Sentinel - Progressions Series 02 Hidden Truth

by Beth Manz

  Jim roared through the streets of Cascade, his gaze focused straight ahead. He barely registered the streets he was driving down. He didn't slow for red lights, took turns much too fast. He heard Simon call out a warning more than once, but he didn't respond. The only thing he could think about or concentrate on was getting to his partner. Getting to him before anything else happened to him.

  Because I'm not going to let anything happen to you again, Chief. I swear I won't.

  The promise felt shallow and cheap to him. He knew he couldn't protect Blair from the world. But he wanted to. Wanted to make sure that no one or nothing bad ever touched him again.

  You deserve better, Chief. You deserve to be safe.

  He reached the corner of Trundle and spotted the phone booth ahead. In the distance, he heard the wail of an ambulance siren. He watched as the first of the police cruisers turned the corner ahead of them. Jim skidded the truck to a stop behind one of the cruisers and jumped out.

  He rushed over to the booth. He could see his partner inside, slumped against the door. The phone receiver hung down in front of him, swinging slowly back and forth. Jim could hear Taggert's voice talking to Blair in reassuring tones, promising the unconscious man that help was on the way.

  Jim pushed on the door, but it didn't move; Blair's body was a dead weight against it. "Simon, help me," Jim asked the captain. Simon stepped forward and together, they shoved. The door shifted slightly inward. Blair groaned with the movement.

  "Wait! Stop, Captain." Jim moved to the side of the booth and crouched down. Even through the thick glass, he could feel the heat of the fever coming off his friend. His gaze took in the cut on Blair's forehead, the bruises on his face and arms, the blood pooling around his left foot--all the obvious injuries. What couldn't he see?

  "Blair?" he said, keeping his voice low and gentle. "Can you hear me, buddy?"

  Blair stirred slightly, groaning again. Tired blue eyes blinked open, focused in on... "Jim?" Sandburg frowned, his eyes narrowing in confusion as he looked at his partner. "You okay, man?"

  Jim's throat constricted with the words. He doesn't know what's happening. He swallowed hard, pushing past the worry that gnawed at his stomach. It's the fever. It's confusing him. "I'm fine, Chief," he forced the words out, struggling to keep his voice calm. "Just a little worried about you. See, we need to get you out of there, but we need your help to do it."

  Blair's brow furrowed as though he didn't quite understand what Jim was asking. Then he did a slow sweep of the inside of the booth. The frown deepened into confused fear as his gaze returned to Jim. "I thought I was home," he whispered, uncertainty coloring each word.

  "You're just a little dazed, Chief. But everything's going to be fine." Jim touched the cool glass that separated him from Blair, wishing he could reach through to his confused friend, take away the fear that clouded his eyes and the tight lines that pulled down the corners of his mouth. "Can you shift away from the door, partner? I'm afraid if we force it open, we'll hurt you." Jim could sense the presence of others all around him, watching anxiously as he talked to his guide. "Can you do that, Blair?"

  Blair nodded then, using his good foot, managed to push himself to the side. The door swung open. Jim leaned in, grabbed Blair beneath the arms and gently pulled him out of the booth and into his arms. He cradled his partner against his chest as the paramedics moved in to examine him. He told himself that the warmly familiar contact was for Blair, to reassure the young man, but he knew that wasn't completely true. He needed to hold Sandburg, if only for a few moments, to assure himself that he was alive. That he was safe. That he was here with him.

  "Detective, we need to get him on a stretcher."

  Jim looked up into the face of the young female paramedic who now touched his shoulder. His gaze dropped back to Blair. He was unconscious again. Moving slowly, Jim gently lifted his partner onto the gurney beside him. Again, the paramedics moved in, shuffling Jim to the side. "Be careful of his ribs," Jim instructed them. "His ribs are injured." The only response he received was a curt nod of acknowledgment from the paramedic who was strapping Blair onto the stretcher.

  Jim stepped back to allow them to do their jobs. He barely heard them as they checked Blair's vitals and hooked up an IV bag. Instead, he listened to his guide's steady heartbeat, his slow, even breaths, and it was those sounds more than any other that helped to reassure him.

