Immortal Cascade 02 Crossed Out

by Carol Roi

  "The case started out in Narcotics when they got word a new player was in town, but they couldn't get any information about who was behind the increased drug traffic. The murders were handled by Homicide for a couple months before they figured out they were dealing with a power struggle between Cristo and the other dealers in Cascade and not a vigilante serial killer. By the time Narcotics and Homicide got together, two undercover cops were dead and the DEA had been called in. Major Crimes was left out of the loop. That's why Simon is upset about you going undercover for them. This is their operation, and he doesn't have any say in how it's run." A shadowed look crossed his face. "Your safety is not going to be the DEA's first priority."

  The guide ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. "I'm used to thinking on my feet, Jim. I'll be okay." His words were meant to reassure, but he couldn't ignore the small coil of fear sitting icily in the pit of his stomach. Something Jim had said earlier piqued his interest. "You said Homicide thought they had a serial killer on their hands?"

  Nodding, Jim sorted through the stack of file folders. "The deaths all had certain similarities. The victims were all drug dealers, or suppliers. The scenes were similar. All of them had a cross cut into their chest." He passed a folder over to the guide. "The undercover officers who were killed had been posing as dealers."

  Blair opened the folder and nearly lost his dinner. In the crime scene photo, a male victim, nude from the waist up, had been shot through the head, execution style, which was bad enough. But what was really disturbing was the cross. The vertical line ran from the hollow of the man's throat to nearly his navel and the horizontal cut went all the way across his chest just above his pectoral muscles. The blood trailing from the deep wounds showed they had been inflicted while the victim had still been alive and most likely conscious.

  Shutting the folder slowly, Blair pushed it aside. He knew Jim had to be picking up his shuddered breathing and suddenly racing heart, but the Sentinel didn't comment, just laid his hand on the younger man's shoulder for a moment as he rose from the table. Pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyes, Blair tried to banish the picture from his mind.

  Blood, so much blood& puddled on the floor, splattered on the walls, dripping from the ceiling. A body was there, huddled on the floor. He didn't want to go near it, didn't want to touch it, yet his hand gave the corpse's shoulder a gentle push. It toppled over, the mutilated chest exposed, the slashes a fiery red against dark skin. He screamed.

  Leaping to his feet, Blair scrambled back, knocking over his chair. Becoming tangled in the legs, he wind-milled his arms trying to keep his balance and failed. He crashed to the floor, the back of his head smacking against the hardwood.

  Jim was beside him in an instant. "Chief! Are you okay?" Gentle fingers probed his scalp as Blair tried to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him when he hit the floor.

  "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he replied as Jim helped him sit up. "I just. . ." What had just happened? Could it have been a vision? Or was his tired mind just reacting to the stimulus of the crime scene photos? "I don't know, Jim. I saw something, another victim, but I don't know who it was. All I could see was the bloody cross& "

  Ellison gave him a hand up off the floor and glanced at his watch. "It's nearly 3 AM, Chief. Why don't we both try to get some sleep before we have to be back at the station for the meeting with the Feds?"

  Nodding, Blair cleaned up his plate and glass from the table, dropping the half-eaten sandwich into the garbage before heading to his room and falling into bed.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Opening the passenger door of the Rabbit, Blair slid into the seat. "Hey, Cyndi, how's it going?"

  Giving him a wide grin, the dark-skinned woman replied, "Just great. Not much going on today. Just a few deliveries. But first, I have something for you." Reaching between the seats into the back of the car, she produced a large purse from which she withdrew a small velvet bag. Handing it to him, she urged him to open it. "Go on, it's not going to bite you."

  Blair untied the drawstring at the top of the bag and upended it over his open hand. A two-inch long, clear, somewhat cylindrical crystal landed on his palm. A gold cap with a ring through it fit over one end; a gold chain attached to the ring. Its warmth surprised him, and he glanced at Cyndi. "Thank you," he said softly, "but why?"

  She put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. "I read the cards for you last night. They said you were troubled, uncertain of your way. The crystal will give you clarity, help you focus, give you a surety of purpose." She gave him a smile, then turned her attention back to the road.

  Blair rubbed his fingers over the gem for a few moments, then slid the chain over his neck and tucked the crystal inside his shirt. She was right; it did give him a sense of security. He shook his head. Some things in life were better left unexplained.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Jim took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. Cold. He glanced over at Connor in the driver's seat of the unmarked sedan they were using to tail Blair and Cyndi. "You got any more of this?" he asked.

  "Yeah, there's a thermos in the back seat."

  Wriggling around in the seat, the detective managed to snag it. Settling back down, he poured cups for himself and his temporary partner, then said, "This is really getting old."

  "I know what you mean, Jimbo. I'm pretty tired of following them around myself. Three weeks is way too long to be spending 12 hour days sitting in the car." She took a sip of coffee and rubbed her nose. "And it's getting damn cold too." She changed the subject a little. "How are you doing?"

  Ellison turned slightly surprised eyes on her. "What do you mean?"

