After several minutes, Nash nudged his elbow. "You look like you're zoning out, just like Ellison did in Seattle."
"Nah. Just thinking."
"What's happening with them? Can you fill me in so I don't look like a total idiot when we get there? It's bad for my reputation, you know."
Harvey shifted in his seat, glancing to Nash as though sizing him up for this news, then nodding, a smile on his face. "Okay, but no editorials from you about the content of my thesis."
"I promise," Nash said, making a cross over his heart.
Harvey settled back in his seat, arranging the thin pillow beneath his neck. "I told you about doing research for my master's thesis on Astral Traveling. Well, during my research, I remember reading something that I think relates to this. Seems there was this native in Central America somewhere -- I can't remember all the details, just the main story -- and this guy was astral traveling. Now he was a shaman and did this a lot, so it wasn't anything new for him. This one time, however, he went too far and couldn't find his body again. He looked all over for it, growing weaker and weaker in spirit. Hours passed. Then a day. Another day. Finally he found himself on the outskirts of a village that he recognized. He journeyed until he found the house of an old friend of his. The man recognized his spirit and engulfed it, bringing it into his own consciousness and allowing the shaman to recuperate. While he was gaining strength, the friend journeyed many miles back to the shaman's home, arriving just as they were going to declare his body dead. The friend held the shaman's body close and breathed into his mouth, allowing his spirit to journey back into his body. When he woke, he was whole again."
"Good trick," Nash said, softly, sounding neither like he believed nor disbelieved the story.
Harvey nodded slowly, trying to recall the entire article. "The unusual thing, the reason the story was repeated and I think, the reason I remembered it, was that the shaman reported that after his friend returned to his village, there remained a connection between the two of them. They shared dreams, often speaking to each other. They each knew the emotions of the other, how the other was feeling. The shaman told the missionary recording the story that it was because their spirits had shared a body, they had forged a union and their spirits had merged, each spirit staining the other with its presence, if that makes any sense translated."
Nash's arms were crossed as he listened. "So this is what you think happened here?"
"In May, just over a month ago, Blair Sandburg died. Now we don't have all the details, but Simon did say that Blair had been pronounced dead by a paramedic on the scene and life support was discontinued. Also according to Simon Banks, Ellison was forcibly removed from Sandburg's side. Then suddenly the man turns around and stares at his partner's body and Banks said the strangest feeling came over him as he watched. Ellison returned to Sandburg and breathed into him and Sandburg came back to life. Sound familiar?"
"Are you saying that Ellison-the-sentinel somehow captured Sandburg-the-shaman's spirit which had left his body, merged it into his own, engulfed it, then simply walked over to his partner's body and returned the spirit, kick-starting Sandburg back in action?"
"Yeah."
"You're serious?" Nash dragged a hand over his face, trying to absorb what he was saying. "That's-- that's-- bizarre, Harvey. That has got to be one of the most bizarre stories I've heard you tell. And believe me, in the many years I've known you, you've told some whoppers."
"It makes sense, though."
"To you, maybe. To me? I don't know. I don't know if I follow you. Blair is a police observer and an anthropologist, not a shaman. We don't know if he had ever even attempted anything like astral traveling. And regardless, how did Jim find Blair's spirit? Was it just hovering in the air?"
Harvey shook his head. "I think this is more than just astral traveling. If you believe in the possibility of the story I just told you, can you imagine the consequences if that is what happened with Blair and Jim as sentinel -- a person with enhanced senses." Harvey stood up suddenly. "I need a bit more information, though. I need to know what else was happening at the time. There's more to it than just Blair suddenly going for a walk outside his body. Something major was going on to cause this."
"And they'll have the answers?"
"Simon Banks will. He's got to."
Part Five
* * *
Night had crept into the jungle, swallowing shadows and leaching color from the trees and vegetation. Usually he liked this time of evening, for it meant relaxing around the fire, talking quietly about what they had done that day, then watching his guide drift to sleep, a smile touching each man's face.
