Sign In Sign-Up

Welcome!

Close

Would you like to make this site your homepage? It's fast and easy...

Yes, Please make this my home page!

No Thanks

  Don't show this to me again.

Close

Inferno- Part IV

Chapter Twenty-Two

"I feel it," Blair said wonderingly. "Evil. I thought.... It's Hell, you know. But this is the first time I've felt it."

"That's because all of the evil generated here and on earth is funneled to this point, to the lord and master of this realm," Jim explained, as they approached what looked to be a large crater. "It feeds and strengthens him." He reached out to his partner as they reached the rim of the concave depression known as the Pit of Hell.

Blair was grateful for Jim's hand on his arm-- grateful because its strength countered his fear of heights, and its warmth countered the chill of evil that wafted from the site. They were so far away from the bottom, that nothing came in clearly. "So, is Ryan Dallion below? Can you sense him?"

"Yes, he's there," Jim replied distractedly, setting off alarms in Blair's head.

"But?" the anthropologist asked quickly.

"There are three of them."

"Three who?"

"Un-judged and unwilling souls."

Damn. Should have known this wasn't going to be easy. "Will you be able to tell which one is Dallion's?"

Jim nodded.

Blair closed his eyes and sighed. "But it doesn't matter, does it?"

"I can't--"

"You won't," came the correction. "And, no, you don't have to explain. You could no more leave the two unexpected souls behind than you could leave me."

Jim looked sheepish. "I'm sorry, Chief." The difficulty of this retrieval had just increased.

"Don't be. You are who you are, Jim Ellison. So, how do we get down there?"

The Sentinel pointed to a stairway carved into the side of the crater. "A thousand and one steps."

"He really likes his privacy, huh?" Blair joked nervously. Jim's hand clamped tightly around his arm, and he looked around in surprise. "What's--"

"Down!"

If riding with Jim had taught Blair anything, it was that when Jim gave an order like that, it was best to do now and consider why later. As he dropped to the rocky ground, he sensed something coming to hover above them. The shadow it cast made him uneasy, and every hair on his body stood on end. Being who and what he was-- anthropologist, observer, student-- intellectual and morbid curiosity made him glance up, and with a sinking feeling he realized he'd never give into his curiosity so easily again. Above him was this...this...dark...thing. That was as specific as he could get, considering he was trying to describe something that defied description.

His extensive training as a student kicked in. If something existed, then it could be explained in five hundred words or less, right? Fine. The thing was a wide rip, a jagged edged tear in what? Maybe in the fabric that was this universe? Anyway, it undulated overhead, resembling-- too much so, for Blair's comfort-- a gaping maw, a toothy mouth that on earth probably would have been dripping blood, but here, it only dripped...darkness. Although the darkness was complete, he could sense that there was movement on the other side of that rip and if he focused, he could swear he could hear cries of terror, and moans of pain.

He held his breath until the mouth closed, winking out of existence as quickly as it had appeared. When he got the hang of breathing again, he rolled over to face Jim. "What. The. Fuck. Was. That?"

Jim, shaken far more than Blair because he'd actually seen into the thing, was slow to reply. "That was the Void-- final stop for those who are Guilty of Betraying the Light," he finally whispered raggedly.

"I thought Hell only had nine Circles."

"It's not exactly part of Hell; it's not part of anything," Jim explained, glad that he could no longer feel the Void. It had made him queasy and terribly frightened.

"Oh, man. I have no intention of ever ending up there."

"You won't," Jim said with confidence. He climbed to his feet and stretched out a hand to Blair. "Let's get this over with. I'm getting tired of this place."

"You won't hear me complaining when we see the EXIT sign," Blair agreed.

They started down the steps, Blair slightly behind Jim-- if he tripped, a nice, warm body would keep him from tumbling down the rest of the way. Comforted by the thought, he let his mind wander to other problems. Like.... "Does he know we're coming?"

"Yes." Jim knew Blair was talking about Satan.

"But you have a plan?" Of course he did, Jim always had a plan.

