by Beth Manz
"Thank you, Simon. The doctor told me that if the IV begins to knock out the infection, he'll put Blair on oral antibiotics and send him home tomorrow. And we won't need a guard after that, since I don't plan to let him out of my sight until Eddie is found."
Simon smiled and opened his mouth to comment when both men heard a loud commotion coming from outside Blair's room. They heard Officer Timmons' voice; the young officer was speaking firmly to someone. There was a brief pause and then another voice reached them, raised in anger.
"What in the world..." Simon began. But Jim was already up and striding across the room, headed for the door.
Simon pulled up a chair and lowered his tall frame into it. He wasn't sure what was going on outside Blair's room, but he would let Jim handle it. He had no intention of leaving Sandburg alone, not for one minute.
/
/
Jim pushed through the door of Blair's room and stepped out into the hallway. Dr. Marcus Grant stood in front of the uniformed officer assigned to guard Blair's room, his voice raised in anger.
"I am a doctor. I told you that. Now, if you'd just let me pass."
Jim stepped up beside Officer Bud Timmons. "Problem?"
Grant shifted his angry gaze to Jim. "Yes, there is."
"I wasn't talking to you," Jim bit out. He turned his attention to the uniformed officer instead.
"I was told not to let anyone into Sandburg's room except the doctors, nurses and approved visitors on this list." Timmons held up a clipboard with names typed out in neat rows. "This guy claims he's Sandburg's doctor, even showed me his medical ID, but he's not on my list."
"That's because he isn't Blair's doctor." Jim turned a hard glare on Grant. "What the hell are you trying to pull here, Grant?"
"I'm not trying to pull anything." Grant exhaled an exasperated sigh. "Detective, can we talk in private?" He reached out and took Jim's arm.
The sentinel did not move. Instead, he stared down at the hand resting on his upper arm until it was removed. "Dr. Grant," Jim began, his voice tight with anger, "There is nothing you can say to me that is going to convince me to give you access to my partner's room."
"Detective Ellison, please." The doctor gestured to an area away from the door.
Jim turned back to Timmons. "Good work, Timmons. You keep doing your job exactly as you have been." With more than a little reluctance, Jim followed Grant to a more secluded area of the hallway. "You have one minute," he said when the doctor turned to face him again.
"Detective Ellison, I realize that your friend-"
"My partner," Jim corrected. "Blair is my friend, but he's also my partner." He knew that this man could not possibly understand the significance of that relationship, but Jim wanted it made clear nonetheless.
"I realize your partner," Grant began again, stressing the word, "Has been through a lot. But I really need to talk to him while his experiences with Eddie are still fresh in his mind. I need to know what Eddie told him, how he reacted to what he was told, if there was ever any moment when he didn't seem consumed by the game, if-"
"Sandburg is going to be fine, by the way" Jim cut in, his tone scathing. "Thanks for asking."
Grant blinked in surprise at the interruption. "Well, of course I'm glad Mr. Sandburg is going to be all right. But my interest here is Eddie and his treatment. How far back did he slip? Did he make a complete return to the game, or was he lucid at times?"
Jim took a deep breath and tried to keep his anger under control. "I can't believe that you have nerve enough to come here and try to question Sandburg when he's only in that hospital bed because you didn't do your job in the first place. Why don't you concentrate on finding your patient, Doctor. Maybe you could really help him this time."
Grant's eyes turned cold. "Detective Ellison, I still believe that if your Mr. Sandburg had just let Eddie complete the game, my patient would be cured now. Then this would all be over."
Jim stiffened at the doctor's tone, a tone that suggested that what happened to Blair, what was still happening, was more Sandburg's fault than Eddie Rostin's. He stepped closer to Grant, closing the small gap between them. "Blair is running a fever of a hundred and two, he had to get twenty stitches in the heel of his foot to close a cut he inflicted upon himself in order to escape, and you think he should have played this out longer?"
"You don't understand," Grant said, looking at Jim with pure disdain. "I should have known..." His voice trailed off as he shook his head as if dismissing Jim entirely. "No matter. Mr. Sandburg will understand. After all, he's a scientist just like me." He tried to move around Jim, back to Blair's room.