Tonight, though, it was with a distraught intensity that Ellison watched his partner sleep, scrutinizing the familiar features. There was nothing wrong with him, he repeated to himself. What was the fuss all about? Sandburg was fine, peacefully asleep, safe and sound an arm's length from his sentinel. Where else should he be? This was all right. I will keep him safe. Here with me, he is safe.
He arranged the woven sleeping mat to keep his guide covered, and he paused as his skin registered a higher-than-normal temperature emanating from Sandburg. He drew his hand back quickly without making contact. A shiver passed through his body, apprehension growing. This wasn't right. His guide was supposed to be safe here, not sick. He was protecting him. It's hot here. He is simply hot, maybe too much sun today, he reasoned. I am over-reacting.
For a moment time shifted, and he was some other place. Blair's room. His guide tucked within in his embrace.
Why am I--
But the jungle returned, and again the sentinel crouched down, resisting the urge to touch the faint sheen of sweat on his guide's forehead. Each drop of perspiration magnified to pools of moisture, reflecting the fire's tongues of flame. He watched the pattern change as one drop overflowed and streamed from his guide's temple to track across his cheek, turning again only to be absorbed by a loose curl.
His finger reached out, visibly trembling in his enhanced vision, as he gently lifted the errant curl and relocated it to lie with the rest of the dark, tangled, mop of hair. For a moment, it complied, then stubbornly, it fell forward, splashing into several other liquid pools and sticking resolutely to the damp forehead.
It was all beginning to fall apart.
This place was no longer in his control. Things were happening - tiny, niggling things that he should have been able to contain. This was his place. His. Maybe he couldn't control the universe as it unfolded, but he could control this. Or, he had been able to control it.
Anger took hold of the sentinel, and he moved away from his guide, clenching his fists until he calmed himself. His guide was sensitive and would fret under the proximity of such rage. The anger roiled about him, thundered in his brain and sent electrical surges through his system like shafts of lightning. He waited until the storm passed, then he allowed his thoughts to continue, trying to rediscover his mission and objective.
He had failed once already. The horror of it still lingered, even after the anger had dissipated, for despite his best intentions, Sandburg had gotten lost today. They had been walking along a trail, when suddenly he was gone. Without warning, no faint footstep sounded behind his own, no muttered comments, no heartbeat. One minute his guide was there, the next he was gone.
With a roar of desperation, the sentinel had searched the area, running, pausing, pacing, turning, drawing in huge breaths of air, frantic for a scent, something, anything, to tell him where his guide had disappeared to. Hours passed, filled with levels of anxiety that threatened to tear him to pieces, yet he was certain that each piece, each little part of him, would still have cried for his guide to return.
He may have zoned. He no longer knew what had transpired. But he found his guide and brought him back here. Safe.
Safe.
Perhaps not.
He rubbed at his eyes, knowing he was tired and needed to rest sometime soon. Maybe when Sandburg woke, he would make sure his gu
ide was okay and had everything that he needed, then he would lie down for a little while, just to recharge his batteries. Sandburg would wake up.
Ellison raised his head and looked around them, eyes scanning the area, searching for any danger, anything out of the ordinary. He listened, cataloguing sounds and dismissing them. No scent seemed out of place. But yet his skin prickled with mounting apprehension.
It was Harvey's fault, he thought. He could hear Harvey's voice in his head, asking him questions he really had no answers for.
"Listen, I know you want to keep Blair safe," Harvey had said,"but you can't take care of him there. Look around you. Should you even be there? Think, man! Where are you? How did you get there?"
Where am I?
Ellison stood, looking around. "I am here. I am where I should be. Sandburg is here with me." But he couldn't say where exactly here was or how he got there. Pieces were missing, important pieces that he needed to find out about. Because not knowing might hurt his guide. And that was not good.
And he had been in that other place. In Blair's room.
He couldn't hold the thought. The concrete memory of a room with four walls dissolved and drained from his consciousness.
