense of the word. He follows you out on those streets everyday because he wants to. And he's good at it. You two... you're my best team, Jim. I know I've never told you that, but it's true."

  Jim was silent a long time, his gaze locked forward. Finally, when he spoke, his voice was low, barely audible in the small cab, "You're right about one thing, Simon. Blair is my partner. Only I'm just now realizing that maybe this partnership isn't quite as equal as I always thought it was. That I've taken a hell of a lot more than I've ever given."

  /

  /

  Blair looked up at the windows on the other side of the room. His back and neck muscles, cramped from sitting too long in one position, rebelled at the change in posture and his headache, which had become a constant throb over the past several hours, intensified with the small movement. Wearily, Blair closed his eyes and dropped his chin back down against his chest.

  There was little reason to look up anyway--no light pierced through the boards that had been nailed across the grimy windows. It was still dark outside. Night had fallen hours ago, but there had been no further visits from his captor, and Blair didn't expect to see Eddie again soon--not until morning, at least.

  He shivered in the damp coolness. His ribs were aching fiercely, and he found himself wishing for a couple of Tylenol tablets. Slowly, he maneuvered his body down onto the floor, curling up on his uninjured side, wrapping his arms protectively around his stomach and ribs. The old linoleum floor was cool beneath his cheek and temple, and he wondered absently if he was becoming feverish.

  In an effort to take his mind off his aching body, he turned his thoughts to the man who was keeping him captive, to the bizarre, twisted game he was playing with Jim. Blair wasn't kidding himself--he knew that if he couldn't find a means of escape or if Jim didn't find him first, Eddie would kill him. Somehow, in Eddie Rostin's sick and tortured mind, all of this made perfect sense. He'd keep Blair alive only for as long as it suited his little game, and then... Sandburg shuddered and hugged his arms more closely about his torso. Then what? How will he kill me? Bury me alive like he did that dog?

  Blair took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly as he stared out into the darkness. It will kill Jim. Kill him to find me buried somewhere. He swallowed and forced himself to stop thinking such morbid thoughts. He'd get out of this. Somehow, he would get out of this. He wouldn't let him take his life. He wouldn't let Eddie do that to him... or to Jim.

  /

  /

  Jim lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling of the darkened loft. He couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. Blair is somewhere out there, but where? He turned over on his side and bunched the pillow beneath his head. Is Blair all right? Is he warm? Has Eddie given him anything to eat or drink? Is he still alive?

  He sighed and turned over onto his back again, scrubbing his hands across his face impatiently. This was worse than when Quinn abducted Blair. At least with Quinn, Jim had had a good idea of where his partner had been taken. But this time... this time it was as if Blair had fallen off the face of the earth, disappeared into thin air.

  Growling with frustration, Jim shoved back his blankets and stood. He grabbed up his robe and headed downstairs, not even sure what he would do once he got there. But he couldn't stay in bed a minute longer, tossing and turning and allowing thoughts of Blair to invade his mind... thoughts of Blair's body in a crudely dug grave... thoughts of his own hands clawing at the earth until he uncovered Blair's face...

  He stopped abruptly at the bottom of the stairs, then reached back to grab at the railing in order to steady himself as cold realization washed over him. Blair's face. It was Blair's face I uncovered in my nightmare. Why didn't I remember that when I woke up?

  He took a deep breath and shoved the memory away, then glanced over his shoulder, back to the rear of the loft. The doors to Blair's room stood open. He crossed to them and stepped inside Sandburg's small room. The futon bed was rumpled, unmade, and there were papers, diskettes and post-it notes strewn haphazardly across Sandburg's desk. Jim smiled in spite of himself. How does the kid work in such a jumbled mess?

  He stepped over to the bed and sat down on the edge, taking in the cluttered room, breathing in the scent that was so uniquely Blair. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, then dropped his head into his hands. "Where are you, Chief?" he whispered into the night air. "Where are you?"

  He sat quietly for a few moments, then stood. Wearily, he walked out to the living area and positioned himself in the overstuffed yellow chair where he could look out over the balcony and the city beyond. He pulled his robe more closely around him and shifted his body until he was somewhat comfortable. Sighing deeply, he settled in to wait for the sunrise. There would be no sleep for him this night.

  /

  /

  "Come on, sleepyhead. It's time to get up."

  Blair blinked open his eyes, shifting slightly where he lay. A low moan escaped him as his body protested the simple movement. A face loomed above his. "Jim?" he croaked out.

  "No, silly. It's Eddie."

  The memory of where he was flooded through Blair, and with it came a throbbing in his skull and an ache in his side. "What time is it?" He wasn't sure why it mattered but for some reason, it seemed important to him to keep track of the passing hours.

  "It's after one." Eddie leaned over him, grinning widely. "Did you sleep okay? I did. Had this great dream about baseball."

