by K Ryn
"I understand," Daryl said softly, glancing over to where the uniformed officers stood, obviously waiting for instructions. "I'll be in the car." He gave his father a quick hug and headed for the door.
Simon watched his son leave, amazed again at the resilience of youth. He scrubbed at his face and pushed himself off the couch.
"Simon?" The familiar bulk of Joel Taggert filled the doorway.
Banks beckoned to the larger man, grateful for his unsolicited presence. Joel would take over the scene and leave him free to follow the ambulance to the hospital.
"I heard the 911 call," Taggert explained. "How's Sandburg?"
"Not good," Simon responded. In short, clipped sentences, he brought Joel up to speed. "Ellison's on his way back," he added, waving off Joel's unspoken question. "Don't ask me how he knew there was a problem, he just did. I need you to call Brown in Denver. Find out exactly which flight Jim is on. We'll need to send somebody out to the airport to pick him up. I don't want Ellison driving himself to the hospital. You understand?"
"Rafe's still down at the station," Taggert offered, nodding his head. "Outside of you or I, he's probably the best choice."
"Send him," Simon agreed. "Have forensics go over this place with a fine tooth comb. I don't know what the hell happened, but we're going to need some fast answers. I'm going down to the hospital. I'll keep you apprised. Call me as soon as you have that flight number."
"You've got it, Simon," Joel assured him.
Airborne
Sunday
12:45 a.m.
Jim watched the co-pilot make his way down the narrow aisle. His heart thudded in his chest and he sat up straighter as the man stopped beside him.
"Detective Ellison?" Jim nodded.
"There's an urgent call for you. From a Captain Simon Banks. He said it was police business. You can take it in the cockpit if you'd like."
Wordlessly, Jim rose to his feet and followed the co-pilot back down the aisle, his gaze fixed firmly on the cockpit door. Simon. Calling with news that couldn't wait until he landed. Police business. Translated, at this moment in time, that meant Blair.
Once inside the cabin he took the empty seat that the co-pilot indicated. His throat was tight and he had to force himself to swallow several times before he could even reach for the phone. The deathly spectral image of his Guide flashed through his mind once more. He took a deep breath and picked up the receiver.
"Is he alive, Simon?" he whispered, not bothering with pleasantries.
//"Yes. He's in bad shape, and the doctors aren't making any promises, but he's alive."//
The Sentinel slowly released the breath he'd been holding. "What happened?"
//"They're not positive, but from the first round of tests they've run, it looks like he was poisoned."//
"Poisoned?" It was the last thing Jim expected to hear. "By who? What...?"
//"We don't know yet, Jim. He was completely out of it when Daryl and I got to the loft... he was laying on the floor not too far from the door. He looked..."//
Jim heard the tremor in Simon's voice as it broke and he closed his eyes drawing in a shuddering breath of his own. The hellish vision floated through his mind again and he knew exactly what the older man had found.
//"He looked like he was dead, Jim. I couldn't believe it when I found a pulse. I don't know how long he'd been lying there... he'd been vomiting up blood. From the mess I'd say he'd been pretty out of it for some time."//
The memory of the dream he'd had the first night -- someone knocking at his door, sensing his Guide's presence in the hotel hallway -- hit the Sentinel full force.
"Since Friday night," he murmured guiltily.
//"Look, Jim, we sent Rafe to the airport to pick up your truck. He'll be waiting at the main entrance. Maybe we'll have more to work with once you get here."//
"Stay with him, Simon. Tell him I'm coming. Tell him to hang on."
Cascade
Sunday
1:15 a.m.
Jim saw Simon waiting at the hospital entrance. With a mumbled thanks he had the truck door open before Rafe had a chance to bring the vehicle to a full stop.
He unleashed his hearing, sending it ahead of his running feet, searching for Blair's heartbeat. The flood of noise that surged out of the open doors of the hospital nearly sent him reeling. He felt a firm pressure encircle his arm and looked up to meet Simon's concerned gaze.