A noise echoed against his skin, and he whirled around to face the older sentinel of his dreamscape. Except the blue tones were gone, so he could not be dreaming.
"Your Guide has journeyed back to you, yet again," the older Sentinel said, raising his staff, then setting it down. He was still dressed for battle, the paint detailing his tribe and allegiances.
"Yes. He is better now. He is safe here," Ellison declared, hearing his own heartbeat increase in reaction to the word 'here." He didn't want to admit that he didn't know where here was.
"Yet he is still hobbled." The Sentinel-warrior moved aside, and just as it had happened in his dream while Blair was in the hospital after the Rainier drowning, it was the wolf who lay on the ground behind the warrior, one back leg bent awkwardly beneath its body as it lay quietly panting. Ellison looked around quickly, but as he had suspected, there was no sign of his partner except for the spirit animal.
The wolf did not look well. Its fur was scraggly and ill-kept. Its eyes watered, staring up at him, pleading. A low whimper sounded as it shifted on the uneven jungle surface. Its hind leg was swollen and twisted.
"Sentinel. See to your guide."
"I am looking after him."
"See to your guide."
"I am guarding him. I am making sure he is safe."
"See to your guide."
"I am-" he started to declare loudly, then woke with a shudder to realize he had fallen asleep.
Blair lay sleeping before him, but now he could see the stress lines visible around his eyes, the dark circles that weren't hidden by the tanned face. This time, he did reach out and touch the beads of sweat on his partner's forehead.
"Hey, buddy." He said it softly, gently, hoping Blair would hear him and wake up, for he didn't have the courage to wake him. "I'm trying my best here, okay, Chief?"
* * *
The day had begun in sunshine and was now humid with the sudden downpour that fell from dark storm clouds scattered across the early evening sky. The air was heavy with the promise of more rain, a warm smothering feeling that only added to the feeling of oppression in the airless loft. Dinner, hastily ordered from the local Chinese restaurant, had arrived along with the two men from San Francisco. The pyramid of white boxes now sat cooling on the table as they crowded into the lower bedroom and stared at Cascade's sentinel and guide.
Tension easing now that he was not facing this alone, Simon watched Harvey Leek as he attempted to rouse the two men still asleep on the narrow futon mattress. See? he felt like saying. I'm not making this up. Maybe Harvey could do something, could break through the hibernating coma that engulfed them. Blair said Harvey had a 'guide' voice and the SIU detective had managed to get through to them both over the phone. He's got to do something, now that he's here in person. Although, deep inside Simon had been quietly concerned that Harvey's arrival would magically wake the men up and prove once and for all Simon's own incompetence.
Unfortunately, it seemed he had nothing to fear. His secret was safe.
Beside him, leaning against the door, Nash Bridges shook his head in silent wonder. "I'm glad this is your crew, not mine, Bubba. I wouldn't have the patience to figure this out. Then again," he smiled, "having a sentinel on board would definitely be handy at times, I'm sure. Forget the high tech equipment -- Superman here can do everything but fly, I've been told."
"You haven't seen him drive," Simon muttered sarcastically. "He thinks he can soar through the air at will." There was an awkward silence as the Cascade captain stared at his two men. Finally he cleared his throat and added, his voice a growl edged with humor, "Nash, I warned you about that 'Bubba' tick you have. Don't call me that again."
"Noted," Nash said quickly, chuckling. "Bad habit of mine."
The remark got the intended response, and all three men relaxed a bit. Simon extended his 'host' skills and reached to take Harvey's denim jacket from the edge of the bed. "I'll hang this up for you. Dinner's here, whenever you're ready. Can I get you some coffee? I just put on a fresh pot when you called from the airport."
Nash followed Simon into the kitchen, leaving Harvey to continue his one-sided conversation with the residents of the loft. "Thank you. Harvey won't want any this late in the day, but coffee will be great for me. Smells wonderful, but I can't place it." He leaned closer for a more thorough whiff of the coffee roast. "I have a reputation for being able to identify most brands, but I'm stumped here. What kind is it?"