  "With all this, Sandy being deep undercover, living on his own, you not having your guide around. That kind of thing." She turned her concerned gaze on him. "Are you doing okay?"

  Jim turned to stare at Cyndi and Blair, talking with one of their small time dealers four blocks away. "It's& all right," he finally managed. He heard her soft snort of disbelief, but didn't explain any further. He couldn't tell her how much he missed his partner's constant presence. The Feds had set Blair up in an apartment a couple blocks from where Cyndi lived. It was convenient, it allowed them to keep an eye on him, and most importantly, it was safer for Blair to not have any ties to the Cascade PD, especially not a roommate who was a cop.

  Intellectually, yeah, Jim understood it, but emotionally, it was hell. Blair was keeping him informed; they talked every night on the phone, and met occasionally in an out of the way place where no one knew either of them, but it was difficult. Each time they met, Jim could see how much of a toll this was taking on his partner. He'd lost weight, and, judging by the dark circles under his eyes, he hadn't been sleeping much. But whenever Jim brought up the possibility of ending this charade, Blair had argued he just needed more time. There was a large shipment of drugs coming into Cascade soon. He was determined to find out the date and location of the drop. If they could catch Cristo making the deal himself, he would be as good as locked up. That day couldn't come soon enough for Ellison.

  Megan's hand on his arm brought him out of his reflections. "They're going."

  "Yeah, okay, just follow like we always do." Jim focused his attention back on the job.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  "Jefe?"

  Jesus Cristo looked up from the invoices he was working on. "Si, Rico, que pasa?"

  The dark-haired man entered his boss' office and took a seat in the chair in front of the large mahogany desk. He gazed around the room, taking in his superior's collection of religious artifacts. Crucifixes of every size, shape and origin hung on the walls, along with a number of paintings of Christ's death and resurrection. A statue of the Virgin Mary stood in the corner, several lit votive candles on a table in front of it. No matter h
ow many times he'd been in here, the place still gave him the creeps.

  "You wanted to see me for a reason?" Cristo asked.

  "Si, si, that new gringo, Sandburg. I've been asking around about him." He flinched as Cristo's eyes narrowed. He knew his boss hated to have his decisions questioned. "He used to work with the cops."

  Leaning back in his chair, Jesus folded his well-manicured hands over his chest, idly stroking the gold cross that hung there today. "And your point is?"

  Rico flushed. "Well, just that, I mean, we really don't know him that well. What if he's still got friends on the police force?"

  A narrow smile graced Cristo's lips. "You used to be a member of the policia in Ecuador, Rico. Do you still have friends on the force?"

  "Si, jefe, but& "

  "And you do not tell them about your job in America selling drugs, do you?"

  "No, jefe. I tell them I work for your import company."

  "Blair is a smart man, Rico. He has worked very hard these past weeks. I am sure that if he still associated with his policia amigos, he would keep his mouth shut. People are capable of great things, if one overlooks their past and gives them a second chance. I would appreciate it if you followed our Savior's example and gave Blair the benefit of the doubt. He is shaping up to be a very talented disciple. And he is a good influence on our flighty Cyndi."

  With a heavy sigh, Rico nodded. "Si, jefe. But I will keep my eyes open, so that I can report his good deeds, eh?"

  Jesus waved the other man out. "You do that, Rico." After his subordinate had left, Cristo rocked slowly in his chair, pondering Blair Sandburg. He needed disciples--students--to pass on his knowledge, his message. But which disciple was Blair? Paul, the man of letters? He could see that. Blair was well educated; they had many interesting conversations on all manner of subjects. Thomas? He did ask many questions, but that was how one learned. Hmm, he would have to consult the scriptures and think on it for a while, before deciding how Blair fit into his circle of followers.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Cyndi pulled the Volkswagen up to the corner and pushed in the clutch. "Okay, Blair. I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good time with your friend tonight."

  "Later," he said with a wave as he got out of the car.

  Pulling away from the curb, the young woman had driven two blocks when she noticed something lying on the passenger side floorboard. Coming to a stop at a traffic light, she leaned over for a closer look. "Damn," she hissed under her breath. Blair's Swiss Army knife. It must have fallen out of his coat after he'd slit open their last delivery for the dealer's inspection. The light turned green and she made a hard right. If she hurried, she might catch him before he got on the bus.

  Circling the block, she came to a stop at the intersection where she'd dropped him off in time to see Blair getting into an old, beat up, blue-and-white Ford pickup. Curious, instead of honking her horn to get his attention, she tailed the pickup for several miles. Much to her surprise, it drove into the underground parking garage of the Cascade Police Department.

  Shifting her car into park, Cyndi sat there for a couple of minutes, her hands clenching and unclenching on the wheel. This wasn't what it looked like, she kept telling herself, but still& .He'd worked with that big cop, Jim& Joe& whatever& when she'd been a student at Rainier. But he'd told her that was over, had ended when both the cops and Chancellor Edwards had put the screws to him over the Ventriss thing. She chewed her lip, then made a decision. She'd tell Cristo what she'd seen and let him ask Blair about it.

