by K Ryn
"Hey, buddy, glad to see you're finally awake. I was pretty worried about you for a while."
Blair almost smiled at the familiar words. He felt the cot shift as something heavy settled next to him.
"You were really out of it, man, but I think the fever's pretty much under control now."
Suddenly the words seemed like the stars. Not quite right.
"Jim?"
His voice sounded strained and distorted to his own ears. With a soft moan, he opened his eyes and tried to raise his head, searching for his partner.
"Take it easy, buddy. You're safe here."
The soothing phrase and the reassurance of the gentle hands on his shoulders gave him a giddy sense of deja vu, but the dark face that hovered over him was that of a stranger. Not Jim. Not his Sentinel. Where was he?
Blue eyes widened as the events of the last 24 hours came back in painful clarity. All but the most recent ones -- those were dim and confusing. And, because of that, terrifying.
Jim... I was with Jim... we left the road... hunting something... shouldn't have left the road... go back... go... away?
His breath caught. He could vaguely remember Jim holding him upright, whispering something to him. A promise. Then the Sentinel... stepping away, telling him to go with --
"You... you were on the bike... you found us..." he stammered, staring up into the alien face.
"Yeah. Lucky for you I did."
"Jim... he was with me. What happened to him? Where is he?" Panic gave Blair the strength to push against the hands that were holding him down.
"Just take it easy," the man urged, easily keeping Blair pinned to the cot. "I told you, you're safe here. That pig's not going to bother you again."
"What are you talking about?" Blair demanded.
"Don't worry, man. I left him out on the desert. He'll have enough trouble fending for himself, much less coming after you."
The man released his hold, patted him on the shoulder and crossed to the sink.
The image of his Sentinel, still half-blind, left alone in the desert suddenly merged with his memories of the corpses that he'd seen so long ago. It was Jim's eyeless face staring up at him from the sand. It was his partner's body...
"No!"
The choked gasp went unheard by the stranger who was busy filling a small basin with water.
"Your name is Blair, right?"
Numb, Blair nodded.
"I'm Bowden," he introduced himself. Moving back to the cot, he placed the bowl on the table, within easy reach. "This is my place. Just a trailer, but it's been home for a few years. Nobody comes out here to bother me and I like that. You're welcome to stay until you're on your feet again."
Panicked mind trying to find reason in the man's words, Blair simply stared at him.
Nightmare... that's what this is... just a bad dream... all of it... Jim can't be...
"Should take another look at that gunshot wound," Bowden murmured, sitting down on the side of the cot again and reaching for the bandage on Blair's leg. "That pig shoot you when you tried to escape?"
"NO!" Blair slapped at Bowden's hand, knocking it away.
"Hey, buddy, I'm just trying to help."
"You left him. You left him in the desert. How could you do that?" the Guide's anguished cry tore from his heart.
"What the hell are you talking about? That pig was trying to --"
"Don't call him that!" Blue eyes sparked in fury. "Don't you ever call him that again."
"What's your problem, man?" Bowden backed off, his expression angry and confused.
"What's yours? You left him to die!" Blair demanded. His anger gave him the energy to push himself to the edge of the cot.
"So what? He's a pig. He deserves whatever he gets!"
"Damn it, I said don't call him that!" Blair lurched to his feet, swaying unsteadily. "His name is Jim Ellison. He's my friend and my roommate. And he's my partner."
Bowden took a step backward, staring at Blair as if he'd suddenly grown horns and a tail. "You're not a cop. You can't be."
"You're right. I'm not. I'm an anthropologist." Blair took a deep breath, trying to control his anger. Shouting at the top of his lungs wasn't going to help here. "But I'm also a Civilian Observer with the Cascade PD. Jim's a detective with Major Crimes. He's --"
"Shit!" The expletive exploded from the black man's mouth at the same time the basin of water went flying across the room. "I thought you were... I can't believe this... I went out of my way to help a --"
"You went out of your way to help another human being," Blair said softly. The young Shaman's gentle words halted the angry harangue. "Look, man. I don't remember much of what happened out there. I don't understand why you decided to help me and not Jim, but you've got to listen to me. We've got to go back for him. He was hurt, man. He could hardly see --"
"I don't care!"
