And Dream that I am Home Again

by Lois RH Balzer

  Simon interrupted. "One reason could be that Blair has a Haida wolf on the door of his office."

  "I didn't know that, but that adds to his choice," Harvey said, jotting that down. "Jim may also associate Blair with the culture of the Pacific Northwest where they met. Unlike cats, wolfs are highly social creatures. They have all the canine traits of loyalty and the need for lifelong bonds."

  Simon nodded. "Sometimes I think that Blair seems intent on staying around Jim to the detriment of the other important things in his life, like his doctorate."

  "For many reasons, the wolf as a symbol seems to typify Blair. He told me that one of the only pieces of evidence that proved to him that they did indeed 'share' a vision -- rather than the doctor's suggestion at the time that Blair simply had a near-death endorphin rush -- is that Blair knew he was the wolf in the vision without Jim ever sharing that symbol with him. They did indeed share the same vision in the middle of the experience that brought Blair back to life. They were there together."

  Simon tried to drink from his empty mug, ending up holding it in his hands. "Meaning what?"

  "I think that Jim's heightened 'Sentinel' powers, due to extreme emotional catharsis, and Blair's highly receptive subconscious state, due to physiochemical conditions prior to his 'death' seem to have given rise to the phenomenon they shared, that there is perhaps a further explanation that rests more happily in the spiritual than the physical realm. That's the thing that seems to make the most sense to me when you combine all the cultural, mythical, physical and medical phenomena available on shamanistic practices and astral traveling and combine it with the events of their lives and the states and abilities of both Jim and Blair at the time of the phenomenon. Sentinel and shaman met on another level of being."

  * * *

  Blair struggled to keep his eyes open. With Jim asleep, his pain had returned. His ankle pounded in beat with the throbbing in his head. It was growing difficult to think, to hold himself together. The jungle seemed to flicker around him, sometimes so fast it looked like a strobe light had been set up, the harsh flashing between white light and jungle night making him feel distinctly sick. He was cold in the white light and hot in the jungle night, but the pain remained constant regardless.

  Without meaning to, he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut, and he felt Jim move closer to him, drawing him back into the security of the man's embrace. The arms tightened around him as the earth trembled, the ground quaking. Jim shifted again, altering his position to shelter his partner from the debris raining down on them from the trees high above their heads. Unripened fruit, shaken from high in the branches, hurt when it hit you, Blair discovered, yelping in surprise and curling his legs beneath him, accepting Jim's protection.

  The ground calmed finally, the night became silence, the flashing stopped, and the two men drifted back to sleep.

  * * *

  "Sentinel and shaman met on another level of being," Simon slowly repeated. "Harvey, are you talking metaphorically, or in a vision, or are you saying they actually left their bodies and- and -"

  "I don't think they simply shared a vision, if by that you mean they simply had the same dream. I think they both were somewhere else. On the dreamscape. A place." Harvey stared at his paper, then drew a line with an arrow on the end of it. "But where does this lead to? Jim draws Blair to the dreamscape - no, Jim draws Blair to Jim's dreamscape - he absorbs him, and breathes Blair back into own body, the physical act mirroring the spiritual. But . . . did it end there?" He looked up at Simon. "It didn't end there. In the hospital in Bellevue, Blair stopped breathing again and Jim attempted to do it all again. Blair would have been in much the same physical condition, so the requirements on his side were met because of the abduction and what they had done to him: fasting, lack of sleep, drugged, traumatized, on the edge of death. Jim's emotional response would have been equal to Blair's pain - at least it was from what I witnessed later."

  Nash pushed back his plate, toying with his chopsticks. "But what about what happened in the hotel room later? Blair was already 'safe'. He had been fed, had slept some, the drugs were out of his system more or less. I saw Jim do something. One minute Blair is in pain, and the next minute Jim has somehow absorbed it. How did he do that? I didn't notice anyone disappearing into any dreamscape, Bubba."