A tell-tale shrug. Good ol' predictable Jim. "It's just the beginning of one, Chief, but it requires a lot on your part."

What was this? Jim was worried he couldn't hold up his end of the scheme the Warrior had come up with? That was insulting...and it hurt. "Maybe you should have brought Micki with you, after all." Maybe you would feel more comfortable relying on the power of a witch.

The older man frowned. "Wouldn't even be considering this if she was here. You're the only one I trust enough to make this work."

Blair cut his eyes toward his friend, trying to figure out what was going through his mind. Jim trusted him, but he was afraid to ask him to shoulder his share of the plan? What the hell did Jim think was too much for him to handle? Uh oh. He didn't think he was going to like this plan at all. "What is it exactly that you want me to do?"

"Lead the souls out of Hell."

"While you--?"

"Run interference."

"From the front?" Like a blocker in football.

"From the rear."

Like a sacrificial lamb. "You're right," Blair said flatly. "It does require a lot on my part. Too much, if you think I'm going to run off and leave you to fight Satan alone."

"I'm the most qualified to fight him," Jim argued.

"I agree. But if you think that little piece of logic is going to change my mind--"

"They deserve to be free, Chief. Those three souls have done nothing to deserve this. Have you noticed they were not in the nine Circles? Why? Because they have not been judged; they do not belong. He keeps them imprisoned in the Pit for his own amusement. That cannot be allowed to continue!"

"Whoa, man," Blair said, tugging on Jim's arm until he stopped marching down the stairs. "You sound pretty adamant about this. Just how determined are you?"

"I'll do whatever's necessary to make sure the three souls are free."

"Why? If Heaven was content to leave them here--"

"Heaven has a contract with Hell; I don't. One of the side effects of being a mortal."

"And another side effect is that you can die," Blair reminded the stubborn man.

"That's why I need you to get them out of here as soon as possible." Blair started to shake his head, but Jim grabbed his shoulder. "You are the only person I trust to do this, Chief; to see that the mission is completed regardless of my fate."

"I happen to care about your fate, Jim."

"I know, and I swear to you, Blair, that I will do my damnedest to make it out of here alive. It will be easier to do that if I'm not worrying about you and the three shades."

"You're not playing fair, man," Blair muttered as they continued their downward path.

"No, I'm not playing fair; I'm playing to win."

"And to live?"

"Yes. And to live."

"You die on me and I swear Hell will be the least of your problems," Blair threatened grudgingly.

"I hear you, Chief."

*****

"You don't want any more, Simon?"

He eyed the remains of the chicken distastefully and shook his head. It wasn't so much that he didn't like chicken, and it was really nice of the guys to get it for them. But it just reminded Simon too much of a funeral ritual, where family and friends dropped off gifts of food to those who were grieving, and although Jim and Blair might be as quiet as corpses, they weren't dead yet. "I'm fine, Micki. The inactivity of the day has affected my appetite, I suppose."

"Waiting is always nerve-wracking. It seems like every important occult day of the year, I'm waiting for someone or something," Jack said. "Usually Lewis."

Simon frowned. "The Lewis? I thought he was long dead."

"That's never stopped Uncle Lewis," Micki said, surprised she could smile when she said it.

Jack laughed at the horrified look on Simon's face. "Apparently you haven't worked with the occult long enough, Captain."

"I'm sure Jim and Blair will correct that oversight eventually," Simon replied, with sinking certainty. His eyes drifted over to his "here, but not here" friends. "They're close," he whispered.

"What?"

Simon blinked, a shiver coursing down his spine. "They're close to...something."

"Finding Ryan? Coming back?" Micki asked excitedly.

The tall man shook his head. "I don't know. I just feel...anticipation coming from them."

"So, you are linked to them?" Jack asked. He'd thought so, but he was having trouble grasping the nuances of the relationship between the three. He was sure there was more going on here than Jim's "sainthood" or whatever it was. The wildcards in this deck were numerous.

"Linked?" Simon shrugged. "That sounds rather permanent. It's more of a instance by instance type deal. I-- know what I need to know when I need to know."

