Promises in the Dark

by Lois RH Balzer

  Yet … Jim was right. Naomi was still there. There were no questions about that relationship. She was his mother. He loved her. He cared about her. There was never any doubt that no matter where he went or what he did, she would still be his mother, still hold that secure place in his life and in his heart.

  How can I let you get that close, Jim?

  But his partner—his friend—seemed convinced that their … relationship was the same as his relationship to his mother. It wasn’t something chosen. It was something born. It was family. Naomi was his mother. Jim was his Sentinel. And he wasn’t a Sentinel’s partner. According to Jim, Blair was the partner. The backup. The guide. As genetically picked as Jim was. Knitted souls.

  He swallowed.

  So what kind of commitment was required here? Jim didn’t seem to want a shaman. What the hell did he want? He acted as though it were a done deal. Everything in place. End of story.

  Ellison stirred slightly, shifting to get more comfortable on the thin mattress. Blair studied the man’s back, the broad shoulders, the powerful muscles revealed even through the warm sweatshirt. Every Sentinel had a partner, he could hear himself telling Ellison, so long ago. Someone who watched his back. Someone who helped him not to zone out. What else do you really need me for? What kind of commitment do you want from me? If you don’t want a shaman …

  He sat up, hugging his knees to his chest, his head down. His mind was blanking. No great thoughts. No insight. No inspiration.

  Trust your instincts, Jim had said.

  Blair lifted his head and looked back at Ellison, a shadowy blur through his tears. Shivering, he crawled from his sleeping bag, crossing the eighteen inches that separated them. One hand tentatively rested on Jim’s shoulder, the other on his forehead. He could feel the change in the Sentinel’s breathing, and knew that Jim was now wide awake, but not moving, aware of Blair’s gasping for air to try to calm himself.

  “James Ellison, I promise …” He got four words out, then his voice cracked, and he rested his head on Jim’s shoulder, trying to contain his emotions. A hand moved to cover his hand, offering support but not hurrying him. He tried again. “I promise … I promise to be there whenever you want me to be there. To watch your back. To be your partner. I can’t promise to always know what to do, but I promise to give it my best shot. I promise to … be a part of your life.” Blair let his arm go around Jim’s chest, clinging to the Sentinel now as he battled the overwhelming fear that he had misunderstood what Jim had been saying. That he’d crossed a bridge that was never there for him to step on in the first place.

  Ellison sat up and turned, drawing him close, those massive arms enfolding him with a fierce gentleness that spoke louder than his words. But what he said stayed with Blair, permanently etched into his consciousness, clearly heard despite the storm raging outside.

  The Sentinel’s voice was rough with his own emotion, but he wasn’t making any attempt to quell it. “And I promise, Blair Sandburg, to protect you. To listen to you. To trust you with my life and my sanity. For better or for worse.” Ellison’s arms tightened even more, his voice dropping until Blair could hardly hear him whisper the last words of the ancient covenant. “Until death do us part.” A firm kiss on Blair’s forehead sealed the promise.

  Suspended in time, the moment paused.

  Then, with a shuddering intake of air, Blair couldn’t have stopped his tears if his life depended on it.

  *

  Ellison reached across his slumbering partner and dragged the other sleeping bag over to them. It was awkward unzipping the bag with one hand, but he managed to get it open enough to cover Sandburg’s legs and back. Another awkward reach brought the car blanket close enough for him to shake out and layer on top of Blair. He could try to protect him from many things, but protection against contracting cases of malaria and coming down with pneumonia were beyond his simple repertoire.

  The sleep of the dead, they called it, this exhausted deep rest that left the sleeper’s body boneless. Ellison smiled indulgently, shaking his head at the circumstances he now found himself in and knowing he could never try to explain it to Simon without his friend leaping to the wrong conclusions. Yes, Simon, it’s true I held Blair all night, but it’s not what you think. I was just being a Sentinel.

  It sounded strange. If he stopped and examined his emotions, there was, on one level, a small degree of uncomfortableness about it all— It simply wasn’t in his genetic makeup to be physically attracted to another male. And he wasn’t. This wasn’t about sex. This was about caring, and showing you cared.

  On other levels, the ones removed from convention and cultural stigma, he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew there were strong traces of proprietorship and paternity in his feelings, and he would have to sort out the genetic predisposition to overprotect Sandburg. From the little he had read about a Sentinel’s partner, their lives were entirely wrapped around the Sentinel they were with, and how they were treated or in what regard they were held—slave, child, or equal companion—depended on the character of that Sentinel.

  It was in his genetic makeup to make Sandburg’s life part of his own.