"Any change?" he gasped, his voice weak and gravely to his own ears.
"They're working on getting him stabilized. He's in ICU."
I could find my way up here in my sleep, the Sentinel thought grimly as they headed to the third floor. Blair had been a patient here far too often in the last few years. Gunshot wounds, drug overdoses and concussions were the price his Guide paid for their partnership. And now he'd been poisoned.
The part of Jim Ellison that was a cop had a thousand questions to ask, but the pieces that were friend and Sentinel were struggling with emotions that kept him silent. The familiar vibration he'd sought earlier pounded rapidly in his head, guiding him out of the elevator and down a short corridor. Without hesitating, he thrust open the door of Blair's room and crossed to his Guide's side.
"Hey, you can't just barge in there!"
Jim dimly heard Simon's voice, trying to placate an outraged nurse. He ignored the dispute and focused on the younger man in the bed. Blair's face, two shades lighter than the sheets that covered him, was creased with lines of pain. Jim was almost thankful that his friend's eyes were closed -- he had no desire to see the blank, staring gaze that had haunted his visions. What he could see was bad enough -- oxygen, IVs, banks of monitors -- there was enough equipment surrounding and connected to his partner that even with his medic training, he almost lost it. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to take several deep breaths.
The Sentinel reached out and placed the palm of one hand against his Guide's forehead. Gripping Blair's wrist with his other hand, he turned up his sensory dials. The younger man's skin felt cold and taut. He willed warmth into it. He strained to filter through layers of hospital smells -- starch, bleach, and the stringent odor of ammonia -- trying to find the scents that were an intrinsic part of his Guide. The faint, herbal aromas of Blair's shampoo were overlaid with the stench of blood and bile. Shaking his head, Jim refined his focus. His friend's battered spirit was in there. He had to reach it.
"I'm here, Chief," he whispered.
There was no trace of response in the banks of monitors that surrounded the silent young man, but the Sentinel was certain he felt a change in the rhythm that throbbed beneath his grasp.
"You're not alone, Blair," he murmured.
A wave of dizziness swept over him and Jim leaned into the side of the bed to keep from falling. He tightened his grip and the warmth of his Guide's presence flowed into him. The Sentinel listened to the strong, increasingly steady beat of Blair's heart and a tentative smile curved the corners of his mouth.
Simon took a step toward the bed, alarmed at the sudden beeping of the monitors. Expecting the worst, he was startled to see the pleased expression on Jim's face.
"What's going on here?"
Simon swiveled around and found himself face to face with a woman whose appearance matched the authoritative voice. White coat and stethoscope marked her as hospital staff. Short, wavy dark hair framed an intelligent face. Of below average height, she appeared tiny in contrast to the two detectives. Her lack of stature didn't diminish the intensity of the gaze she fixed on them, however. Dark, almost black-brown eyes flickered around the room, sparking in vexed irritation.
"ICU access is restricted, gentlemen. Who let you in here?" she demanded. Brushing past Simon, she stalked across the room, obviously intent on pulling Jim bodily away from the bed.
Simon cringed when he saw the gaze his detective leveled on the woman, only marginally surprised at the expression of equal ferocity he saw on her face.
Not her, too, Simon groaned. What is it
about Sandburg that makes people so quick to jump to his defense? How many 'Blessed Protectors' does this kid have?
"Hold on," Simon interjected. He managed to slip between them, gently easing the woman away. Jim released his hold on Blair, but stayed where he was, his jaw muscles working overtime, blue eyes flashing dangerously.
"I'm Captain Banks, Cascade PD. This is Detective Jim Ellison," Simon rushed the introduction, hoping to diffuse the antagonism between the two.
"That doesn't explain what you're doing in a restricted room with my patient," the woman snapped, shirking off Simon's restraining hold.
"Sandburg... your patient... is Detective Ellison's partner," Banks answered. "Jim's been out of town on a case. This is his first chance to see..."