  His attention shifted away, taking in the desolate streets around him. "Where?" he muttered. Where had Rostin held Blair? His gaze settled on a bloody footprint on the ground.

  "You have something, Jim?" Simon asked from beside him.

  He nodded at the mark just a few feet away. "Looks like a trail of blood." Blair's blood. But he didn't say that out loud. "We have to find, Rostin. Find out where he was holding Blair. He might return there and--"

  "Jim?"

  Jim jerked toward Blair's weak call for him. Shoving through the paramedics surrounding his guide, he moved up beside him and crouched down next to the stretcher. "Hey, partner." He rested a hand on Blair's forehead, smoothing back his damp hair. "You doing all right?"

  Blair nodded slightly. "It was a big building, Jim. Apartment building, I think. A block, maybe two from here."

  Jim realized that Blair must have heard him talking to Simon and wanted to help.

  "I didn't see the number," Blair continued, his face screwed up as if in sudden pain. "He said... he said he grew up there."

  Jim patted him gently on the shoulder. "We'll find it, Blair. Don't worry-"

  "No, Jim, listen." His hand reached up and gripped the front of Jim's shirt, holding on with a surprising amount of strength. "Eddie," he gasped out. "I hit him. I think... I think I might have killed him."

  Jim's hand tightened over Blair's. "It's okay, Blair. Whatever you did, it was self-defense. It's okay."

  Tears escaped Blair's eyes as they slipped shut. His head lolled to one side and his hand went slack beneath Jim's. He was unconscious again. Jim looked up at the paramedics.

  "He's probably in shock, plus he seems to be running a high fever," the female paramedic informed him. "Some of his disjointed behavior is from that."

  Jim's jaw clenched. "But he's going to be okay?"

  "I can't say for sure, but we're going to do our best." She signaled to her partner. "We need to transport him now."

  "I'm going with him." Jim followed behind the stretcher. "Simon?" he called over his shoulder. The captain was at his side instantly. "Did you hear-"

  "I've already got Brown and Rafe on the trail." He pointed down the street, beyond the phone booth where they had found Blair, at a building that loomed two stories above any others in the area. "I've got my sights set on that one."

  Jim looked west and zeroed in on the building. Condemned, he was sure. Boards covered the windows and one side of the roof was completely caved in. He shifted his focus back to Simon. "Keep me informed," he said and climbed into the ambulance behind his guide.

  /

  /

  Simon approached the dilapidated building with more than a little trepidation. A homeless man stepped out of the alley and came at him, his hand held out in a begging gesture.

  "Give me a dollar," he demanded, stepping up close to the captain.

  Simon signaled a couple of the uniforms over. "Get him out of here," he commanded. The officers led the protesting man to one of the patrol cars and placed him in the back seat. "Keep this area clear," Simon ordered before heading inside the old apartment complex.

  He stepped inside the entry door and winced as the odors of the old building hit him immediately. Excrement mixed in with the smell of damp decay. He could hear small ticking sounds in the walls as the rats moved freely behind the rotting plywood.

  He determined to ignore the odors and approached the stairwell. He climbed the stairs two at a time. Reaching the second floor, he spotted the open door toward the end of the hall. He moved quickly to it and stepped inside. Brown and Rafe knelt on
the floor inside the old apartment, looking at a pool of blood.

  Rafe looked up. "No one's here, sir."

  Simon sighed deeply. "I want this scene preserved," he said. "No mistakes."

  Brown nodded. "Done, Captain."

  Banks pulled out his phone and dialed the station, calling in the forensics technicians. As he relayed the information, his sight took in the room that had been Blair's prison for the past three days. Boards covered the windows, allowing only a minimal amount of light to slant into the squalid apartment. The floor was covered with filthy debris, the smell of urine strong. Rat feces sat in piles scattered throughout the room. A shackle and a chain attached to a pipe lay discarded a few feet away. Simon could see the blood surrounding it. So that's why the kid's foot was so torn up. He turned back to his two detectives, to the pool of blood near the door. Anger tightened the muscles of his back. "No mistakes," he said again.

  /

  /

  Jim sat beside Blair's bed, his gaze fixed on his guide. He couldn't stop looking at him, couldn't believe he was really here with him. He had been so afraid that he would never see him alive again. That he would find him, but too late. Or that Blair would just disappear forever.

