Feet on the Couch

by Lois RH Balzer

  Ellison bent down and examined the chains and cuffs. He had a key to open the locks, but Lash had threaded the chains and he needed a pair of pliers to undo them. The detective looked around the room, his eyes resting on the different groups of trophies that Lash had assembled for each of his victims. Then he saw, on the far table, two photos that Blair had put up in his room, the first two things he had unpacked when it was decided that he would stay in the loft — a picture of his mother and a picture of several friends taken at the last anthropological site Blair had worked on. Beside them, on the little table, was one of the student’s textbooks, a comb, a CD, and two computer disks labeled “Sent1” and “Sent6”. Ellison pocketed the disks, then turned his attention back to Sandburg.

  The kid still lay unmoving in the chair, terror-filled eyes open, unable to lift a finger or call out for help. It was unlikely Lash had detoured from his regular routine, so physically Sandburg might be okay once the drug wore off in a few minutes. Ellison checked Sandburg’s pupils and heartrate again. This was more than just chloroform, though; there was some kind of paralytic agent working, too. Carolyn had said the drugs were short-acting, and the detective was damn sure he was going to hold her to that. She had also told him that it was likely that the victim would not remember what had happened to him while drugged, and Ellison was counting on that, too. If there was some way this entire evening could be erased from Sandburg’s memories …

  He pulled out Lash’s set of keys and found the one to the bands around Sandburg’s ankles and wrists. His hands were shaking as he bent over to unlock the metal cuffs. Exhausted from his fight, aching from the fall, nerves reacting now from the kill, all valid reasons to sit down and catch his breath, but now was not the time to deal with his own pain and weariness; he had someone else to consider. His well-being now depended on Sandburg’s well-being. He knew this instinctively, but couldn’t put forth the reasons.

  He unwound the chain and dropped it beside the dentist chair; his fingerprints would be on the locks, but so would Lash’s. The disks he would take — they would raise too many questions — but the rest would be left for evidence. There was enough evidence in this room to lock away Lash forever. But Lash was dead.

  Ellison bristled at the urge to kill him again for touching Sandburg. For frightening him. For wearing his clothes. For daring to try to pass himself off as the young man.

  He waited until the rage had abated, then stood and gently placed one hand along Sandburg’s cheek, moving so he was in Blair’s vision. A smile formed on his lips. “Hey, Chief. It’s over now. He’s dead.”

  Tears spilled out of the bleary eyes. Sandburg blinked, but more tears replaced them, pooling and running down his face, over Ellison’s hand . The kid let out a strangled moan, full of pain and fear and desperation. He was vulnerable — completely, totally vulnerable.

  And Ellison responded in the only way he knew. He had to deal with the issue at hand. Sandburg was exposed, vulnerable, and he needed to make him feel safe and protected. Hardly knowing the path he was about embark on, Ellison leaned over his partner until his face was beside Sandburg’s, his arms extending behind the young man’s back. Then he pulled back, bringing Sandburg with him, one hand supporting the wobbling neck, the other maneuvering the limp body toward him. Toward safety. Toward protection. Toward whatever this unnamed emotion was that demanded the action of the sentinel.

  Sandburg moved slightly, his head jerking as he tried to turn his face into the hollow of Ellison’s neck, eyes tightly closed now as his fingers struggled to find purchase in Ellison’s jacket. At least one of the drugs in his system was beginning to release him.

  “Easy, kid. I’m here. I’m not leaving you.” He shifted to get a better grip across the young man’s shoulders, and Sandburg’s grasp tightened almost frantically. “I’m here. Did you think I wasn’t going to come back and get you out of this chair?” he asked, meaning it in jest, but Sandburg let out another half groan/half sob, and the utter distress clearly heard in the sound was enough to break even the hardest of hearts.

  But where Sandburg was concerned, Ellison was discovering, he was a marshmallow, clear and simple. “Hey, Chief,” he whispered, turning his head so his mouth was by Sandburg’s ear. “How about we get out of here and get some fresh air? Would you like that?”