Jim stepped in front of him, blocking his way. "Blair is nothing like you," he ground out.
"Detective, I think you should get out of my way."
"You do?" Jim crossed his arms, not moving. "Dr. Grant, Blair is under protective custody. My protective custody. When and if that changes, it will be up to him whether he wishes to speak with you or not."
Grant gaped up at him, disbelieving. "This is ridiculous," he bit out, trying to push past Jim.
The sentinel reached out and, taking the doctor by the arm, slammed him back against the wall. His hands gripped the front of the man's tailored shirt, keeping him pinned. "You don't seem to understand the word 'no' so I'm going to teach you." Keeping a tight grip on the man's arm, he maneuvered Grant to the elevators.
"I can sue you for this!" Grant blurted out, his face red with anger. "This is police brutality!"
"Go right ahead. Maybe we'll be in court together when Sandburg sues you for malpractice."
Grant went still. The color drained from his face. "Malpractice?" he repeated. "Did Mr. Sandburg say that he might do that?"
Jim rolled his eyes as the elevator arrived. The man was a real piece of work. "Grant, why don't you try worrying about your missing patient instead of your reputation." He shoved him into the waiting car, pressed the button for the lobby level, and waited until the doors closed before turning and heading back to Blair's room.
/
/
Simon looked up as Jim stepped into the room. He could tell from the cold glint in the detective's eyes and the tight line of his mouth that something had happened.
"Is everything okay?"
"Just a little misunderstanding with Grant," Ellison grumbled.
Simon frowned. "I'm not going to get a call later, am I, Jim?"
"I didn't hurt him, if that's what you mean." The sentinel crossed to the bed, checking on the young man sleeping there. His expression, so severe and angry just moments before, softened as he looked down at his friend and partner.
"He woke up again a few minutes after you left," Simon whispered as he watched Jim adjust the blankets around his partner. "He said something about hoping that we'd find Eddie soon."
"I'm not surprised." Jim dropped down into the chair he had abandoned earlier. "He kept talking about Eddie when he was awake before. I think he's afraid that Eddie will come back to finish the game."
Simon's brow creased as he remembered Blair's words, the tone of his voice. "Jim, I don't think Sandburg's afraid of Eddie."
"What, then?" Jim asked, frowning across at the captain.
"I think he's worried about him." The captain shook his head in disbelief. "After everything Rostin put him through, he's worried about him."
Jim stared at his sleeping partner. "Sick..."
"What?" Simon asked.
Jim shook his head. "When he was awake before, Sandburg mentioned being sick. I thought he was talking about himself, but now I'm not so sure." Jim bit at his lip. "I think he was talking about Eddie." He sighed deeply and looked over at Simon. "I guess, after all this time, I shouldn't be surprised that Blair would worry about Eddie Rostin, should I?"
Simon returned his gaze to the sleeping grad student. He thought back across the four years he'd known Blair, about the seemingly endless amount of trust and dedication that he'd shown to Jim in that time. About his ability to tr
y and see past the bad in people, to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. And the answer was clear.
"No," he said softly. "I guess neither of us should be surprised." He looked at Jim as a new thought struck him. "You realize that when Eddie is caught he'll more than likely go back to the institution rather than to jail."
Jim nodded wearily. "I know that. But this time, Simon, I'm going to keep track of him. I'm going to make sure he never gets out. That he never hurts anyone again."
Part Five
"Here we are, Chief."
Blair leaned heavily on his cane as Jim fumbled with the keys, unlocking the loft door. That accomplished, Jim shifted his arm around Blair's back and waist again. Supporting him gently, he guided him inside. Blair limped along beside him, using the cane the hospital pharmacy had supplied, but relying more on Jim than on the thin piece of wood.
Jim kicked the door shut behind them before leading his friend to the living area. "Easy does it," he murmured as he helped Blair lower himself to the couch.
"Thanks, Jim," Blair said, breathing hard from the short trek.
"Not done yet." Ellison pointed a finger at him, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Don't go anywhere; I'll be right back."