"And this has been happening ever since Jim was called?"

"Something like that," the captain replied vaguely. Actually, the link was more a part of being the Sentinel's Watcher than the Warrior's Companion. How he knew the difference was something he didn't want to think about.

Jack's eyes narrowed, disassembling Simon's careful answer. What was the man hiding...and did he truly want to know?

*****

Tony Bozeman looked around the empty apartment and sighed. Things were not going as well as he would have liked. Although he'd known the men he'd sent earlier had been run off by Captain Banks, he'd had no idea that the loft was under twenty-four hour police surveillance. How had Banks managed that? Or had he? Maybe this wasn't police surveillance. Maybe Ellison had already started choosing his disciples. If that was the case, then things were progressing ahead of schedule. Good thing he'd already taken a lease on an apartment that faced 852 Prospect.

Actually, it really didn't face Ellison's loft, but with an elaborate arrangement of mirrors and cameras, he figured he could get a decent view of what was happening inside-- when the blinds were open. Not the best conditions, but not the worst either. He remembered how stupid he'd been, not looking around the loft when he'd had the chance. No, he'd invited Jim out into the hallway to ask him to come with him, to be a psychic. Damn. How could he have been so naive to think the man was a mere psi reader? It had taken the experience in Baltimore to show him Ellison's true nature.

Well, no use in concentrating on old failures. It was time to start documenting what was happening. There were members of the Group who didn't believe, who refused to see until proof was thrust upon them. They thought he was insane-- just like the fools at the Bureau. No wonder the country was as poorly defended as it was. Her defenders had no vision.

Good thing he was around; he had vision enough for everyone.

Chapter Twenty-Three

"I can't see."

Jim frowned and turned to the man on the step behind him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I can't see, Jim," Blair said, panic giving his voice an edge. "It's like I'm back in that fucking forest, man."

Jim immediately reached out for him. "It's okay, Chief. I got you."

"And--and you can see?"

"Yeah. Tell me what happened."

"I took a step, then nothing. Wait a minute. Help me go back up." Jim's arm kept him balanced. Then he let it go in relief. "I can see again."

"Wait a minute. You mean you lose your sight depending on what step you're on?" Jim asked in consternation.

Blair nodded. "It makes sense if you think about it. This is it for me, as far as I can go. Whatever is beyond that step, is not for me to see."

"But--"

"There are no buts, Jim. In fact, it couldn't be any clearer. I should have figured it out earlier. Look out and tell me what you see-- without enhancing your sight."

"Uhm, I see the steps disappearing into some kind of mist or fog. If I--"

Blair grabbed his hand before he could shift his vision."Wanna know what I see? The same indistinct features I saw at the top of the stairs. The view never changed." He looked at Jim and smiled. "Guess it was taking me too long to catch the clue."

"So, what happens now?"

"You go on...and I wait here."

"This doesn't seem right. I thought this was a shared figment."

"It was. But this is where my imagination stops."

"And mine goes on? You've always been the creative one, not me."

"And you're the one who's seen an archangel, Jim," Blair said softly. "The rest of the journey is yours alone. I don't like it, but I'm not the one in charge of these things."

"I'm not, either."

Blair patted Jim's arm. "No, you're not," he said meaningfully.

Jim took a deep breath, then nodded. Guess it's time to take advantage of that faith everyone thinks I'm capable of. "I'll send them up to you. Then--"

"Then I lead them out. I'll hold up my end of the plan, Jim. You be sure to do the same," Blair warned.

"I will, Chief."

Blair watched his friend take a step, then disappear from sight-- no, from his sight. Damn. He hadn't counted on this happening. He figured he'd be by Jim's side when the shades were freed, and he'd be able to convince Jim it was better if they stayed together. Now, Jim would send the shades up to him, and his partner would be counting on him to get them out. While he stayed behind and-- and what? Hell, he wouldn't even be able to see what Jim was doing, how Jim was battling Satan....