"If you're his doctor, then tell me what's going on," Jim interrupted impatiently. "What caused this? What kind of poison? Do you know? Have you established a course of treatment or are you just here to enforce the rules and regulations for visiting hours?"
Simon shuddered at the sarcasm. Yes, Ellison was definitely in full protection mode.
"If you're not out of here in ten seconds, I'm calling security!" she sputtered.
"Stop it! Both of you!" Banks snarled. "This isn't doing Sandburg any good."
Simon shot a withering glare at the Sentinel who immediately subsided into seething silence. Turning to the woman, who had also backed off at his angry words, Banks altered his voice to a more reasonable tone. "Now then, Doctor...?"
"Henderson," she answered curtly, her attention diverted by the beeping monitors. "Just a moment." The doctor flipped open the chart that she'd brought into the room with her, mumbling under her breath as she alternately checked the readings on the equipment and made notations in the file.
"If you could just explain..."
"I said, just a moment!" she hissed in annoyance, cutting Simon off. She scribbled a final set of numbers and snapped the chart shut. Banks saw her square her shoulders as she looked up to meet Jim's gaze.
"Your partner was poisoned. We haven't yet determined the precise nature of the toxin, so we've started him on a general course of treatment. Oxygen to support his respiration. IV fluids to flush the inert substances as quickly as possible and, because he'd been vomiting, to keep him from dehydrating any further. He had surface burns across his abdomen and those have been addressed.
"We've also administered a broad-spectrum antibiotic. His temperature is a degree or two above normal and we want to stop any infection before it has a chance to grab hold. He's still comatose, but his condition has improved drastically since he was brought in an hour ago. And yes, detective, I will enforce the visiting hours," she stated icily. "My patient's welfare is my first priority."
"Good," the Sentinel rumbled darkly. "Because Blair's welfare is also my first priority."
"Nice to see you two can agree on something," Simon muttered, breaking the standoff. "What else can you tell us, doctor?"
"The first reports are back from the lab," Henderson answered, her voice brisk and professional. She flipped open the chart and studied it for a moment. "His blood and urine workups have been completed. There are traces of a viral infection. Probably that new strain of influenza that's had us hopping."
She pulled a set of papers from the chart. "The initial tox screen indicates the presence of several different chemicals frequently found in either household or industrial strength cleaning solutions, so for now, we're assuming an ingestion of caustics."
She handed the report to Simon who stared at the long list of entries, recognizing only a handful of them. "What about the rest of these items?" he asked, passing Jim the report.
"Some of them are simple herbs, others are byproducts of the digestive tract. Pretty standard stuff. However, there are several that we haven't been able to identify yet," she admitted. "We've got poison control on a direct line, hoping that they'll be able to help. We've already done an endoscopic examination. There are some esophageal lesions, but fortunately they are small and less severe than his initial condition might have suggested. There are also some lesions in the stomach, but the risk of perforation looks minimal."
"Worst case scenario, doctor?" Simon hated to ask, but he preferred the facts now, rather than an unpleasant surprise later.
"It depends on the poison and the amount ingested, captain. Cerebral edema, renal failure, cardiac arrest -- they're all possibilities. I don't think he's going to go that route, however. The toxin he's ingested is potent, but he's young, in generally good health..."
"He's in pain," Jim interjected, glancing up from the report. "What are you doing for that?"
Banks heard the sharpness in the Sentinel's tone, but he also saw the anguish in the pale blue eyes -- a reflection of the agony that his Guide was suffering. When the doctor responded in a surprisingly soft, gentle tone, Simon realized that she must have seen it, too.
"Until we know precisely what the poison was, there's very little we 'can' do for the pain. We don't want to risk a reaction between the drugs and whatever's already in his system."
Ellison nodded and handed the report back to her. Simon imagined he could hear Jim's teeth grinding as the Sentinel started to pace the small room. "Maybe figuring out who did this will lead us to what it was. Did forensics find anything Simon?"
"No sign of a break-in or of anything suspicious in the loft itself. I figured once you'd seen Sandburg we'd head over and your could check things out yourself. Joel was going to go back to the station and run your old cases. See if he could turn any leads."