  Simon spoke up. "When Jim was in Mexico chasing Alex, she drugged him -- and his powers with his senses went off the scale. Jim said he could hear the earth itself groaning, a drop of water falling ten miles away. A million heartbeats of men and animals. The sap flowing through the branches of the trees." His hands clenched his empty coffee mug, trying to put it all together in his mind. "Have I mentioned how much I hate this spirit animal mumbo jumbo?" He sighed, stretching his neck against the tension. "So let me see if I'm following you. First, the sentinel in Jim and the shaman in Blair combined their talents to bring Blair back to life. Then Jim has this experience in Mexico with Alex -- extra-heightened senses, beyond his normal ability. I'm more or less with you up to that point. But the added power faded away in a few hours. How is he suddenly healing Blair two weeks later?"

  "Did all of it fade away?" Harvey asked pointedly.

  Simon thought about it and reluctantly shook his head. "No. Jim admitted as much to me while Blair was missing. He could 'sense' Blair in a way he'd never been able to before."

  "Just like your Central American native," Nash said to Harvey.

  "Right." Harvey quickly told Simon the story of the shaman who had been helped by his friend and then was able to communicate with him afterwards.

  "So what's happening now? Jim is somehow controlling this?"

  "Here's what I think is happening. I think Jim has kidnaped his partner and taken him to the dreamscape, trying to keep him safe there." Harvey's voice softened at Simon's intense frown at the use of the word 'kidnaped'. "Look at it this way. Jim's tired. He's worn out. You both said it drained him trying to help his guide. Jim's reached the end of his rope and he's doing everything he can to try to help his partner. He's not entirely aware of what he's doing; this is entirely instinctual at this point. Personally, I think they are too close right now. Jim is drawing Blair in. Like the man in the story I told you, Jim has held his partner's soul in his own, and that experience profoundly affected him. The imprint of Blair's soul is within his own, and I suspect that he hasn't given back all of Blair's soul when they reconnected. Now Blair is in distress if he's not connected to his partner on the dreamscape or if he's out of contact with him in this reality, and Jim is also in distress because each cell remembers Blair being within his own soul. He feels something is horribly wrong, but he doesn't understand what that is. I think he is feeling that if Blair is not within his area of control, his dreamscape or within close contact, then it seems to him that Blair is dead again, ripped from his existence."

  "But Blair is alive. He's right there. He's not dead," Simon insisted.

  Harvey rubbed his eyes wearily. "Here's the problem, folks. If we don't find some way of helping them, they're both dead. If we can't get through to them, then we're going to have to take them to the hospital, let them be separated and hooked up to machines to breathe for them, and feed them, because soon they'll be too weak to keep going. Jim is putting out incredible energy to keep up his dreamscape, and it is draining him quickly. His body will end up going in shock from the effort and from the lack of nourishment. And if Blair is physically taken from him, the energy needed to maintain that link will rise exponentially. Jim is going to die, if we can't stop him, and as Blair's soul is within that dreamscape, then Blair dies with him." Harvey stood and looked back at Sandburg's bedroom. "We'll lose both of them if we don't find a way to help them in the next few hours. That's how long we've got."

  Part Six

  * * *

  .

  The guide rolled over unto his back, his hand connecting with his sentinel curled half around him. He blinked slowly, trying to see, but shadows swirled with empty color, none of it regist
ering on his mind. He didn't know where he was. His heart started beating faster; he could feel it against his ribs. He was frightened.

  But why? The sentinel was there.

  Danger? How could there be, if his sentinel slept beside him?

  But where was he? Why couldn't he remember?

  The sentinel's hand shifted, stopping to rest over the guide's heart for a moment, then continuing its journey to his forehead, awkwardly stroking the fear away.

  He let it.

  * * *

  .

  Harvey sat cross-legged on the floor of Sandburg's bedroom, his back to the edge of the bed. Before him, in a half-circle, lit candles flickered quietly. He had banished Nash and Simon from the room, needing the privacy to remember what it was he needed to do.

  It had been a long time. Back then, he had played around with different drugs - hell, they all did. San Francisco. Haight Ashbury. The whole trip.

  This time, there were no drugs, just vague memories of what he had done before.

  It wouldn't be enough.