  He watched as his partner's chest rose and fell with each slow, shallow breath. The doctor had given him something to help him sleep, and had told Jim that he would be out until tomorrow morning.

  Blair was still running a fever, the infection a result of the time spent in that filthy room combined with his already weakened state. Blair's ribs had been bruised, the cut on his forehead was being held together by three butterfly bandages and his heel had required twenty stitches. Some of the injuries were a result of his tumble down the stairs, the rest were caused when he escaped from Rostin.

  Jim reached out and touched lightly at Blair's forehead. If he hadn't managed to get away...

  He let the disturbing thought trail off, unwilling to follow it to its logical conclusion. He knew what would have happened to Blair if he hadn't escaped. If they hadn't been able to find him in time.

  "But you're going to be okay, buddy," he promised, needing to hear the words spoken out loud. He slipped the palm of his hand away from Blair's forehead and down across the top of his head, allowing it to rest there against the warm curls. A soft sigh escaped Blair's parted lips, and even though Jim knew the young man couldn't hear him, he repeated the words again anyway: "You're going to be okay."

  Part Four

  The first thing Blair became aware of was a decidedly unpleasant taste in his mouth. And dryness--his lips and throat felt like sandpaper. And why am I so warm? Without opening his eyes, he lifted his hands from his sides and pushed angrily at the blankets covering him, seeking relief from the oppressive heat that was encompassing his body.

  His hands were stilled immediately, gently enveloped by two larger, stronger hands, and a voice knifed its way through the fog in his mind. "No, don't do that, Blair. You need to stay covered."

  "Hot..." he breathed out, not caring that he sounded annoyed and petulant.

  "I know you're hot," the understanding voice said. "You have a fever. But you're going to be all right." His hands were released and he felt the blankets being drawn back up across his chest and tucked in close against his sides. One of the large, strong hands returned to cover one of his and then the voice spoke again, low and close to his ear. "C'mon, buddy. Wake up for me and I'll give you some water. Okay?"

  Blair considered the invitation as he pushed his tongue around the inside of his dry mouth; he quickly decided that the offer of water definitely sounded okay. With a monumental effort, he forced his eyes open, blinking several times then waiting as his vision slowly cleared and focused in on Jim Ellison, sitting next to him, leaning in close and smiling warmly.

  "Hey, there," Jim quipped, his smile broadening until it creased the skin at his eyes. "I sure am glad to see you. How about that water now?"

  Blair smiled in return and nodded. "Please."

  Jim gave his fingers a small squeeze, then released his hand and stood. Blair's eyes tracked his friend as he poured a small amount of water from a pitcher into a little blue cup, then returned the pitcher to the table beside Blair's bed. Jim turned back to him and gently pushed one hand beneath his neck, then Blair felt his head being lifted away from the pillow.

  Jim gave him a warning look as he held the cup up to his lips. "Nice and easy, now," he prompted. Blair stared up into the concerned face just inches above his as he took a small amount of the cool liquid into his mouth. He swallowed the water, relishing the relief that it provided his parched throat. His eyes beseeched Jim, and Jim nodded slightly. "You can have a little more," he said, tipping the cup against Blair's lips again. Blair swallowed the second sip, then relaxed as Jim lowered his head carefully back down to the pillow.

  Placing the cup beside the pitcher, Jim sat down in the chair beside Blair's bed. "Better?" he asked, smiling again.

  "Yeah," Blair whispered. "Thanks."

  "Blair? Do you remember anything?"

  Blair cleared his throat, then answered, "Everything." He shifted against the hard mattress as he became aware of the dull aching in his ribs and foot. He remembered the shackle cutting him as his foot pulled free, and blood... a lot of blood. He lifted his head away from the pillow for a brief moment, trying to get a glimpse of his injured foot.

  "Easy, easy," Jim reprimanded, reaching for the small device that controlled the position of the bed. He pressed one of the buttons and the bed raised slowly until Blair's head and shoulders were slightly elevated. Jim reached out and grasped Blair's hand, then pressed the control into his palm. "There," he said, curling Blair's fingers around the small device. "I'll let you drive if you promise not to overdo it."