And maybe that was the point of all this. Maybe that was a battle he wasn't supposed to see. Maybe Satan was an entity he wasn't supposed to see. The sight would probably fry his mind, leave him spouting gibberish and bouncing off of padded walls. Jim had seen ghosts, demons, and archangels. Aside from a few nightmares-- which probably had very little to do with his recent experiences-- he had suffered no lingering effects from his supernatural activities; seeing Satan wouldn't damage his psyche at all. Dealing with Satan, however.... Jim's mind was strong and quick. He'd argued with Michael on more than one occasion, and won, right? There was no way Satan would whup his ass in a mental fight. So, that meant the battle would be taken to the physical level-- and Jim, regardless of everything else he was, was still just a mortal....

Closing his eyes, Blair said the simplest prayer he knew, "God be with you, Jim."

*****

Jim didn't like it. He didn't like that Blair could go no further. He didn't like leaving him behind. He didn't like that he was planning to send the three shades up to him, and Blair would lead them out; not that he was worried Blair couldn't do it, but that he was Blair's only safety net...and he could possibly fail. So, no, he wasn't liking anything at the moment, and guess what? That didn't change a fucking thing.

He finally reached the bottom and stepped into the waiting haze. The mist clung to him like day-old perspiration and his body shuddered in distaste. He turned back to look at Blair once more and noticed that his partner had moved back a couple of steps. He was sitting, his back straight, his eyes scanning that which he could not see. Now that, Jim thought emphatically, was faith-- because Blair knew his faults more intimately than anyone else in the world, yet still waited for him with patience, confidence, and the full belief that he would do what he set out to do. May your faith be rewarded, my friend.

Jim turned away and surveyed his surroundings a bit more closely. Murky was a good description, he thought morosely. Dreary, dismal, dank, and gloomy worked as well. He sensed a gathering, a coalescing of the shadows on his right, and he turned, reflexively raising his sword.

"I am Lucifer," a voice called from the loosely formed mass. "I was the Archangel of Light and shall reign again."

"I am Beelzebub." Jim's head jerked to his left where another dark form stood. "The Prince of Devils. My power is and shall ever be."

"I am Apollyon, Guardian of the Pit of Hell." Jim turned much slower this time, not as stunned by the appearance of a third manifestation. "This is my realm and I lay claim to all that is in it."

The three floated closer together. "We are Satan," they chorused. "Welcome, Warrior of Michael and Sentinel of Cascade."

Instinctively, those fingers of Jim's which were not clasped tightly around the hilt of the sword began tapping on an invisible remote control, looking for a "channel" that would provide him with the clarity he desperately needed. Seconds later, he found it, and with a sardonic smile, he turned toward the place where the real power resided. "Is this the part where Toto tears away the curtain?"

An earthshaking laugh was the reply. Then the mist melted away, leaving just ordinary twilight. "You are not what I expected, tool of my brother Michael." The voice was a blend of the three separate ones.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Jim said dryly. He gazed at the red figure seated on an equally red throne before him. Hmm. He'd never imagined that Satan was red because he was mainly blood, apparently the same boiling blood that was the River Phlegethon. Curiously, he wondered if it was the river which fed Satan, or that Satan was the source of the river.

"Not a disappointment, but a delightful surprise," Satan said jovially. "My brother's taste usually leans toward the dour--"

"Monk. Yeah, I've heard."

"And his monks would have never had the balls to come here," Satan said, completing the thought Jim had interrupted. "Why are you here? Has my brother gone mad in my absence?"

"I am here for the souls you have stolen."

Laughter. Again. "Michael sent you here for these?" Satan waved his hands and three men appeared around the throne, each bound by blood-red chains. "He has gone mad."

"I never said Michael sent me."

Dark eyes regarded him cautiously. "The souls are mine."

"No, they are not. Not yet, anyway. They will return with me, and will then be able to choose their own path."

Satan grinned. "What is it you mortals say? Possession is nine-tenths of the law?"

Jim's countenance didn't change. "I wouldn't speak of possession if I were you, because we both know you do not have ownership of your 'realm'. You are not it's Creator; said so on the gate, you know." He did allow a small smile then.

"You forget yourself, Mortal!" Satan boomed.