"And in the meantime Blair just lies there..." Jim stopped next to the bed and shook his head in exasperation. "Damn it, Simon. He was home working on his paper. Out of the line of fire, for a change. What the hell happened?"
"You're assuming that this was some kind of an attack, Detective," Henderson said quietly. "That someone with a grudge against Mr. Sandburg or yourself orchestrated this. But what if it wasn't?" Henderson asked quietly.
The accusatory tone in her voice flipped Jim's protective switch back to the 'on' position. "Just what are you saying, Doctor?" he growled.
"I'm suggesting that there might be another explanation that we need to consider."
"Such as?"
"Mr. Sandburg has chemical burns in his mouth, throat, esophagus and stomach. There's also some damage to his sinus and nasal passages. The injuries suggest that he might have ingested the poison intentionally."
"Suicide?" Simon asked in disbelief.
"It's possible," she nodded, turning to the older man. "I've seen other..."
"You're wrong." The terse, clipped delivery didn't mask the Sentinel's rage. "Blair would never do that."
"Detective, I'm only..."
"You're suggesting that my partner tried to take his own life. I'm telling you you're wrong," Jim snapped. He took a step toward her, but Simon blocked his path.
"Take it easy Jim, she doesn't know him like we do," the older man said evenly.
"No, she doesn't," Jim murmured. He glanced at the motionless form of his Guide and his facade crumbled enough for Simon to see how desperately afraid he was. The cracks in the dam were shored up quickly, through long practice, and when Jim turned back to meet the doctor's gaze, the blue eyes were flashing fire once more.
"The man in that bed has stood right beside me and looked death in the eye far more times than I care to remember, Doctor. He has an incredible appreciation -- no, love of life. He would NEVER choose to end it. Not unless he was buying another life in return. That he would do. Faster than you could blink. But suicide?" Jim shook his head. "You don't know my partner."
"You're absolutely correct, detective," she retorted. "I DON'T know him. I'm sure he's everything you say he is. What I DO know, however, is that his injuries match hundreds that I've seen before, in people from all walks of life. People who've chosen to swallow a bottle of industrial strength cleaning solution in a frantic attempt to end it all."
Simon grabbed Jim's arm, certain
that her harsh words would push the Sentinel's control over the edge. Instead, Ellison stared at the doctor, frozen motionless for the space of several heartbeats.
Seemingly random pieces of information whirled in the Sentinel's mind, fighting to attain some kind of order.
... swallow... burns to the throat... scratchy...
"Let me see that toxicology report again," Jim demanded. Henderson frowned, puzzled by the sudden change of attitude and passed him the chart. He scanned it eagerly, looking for the items that he was sure he would find.
... star anise... oils of Angelica root... lemon grass...
"Tea," the Sentinel announced abruptly. "He was drinking tea."
He looked up to find Simon and the doctor staring at him as if he'd lost his mind.
"Not just any tea. A special herbal blend he picked up from one of his favorite health food stores. Just before I left, he said something about a scratchy throat. He was going to stop at the station to pick up the supply he'd left there. Said it had 'healing properties'. I'll bet that several of your unidentified substances on this list were a part of that tea."
"Are you telling me that Sandburg poisoned himself on one of his home remedies?" Simon asked in amazement.
"Not intentionally, but it could explain how he ingested the poison," Jim explained. "Sandburg drinks tea by the potful when he's sick or if he's studying. He's always got a mug within reach, although half the time he's so preoccupied doing three things at once that I don't think he even realizes that he's chugging it down."
"Sounds like a long-shot, but it's worth checking out," Simon said firmly. "The forensic team didn't report anything unusual, but they were looking for evidence of foul play. I can send someone back over to the loft..."
"That might not be necessary," Henderson broke in. "Poison control did a sweep of the apartment right after he was brought in. They would have picked up anything that they thought might need to be analyzed. Their list would typically include foodstuffs. I can call down to the lab..."