  He knew that Sandburg felt a strong degree of personal responsibility for his Sentinel’s well being, as if it were the anthropologist’s job to keep Ellison healthy and in top form at all times. Whether that meant Jim’s diet or the tests on his senses, or whether it meant that Sandburg felt he had to be on hand in case Ellison needed to use his enhanced senses while on a job and he needed to be there as backup, whatever it was, Blair had a very defined sense of what his role was.

  The problem had started with Incacha. That role, at least in Blair’s eyes, had now been changed. He was no longer sure of his place.

  And for a brief moment, Ellison hated Incacha for what he had done.

  It was all so unnecessary.

  For six and a half years, Ellison hadn’t missed Incacha. Sure, in what memories he did have of his time in the jungles of Peru, Incacha was remembered as a friend, a teacher, and a confidant. But once he had left Peru, life had continued without Incacha-the-man and without Incacha-the-shaman.

  On the other hand, if Blair was gone from his presence for more than a few minutes, he was keenly aware of his friend’s absence. Incacha had simply been filling in as best he knew for that ‘missing piece’ in Ellison’s life. As soon as Incacha laid eyes on Blair, he knew Blair’s place in Ellison’s life, even if Blair hadn’t understood it himself.

  Jim shifted the sleeping man to lie beside him, curled beneath the blankets, then he got comfortable himself and settled behind him, drawing him closer. He could feel Sandburg’s back against his chest, the steady beat of his heart. Blair’s head rested in the crook of Jim’s left arm, the faint inhalation and exhalation of breath tangible reassurance that all was well. The Guide was sleeping and safe. The pattern on the roof of the tent was changing as the rain picked up again, one pattern replacing the other. Incacha and his life and beliefs were gone. Blair was here. One was not a replacement for the other.

  That decided, Ellison went to sleep.

  *

  They sat across from each other at the picnic table, the wet benches covered with towels. The rain had stopped, at least long enough for Ellison to light a fire and put some coffee on the single element Coleman stove by the time Blair emerged from the tent. Together they made breakfast, scrambled eggs and toasted bread, hungrily devouring their food.

  Breakfast dishes at last put aside, they sat at the table, hands wrapped around their mugs of coffee.

  “We’ve got some figuring to do,” Ellison said finally.

  “I thought as much,” Sandburg replied, almost before the words were out of Jim’s mouth. “Whatever you want, Jim, I’m sure—”

  “Wait a minute. We’re partners in this, remember? We each hold pretty powerful cards here.”

  Sandburg laughed. “Right. You’re the Sentinel. I’m not.”

  Ellison shrugged. “Maybe. But you could
walk away and go on with your life. I don’t have that option. If you leave, chances are in a week, maybe two, I’m dead.”

  Sandburg met his eyes then. “And you don’t think you could find another partner?”

  “We’ve had this discussion before. You’re it, kid.” Ellison let out a sigh of relief when Blair slowly nodded his understanding. “So, here are my demands.”

  Eloquent eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Your demands? Fuck, one minute we’re equal partners, and then next you have demands? Well, what if I don’t like your demands?”

  “Hey—I give my demands, and then you give yours. Then we start negotiating. Got that?”

  Sandburg’s head dropped to the table, slowly banging it against the rough surface. “Why do I feel this is going to take more than a few days to sort out? Okay. Shoot—what are your demands?” he asked, finally, lift his head to smile at Ellison.

  “One: no drugs. If you want to meditate or hibernate or levitate or whatever, that’s fine, but no drugs or other mind altering or illegal substances. Understand?”

  “Okay. For now, anyway. Here’s my first demand: If I feel that taking a drug is necessary at some point down the line, you will at least listen to my reasons without freaking on me. I promise I will not take anything without your approval, but I need to know that you will listen to me without categorically tossing out what I have to say before I say it.”

  Ellison got control of the muscle in his jaw before he spoke. “Agreed. I will listen to your reasons, however misguided and uninformed they might be, before vetoing the idea outright.”

  Sandburg’s eyes narrowed. “Not quite what I wanted, but you’ve got the gist of it.”

  “Good. Demand number two: Incacha lived in the jungle thousands of miles from here. I never missed having him in my life, other than as a friend. Despite this wonderful role of shaman that he seems to have passed on to you, it is not—repeat, not—a priority for me. You will take this whole shaman thing slowly and with caution. I would greatly prefer you to put it aside until we both feel the need arises.”

  “My counter demand to that, Jim: You will tell me when you see the panther. You will tell me what happens in your dreams. You will tell me when you need to find your animal spirit. You will tell me what I need to know. Deal?”