"I am not the one forgetting," Jim challenged.

"Oh, but you are, dear man. You are forgetting those you are responsible for," Satan said gleefully.

Jim paled, and turned toward the step where Blair sat-- peacefully and undisturbed. Oh, shit.

Simon!

*****

The reports Joel had brought by when he dropped off a set of clothes for his captain earlier in the day fluttered to the floor. Simon had ignored them for most of the afternoon, but as darkness approached, he'd had to face the possibility that he would not be back at work tomorrow as he'd hoped. So, to make life easier for his stand-in, he'd decided to go over the reports, note his recommendations and suggestions, and whatever assignment changes he deemed necessary.

But all that fled his mind as he heard Jim's voice penetrate his thoughts. "Under the dome, now!" he yelled, tugging the sitting Micki, and shoving the standing Jack when neither moved fast enough.

The three of them stumbled beneath the protective dome just as the power in the loft flickered and died.

"What the dev--" Jack began, but shut up when the balcony doors were wrenched open.

A black, shapeless blob hurled itself through the doors and toward the bubble. It hit the energy barrier with a bone-rattling thud (human bone-rattling-- it appeared to be an invertebrate). The faintly glowing latticework dimmed as the thing began to ooze across the shield. The candles flickered ominously.

Simon ran through his short list of options quickly. "Micki, Jack, over here," he barked. He sat between Jim and Blair, placing both of his hands on top of theirs. Carefully, he formed a link with both of them, not separating their grip until he knew their bond ran through him. Quickly, he instructed Jack and Micki to do the same. The dome around them flared brighter, as did the candles.

Simon could feel the strengthening power, its electrical components causing the hairs on his arms to stick straight up. The power built to the point that the captain thought the entire room might spontaneously combust. Then, the energy drew in on itself and focused on the creeping black object. The ebony thing screamed as it was forcibly ripped away from the dome. A shaft of glowing energy held it aloft for several long seconds, then shoved it out the still open balcony doors.

The doors slammed shut, and the energy raced around the edges, sealing whatever weaknesses that remained. Then it gathered itself again and zoomed back to the dome, and was absorbed into the multi-colored lines.

Simon gave a deep sigh, but didn't relax his grip.

"Captain?" Jack questioned, almost demandingly.

"I'm not certain what that was all about," Simon replied slowly, "but knowing my detective as well as I do, I think Jim managed to piss off the Devil, and that was the Devil's reply." They stared at him with dropped jaws. "And since Jim has such a talent for that sort of thing, I suggest we stay right where we are for the rest of the night."

No one disagreed.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Simon's relief flooded through Jim, and he grinned, knowing that everyone in the loft was safe. Strike one, Satan. "We were discussing returning certain items to their proper owner?" he said, hiding his relief behind smugness. He glanced at the three shades, and noticed their attention was now totally focused on him. Good. That would help eventually.

Eyes narrowed shrewdly as they looked at him. "You are more than you seem, Mortal. But I see your weakness."

Jim shrugged. "Never said I didn't have any."

"You rely far too heavily on your cohorts. In the end, they will betray you. They always do."

"Yeah, well, shit happens," Jim snorted, dismissing the dire notion.

"The man on the steps. You trust him, don't you? But he hides vital information from you."

"We all have our secrets."

"But this involves you. He's finished his dissertation, but he didn't bother to tell you. Want to know why? Because it's not about you. You weren't a fit subject, so he moved on to something that was. How does it feel to be such a big freak that even a geek wouldn't write about you? Seems like even the Great Creator can fuck up, huh, freak?"

Jim took a deep breath, knowing the being was trying to yank his chain. But his eyes settled on the bound souls, and he knew he could take this-- for them. "Are we talking about your creation or mine?"

"Your so-called friend lied to you. Not only that, but he also told your other friend, and he kept it a secret too. They've decided to gang up on you. Do you know why, Jim? It's because you're too different from them, too powerful. They are nothing compared to you. That one on the steps could not even accompany you here, and as you can see, I am not really anything important."