  The thought slammed into him and he pulled his knees up, resting his forehead on them. What am I thinking? Harvey, Harvey, Harvey. Have you lost your mind, man? Do you think you're some hippy guru love god who will save the day? Think, man! Give it up. Go call Doc what's his name from Bellevue. Get some major help here before you end up curled on the bed with these two, equally as out to lunch.

  Evan needs you in this reality, man, not in some mystical hither/thither.

  Evan.

  He lifted his head and looked back at the candles. First, he had to call Evan.

  He clambered to his feet, stumbling in the semi-dark room, and fumbled with the phone on the little desk. Half frantically, he punched in Evan's number, then hung up. Evan's not at home, stupid. He tried again, calling Nash's number, but ended up hanging up again. San Francisco. I'm not in San Francisco. Hello, Harvey? Concentrate, man, or you aren't going to get anywhere, let alone another astral plane.

  The third time, he managed the area code and Nash's number, and the phone finally rang.

  "Hello. Nash Bridges' residence. Nick here." Nash's father's crotchety, polite voice sounded beautiful.

  "Hey, Nick. How're you feeling? It's Harvey."

  "Harvey!" Nick's delight came over the phone lines clearly. "How's Cascade?"

  Well, that answered several questions about Nash's father. His memory was in the here-and-now. Ever since he acquired Alzheimer's disease, it was a hit and miss that he was having a good day. He hadn't been too bad the last year -- on a new drug treatment -- but with his heart attack setback the previous month, the doctor's weren't optimistic about his continued progress. Today, however, he knew who Harvey was, and remembered he had gone to Cascade, so that was two major hurtles crossed.

  "Cascade's fine. Nick, can I speak with Evan for a minute."

  "Evan? Evan who?" There was the briefest pause, then Nick's low-throated cackle filled the line. "Just kiddin'. He's here. Hang on and let me take the phone to him. He's out on the deck upstairs."

  There was a long delay as Nick made his way through the half-demolished building and up the short flight of stairs to the top deck overlooking the city.

  "Harv?" Evan's voice, weaker than it should have been, and overflowing with concern. "Is everything okay? Are you okay?"

  There was a faint hit of desperation beneath the words that left Harvey with his eyes closed, sitting perched on the edge of the desk chair. "I'm okay, Ev. Just needed to hear your voice, you know?"

  "Stressful, huh?' Evan asked, knowingly. "I wish I was there to help. Damnit. I should be bouncing back faster, but all I have the energy to do is sleep, it seems. Lot of help I am to you. Some partner, huh?"

  "Just talk to me for a minute. I just want to hear a friendly voice, something to stabilize me."

  "What are you going to do, Harv?" The hint of desperation had turned to a full, blown out case of it. Normally Evan Cortez wasn't so dependent, but there was something about being kidnaped, beaten, and sexually abused that left you not quite yourself. It hadn't even been a week since Jim and Blair had helped get him back.

  "Evan, it's nothing-" he started to say, but his voice cracked as a stubborn tear tracked down his face.

  Evan picked up on it right away. "Harv? Harvey? You're freaking me out here, man."

  "Calm down," Harvey choked out, when he got control of his voice again. "I'm fine."

  "You didn't answer my question. What are you planning on doing?"

  How well Evan knew him. "I'm going to take a little journey, if I can. Try to connect up with Jim and Blair."

  "Where are they? Are you saying they're not in Cascade?"

  "They're sorta in Cascade. Sorta not. They're partially here. Partially somewhere else." He didn't mean to speak in riddles. He just couldn't find it in him to the say the words.

  Evan said them for him. "Harv . . . Are you going to do something weird? . . . Please tell me you aren't. Oh, man, you are. Should I be there?"

  "No, you stay right where you are. Is Cassidy there?"

  "Yes, I'm here," Nash's daughter said, a little distant, so she probably had her ear to the phone next to her boyfriend's.

  "Cass, you keep an eye on him. Make sure he gets better. Don't let him talk you into letting him come here."

  She laughed, nervously. "I'll sit on him if I have to."

  A short commotion on the other end of the line had Harvey hanging on to his phone, trying to sort out what was happening. Then Evan's voice came on. "Harv? Sorry, I just got rid of everyone. I want to talk to you without Nick and Cassidy here. Are you okay? Really?"