Simon handed him a sealed ceramic jar. "Hell if I know. He keeps it in this. No doubt Sandburg bought it at some ethnic grocery store. I've had better," Simon said, then added ruefully, with a shake of his head in sad memory, "but then again, I've most definitely had worse."
"Station coffee?" Nash guessed.
"Absolutely the worst."
"Let me guess -- I would be willing to bet that you have your own coffee maker in your office."
"I most certainly do," the captain said, standing straighter. "Rank hath its privileges."
"And in your case, rank hath its own office."
"You don't?" Simon asked, surprised.
"We don't even have a damned building! We're temporarily housed on a boat."
"A boat?"
"Long story. Headquarters collapsed during the last big quake. We've been housed in temporary places every since."
"But that was years ago?"
"Tell me about it." Nash inhaled the aroma from the coffee beans in the cannister, shrugged, then sealed it and handed it back. "I take it this hasn't happened before."
"The coffee situation, or the two sleeping beauties there?"
"The latter."
The tall dark captain became serious again, concentrating on pouring the coffee into mugs. "Not like this anyway. Quite frankly, I'm wondering if I shouldn't have called an ambulance," he mused, rubbing the back of his neck. "There could be serious medical problems here."
"No, you did the right thing," Harvey said, coming up behind them. "What's a hospital going to do but pump them full of drugs and take a lot of tests? Nothing. They wouldn't have known how to handle this at all."
Simon wasn't convinced yet. "What about the doctor down in Bellevue? Dr. Morrison?"
Harvey shrugged. "If we have to, he'd be the first one to call," he admitted. "He seemed a decent enough guy."
Simon smiled suddenly. "You know, he already said that Jim had a 'healing spirit'."
"He did?" Harvey considered the information, turning his attention back to where Ellison lay. "That makes sense, though. Morrison would have sensed that aura of the sentinel."
"What aura?" Nash asked.
Harvey started to answer, then shook his head. "Let's eat first," he said, firmly. He had apparently seen all he needed to and the smell from the Chinese takeout containers was overpowerin
g the loft. He scooped up the pile and carried them to the dining table. "Any tea?" he asked, hopeful.
"I'm sure Sandburg's got at least fifty different kinds," Simon laughed tiredly, going to put on the kettle. "Help yourself. I've no idea what they taste like -- at least, the herbal teas he has."
Harvey rummaged through a box of various labeled teas, choosing a blackberry, caffeine free tea, while Nash and Simon brought their coffee cups to the table. Harvey joined them, the blackberry scent already filling the room and fighting with the Chinese food for most-overwhelming scent. "We might as well eat first, then get comfortable. I've got some questions for you, Simon."
"I'm not sure what I can tell you, other than what you already know."
"You'd be surprised what little details get passed over as insignificant."
Simon laughed. "Okay, forget I said that. I'm a detective; I should know better. Ask away."
"Food first," Harvey insisted, dumping a good portion of the tofu and white fish dish onto his plate.
Conversation stopped for a few minutes as they doled out the food and settled chopsticks and napkins.
"So what would you like to know?" Simon asked, finally, digging into his plate with renewed appetite.
Harvey finished his mouthful, then paused thoughtfully. "First, is Blair a shaman?"
Simon put his mug down, discarded his chopsticks and picked up his fork. "Starting with the easy questions, I see. Is Blair a shaman? I don't know. I don't know if Blair even knows. They told me that Incacha -- a Peruvian native man who Jim knew during his time in Peru -- passed 'the way of the shaman' on to Blair when he died, but Blair had no idea what to do about it."
"Was he looking into it at all? Maybe doing a little research or experimenting at all?"
"I've no idea. I usually prefer them to keep all this hokus pokus stuff out of the office. Why do you ask? How would some new age religion affect them like this? There's no way Jim would be a part of it, anyway."
And Dream that I am Home Again Page 11
