Judgements

by K Ryn

The Sheriff jogged back to the car, leaving Jim and Bowden eyeing each other warily.

  "He was alive when you saw him last?" Jim asked softly, breaking the uneasy silence.

  "Yeah. Look, I'm sorry for what I said earlier, man. For what I did. I've carried a lot of hate inside of me for years. Blair... Blair made me see that what I was doing... well, he just made me see, you know?"

  "One of his many talents," Jim murmured. "Thank you for doing what you did. If the Hollands had found both of us on the road, we'd probably be dead right now."

  "I'd like to come with you," Bowden announced abruptly. "I want to help find him."

  Jim looked at the younger man in surprise. "I thought you didn't get involved with cops."

  "I want to help Blair. He's... special, man. I can't explain it. I just know that he is."

  "You've done enough, Bowden," Heller interrupted, moving toward them with the extra gas can in his hands. "I want you to head out to Harold's and stay there until this is over. Your life is at risk, too. Once we get Bob and his son in custody, I'm going to need a full statement from you."

  "But --"

  Jim stepped forward. "The Sheriff's right. You've done enough. Now that I know that Blair's still alive, I'll find him."

  Bowden looked up at Jim with a mixture of curiosity and awe. "Guess Blair was right about you, after all. I didn't understand at first... how he could have such faith in you... how he could risk his own life for you. You're lucky. Friendships like that only come around once in a lifetime. Treasure it, man. Find him."

  "I do, and I will," Jim affirmed quietly.

  Consciousness returned in a rush of overwhelming sensations. Absolute darkness gave way abruptly to excruciatingly painful brightness that made Blair blink furiously, his eyes tearing. Hoping to lose the smothering closeness of the trunk he gasped for air. He coughed, nearly choking as searing heat burned his airways. Two blurry figures reached for him. They dragged him from his confinement and dumped him unceremoniously on the hard ground.

  Feverish and disoriented, Blair struggled to get his muddled mind to send the right messages to his aching body, but just breathing was taking every ounce of control he had left. Every time he inhaled, he could smell the noxious fumes that had been trapped in the trunk. The sickening taste coated the inside of his mouth and he was certain that even one small movement would cause his stomach to revolt. The very top of his head felt like it was about to explode from the pounding headache and his body shook with exhaustion.

  He was only vaguely aware of movement and sound around him. The part of his mind that was still working knew that this was the end of his journey. If what Holland had said earlier was true, they planned to leave him to the desert. A fate Blair's memories helped him envision all too well.

  Pain reentered his world suddenly. Not content to just let him lie there, Ben booted Blair in the ribs. A choked cry broke from the suffering anthropologist, but he didn't have the strength to attempt any kind of resistance. Lying on his back, he stared up into the eyes of his tormentor and waited.

  "Ben, back off!" Holland's slightly garbled voice came from Blair's right, but he didn't turn his head. "There's no need for that. He's finished, son. We've got to get back and take care of Ellison. I don't trust those two brainless friends of yours and we've still got Connie and the cars to deal with."

  Ben ignored his father and continued to glare down at Blair. A grin spread slowly across his face as he drew the pistol that he'd concealed earlier from under his shirt.

  "What's the rush Dad? I haven't had my fun yet."

  "Ben, what are you doing? Where'd you get that gun?"

  "Don't you recognize it, Dad? It's your backup piece. I'm going to put it to good use and exterminate some vermin. Isn't that one of the things you always said guns were good for?"

  "Ben, put it down. You don't want to kill him, son. Taking someone's life... it will haunt you forever. Leave him to the desert. It's better this way. It'll be easier to put behind you. Believe me."

  The harsh barking sound of Ben's laughter shattered the clear desert air. "But I don't want to put it behind me, Dad. I want to enjoy it."

  In the stunned silence emanating from the older man, Blair grasped at what he knew was his last chance. If he could play father against son...

  "You're wasting your time, man," Blair managed to croak out through his parched throat. "Your son's no stranger to killing. Look in his eyes... he's done it before."

  Holland took a step forward, halting in horrified certainty at Blair's words. The sneer on his son's face reflected the reality the deputy had ignored for so long.