  "I'm fine."

  "What's happening?" This was Evan's no-nonsense voice, one cultivated from living in a family of cops and being great at interrogation.

  Harvey felt himself flinching, even though he knew what a marshmallow the kid was inside. "Do you know what astral traveling is?"

  "Yeah." Nothing more. Just the one word, hesitantly said, as though he feared what would come next.

  "Well," Harvey began, then stared across the room to Jim and Blair, their motionless bodies curled on the bed, mouths half-open, eyes not-quite shut. "I'm going to try to reach Jim and Blair. I don't know if I'll be successful or not, but it's worth a try."

  "Harv, you know that's nothing to mess with."

  "I know. I also know what those two did for you. You wouldn't be alive if Blair hadn't gone back for you, and if Jim hadn't been able to track him. I owe them, man."

  "Hey, I'm not arguing with you on that. It's just . . . well . . . I need you, too, Harv. I need you to come back here."

  Harvey laughed suddenly. "Well, then, if you happen to feel my spirit knocking at your brain, let me in, okay? In case I get lost."

  "What???"

  "It's a long story. Ask Nash, if it looks like you need to. Listen, Evan, I've gotta go. I just wanted to hear your voice. I needed to know you were okay."

  "I'm okay, Harv. I'm not ready for work yet, but I will be, real soon." The confident tone shattered. "Just come back here in one piece, okay? Come back."

  "I will. Get some sleep tonight."

  "Not now. Not until you phone me back."

  "I'll do that," he promised, then said his goodbyes and hung up the phone.

  He felt stronger, although nothing else had changed. Jim and Blair. The room. The candles. The faint sounds of Nash and Simon talking in the other room.

  He wondered what they were saying. If they thought he was as crazy as the other two occupants of the room. No, not crazy. Jim and Blair were just operating on a different set of rules. And I've got to figure out what those rules are.

  * * *

  .

  Ellison pushed himself upright, surprised that he'd fallen asleep as long as he had. It was night now. His guide slept at his side, within his protection, and with a quick check, he could see the young man was weaker, the fever growing.

  Standing, he teetered for a moment, trying to get his balance as
the jungle wavered around him. The dizziness took a long time to pass, leaving him trembling slightly with fatigue. He frowned, angry with himself. He shouldn't be this weak, this tired. He'd just slept, yet he could feel the pull of weariness luring him back. His rest should have restored him, refreshed him, but it had accomplished neither.

  The sentinel stretched for the sky, seeing only the darkness of trees above him. He flexed his arms as he reached upward, aware of each ache, each spasm, each knot. His back rippled with tension. He stretched to the side, then extended his arms straight out from his shoulders, turning one way as far as he could go, then the other way, muscles pulling, the stiffness not easing. He bent forward, palms touching the ground finally, but without his usual ease. His head throbbed, bent over, and he slowly straightened, dizzy again.

  The effort left his stomach unsettled, hunger gnawing at him, headache pounding. "A cup of coffee would be nice about now," he whispered to the breeze that slowly swirled around their campfire. He could smell it from somewhere, along with Madame Jing's curried chicken.

  The fruit he had gathered earlier had already gone bad, so he took it away from their camp and threw it into the underbrush. He gathered more, enough for one meal for both, keeping his guide in sight at all times.

  The light was strange. He could see his partner easily enough, probably with the extra light from the fire, but the rest of the area was dimmed, difficult to distinguish, even with his sentinel sight. His guide was always visible, down to individual pores.

  His ears felt stuffed, yet he could hear his partner's heartbeat and soft, ragged breaths. He couldn't smell the fire, or the earth, or the jungle flowers, or the wild herbs, yet he could smell the sweat on his friend's forehead. His hands were numb, hardly able to feel the food he carried, yet when he returned to the fire, he stroked one finger along his guide's palm, traveling the life line, feeling each tiny groove and indentation. The food tasted like . . . nothing. No taste. No sweetness of juice. No texture. Not even the cardboard blandness of those rice cakes that his guide sometimes ate.