  Blair smiled at Jim's gentle teasing and glanced down at his blanket-covered foot. "So," he began, looking over at Jim, "What's the damage?"

  Jim raised his eyes toward the ceiling and began enumerating Blair's current list of ailments: "Infection, fever, dehydration, bruised ribs, a cut on your forehead and twenty stitches in your left foot. Not to mention a rather impressive assortment of scrapes, bumps and bruises." He dropped his gaze back to Blair and smiled. "I think that covers everything this time."

  Blair rolled his eyes. "Oh well. At least I'm keeping the hospital in business." Becoming serious, he asked hesitantly, "What about Eddie, Jim? Did I... you know... did I..."

  Jim shook his head and placed his hand across Blair's again. "You didn't kill him, Chief. In fact, he was gone by the time Brown and Rafe got to the apartment. We're looking for him now."

  "So, he's okay?"

  "Well, he was okay enough to get up and walk away from the scene."

  Blair closed his eyes and exhaled a relieved sigh. "I'm glad." He opened his eyes. "I hit him pretty hard... I didn't want to do it, but I..."

  "You had no choice." Jim patted at Blair's hand. "Don't worry about Eddie right now, Blair. Just relax and let the rest of us worry about finding him."

  Blair could feel the insistent tug of sleep pulling at him again, but he fought against it. He wanted to tell Jim so many things about Eddie, wanted to try to make him understand. "Jim," he whispered, struggling to keep his eyes open. "About Eddie..."

  "Shhhh," Ellison cut in. "Whatever it is, it'll wait. Close your eyes, Sandburg."

  And Blair did so, but only because he couldn't help himself. He wanted Jim to know. "You... don't understand," he breathed out. "Eddie will think I'm cheating..."

  "Chief, please..."

  Blair shook his head against the pillow and tried to open his eyes again, but the pull of sleep was too strong; his heavy eyelids refused to open. "I got away... cheated..." he whispered. "Eddie will think... I cheated. He'll come again..."

  The warm hand covering his tightened its hold, and he felt Jim's fingers curl into his palm and his thumb begin to trace a soothing pattern across his knuckles. "It's okay, Chief," Jim whispered. "Everything's okay. Eddie can't get to you.
We have security at your door. You're safe."

  Blair made a final effort to open his eyes, but again, his body didn't cooperate. Jim wasn't understanding what he was trying to tell him, what he needed to tell him. That he wasn't worried about himself. He was worried about Eddie. Worried that when Eddie came for him again--and Blair was sure he would--that Jim might hurt him trying to stop him. And he didn't want that because Eddie wasn't evil, he was... "Sick, Jim," he breathed out. "Eddie's..."

  "Shhhh," Jim soothed him. "I know, buddy. Just rest."

  And as the siren call of sleep drew him deeper and deeper into unconsciousness, he squeezed weakly at Jim's hand. Please understand, Jim, he urged silently. Please understand that Eddie needs our help.

  /

  /

  Simon pushed at the door to Blair's hospital room and poked his head inside. Blair lay sleeping, the hand resting on his chest enveloped by Jim's larger hand. "Jim," Simon called.

  Jim turned and smiled. "Come on in, Simon. He's sleeping."

  "Has he been awake at all?" Simon asked as he stepped to the opposite side of Blair's hospital bed where he could look down at Blair or directly across at his detective.

  Jim nodded his head. "Just a few minutes ago. He remembers everything that happened, but he wasn't able to stay awake for very long. Did you find anything at the apartment that might lead us to Eddie?"

  Simon shook his head. "Nothing. It appears he only used it as a place to keep Sandburg hidden. He could be anywhere."

  Jim released a long sigh. "That's what I'm afraid of. That he'll show up again when we aren't expecting it."

  "You really don't think he's finished with the game, then?"

  "Not according to what Sandburg was saying before he went back to sleep. I plan to call the head of the psychology department over at Rainier--a Dr. Wheeler--and get his opinion, but I'm pretty sure he'll tell me that Eddie won't allow this little setback to keep him from finishing the game."

  "Okay. We'll keep a guard on this room until Sandburg is released. I have men scheduled for the next twenty-four hours, but I can extend that time frame if I need to."