"You've got to care!" Blair reached out to grab Bowden's arm, but the other man shirked away.
"Why? Why should I care whether some lousy pig lives or dies?"
"Because if you don't, you're no better that the rest of the bigots. No better than the ones who tried to kill us."
Bowden took an enraged step forward and Blair was suddenly aware of how big the man was. They were practically the same age, but the black man was nearly as tall as Simon and almost as well built as Jim. Swallowing hard, he made himself stand his ground.
"How dare you call me that!" Bowden hissed. "You don't know me."
"And you don't know Jim," Blair retorted. "Jim Ellison is the most incredible person. He's got this amazing sense of loyalty and honor. I swear to you, man, he never lies. Never. He's my friend. My best friend. I can't begin to tell you what he's done for me. He gave me a home when I didn't have any place to stay. He's the kind of friend you can call in the middle of the night when your car breaks down. The kind that lends you a twenty when you're short of cash at the end of the month and never bothers to ask for it back. He's pulled my ass out of the fire more times than I can count. He'd give his life for me --"
Blair broke off when he saw a flicker of surprise cross Bowden's face. His own eyes widened when he realized that was exactly what Jim had done. When Bowden had refused to help them both, his Sentinel had somehow found a way to try to save his Guide's life.
Blair closed his eyes against the tears of frustration that threatened to break free. "He asked you to take me with you, didn't he? He knew it would mean being left out there to die, and he did it anyway."
"If I'd known you were a cop-lover, I would have left you out there too," Bowden snarled.
Rage flowed off the other man like a tidal wave of black filth. Blair instinctively stepped back, biting back a cry of pain when he put his full weight on his injured leg.
"Why, man? Why do you have so much hate inside?" the frightened Guide asked, fighting back the urge to flee the emotions that were pounding at him. "What happened with you and the cops that you'd condemn everyone that wears a badge?"
Bowden glared down at Blair, his face livid with rage. "You talk about the pig and call him your best friend. I had a best friend once. That's what the cops took away. They killed him. They pulled him in just because he matched the description of some nickel and dime dealer. He went into lockup and he never came out. Some drunk stabbed him and he bled to death in the holding cell."
"Jason was only eighteen years old." Bowden's voice and face had abruptly softened, lost in the memories of his friend. "He'd just earned a scholarship to Harvard. Harvard, do you believe it? A project kid, going to Harvard with the high and mighty. God, we laughed about that..."
"I'm sorry," Blair said softly.
"Yeah, that's what the cops said," Bowden said bitterly, his face hardening again. "'We're sorry.' Didn't make any difference then and it doesn't make any difference now. Jason's still dead."
"The cops didn't kill him, man. From what you said, it was an accident. You can't hold them responsible. You can't judge them all by what happened to y
our friend."
"The minute they picked him up they were responsible! There's no way someone like Jason should have been in there with those bastards. He didn't deserve to die like that!"
"And Jim doesn't deserve to die out there in the desert!" Blair argued. "Please, Bowden. I understand your pain, man. Believe me. You didn't have a chance to help your friend. Help me save mine."
"No."
"Please --"
"NO!"
Bowden grabbed Blair by the arm and dragged him out of the trailer, half carrying the anthropologist down the three short steps. Once outside, he planted his hand in the middle of Blair's back and gave him a hard push that sent him sprawling to the ground.
"You want to help that pig, do it yourself!" he shouted.
Forcing limbs that screamed with pain and exhaustion to move, Blair slowly got to his feet. He stared at Bowden, trying to make his pounding head work properly.
"Bowden, I can't do this without your help. I don't even know which way to go," he pleaded.
