No Center Line

by Lois RH Balzer

  “That better, luv? Here, let me readjust the light. I know how he wants it set for later. And I know how I want it right now.”

  The hot light returned, making him feel like he was broiling in an oven, his bare skin burning. “Hot.”

  “Yes, you are,” the man purred. “Very.” Hands touched him then. His hip. Stroking down his hip, onto his bare outer thigh. “He doesn’t like your kind. Says there’s no money in it. He’s wrong. You’re perfect, in my books. Absolutely perfect.” The hand continued along his thigh, down to his calf, going right to his toes, stroking the bottom of his foot. The man spoke again from the end of the table. “Not like this, though. I picture you lying on a blanket. Surrounded by flowers. A wine glass, empty, lies on the blanket, near your open hand. You are naked, defenseless. Inviting. Vulnerable. Offering yourself. Ready to be taken. The wind is caressing your skin, like a velvet blanket.”

  The man’s hand left his foot, trailing upward through the hair on his shins, stopping for a moment at his knee, then drifting over it.

  “Your hair is loose. Free. No beard, no trace of facial hair. Michelangelo’s David. Beauty is as seductive as power, but Jurgen is blind to that. Beauty like this, men would pay for ��� Perfect. The curls ���”

  Blair tried to move, but was caught by the drug still, like a fly in a spider’s web. The man’s hand touched him. Combed through his pubic curls. Cupped his scrotum. Curled around his penis.

  His heart felt ready to explode, the wild pounding almost unbearable. Jim! Please! Help me! He screamed — he wasn’t sure what — and the hand left his groin, still moving upward.

  “You’re not ready yet,” the voice continued. “It’s the drugs. He’s going about this all wrong.” The hand stroked through his chest hair, circling one nipple. “A hole here ��� Wonderful idea. The ring. Golden, with a jewel. A diamond. A man’s tongue caressing it, licking it. Beginning in the heat of the day. Finishing you by the warmth of the sunset.”

  His throat. Hands glided up his jaw, touching briefly at his hair. The voice became harsh. “It’s a disgrace the way they’ve left you without food. You should be eating ��� honey. Dripping from my fingers. Would you like to suck my fingers? Or my cock? The honey would be a good touch.”

  “Pete! What are you still doing here?” Scar Man’s voice now. “I thought you were supposed to be setting up in the next room.”

  “Just playing. Jurgen’s a fool. This little one would net us a fortune.”

  “Well, Jurgen may be a fool, but he’s calling the shots and paying the bills right now. And he wants the other room set up for tonight. I’ll take care of your little toy.”

  “Just remember that I get first stab at him.”

  “If you don’t take him by tomorrow, we will. Jurgen wants him gone.”

  “Why? He’s making use of him.”

  “He says he can’t get off on drilling this one. Other than fixing camera angles, he’s no good.”

  Blair was rolled off the table with no warning, not that he had control enough to protect himself from the fall.

  “Careful!” Pete yelled. “Don’t damage the goods. Those are my goods.”

  “Fuck you,” Scar Man muttered. Blair was lifted, hoisted over one shoulder, his bare buttocks slapped roughly. “We’ll put him back in the closet. If Jurgen can’t see him, he won’t go ballistic on us.”

  “Just give me the key this time.”

  Blair could feel his stomach clench with nausea as he was blindly taken through the warehouse, his arms dangling uselessly. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.

  Whispered words ran through his mind, knowing the dangers of upsetting these men.

  And more whispers, chanted. JimJimJimJimJim

  *

  Present

  “I’m here. I’m here.” Ellison stroked his partner’s forehead, wincing at the tight hold Sandburg had on his wrists. “Chief? Open your eyes.”

  “Jim? Jim?”

  “Take it easy. I’m here.” He leaned closer, making sure his presence was known, in case ���

  Blue eyes opened to look at him, then Blair lunged upward, arms encircling Jim’s neck. “Jim!”

  “Yeah. I’m here.” He didn’t know what else to say, just sat and held his partner, gently rubbing the tense back, trying not to think of the waking flashback that had prompted this. “I’m here.”