  Putting the car in drive, she was just about to pull back out into traffic when the passenger door opened, and someone slid into the seat. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?" she started to ask. "Oh, it's you. What the fuck do you want, loser?" Her eyes widened as her unwelcome rider shoved a gun in her ribs.

  Another man climbed into the back seat. "Just shut up and drive, Cyndi, shut up and drive."

  Part Three

  "Thanks for dinner, man," Blair said, giving Jim a grin as he got out of the truck in front of his apartment building. "It was great seeing everyone again. Hopefully this will be over soon and I can come home." His blue eyes took on a wistful look. "I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to that, Jim."

  "Me, too, Sandburg, me too."

  Closing the door of the Ford, Blair watched Jim drive off, then headed inside. Entering his apartment, he flipped on the lights and went in search of some candles. Despite the happy face and false cheer he'd put on for Jim and the guys tonight, the darkness was beginning to get to him. The few times he'd gone undercover before had not prepared him for this charade that was now his life. It was impossible to spend the day peddling death and not be affected by it. He kept telling himself it was for the greater good, that once they had Cristo behind bars, it would all stop, that there would be no more drugs, no more children dying. He wasn't even doing a very good job of fooling himself anymore. He knew that as soon as Cristo was out of the game a dozen more dealers would show up to take his place.

  That's why he needed this time to himself. After getting ready for bed, pulling on an old T-shirt and a pair of sweats, he lit the candles on the coffee table, then turned out the lights. Seating himself on the floor in front of the table, he crossed his legs and pulled the chain holding the crystal Cyndi had given him over his head. He held it in his hands for a moment, stroking his fingers over the smooth planes. He'd read up on the crystal, and knew it was used by shamen to focus their dreams. Cyndi had told him it would help him see clearly. He could use both of those things now, a dream of hope and a clear path to that dream.

  Blair laid the crystal on the table, inside the semi-circle of candles. He began to breathe deeply, slowly, keeping his eyes on the crystal, letting the reflections of the dancing flames draw him in.

  Darkness surrounded him at first, until his eyes adjusted, and then he could make out a faint sliver of light along the ground, like the light entering a dark room around a closed door. He took a step toward the light& and heard screams. Someone was in terrible pain, screaming, begging, pleading for their life. Afraid, he no longer wanted to go forward, but his body was not under his control. His hand reached out, grasping the smooth, cold shape of a doorknob. Turning it, he pulled, and the door opened, brilliant white light spilling out, blinding him for a moment. When he could finally see again, he wished he couldn't. The small, white, sacred room was covered in blood. A body sat in the center of the floor, legs drawn up to the chest, the head resting on the knees, the face hidden. Unable to stop himself, he approached the person, laying a hand on their still warm shoulder. The body toppled over, the cross slashed into the chest clearly visible. Dark, vacant eyes stared up at him, beaded braids wreathing her head in a bloodstained halo. "No, Cyndi, no!"

  Blair's spirit slammed back into his body. Gasping for air, his eyes flew open, fearing the worst. Safe, he was safe. The familiar furniture of his living room surrounded him, the candles on the table halfway burned down, the crystal glowing a dull red. Leaning forward, he dug his fingers into his hair, trying to grasp the fleeting images from his vision. Oh, god, Cyndi!

  Springing to his feet, he snatched up the phone and dialed her number from memory. After six rings, he clicked it off and punched in the number for the loft, searching for his shoes, shoving his feet into them as he heard Jim pick up. "Jim, thank god, you're there!"

  "Where else would I be?" Ellison grumbled sleepily.

  "Something terrible has happened to Cyndi! I'm heading over to her apartment right now. Please, Jim, meet me there as soon as possible." Juggling the phone, he threw on his jacket and snatched up his keys.

  "Sandburg, what are you talking about? It's 2 am for Pete's sake!"

  "Jim! Please! I don't have time to explain, just meet me there!" Punching the off button, Blair tossed the phone at the couch and raced out the door.

  He ran the two blocks to her building and was breathing so hard w
hen he arrived that he spent nearly a minute fumbling with the key she had given him before he could fit it into the lock. "Please god, please god, please god," he chanted over and over as he turned the key and opened the door. Running his hand over the wall inside the door, he located the light switch and flipped it on. The room was trashed. "Cyndi?"

  He stepped into the apartment, for one of the few times in his life wishing he had a gun. He figured whoever had been here was probably long gone. Still, he went room by room, the way he'd observed Jim do, sliding around the doorjambs after taking a careful look inside. Every room had been thoroughly searched, but there was no sign of his friend. He came to the room he'd been avoiding, the one she called her meditation room. She'd shown it to him on a visit, told him it was where she read the tarot and cast her rune stones, as well as observed the rituals of whatever religion she happened to be into at the moment. Last he remembered, it had been some weird offshoot of Voodun.