"Now, that's a statement I can agree with." The dark eyes flared, and Jim grinned. Score one for the mortal.

Satan tried again, wondering why he knew so little about this one. Was this not the one the little bitch Helaire and Ahriman had promised him some time ago? Ahriman usually had better info on potentials than this. How had the master demon screwed this up so badly? Damn. Good help was getting harder and harder to find. "Fine. If you don't want to talk about your friends betraying you--"

"I haven't been betrayed. Blair told me we needed to talk about the university. We just haven't had the time."

"Riiight," Satan sneered. "It takes more than a week to write a dissertation, you know."

Jim shrugged. "It's been a pretty busy year or two." Satan glared at his nonchalance, and growled warningly. Jim looked at him with wide-eyed innocence. Strike two.

"You're rapidly losing your entertainment value," the Dark Lord said peevishly.

"Me and television. It's a pity nothing lasts," Jim replied sarcastically.

"You have that wrong, my mortal friend. I last. Pity that you won't." Satan pointed toward Jim, sending lightning from his fingertips.

Jim deflected them with his sword. "What is a pity is that you aren't living up to your reputation. Even Lilith managed to bruise me a bit," he taunted, wanting to unbalance the creature.

"What do you know of Lilith?" Satan roared, stopping his attack. Generally, he left hate out of his repertoire, because the emotion could be blinding. But for Lilith, he'd always made an exception.

"We ran into each other a while back."

"And you live?"

"Guess I was a good lay." A heartbeat of silence. "Guess you weren't."

"Useless bitch!"

"Hey! Don't talk about my friends like that," Jim protested, watching Satan's reactions closely. He should have known that Lilith would be a chink in the Old One's armor. Satan had banished her from Hell because he could not handle her-- which meant she was a major failing, a demon he couldn't control. Hmm. Something else to exploit. "You know, there was nothing sweeter than her submission to me, her eagerness to obey my every will. Ah, but you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Normally, he would never make suggestive comments about a person he'd been intimate with, but he knew that in her desert exile, Lilith was not only watching and approving, but also laughing.

Satan's eyes glittered with fury. "A demon tamer, are you? Let's see how well you tame these, Mortal!" He closed his eyes and began silently summoning his minions.

Jim could only guess what the crafty being was up to, but instead of worrying about it, he used the time to wield his sword, severing the chains that ensnared the three souls. They looked at the broken chains in confusion, then at their rescuer. "Come," he said gently.

He led them to the base of the steps. "A friend is waiting for you. Go to him and he will take you to safety," Jim said, prodding them up the steep stairs. When he didn't follow, they looked back worriedly. He smiled; even after years of abuse, they still retained their humanity. "Please go. I will follow shortly."

Finally, they began their climb, and he turned back to the scene before him. Satan still had his eyes closed, but his lips were moving, and Jim realized he was calling out to his legion of demons to oust his unwanted guest. Jim felt flattered that Satan was calling in his troops for just one simple mortal, but the feeling faded when he realized that in the next few seconds, he was going to be confronted by a pit-full of revenge-filled, pissed off, bone fide devil worshipers.

And you thought facing the Chopec on your own was daunting.

He took a position at the base of the steps. Analyzing what he'd seen earlier, he realized there were no demons in Hell; the souls in residence were already damned. No, the demons were loose in the world to corrupt the undecided, and that meant this was where they would first appear-- at Satan's side-- then spread throughout Hell. But to get to Hell-- and Blair and the three souls-- they would have to go up the stairs...and through him.

That sounded good, but as a screeching howl signaled the arrival of the first demon, and his brethren appeared directly on his heels, Jim knew the odds were definitely against him. One mortal with one sword versus twenty vicious demons...and counting. How did he get himself into these situations? Wrong question. How did he get out of them? Actually, that wasn't a difficult question to answer. Faith. He had faith in his abilities, his partner's, and in whoever/whatever guided his fate. No use in changing horses in midstream. He cleared his mind and surrendered to the force which had not only accompanied him to the Dark Realm, but had provided him with insight and direction.