  And that was calming to his partner, the fact that he was there. It was so simple sometimes. Just be there. Just listen. Just ���

  Just hold him.

  Physically hold him. Mentally hold him. Emotionally hold him.

  Then let him go free.

  It took almost five minutes this time before the stranglehold on his neck loosened.

  “Sorry,” Blair whispered, as Jim helped him to sit up.

  “After all this time, you still have to say that?”

  He nodded, looking down, as though ashamed.

  “Sandburg? Tell me what happened.”

  And he told him. The entire flashback. The fear. The terror. The humiliation.

  This time it was Jim who reached for him, deliberately drawing him closer. “We bathed you last night. His touch is gone. We’ve removed all trace of him.”

  “In my mind, though,” came the whisper.

  “Then we will rob his power.” It made sense to Jim, and his belief in his own words was passed to his partner. He strengthened the warm embrace, inhaling deeply, his face pressed into his guide’s hair.

  Blair laughed in spite of himself. “You’re like a cat checking to see if his mark is still there.”

  Jim’s hold tightened. “You scared me, Sandburg. What if I hadn’t found you?”

  Blair found his body trembling in reaction and he turned his face into the side of Jim’s neck. “You did though,” he whispered. “You did.”

  “Not on time.”

  *

  “I’m alive, Jim. You were on time,” Blair said firmly. He was still shivering, grateful for the arms around him. Jim didn’t seem inclined to break the contact, so Blair kept quiet, letting his thoughts float. Faces came into focus, then drifted away. He wasn’t sure who they were. “Thanks.” Blair’s eyes sought Jim’s when he was finally settled back against the pillow.

  “Hey, how’s your head?”

  “My head?” The young man considered the question. “Not too bad, I guess. No headache. Kinda dozy.”

  “So, same as always?” Jim teased, gently.

  Blair looked up quickly, but read the concern in the sentinel’s eyes. “Yeah.” He looked around, trying to center himself. “So ��� I’m okay, right?” He swallowed, as shadowy memories slowly cleared, like fog lifting on a sunny day. “Jim?” he whispered.

  Ellison used two fingers to raise his chin. “It’s over. You’re back.”

  “I’m not in the hospital, either,” Sandburg said, relieved ��� then that memory slowly returned. “But I was. Amy was there. And another man. ” He looked over to Jim. “And you.”

  “Every step of the way.” Ellison said softly, touching the side of his face.

  “Thanks.”

  “Just glad you’re back.” His hand traveled down to grasp Blair’s hand.

  “Me, too.” Sandburg’s stomach growled. “Guess I’m hungry,” he said, with a laugh, clutching Jim’s hand. “No, don’t leave yet,” he added quickly, as Jim went to stand up. “Please.” He was embarrassed by the slight desperation in his voice.

  Jim wasn’t, though, and squeezed his hand. “No problem.”

  “Guess I was drugged a lot of the time.”

  “Yes,” Jim said after a moment, almost reluctantly.

  “I don’t remember much,” Blair added. “It’s all kinda blurry.”

  “The drugs can cause amnesia. Don’t force yourself.”

  Blair stared at him, feeling a slight tightening across his chest. “But I need to, don’t I?” he said softly. “I need to remember.” He looked out the window, at the blue sky �
� all he could see from where he lay. “Evan,” he murmured. “I need to find Evan.”

  Jim started to shake his head, but abandoned the gesture. “Blair ���”

  “It’s okay, Jim. I’m okay.” Blair sat up straighter. “Oh, God.” He wiped his eyes on the back of his forearm as memories surfaced. “I’m okay,” he repeated. He pushed back the blankets and put his feet on the carpeted floor. “Where’s Simon?”

  “Probably still sleeping. I’m supposed to meet them for breakfast at 7:30 downstairs.”

  “Me, too?”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I don’t think that matters much,” Blair said, standing and stretching carefully, then turning to face his partner. “I remember enough to know that Evan is in danger. If we don’t find a plan in the next day or so, he’s going to be sold. And I can’t let that happen.”