"That's funny," Blair called after his partner as Jim disappeared behind him, headed in the direction of his bedroom at the back. "You're really funny, man."
He heard the sound of his duffel being dropped onto the hardwood floor of his room, then Jim's footfalls as he returned to the living area.
"Here you go," Jim said cheerfully, appearing with one of the pillows from Blair's bed. Placing it on the coffee table, Jim reached down and gently took hold of Blair's injured leg, lifting it up and resting his foot carefully against the cushion.
Straightening, Jim grabbed the cane Blair had left at the end of the couch. He propped it against the coffee table next to Blair's foot, where it would be easy for him to reach it. "There," Ellison straightened, smiling at his handiwork. "All that and I didn't hear one single complaint from you. Quite frankly, I'm shocked."
Blair chuckled. "Hey, man, you're going to be sorry when this is all over because I'm getting used to all this fussing. You're going to have a tough time breaking me of it."
Jim snorted. "Believe me, Sandburg, the minute you're better, we go right back to the house rules. Your foot will no longer be welcome on that coffee table." He grinned good-naturedly. "But until then... do you want anything to drink or eat?"
Blair shook his head. "No," he said softly.
"Hey." Jim dropped down beside him. "You okay?"
Blair looked over at his friend and nodded. "Yeah. I'm glad to be home, but..."
"But what?" Jim prompted when he didn't continue.
"But I can't stop thinking about Eddie." Blair dropped his gaze to his hands, his fingers playing over the string on the sweat pants he wore. "I just feel so bad for him, Jim. He's not a mean person. He honestly doesn't know how dangerous this game he's playing really is. To him, that's all it is--a harmless game."
Jim sighed in obvious exasperation. "Sandburg, I know you're concerned about Eddie. And I respect that. But I have to tell you that I'm not feeling quite so solicitous of the man myself. He kidnapped you and held you captive for three days. You could have died in that apartment... or later." Jim patted Blair's leg gently to soften his words. "I just want you to worry about yourself for a while. Concentrate on getting well. There's nothing you can do for Eddie."
Blair nodded again before lifting his gaze to Jim's. "I know. But really, man, you should try not to be so hard on him. He just wanted to be your friend. To him, you're some sort of childhood hero."
"I'm flattered," Jim said sarcastically, then grimaced at Blair's look of reprimand. "Sorry. I know, you're right. I tell you what--I promise that when we find him, I'll try not to rip his head off, okay?"
Blair laughed lightly. "I'm sure Eddie will appreciate that."
"Yeah, well, so will Dr. Grant."
"Grant?"
Jim pursed his lips in annoyance, then shook his head. "The guy is a case study in narcissism. He's probably camped out in his office right now, waiting for the call that tells him we've found Eddie."
"Well, he's his doctor, Jim. Of course he'd want to know if Eddie is found."
"He doesn't care about Eddie, Chief. Not as a person, anyway. All Eddie Rostin is to Dr. Grant is a means to an end. A way to make a reputation for himself and to see his name in print." Quickly, Jim told Blair about Grant's visit to the hospital--ending with his escorting the arrogant doctor to the elevator.
"Man," Blair breathed out softly as Jim finished. "Poor Eddie. I mean, it's bad enough that he's sick, but then to be left in the care of someone who's really only using him? That stinks."
Jim nodded in agreement.
Blair thought about Eddie's predicament for a moment, then a small smile crossed his face. "You know, Jim, once Eddie's found you could file an official complaint against Grant. As the lead detective on the case, your opinion would carry at lot of weight at the institution and with the DHS."
"What good would a complaint do?"
"At the very least, it might stop Grant from treating Eddie in the future. Maybe he'll get a doctor who cares for him next time around. Someone who can actually help him." Blair looked over at Jim, trying to judge his partner's reaction to his suggestion. "So, would you be willing to do that?" he asked tentatively. "To file a complaint, I mean?"
Jim gave Blair a half-hearted frown, a smile lurking just beneath it. "I'll think about it, Chief."
"Hey man, that's all I'm asking." Blair smiled. He knew Jim would do it. No matter how he felt now, in time Jim would see that his request was the right thing to do.