  "Ben... what he's saying... it's not true... tell me that, please..."

  "I could tell you anything and you'd believe it, Dad. Wouldn't you?" Ben laughed again, an evil smile of delight filling his face. "You're so blind it's pathetic. Even now, with me standing here ready to blow this punk's head off, you're asking me to tell you that what you're seeing with your own eyes is a lie. You're still wrapped up in that fantasy of yours. Of me as that sickly sweet little boy who could do no wrong. Welcome to the real world, Dad. This isn't the first time I've tasted the rush of excitement that comes from killing. Let's just say that by the time we're done today, I'll be very close to double digits."

  "This is what you've been protecting, man," Blair said quietly. His words were meant for the deputy, but his eyes never left Ben's face. "This is what you're risking your own life and career for."

  "Shut up, freak!" Ben leaned down and shoved the tip of the gun barrel into the soft skin under Blair's chin.

  "Ben, stop it."

  Blair heard the soul wrenching anguish in the deputy's voice. There was so much love there -- and so much betrayal that it made his own heart ache in sympathy. This father had tried to protect his son -- a living reminder of the hopes and dreams that every child represented. But with Ben's sneering confession -- the obvious gloating pleasure that he'd taken in murder -- that innocent little boy was gone, replaced by this animal that wore only the trappings of humanity. A being who was filled with only hate.

  Love and hate, life and destruction -- the line between them was so fine. Practically invisible. Blair closed his eyes and felt the burn of hot tears against the lids, as his world balanced on that edge. He felt the hot metal of the gun slide down to rest at the hollow of his throat and shuddered.

  "Open your eyes, freak. I want you to see this. I want you to know what's coming," Ben snarled. "I want to see your fear and hear you beg for your life again."

  Prodded by the force of the gun pressing into his throat, Blair opened his eyes. Ben's angry face was so close to his, that he had to look beyond his torturer for a second to focus. That moment was all it took for the blue sky to remind him of his Sentinel's eyes. He felt a flash of sadness and then a powerful sense of peace washed through him.

  Taking a deep breath, Blair filled his lungs. Time seemed to reduce to a split-frame crawl, as if someone had taken control of a remote and was letting the scene play out in deadly slow-motion clarity. Face contorted with rage, Ben straightened and pointed the gun into the anthropologist's face, his finger taking ages to tighten on the trigger. The color of the sky surrounding the towering figure intensified to azure brilliance, filling Blair's sight and his heart. And for a moment, the throaty purr of what he imagined was a huge jungle cat vibrated through his aching ears and resonated bone deep.

  The explosion jolted him, pushing the air from his lungs in a whooshing gasp. He sought to replace the breath, expecting it to be his last. He waited for the pain that should surely come from the killing wound, dimly surprised at the lack of it. Blair blinked and saw Ben's figure waver, then turn to his left as he raised his gun. Another ear-shattering burst of sound shook the air and this time a high pitched scream followed it.

  Dazed, Blair saw a rapidly blossoming patch of red staining Ben's shirt. An expression of stunned surprise crossed the younger man's face, changing to one of horror as he clutched at his chest. With a sc
ream that was rage and terror combined, Ben lurched away from Blair's side.

  Blair struggled to grasp the fact that he was still alive. Holland had finally acted: he had shot his own son. Eyes widening in disbelief, Blair watched his would-be murderer stagger to the squad, never even glancing at his father's motionless body. Ben slid behind the wheel and cranked the car to life. Before the shell-shocked Guide could even form a word of objection, Ben shifted the car jerkily into gear and was roaring away, his screams of pain echoing in Blair's still ringing ears.

  Not convinced that it was over, Blair tried to focus on the elder Holland's motionless form, watching anxiously for some sign of life. He stared until his vision began to blur and he had to blink, but there was no sign of movement. The shooting pain of sand scraping under his eyelids brought Blair back to reality. Ben was gone -- surely bleeding to death as he drove away -- and his father was dead.

  More bodies for the desert to claim, Blair thought bitterly. His throat was tight with grief, but he pushed it away. There would be time for that later. He had his miracle. If he didn't keep fighting, the desert would take him as well.