  The grip didn’t loosen, so he kept his own embrace equally secure. Pulling back even further brought Sandburg out of the chair, still clinging to him, but still as weak and as limp as a rag doll. There was no way the kid was going to be able to walk out on his own in the next fifteen or twenty minutes. Ellison tried to set him on his feet, but there wasn’t enough strength in Sandburg’s legs to hold his weight.

  “Chief, I’m going to put you over my shoulder to get you out of here.”

  Sandburg’s head shook slightly, plainly ‘no’.

  “It’s the easiest and quickest way for me to get you to safety. Are you okay with that?” he persisted.

  Sandburg’s head jerked again, and Ellison couldn’t decide if it was a yes or no. A choked sob followed, the body in his arms trembling.

  “I’m going to take that as a ‘yes’. Okay, here we go.” Ellison crouched slightly, getting his shoulder at Sandburg’s waist, then standing, his arms wrapped around the kids’ legs as he turned, Sandburg draped over his shoulder.

  Up the short flight of stairs and he was on the fire escape, looking down to the empty parking lot of the old warehouse. By the time he had reached the bottom, Sandburg had come fully awake on his shoulder, kicking against his hold. He stopped, bending down to let Sandburg’s feet touch the metal staircase, then collapsing to sit beside him, drawing the sagging young man closer.

  ”’-im?” Sandburg was trying to see, but his eyes weren’t focusing. His head wobbled on his neck.

  “I’m here. It’s over.” He looked up as two police cars, sirens wailing, skidded into the lot. Banks and Brown were both out at a run, guns out.

  “Jim?” One sob followed, then another as Sandburg pressed against him, shivering.

  “Yeah. You’re safe now,” he whispered back as the choking sobs increased in intensity and all the fear and horror found release.

  “Ellison?” Simon Banks approached. “Is he all right?”

  “I think so. Captain, get a forensics team in there, a cameraman. That guy was a serious nutcase,” Ellison said softly.

  “Lash?”

  “Dead.”

  “You shot him?”

  “Dead,” Ellison repeated.

  “Good.” Banks put his gun away and crouched down before them. “The ambulance will be here any time.”

  “I can hear it.”

  The captain rested his hand on Sandburg’s convulsing bank. “Did Lash drug him?”

  “Yeah. Had him chained up in a dental chair. I don’t know what all else happened.”

  “His clothes are damp. I’ll get a blanket for him,” Banks said, and went back to his car, stopping long enough to speak on the police radio with the ambulance on route, filling them in on Sandburg’s condition. By the time he had returned, Sandburg had quieted, his hand still clutching Jim’s shirt, eyes staring off into the distance with a vague, disconnected look that didn’t seem to recognize the blanket being placed around his shoulders. Any warmth he was receiving was from Ellison.

  “Thanks, Simon,” the detective said, feeling totally numb himself. His injuries, however minor, were making themselves known.

  Banks crouched down again, looking carefully at Sandburg’s face. “Jim, what happened to him?”

  “I heard him, Simon. I heard Sandburg talking to Lash. You should have heard him; he did everything right. He may not be a cop, but he did everything right. He kept Lash off-balance, he tried to stay in control for as long as he could. I’m just so damn proud of him,” Ellison whispered, drawing the young man closer. “And he’s alive.”

  The ambulance turned into the parking lot, following the flashing lights on the police cars, and Banks stood a
nd waved them over. The older of the two men approached, dropping his bag and moving quietly as he quickly assessed the situation. “Hi, there,” he said, dropping to one knee to look at Sandburg’s eyes. “My name is Paul Hampton. I’m a paramedic. What’s your name?”

  Sandburg turned away from him, his face hidden against Ellison’s chest.

  When there was no response, Ellison answered for him. “His name is Blair Sandburg. My partner.”

  Hampton nodded, but turned his attention back to his patient. “Mr Sandburg, I’d like to look you over. May I?”

  Blair shifted, twisting to wrap his arms around Ellison’s neck, his face hidden by his matted, dirty hair.