  Blair sat up slowly, every bruise he'd sustained from his tumble down the stairs the day before crying out. "I didn't dream about baseball," he muttered. He shifted until he could lean back against the wall, the shackle around his ankle clanging and bumping along the floor. Once upright, the dizziness swept in again, making the room spin. Closing his eyes, he dropped his chin to his chest and waited for the sensation to pass.

  "I brought you another sandwich." Eddie's voice was high-pitched, excited. "I made you an extra special one today."

  Blair heard a rustle of a bag and then the smell hit him--tuna. Lifting his chin, he opened his eyes and stared at the offering, swallowing hard to hold down the meager contents of his stomach. The tuna was spoiled, the rotten smell nearly overwhelming. With shaking hands, he took the food. "Thanks." Late last night, he'd finally broken down and eaten the first sandwich Eddie had brought him, doing his best to pick off the dirty p
arts of the bread. But he'd been so hungry by then that a part of him had been grateful for it. Had hoped Eddie would bring him another one today. Now, as he stared down at his meal, his stomach rumbling from hunger, he knew he could not eat it.

  "I made more Kool-Aid too. Orange this time."

  "Great." Blair rubbed his temples as he watched Eddie pour his drink, cringing inwardly at the idea of swallowing the sickly sweet liquid. "You know, Eddie, plain old water would be just fine."

  Eddie stopped pouring. "You don't like it?" he asked, an edge of anger in his tone.

  "No, Eddie, it's not that," he said quickly, remembering how explosive this man could get when Blair didn't agree with him. "It's just... my mom," he said, the lie coming to him fast. "She doesn't like me to have Kool-Aid. She thinks it'll rot my teeth. She'll get mad if I drink that and I'll get in trouble. You don't want me to get in trouble, do you?"

  Eddie shook his head. "No, I don't want that." His hand came up, absently running over his arm, as if remembering an old injury. "My mom used to get mad at me sometimes," he whispered.

  "Did she hit you?" Blair asked, trying to imagine what this man's childhood had been like. What he had suffered in order to become the confused man he now was. "Did she hurt you?"

  "I was bad," he mumbled, his gaze locked on the floor. "I was bad and she wanted me to be good so sometimes.... sometimes she would hit me. But it was my fault. Always my fault." His finger traced along the floor, making patterns in the dirt. "She loved me, though. She did it all because she loved me."

  Anger twisted through Blair as he stared at Eddie. His mother had abused him, beating him, leaving him alone, but somehow Eddie thought it was all his fault. That his mother had loved him and done it all for his own good. His gaze shifted around the room that was his prison. He could imagine Eddie here as a child--alone, afraid--and his heart ached.

  "I saw Jimmy today," Eddie said suddenly.

  Blair looked at him sharply, drawn away from his thoughts about Eddie's past. "You saw Jim? Where?"

  Eddie giggled. "He was in that big truck that he has. I like that truck."

  "And he didn't see you?"

  "No. I was hiding. I'm good at hiding."

  Worry twisted through Blair. What's going on with you, Jim? Why didn't you pick up on Eddie? Suddenly, he had a mental picture of Jim zoning at the crime scene, standing stock-still, his gaze locked forward. The sentinel had lost control of his senses after being in complete control for two years.

  And it scared the hell out of Blair.

  Is it happening now? Is Jim zoning without anyone at his back to watch over him? He had to know.

  "Eddie, what was Jim doing when you saw him?"

  "Nothing. Just sitting behind the wheel of his truck, staring straight ahead. He didn't move for a really long time."

  A chill shook through Blair. "Was he alone?" He tensed, waiting for the answer, praying that Eddie would tell him that someone had been with Jim. Maybe describe Simon to him.

  "He was all by himself," Eddie confirmed.

  Jim, dammit, why aren't you with Simon? Hadn't the sentinel told their captain what was happening with him? Didn't Simon realize how dangerous this could get for Jim? Blair gripped the chain keeping him in this place, his hand fisting around the heavy links. I have to get out of here!

  "I think he was trying to cheat," Eddie said, the anger returning to his voice.

  Blair looked up at him, his brow furrowing at the sudden change in conversation. "Why do you think that?"

  "Because he went to the end of the game before it's over."

  "The end of the game?" Blair shook his head in confusion. "I don't understand."

  "To the place where you'll go if Jimmy loses," he whispered conspiratorially.

  Understanding flooded through Blair. Eddie had been to the field where he'd buried that dog so long ago. Blair licked his lips. "Why did you go there?"

  "Because tomorrow's the last day," he said simply.

  "The last day for what?" Blair asked, forcing the words past the sudden lump in his throat.

  Eddie replaced the cap on the Kool-Aid container, his brow furrowed in confusion. "The last day of the game," he explained. "There's got to be a time limit and I already gave Jim longer than I ever did before."

  A chill rocked through Blair. The sound of his own pulse beat heavily in his ears. "Eddie, do you remember what happened when you finished the last game? What you did to that dog?"

  Eddie shook his head, frowning. "I was just playing. I didn't mean to hurt it. I didn't know..." His voice trailed off, his frown increasing.