  With a groan he rolled to his side. He needed to get to the deputy and find the keys to the handcuffs. He fought for control of his shaking muscles, but his body wouldn't respond. He settled onto his back again, breathing hard. Catching sight of the sky, he was once more reminded of his partner. The feeling of peace he'd felt earlier returned. No matter what happened now, Jim should be safe. They wouldn't be coming back for him. Closing his eyes to hold the vision close to his mind, the young Shaman told himself he'd try again in just a minute.

  When Ellison touched him on the arm in warning, Heller immediately slowed the car.

  "You got something?" he asked, no longer questioning the detective's amazing eyesight. Ellison had already made him a believer. The reason they had a specific trail to follow now was a result of the man's skills. He'd taken less than a minute to pick out the tracks of Holland's squad out of the rocky ground where they had captured his partner. He'd given them the direction and kept them on track over the course of the last hour's search.

  "I think we've found the missing cruiser," Jim said softly, a slight edge of uncertainty in his voice. "But it's not moving. Bear to your left a bit."

  Heller nodded his understanding. He guided the car around boulders and sandtraps cautiously. Driving cross-country, even in his specially equipped vehicle was always risky and he didn't want to break an axle now.

  Within a few moments, he caught sight of the familiar silhouette of his deputy's squad. He glanced at Ellison and saw the detective sitting in frozen concentration in the passenger seat, his head cocked slightly to one side, his nostrils flaring as if he were scenting the air.

  You don't want to know, Dave, he warned himself.

  Heller slowed even further and studied the other car intently as they approached. There was a body slumped over the wheel, but no sign of anyone else in the vehicle.

  "Go ahead," Jim suggested. "It's clear. Whoever's in there isn't going to cause us any trouble."

  "It's not your partner, is it?"

  "No."

  Letting out a small sigh of relief, Heller pulled within a few feet of Holland's squad and stopped. Ellison slipped out of the Sheriff's car, moving quickly to the second vehicle. Dave was right behind him, drawing his gun and approaching more cautiously.

  Jim had gone directly to the driver's door. Reaching through the open window, he shifted the body to rest against the seat. The lack of a pulse and the amount of blood covering the younger man's shirt and pooling on the floor of the car proved what he already knew.

  "This is the kid that attacked us," Jim said tersely.

  "Ben Holland," Heller confirmed. He placed his hand on the hood of the squad and felt the vibration from the idling motor. "Still running."

  "He hasn't been here long," Jim agreed. He scanned the body and the car quickly, noting the boxes in the backseat. "Pop the trunk," he said grimly, moving to the rear of the vehicle.

  With his senses dialed up, the click of the latch releasing made him jerk nervously backward. He started to open the trunk and froze. Reaching out with his senses, he was dimly aware of Heller moving to his side. The stench of blood filled his nostrils. The metallic smell carried the familiar tang of his partner. Switching his focus to hearing, he strained for some hint of the young man's heartbeat. Nothing. Visions of his Guide, lying dead inside the dark space flashed forcefully through his mind. Jaw clenched, the Sentinel pushed away the rising panic and steeled himself before raising the lid.

  The trunk was empty, save for a bunched-up blanket. Jim's hands were trembling as he withdrew the bloodstained fabric. Rage at the thought that his partner had been imprisoned there vied with relief that there was no body.

  "I'll call this in and redirect the search teams," Heller murmured.

  Jim nodded absently. Lots of questions, few answers. Ben Holland was accounted for, although who had shot him was a mystery. Where was the elder Holland? Had there been some falling out between father and son? Or was there another party to this madness?

  Don't go looking for more problems, Ellison berated himself. Finding Blair is the important thing. Focus on that.

  From Bowden's comments, Sandburg had been in no shape to take them on, although it was possible that his resourceful Guide had surprised everyone once again.

  "How close are we to this Dark Springs?" Jim asked grimly, tossing the blanket back into the trunk.