  Ellison looked away, then back. “Deal.” He got up and poured himself some more coffee and poured the last of the pot into Blair’s mug. The sky was slowly clearing, the dark clouds blowing away, and bits and pieces of blue were showing through. Maybe it would warm up some. Or they could drive further north and find another spot, closer to the border. Maybe Birch Bay.

  Sandburg cleared his throat, then asked, “What else, Jim?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Demand number three?” Blair prompted.

  Ellison shrugged. “I only had two. If you’ve got more, go ahead.”

  “What?” Sandburg exclaimed. “The man with a thousand house rules only has two demands?”

  “Don’t mix up the roommate thing with the Sentinel thing. The house rules stay. Same as the police rules; they aren’t altering at all.”

  “I knew it was too good to be true. So basically you want me to ‘Say no to drugs’ and to not rush into anything with the whole shaman idea.”

  “Yup. And you want me to listen to you and to talk to you.” Ellison waited until Blair nodded, then sat down beside him on the bench. “There is one more thing.”

  “I knew it! I knew it was too easy with only two demands.” But Blair was smiling when he looked up at him.

  “Think of this as a request, not a demand.” Ellison draped his arm over Sandburg’s shoulders. “Maybe not even a request. A reminder … I don’t want you ever to think that I take you lightly. I want you free to be whoever you are, whatever your calling is. I don’t want you to feel trapped when you are with me. I want you to be with me because you choose to be.”

  Blair nodded slowly, staring out through the trees to the ocean beyond.

  Ellison continued, feeling like he was rambling to find his point. “You know there are times when it is necessary for me to order you to do something and that’s when I require your immediate, total obedience. No questions asked. Just as I must follow your instructions in an emergency when we are dealing with my senses. Even within a short conversation, we usually interact on a multitude of levels: Are we roommates? Are we friends? Are we doing police work? Are we doing Sentinel stuff?” He took a deep breath, waiting until Blair looked at him before continuing. “Above and beyond it all, I want you to know that you are very important to me. You have my respect and my trust. You are my life. My sanity. My heart.”

  “And that scares me.” Blair grabbed at Jim’s arm as he went to remove it. “No, hear me out. It scares me because it makes me feel warm and content and safe. That always meant danger. Naomi would pack us up and move whenever things got too comfortable. Or whenever, it seemed, I would make friends and she would feel threatened about them, probably because she wasn’t the sole person in my life that I could talk to. And now there’s you.”

  “Why does it frighten you to feel secure? That doesn’t make sense, Chief. Everyone wants to belong, to feel a part of something.”

  “Maybe I feel uncomfortable when I feel safe, because I feel I shouldn’t have to be protected or cared for by someone. I should be able to take care of myself. I’m an adult. I’m almost 28 years old. Why do I go crawling to you, practically clinging to you, when I have a bad dream, or a problem, or when I’m frightened?”

  “Because then you are acting on instinct. That’s what it’s all about. That we act on our instincts. We’ve nothing else to go by.”

  “But Incacha helped you when you were there. There must be something he had that I need to acquire,” Blair insisted.

  Jim sighed, shaking his head. “Sandburg, Incacha simply held me together long enough for me to finally connect with you.”

  Blair stared back at him, then smiled, his face transforming with affection. “For a cold-blooded cop, you sure are a softy at heart.” He closed his eyes. “I guess that’s okay …” Anything further he was going to say was swallowed up by a huge yawn.

  “You need to rest,” Ellison said immediately. “I’ll wake you up on time for lunch. Don’t forget to take your pill. You might want to check in at the facilities before you lie down, though.”

  Sandburg got to his feet and turned around. “Is this police work?” He shook his head in mock seriousness. “No, we’re not doing police work. Let’s see, this isn’t a Sentinel thing. We’re not at the loft, so it’s not about the house rules. You’re not my doctor. And, you are most definitely not my mother. Therefore—” he said, eyes brimming with laughter as he raised one finger in warning, “as one friend to another, don’t push it, Jim.”

  From his perch on the picnic table, Ellison watched as Sandburg walked partway up the hill, then adjusted his hearing when Blair stopped and turned around.

  “I meant what I said last night, Jim. You are my life, too.” Blair paused a moment, then shrugged, as though that said it all, and he continued up the hill to the restrooms.

  Ellison stared after him until he disappeared from sight, then looked back to ocean view before him, white-crested waves moving steadily outward, the sun emerging from behind the clouds, the trees gently rustling in the morning breeze from the waters. The fresh smell of life as the land soaked up the rain from the night before.

  Every Sentinel had a partner. A life in his care. Someone who watched his back.

  A soul knitted to his own.

 

 

 
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