"That way," Bowden jerked his head to indicate a direction.
Blair turned slightly and felt his heart skip a beat. All that met his gaze was dead, endless desert. He turned wide, desperate eyes to the other man.
"At least let me take your bike, man. Give me that much of a chance."
"Get your ass out of here, now!" Bowden roared.
Ignoring the rage in the man's voice, Blair took a determined step toward the motorcycle. Bowden was faster and moved between the anthropologist and the bike, glowering threateningly.
"GET OUT, DAMN YOU!"
The curse beat at Blair like a physical force, sending him stumbling backward. Once more he took a step forward and again, he was confronted with Bowden's towering form. Shuddering, Blair retreated, raising his hands in surrender. Without another word, he turned and headed into the desert, the man's hatred adding to the weight of fear that grew heavier with each painful step.
Dialing down the pain against the throbbing at the back of his skull was barely helping and Jim wondered whether even his legendary hard head was meant to deal with two major blows in as many days.
Rolling to his side, he managed to suppress a groan. Spitting dirt out of his mouth, he opened his eyes to a bizarre world of harsh contrasts. Stark beams of sunlight streamed through cracks in rough wooden boards, forming blazing white zebra stripes against the darkness of the small room.
He closed his eyes against the disturbing sight. Feeling the cold steel of handcuffs binding his wrists behind him, he clenched his jaw and tugged experimentally, not surprised when there was no give to the restraints. Taking a deep breath, he shifted his weight and managed to rise to a sitting position. Leaning back against the wall behind him, he remained motionless for a few moments, letting the nauseating sensations pass.
When he had most of his control back, he let his senses range outward. Within minutes, they fed him the information that he needed. The building he was in was old and decrepit, but still holding together. If this was Harold's shack, it had been abandoned for some time. He and Blair might have made it here together and still come up empty. The thought gave him a slight sense of reassurance that he had done the right thing sending his Guide with Bowden. The feeling was short lived when he remembered Holland's description of the man as a 'crazy'.
Shaking those fears away, he refocused on his surroundings. A closed door led to another room beyond the one he was in. There were two heartbeats there. Holland and his son? Or two other accomplices?
The Sentinel's body was still, but his mind was racing. He remembered every detail of what had happened. The sneering face of the deputy's son was burned into his memories -- along with the threat to his Guide.
Cold blue eyes that burned with icy fire flashed open. Scanning his small prison quickly, he suddenly realized that he wasn't alone. For a fraction of a second, he had a flicker of hope, but that spark died when he realized that the rapid heartbeat coming from the corner of the darkness was not Blair's.
He adjusted the mental dial to his vision, pleased to find that there was greater definition than he'd had before.
Maybe two taps is what you needed, Ellison, he thought ruefully. Sandburg will just love that little piece of information.
The thought of his Guide made him intensify his scrutiny of the room's other occupant. Eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness, he studied the huddled shape curiously. Another prisoner. Someone else these crackpots had attacked? A stifled whimper reached his ears and he leaned forward, pitching his voice into what he hoped was a mimic of his young partner's soothing tones.
"It's going to be all right. We'll get out of this."
A tearful snuffle was the only response.
"My name is Jim. What's yours?" he prodded gently.
There was a quick sniff and the sound of cloth dragging against skin. A whisper of denim sliding across wood warned him that the other figure -- a young woman, the scent of her perfume vaguely familiar -- was moving. Slowly she came forward, pausing in one of the beams of light as if trapped there by its brilliance.
"I won't hurt you," Jim assured her.
"I know..." She crawled over, kneeling in front of him uncertainly. "I'm... my name is Connie. You're Blair's friend, aren't you."
The jumbled clues that had been cartwheeling in his head fell into place. "You're the woman he met at the park in town. The one that told him about the car. Ben's girlfriend."
Connie gave a gasping sob and covered her face with her hands. "I'm so sorry. I never meant anything to happen. I knew Ben could get crazy jealous, but I never thought he'd go this far..."