  “That would be a ‘no’,” Ellison said, trying to resist the urge to push the man away and protect his obviously distressed partner. “The chloroform has left him a little muddled.”

  “That’s perfectly understandable. It’s a normal reaction,” Hampton reassured them. “I’d like to check him out, though. If I can do this now, that’ll just leave the blood tests and toxicology screens to be done at the hospital. The quicker we do this, the quicker he’s home tonight.”

  Ellison turned his head to look at the bundle in his arms. “Hey, Chief. Do you want to go back to the loft?”

  Sandburg nodded, his breathing fast and panting, trying to control his anxiety.

  “Then what you say we let this guy check you out? I’ll be right here.”

  After a moment, Sandburg nodded again and allowed himself to be turned around to face Hampton. Once Hampton had checked his eyes, he kept them closed tightly, enduring the hands checking his pulse, blood pressure, and other vitals.

  Hampton jotted everything down, then, judging his patient’s readiness, asked a few questions. “Could you tell me your name?”

  “Blair.”

  “Blair, what’s your last name?”

  “San’burg.”

  “Blair, do you know what day it is today?”

  Sandburg’s eyes closed. It was too much of an effort to think.

  “Blair?” Hampton called, then waited for Sandburg to open his eyes before asking, “Do you know who this guy is?” He gestured to Ellison.

  “Jim.”

  “And this man?”

  Sandburg nodded. “S’mon.”

  “Good. You’re doing fine.” Hampton wrote it on his form, then added the birthday, place of birth, and when the last time he ate was. It wasn’t until he asked, “Could you tell me your permanent address?” that Sandburg faulted.

  “No,” the young man mumbled, sadly. “It blew up. Gone.”

  Ellison grimaced at the answer.“Uh, he’s a bit mixed right now.” The detective supplied the address to the loft and Sandburg turned and looked at him. “What’s wrong, Chief?”

  “Oh. Right … It’s my home?”

  “Yes. Remember?”

  The most beautiful smile lit up Sandburg’s face, taking Ellison, Banks, and Hampton by surprise. “Yeah.” With a soft sigh of contentment, Sandburg curled over to lie with his head on Ellison’s lap, asleep in seconds.

  Hampton grinned. “I’d say he should be fine. He’ll be best sleeping this off. When he wakes up though, he’s going to be miserable. The aftereffects of chloroform aren’t pleasant.”

  *

  And they weren’t.

  Jim kept watch that first night, once they were home from the hospital. Blair had been given something to ease his nauseated stomach, but it left him sleepy and did little for his pounding headache. Morning found him lying restlessly on the couch, wrapped in blankets and feeling wretched.

  Jim brought over a glass of juice. “Can you try to drink something?” he asked softly, moving aside the emergency bucket.

  Blair opened his eyes, then closed them against the light. “Yeah. I’ll try. Thanks.” He propped himself up on the couch, taking the glass from Jim’s hand. After a few cautious sips, he leaned back, still holding the glass. “What time is it?”

  “Seven-thirty.” Jim took it from him and put it on the coffee table, watching, amused, as Blair fell back asleep sitting up. Fortunately, Sandburg made no fuss as Jim resituated him on the couch, covering him with the blankets. There was little as he could do for the young man. The drugs would just have to run their course.

  He heard the elevator door open and recognized a familiar scent. Before the knock came, he opened the door. “Hi, Carolyn.”

  “Hi, Jim. I was just on my way in to work and was wondering if you knew how— Oh. He’s here.” She stepped inside the loft, glancing around quickly as though reorienting herself. “I didn’t know he’d be here.” The sentence turned itself into a question.

  “He lives here,” Jim said, closing the door. “Where else should he be? Can I get you anything? I just made a pot of coffee.”

  “Thanks.” She hung her coat on the hook, staring across the room at the sleeping young man on the couch.

  Jim handed her the coffee, then took his own cup to the kitchen table, sitting at one end so he could watch Sandburg easily.

  Carolyn sat to his right, facing the balcony. She glanced over her shoulder through the open doorway into what was obviously a bedroom now. “How long has he lived here?”