  "About three miles from the edge of the area, but the Springs stretch out and cover nearly twelve square miles," Heller answered. Moving back to the squad and opening the driver's door, he squatted down to study Ben's body before answering. "They could have headed anywhere inside of that. About all we can do now is backtrack the squad's tracks."

  "As badly injured as he was," Jim gestured with a jerk of his chin toward the younger Holland's corpse, "the trail's going to be erratic as hell. Following that could take hours and from the amount of blood on that blanket, my partner's running out of time."

  "If he's still alive..."

  "You don't know Sandburg," Jim said darkly, hoping he was right. "As much talent as he has for finding trouble, he has more for getting out of it by the skin of his teeth. The kid's like a cat. Nine lives and all."

  At the mention of the word 'cat', a familiar rumble caught the Sentinel's attention. He whirled, scanning the landscape eagerly and froze as the yellow-white terrain suddenly took on a strange bluish cast, tinted like the dreamscape of his sentinel visions. At the top of a faraway dune, he saw a flicker of black. Ignoring the possibility of a zone-out, the Sentinel focused all his energy into extending his sight. The familiar ebony silhouette outlined against the eerie blue-black sky stood motionless for a moment, and then, with a flick of its tail, it dropped below the crest of the hill. Jim blinked, and the furnace-light heat and intense light of the desert asserted itself once more.

  "Let's go," Jim demanded, stalking back to the Sheriff's squad.

  Still kneeling beside the body, Heller looked up, startled. "What? Where are we going?"

  "I know where he is."

  "How...?"

  "I just know, all right?" Jim leaned against the side of the car, but his gaze was fixed on the ridge where his Spirit Guide had disappeared.

  Heller stood and moved to the driver's side, eyeing Jim closely. "Does this 'knowledge' have anything to do with what your captain warned me about?"

  Jim's gaze swiveled back to the Sheriff. Heller shivered at the intensity he saw there. And the desperation.

  "Never, mind," Dave said quickly. "I don't think I want to know."

  Heller slid behind the wheel and started the engine. Jim dropped into the passenger seat and pointed the way.

  Heller might have quit questioning Jim's abilities, but over the next thirty minutes, the Sentinel began to have serious doubts of his own. The strain of maintaining the connection to his still erratic sight was sorely tested
as bright reality and blue-hued dreamscape flickered before his eyes. The need to follow the phantom-like trail of his Spirit Guide was bringing him closer and closer to the brink of a zone-out. In desperation, Jim resorted to digging his fingernails into his palms and using the pain as a secondary point of concentration.

  The pace of their pursuit was maddeningly slow. Natural formations like dry washes and eroded embankments were no obstacle to the unearthly panther. For the men in the cruiser, however, they were another matter entirely. Jim ground his teeth his frustration every time Heller had to divert from their course.

  The car lurched abruptly and jolted Jim into the dash. His concentration broken, the Sentinel was thrust into darkness for a moment. Resolutely pushing away the despair that threatened to bury him under its weight, Jim wrenched up the dial on his hearing, no longer caring whether he zoned or not. Assailed by Heller's muttered curses which rang like shouts, the horrific grinding of the engine and the screeching spin of rubber tires against sand, the Sentinel mentally shoved everything aside and let his senses spin outward, seeking the one sound that he needed to find. . He was out of the car as soon as he heard it. Ignoring Heller's surprised outcry, he scrambled blindly up a small rise, pausing at the top. The weak, thready heartbeat of his Guide thundered in his ears and gave him back the control he needed to seek the connection to his sight once more.

  Vision returned in a whirling onslaught of color and intensity. Unwilling to wait until he had it completely under his command, he stumbled down the slight incline, depending on the throbbing sound of life to guide him to his partner's side.

  Dropping to his knees beside Blair's prone form, he reached out to touch the younger man's shoulder, needing to physically reassure himself that this was no illusion. As soon as his fingers made contact, his vision cleared.

  Blair lay on his side, his tangled and matted hair half covering his face. Gently, the Sentinel brushed the curls aside and placed his fingers on the pulse point at his Guide's throat. To his enhanced sense of touch, the beat thrummed explosively. Jim allowed himself one quick sigh of relief and then his medic training took over.