"But for now," Jim said, "Could we drop it? I really don't want to talk about Eddie Rostin any more tonight."
"Fine." Blair settled more comfortably in his seat, then glanced over at Jim. "If that offer is still good, would you mind making me some tea?"
Jim smiled widely. "No problem." He stood and walked into the kitchen, pulled the teakettle off the back burner of the stove, and filled it with water. "Hey Sandburg," he called, turning the flame on the burner to high before setting the kettle on top of it. "Are you hungry? I could call for delivery."
But before Blair could answer, the telephone rang. "Probably Simon checking to make sure we got home okay," Jim said as he crossed to the phone on the counter. "Ellison," he said into the receiver.
Leaning comfortably into the cushions at his back, Blair listened with interest to Jim's one-sided conversation, hoping it was good news regarding Eddie. But as Jim's tone turned from conversational to angry, he knew whatever Jim was being told wasn't good. He sat up and watched his partner.
"What's the address?" Jim ground out as he grabbed a pen and jotted the information down. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Just stay away from him and don't do anything to upset him."
"What's going on?" Blair asked as soon as Jim hung up the phone.
"That was Simon," Jim answered, turning off the burner as the kettle started to scream in protest.
"And?" Blair prompted when Jim simply went about the task of making his tea, leaving the details of the phone call a mystery.
Jim finished preparing the tea and carrying it to the living area, set it on the coffee table in front of Blair. "Chief," he began, dropping down beside him on the couch, "They've found Eddie."
Blair blinked several times, taken off guard by the news. "Is he okay?" he blurted out.
"I don't know. He's holed up in an alley. From what Simon just told me, he's incoherent. Won't let anyone near him. He just keeps asking for me... saying he'll only talk to me."
"Then why are you wasting time making me tea. Go!"
Jim lifted his hand and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Chief, I don't know why Eddie is asking for me, but if he's looking for forgiveness..." He let the words trail off, shaking his head at the very idea of it.
"Eddie is hurt and he's afraid," Blair sai
d quietly. "I understand your anger, Jim, I really do. But he needs you right now. He needs the only person he thinks is his friend."
Jim stared down at the piece of paper he held, the paper on which he'd jotted the address. "I'm going, Blair. But not for Eddie. I'm doing this for you."
Blair patted his leg. "That's good enough, man."
Jim pushed up from the couch and, walking to the coat rack, pulled down one of his light jackets. Shrugging into it, he pointed his finger at Blair. "I'll lock the door behind me. You rest. I expect to see you on that couch when I get back, you hear me?"
Blair frowned in mock annoyance and motioned for Ellison to leave. "Jim, would you go already? I'll be fine. I promise."
/
/
Jim pulled his Ford pickup in behind the police cruiser that was blocking the mouth of the alley where Eddie Rostin had been found. Sliding from the cab, he slammed the truck door behind him and pocketed his keys.
"Jim!"
The detective turned toward Simon's voice and saw the captain striding purposely toward him. "Glad you're here. No one's been able to get near Rostin, but it looks like he's injured pretty badly."
Jim frowned. "Blair said he hit him with a pipe. As weak as Sandburg was, I can't imagine Eddie being that badly injured."
"I'm just telling you what I know. The guy goes ballistic every time anyone tries to get near him. He just keeps asking for you."
"Yeah," Jim sighed. "Lucky me. Let's go."
Together, Simon and Jim entered the alley. The narrow passage was dirty, cluttered with overflowing garbage cans and a few large, rusted dumpsters. And near the back, huddled between an abandoned storage crate and a stack of plastic garbage bags, was Eddie Rostin. Jim didn't need to extend his hearing in order to pick up on the pathetic sounds emanating from Eddie's throat. The man was obviously frightened, disoriented, and in a great deal of pain.
"Does anyone know what he's doing here?" Jim asked Simon.
"No. Two city garbage men found him when they tried to pick up the trash at the end of the alley. They called the station."
Jim looked around him, but his view was restricted by the tall brick walls of the buildings on either side of him. "We aren't far from the institution, are we?"