  “Since the explosion at the drug lab. Ten days.”

  “He settled in quickly.”

  “It just seemed to work out,” Jim said with a shrug.

  “I knew Lash kidnaped him from here, but I didn’t realize he was actually residing here.” Carolyn smiled. “You with a roommate… Who would have thought? What happened to the very private, my home is my castle, stay out of my life ‘James Ellison’?”

  There didn’t seem to be any hostility in her voice, so he answered her honestly. “I don’t know. I haven’t figured it out yet.” He took a sip of the coffee, glanced over to Blair, then back to Carolyn. “He doesn’t seem to enter into that equation.”

  “What? You’ve included him as part of your tribe?” Carolyn joked.

  He looked at her and blinked, startled. “Yeah. Maybe that’s it exactly.”

  Blair shivered and Jim got up and walked over to him, adjusted the blankets, checked his forehead for fever, then he returned to the table and Carolyn’s bemused smile. “He was cold,” Jim said in explanation, as he sat down again.

  “You really are changing. That kid is doing you a lot of good. He’s bringing out the part of you that you always said you had to check at the door to be effective.”

  “My humanity,” Jim said, remembering his own words to Blair just a day or so before.

  “Right.” She reached across the table, resting one hand on top of his. “Whatever is going on with you, take care of yourself, okay?”

  “Thanks,” he said, meeting her eyes. “And I didn’t tell you at the time, but I really appreciated all your help with this case. I know I was a little heavy-handed in requesting information—”

  “Demanding information. Ruining my lab. Contaminating my evidence samples.”

  He found a smile to match hers. “All that. Thanks.”

  “Well, you were worried about him. I just wasn’t used to seeing you care that much about someone.”

  Jim closed his eyes, but her hand hadn’t left his own. There was no anger in her words, only the simple acknowledgment of his actions. “He didn’t deserve any of this to happen to him.”

  “No, he didn’t. Nor did you — and I know that this hurt you just as much as it did him.” Carolyn glanced at her watch, then squeezed his fingers beneath her hand. “I’ve got to get going. I’m sure Simon will want to push through the paperwork on this one and get it out of our lives.”

  Jim walked her to the door. “Tell Simon I’ll be in later. The doctor said Blair should be feeling better by noon.”

  “I pass that on to him, but I don’t really think he was expecting you until this afternoon.” Carolyn paused before leaving. “Jim, I know something is going on here. You were smelling things, identifying substances that should have been impossible for you to identify w
ithout lab analysis.”

  He looked back at her, his face carved in stone.

  “I won’t mention it in my reports, okay? I just wanted you to know that.” She leaned across and kissed his cheek, then returned the warm hug he drew her into. “Take care of yourself. And him.”

  “I will. Thanks.” He closed the door after her and returned to his partner’s side.

  *

  It was just after ten in the morning when Blair woke up again, looking like he had a bad hangover, but otherwise feeling fine. He pushed himself off the couch and weaved over to where Jim was washing dishes. “Please tell me I had a wild party last night and I’m just suffering for it now.”

  “Nope.”

  “So that old nightmare of being kidnaped by a psychopathic serial killer really happened this time?” Blair sighed, leaning back against the fridge.

  “Yup.”

  “Damn. I’m a little bit foggy here about what all went on. He’s dead, right?”

  “Yup.”

  “Could you answer in full sentences, at least? I feel like I’m doing twenty questions.”

  Jim rinsed off the last plate and let the water down. “Lash is dead. I got you out of the building. The ambulance came and we went to the hospital, then we came back here. Do you want some breakfast? I could whip you up something while you take a shower.”

  “Whoa,” Blair held his head as though he were dizzy. “Slow down, man. Too much information, too fast.”

  “Shower. Eat. Then we talk.” Jim steered him toward the bathroom and closed the door after him.

  “Okay, we’ll do it your way,” he could hear Blair mumble. “This time.”

  A cleaner, fuller, more awake Blair smiled across the table at him thirty minutes later. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “For rescuing me.”

  “You’re welcome.” Jim met Blair’s eyes. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”