  "But you did hurt it," Blair insisted. "And if you end this game that same way, you'll hurt me, too." He watched Eddie as his hand played over the Kool-Aid jug. Would he understand what he was trying to tell him? If he did, would it make any difference? "Eddie, I know you don't want to hurt me. I know you're trying to play your game but--"

  "I have to go." Eddie pushed up from the floor and started toward the door.

  Blair managed to get to his feet, his legs wobbly and unsure. He took only two steps before the chain pulled tight. "Eddie, don't go. Please! Just wait!" The door slammed shut and Blair heard the jingle of keys as it was locked.

  /

  /

  Simon flipped through the results of the forensics tests on the blood found in the stairwell outside the loft. It confirmed what they already suspected--it was Sandburg's type, Sandburg's blood. Damn. A part of him had been hoping that it wouldn't match, that somehow the kid had managed to get in a few blows of his own before he was taken. But Simon knew from Jim's description that Blair never had a chance--the attack was too quick, too unexpected.

  And even though his men were working hard on this case, their efforts and good intentions, while commendable, had garnered little evidence and no leads. No one in the loft's neighborhood had seen Eddie or Blair on the afternoon that Sandburg was abducted. Eddie's employer and the halfway house counselors had been questioned again with the same results--no one had seen or talked with Eddie Rostin.

  His gaze drifted to the windows of his office and locked on Ellison. Jim sat at his desk, staring blankly at the computer before him. Simon tensed. Not again. Not after the disaster this morning. Standing, Simon went to his door and pulled it wide. "Ellison!" he barked.

  Jim's head snapped up, his eyes locking with Simon's.

  "In my office."

  Jim pushed up from his chair and made his way slowly across the bullpen, one hand moving wearily over his hair. Other heads came up, anxious co-workers watching Jim's progress. Simon could see the uneasiness in their faces, knew that as much as they were worried about Blair, they were also concerned about Jim. The man looked like he hadn't slept since this whole thing began.

  "You doing okay?" Simon asked as Jim crossed into his office.

  "I'm fine. Just a little tired, sir." Jim dropped into one of the chairs flanking Simon's desk and rubbed again at his bloodshot eyes.

  Simon crossed to his desk and sat on the edge. "Have you eaten today?"

  "Taggert brought me a sandwich earlier."

  "I didn't ask if food was delivered to you. I asked if you ate it."

  "I will."

  Simon nodded. "Just like you promised me you'd get some sleep last night. Listen, Jim. Maybe if you'd slept last night or ate this morning, you wouldn't have zoned again."

  Before coming to the station this morning, Jim had decided to drive out to the field that Eddie had used to bury the items taken from Jim during their childhood game. While there, the sentinel had zoned, losing nearly two hours of time. When he finally came back to himself, he'd been convinced that Eddie had been nearby.

  "I had that same weird feeling of déjà vu that I experienced after Eddie was in the loft. I know he was there with me."

  Simon cringed inwardly as he remembered Jim's explanation of his feelings.

  "I know I screwed up this morning," Jim said, drawing Simon away from his thoughts. "I should have called you be
fore going out to that damn field. If I had, you would have been with me and we might have Eddie in custody right now."

  "Jim, you can't be sure that Rostin was out there when you were zoning."

  Jim looked at him, his jaw clenched tight. "He was there, Simon. I know it. And that can only mean one thing--the game will be ending soon."

  "You really think he'll take Sandburg out there? That he'll try and bury him?"

  "I don't know. I told Blair how Eddie used to play the game. A part of me hopes that he'll be able to talk his way out of this. That somehow he'll be able to convince Eddie to let him go."

  Simon considered his words. "If anyone could, it's Sandburg."

  Jim took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "That place," he said softly. "Seeing it again..." He looked at Simon, his gaze haunted. "It's weird, Simon. The place doesn't look anything like it did when I was a kid. The entire field's been plowed under. It's all dirt now. There's a sign there announcing construction of a new strip mall, so I guess they're getting it ready for that. But even with all the changes, it still gave me the creeps, just like when I was a kid. After Eddie buried that dog there, I could never go past that place without thinking about it. And now, with all that dirt..." He shook his head, his frustration clear. "It just makes it that much easier for Eddie to-"

  "It's not going to happen," Simon cut in. "We've got a car posted there. The field is being watched twenty-four hours a day. If Rostin takes Blair out there, we'll catch him long before he has a chance to do anything to Sandburg."

  "Simon, if Eddie saw me out there today, he might change his mind about bringing Sandburg to the field. I may have ruined our only chance of catching him."

  Pushing up from his perch on the corner of the desk, Simon crossed to Jim and placed a hand on his shoulder. "We'll find Sandburg. He'll be okay, Jim. Now, you've been here all day, and I want you to go home and get some rest. I'll make that an order if I have to."

  Jim glanced toward the windows, at the growing dusk beyond the glass. "Another night," he muttered as though he hadn't even heard what Simon had been saying to him.