  “Chief—” Jim stood in front of him, one hand outstretched to halt him.

  “What?”

  Jim rubbed at his forehead. “Slow down. You need to take it easy.”

  “No can do.” Blair walked to the bathroom and splashed some water on his face, then stared at his reflection in the mirror. He had dark rings under his eyes. He had marks on his arms, on his wrists. White gauze circled his right wrist. He looked like something the dog dragged in. What could he possibly do to help Evan? He had no idea where Evan was. His memories of the last few days were like swiss cheese. And what he did remember was of no help.

  Maybe it was better not to remember the things that must have happened to him. His body bore the marks; his memories didn’t have to supply the details. What purpose would it serve?

  Jim appeared beside him and set two bottles of pills and a tube of ointment on the counter. “Don’t shut me out. I’m here. I’m with you. We do this together, do you understand?” Determined blue eyes met his.

  He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  Jim’s arm went around his shoulders, Jim’s lips touched his forehead. Then he was at the doorway, looking back. “Have a shower quick, and we’ll go down to breakfast. If you need help with washing your hair or anything—”

  “— I’ll call.” Blair smiled as his partner disappeared back into the motel room, leaving him alone.

  No. Not alone.

  “Thanks,” he whispered.

  Chapter Eight

  *

  “Hello?”

  “Nash? It’s Joe. Harvey’s booked on a flight at nine o’clock. Where do you want him to go when he gets there?”

  “Tell him to rent a car and then call me on my cell phone.”

  “Will do. Everything okay there?”

  “Yeah. As good as could be expected.”

  “How’s the police observer?”

  “His partner just poked his head in the room to say they’d both be joining us for breakfast in a few minutes, so I presume he’s doing okay.”

  “Anything more on Evan?”

  “No. I’m sure Ellison would have told me. I’m hoping I’m gonna find out more at breakfast. Frank Black and Harold Woodward are supposed to be joining us at 7:30.”

  “When? Oh ��� Guess that’s in about five minutes. So ��� when will I hear from you? Half an hour or so?”

  “I’ll call you when I have any news, Bubba.”

  “Right. Same here. If I have any news.”

  “You going in to SIU?”

  “Might as well. If you, Harvey, or Evan aren’t there, someone better show up or Michelle’s gonna take over.”

  “Then I’ll leave it with you. Be gentle with her, Joe.”

  “I will. Call me, right?”

  “Will do.”

  *

  June 20, Saturday

  Bellevue, Washington

  Nash stirred his coffee, idly watching the swirl of color gradually become even, as the milk mixed with the darker liquid. At least it was sunny outside, although he wondered briefly why it mattered. He wasn’t in a very ‘sunny’ mood. His brief conversation with his daughter Cassidy had ended with her in tears and hanging up on him. Find him, Daddy. For God’s sake, just find him. And quit trying to protect me! You want to help me? Just find him. One way or the other — I’ve got to know.

  “Nash?”

  He looked up as the three men from Cascade joined him in the restaurant booth, sliding aside for Simon to sit next to him. “Sorry, I was miles away.” He took a good look at the young man across from him, shocked at the difference in his appearance. If he didn’t know what the observer had been through in the last week, he’d never have guessed it. And much of it had to do with the man sitting next to him, frowning at something on the fork at his place setting. “Good morning. You both are looking better than you were when I last saw you.”

  “Thanks.” Blair nodded briefly, offering a faint smile.

  He did look better. The improvement was dramatic. His hair was clean, hanging in loose, damp curls to his shoulders. He had shaved and his face was relatively unmarked from his ordeal. Whatever the kidnapers had done to him, they had been careful. That alone gave him hope that Evan might survive. Of course, not all the scars were on the outside.

  “So any idea what you want to order?” Simon asked, staring at his menu. “The breakfasts are good here.”

  “Eat here often, Simon?” Jim asked, helping his partner take off his jacket.

  “A few times,” the captain intoned, refusing to be drawn into admitting anything else. He then closed the menu with a wide smile and nodded as the waitress came by for their order.

  “Anything to drink?”