"Connie. Connie, look at me," Jim said quietly. "It's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."
"If I hadn't... you know, come on to your friend..."
"Trust me, Sandburg's like a magnet when it comes to pretty young women. If you hadn't found him, he probably would have found you."
She managed a crooked grin that matched his own and wiped at her tear streaked face.
"Who are the two in the outer room?" Jim asked.
"Ben's buddies. Jens Wood and Harvey Britts."
"Where's the deputy... Holland, and his son?"
"I don't know. They left right after they brought you in here," Connie whispered, her eyes growing wide and frightened again. "Jim, they're planning to kill you. And me too, I think. Ben's father said they had to do it 'cuz you're a cop."
"Ben picked the wrong targets to play games with," Jim murmured darkly. "In order to protect his son, Holland has to get rid of the witnesses and the evidence. How long ago did they leave?"
"An hour ago, maybe longer. I kinda lost track of time in here."
"Easy to do," he reassured her. "I need you to think, Connie. Did they say anything else? Anything about where they were going?"
"I heard something about Bowden. He's a guy that lives a couple hours southeast of here. I didn't understand why they were talking about going to his trailer. I mean, I know that Bowden's not one of Ben's favorite people, but --"
Jim's jaw clenched and his eyes hooded dangerously. Connie's sharp intake of breath told him that he'd frightened her and he forced himself to shake off the feral edge of his rage.
"They've gone after Blair," he explained quietly. "We need to stop them."
"But how? Jens and Harvey are out there and they've got your gun."
In his pocket, Jim could feel the weight of Blair's pocket knife. A pleased gleam filled his eyes and he gestured with a lift of his chin for Connie to come closer.
"Actually, I've got some ideas about that. I could use your help."
Sheriff Dave Heller's eyes searched the highway and the surrounding desert anxiously. Startled by the chirp of his radio, he fumbled for the handset.
"Unit F-1 please respond. Dave, this is Molly. Pick up please."
"Yeah, Molly, go ahead."
"Jake just called in. Wanted you to know that they've started the grid search around the wreck you found. He says he's
sure that it's Ben's convertible. Or was."
"Copy that. I'm headed west, about an hour's drive past that. Haven't seen any signs of our missing cop and his partner. I hope Joseph was right about the kid knowing the desert. If they decided to try to go cross country, we'll never find them."
"Dave, there's been no word from Bob yet. You want me to keep trying?"
"Save your voice for coordinating the search teams, Molly. If Bob hasn't come in by now, he's not going to."
"Understood. There was a message from Joseph Spiritwalker. He's got his people headed east. Says he can handle that area."
"Good. I'm going to check out that old shack of Harold's. If, by some miracle they managed to make it that far, they've at least got shelter. I'll check in when I get there. Should be about 30 minutes."
"Roger that. I have you headed west, one hour past search coordinate zero. Good luck, Dave."
"Thanks, Molly."
Pressing his foot down on the gas, Heller pushed the cruiser for all it was worth.
Blair had already left fear far behind. Pain and determination were the only things that remained constant. Those two things: and the never changing line of the horizon. Even the fever which had returned with a blazing intensity to match the pounding sun was pushed from his awareness.
He stumbled. Fell. Rose to his feet. Walked on.
Sweat dripped in rivulets down his body, gluing his hair to his neck and face. Sand clung like thousands of itching fingers. But it was all ignored. Finding Jim was all that mattered.
A faint buzzing sound began to intrude, growing louder with each step he took, like an annoying fly that kept circling closer. The tiny corner of his mind that still held rational thought pegged it as a return of his hearing problems and quickly discarded the unimportant information. It had nothing to do with moving his feet. He didn't need to hear to do that.
It was only when the sound became matched with a physical presence blocking his path that he took note of it again. Without blinking he adjusted his route to go around it, his mind brushing it aside.