  “Coffee, please,” Blair said, gracing the young woman with a beatific smile.

  “Same here,” Jim added, turning to his menu and studying it intently. “I think I know what I want already.”

  “Are you ready to order?” she asked, shifting her attention from Blair to Simon. “Or would you like to wait for the rest of your party?”

  Simon glanced at his watch. “We’ll wait another five or six minutes, and if they haven’t shown up, we’ll order then. Thanks, Macie.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said with another smile, moving on to the next table.

  “Macie?” Blair asked, leaning forward to whisper loudly to Banks. “You know the waitresses here by their first names? Are you holding out on us, Simon? Just how well do you know this place?”

  “Well enough,” Simon said, ignoring Blair’s playful nudge to his partner. “She’s coming back in a minute, Sandburg, and you haven’t even opened your menu yet.”

  Blair shrugged. “Can’t read it. No glasses.”

  “I’ve checked it out for you. How about the special?” Jim asked, leaning over and reading the item to him.

  “What else is there? Anything with fruit?” Blair squinted at the menu his partner was holding.

  “How about the Eggs Benedict? You can get fruit instead of hash browns.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’m hungry.” Blair looked around trying to see the waitress. “Where’s Macie gone?”

  “She’ll be back.”

  “So, Simon,” the young man persisted, his elbows on the table, chin resting on the heels of his hands as he scrutinized the captain. “Just how often would you say you eat at this restaurant? Once a month? Once a week? Every few days?”

  “What are you basing this on, Sandburg? The fact that I know the waitress’s name?”

  “To start, yeah.”

  “Just shows you’re not a detective,” Simon answered, catching her attention from across the room.

  “Why?”

  Jim took a large slurp of his coffee and put it down. “Because it’s on her badge, Chief. Surprised you didn’t notice it there. You were certainly staring.”

  Nash hid his laugh behind his napkin as Blair turned a wonderful shade of red when the well-busted young woman returned to their table to take their orders. It was educating listening to the three men talk. Blair Sandburg certainly felt safe at the table, even with Nash present. He was at the
end of a booth seating six, across from Nash and hemmed in by his partner. Simon and Jim began a conversation about a case one of their detectives had called Simon about that morning, brainstorming ways to help her, and that left Nash to find something to say to the young man. He had a lot of questions to ask him, but now, sitting at a table in a family restaurant, didn’t seem to be an appropriate time.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” Nash asked, finally.

  “Fine, thanks.” Blair met his eyes, then looked away, as though he, too, didn’t know what else was safe to say in a public place. He reached for his coffee, took a swallow, then clumsily put the cup back down, spilling it unto the saucer. “Damn,” he whispered.

  Without a break in his own conversation, Jim reached across with a napkin and put it on Blair’s saucer, under the cup, letting it soak up the liquid. Then he was pulling out his cell phone to call a detective by the name of Joel, to fill him in on something unrelated to the kidnapings.

  “Thanks, Jim,” Blair mumbled, staring at the cup and saucer. He looked small sitting at the table. Young. Suddenly very tired.

  “I guess we’re all a bit clumsy this morning,” Nash said, and pointed to a stain on his jacket lapel from where it had dripped from the bottom of his cup earlier. The waitress had spilled his coffee when she brought it to him, so when he went to have sip, the liquid from the saucer dripped on his jacket.

  Blair glanced up at him, looked at the spot, then finally smiled his acknowledgment of Nash’s comment. “Evan’s a week older than me,” he said, his eyes raising higher to meet Nash’s gaze.

  The other conversation at the table died out instantly at the mention of Evan’s name. Jim ended his phone call.

  Nash glanced to Jim, wondering what his reaction would be. Instead of the immediate change of topic he had anticipated, Ellison gave a brief nod of his head, mute permission for Nash to ask a question. Regardless, he knew the detective would cut the conversation short at the first sign of distress from Blair.

  Nash thought a moment, then asked, “Did you have much opportunity to talk with him?”

  Blair shook his head. “No. I had more contact with him than the other men, though. He was usually kept away from them,” he answered, calmly.