The demons stood waiting to attack him and he wondered what they were waiting for. He looked at Satan, whose eyes were now opened and focused on him. Oh. The creature was waiting on his fear, his submission, right? He lifted a questioning eyebrow.

"Give over," Satan finally ordered.

Strike three. "Get fucked," Jim replied.

Satan waved his troops forward, and Jim raised his sword. A gentle toss sent it sailing straight up, and when it came back down, he held up his arms, his hands bent back to expose his wrists. The sharp blade sliced through his skin with minimum pain. He watched in morbid fascination as his life-force pumped out of his body. Absurdly, the thought uppermost in his mind was that Blair was not going to be pleased. Not at all.

Have faith, Chief.

*****

Blair wrapped his arms around his stomach, holding back his fear. Something had happened back at the loft. He knew Jim had sent a message to Simon, had felt energy being drained from inside himself, and then felt relief from Jim...and Simon. The Watcher-- no, all of them-- were growing stronger. As he continued his wait, he wondered if the captain would be pleased or upset by the knowledge.

Startled, Blair gasped as three shades appeared before him. They stared at him patiently, and he got to his feet, hoping Jim would appear behind them. When his partner didn't come, he squared his shoulders, and smiled reassuringly at his charges. "Let's go, fellas," he said with feigned cheer.

He paused as they reached the top of the stairs, looking back hopefully. But all he saw was all he'd ever seen-- just a slightly out-of-focus, innocuous depression.

Have faith, Chief.

The words warmed, and chilled, his heart. Jim was alive, but....

Remember your promise, Jim.

Sending out his own message, he kept up his end of the mission, leading the three escapees around Abattoir Valley, and the tar pit where the centaurs looked at them, but didn't approach. For some reason, the shades stopped when they saw Phlegethon, the River of Blood, and Blair had to prompt the shivering forms to move on. He, himself, deliberately kept his eyes cast down as they went through the Wood of the Suicides, still unsure how he felt about that. But his eyes went up as they faced the sheer cliff that would take them out of the Abyss. If they could get up it.

"Geryon?" he called hopefully.

The creature scuttled into view. "Where is the Master?" it asked.

"He's covering our escape," Blair replied, hoping the beast would understand.

"Then we must not let his efforts be in vain," it said. "Climb aboard Geryon quickly then."

Blair thanked Geryon at the top of the escarpment, and sent the beast back-- hopefully-- for Jim. Because Jim had been so adamant about remembering where the vine was located at the first steep drop, he had been particularly observant during the rest of the journey, and now easily navigated through the jungle which led to the Marsh of Styx. Phylegas let out a mournful wail when he saw them, but did not protest as they stepped into his pirogue.

Across Styx, they avoided the Burning Sands and headed into what Blair thought of as the suburbs of Dis. Just as the bright lights of the city proper came into view, the ground shook, dropping all three of them. Blair never became unconscious, but he had to shake his head to remove a few disorienting cobwebs before he looked around to try to figure out what had happened. As he looked back in the direction from where they'd just come, his eyes widened and his face paled.

A cloud of fire was rising above the spot where the Pit of Hell lay. As he watched for a few stunned seconds, he noticed that the cloud was spreading ominously, and he knew that it would eventually cover all of Hell. Which meant he had to get these shades to safety, or he would fail Jim-- Jim, whom he really didn't want to think about, because he knew that whatever had triggered the earthquake/explosion/fire cloud, Jim was directly responsible for.

"Come on," he yelled to the shades, and they picked up their pace from a slow jog to an outright run. Screams and cries tried to distract him as they went through the dark, broken city, the quake having destroyed buildings and cut power. With effort, he ignored the devastation around him, and led his group through the Gates of Dis. When he turned around to make sure the Dark Angels were not coming for them, he saw that the cloud had indeed extended and now fire was precipitating from it. Shit.

Blair barely remembered the climb up the vine out of Nether Hell and the foolish antics of those Guilty of Crimes of Passion. He did notice that the shades in Limbo were nowhere to be seen, and he hoped they had taken shelter from the coming firestorm. He gnawed on a fingernail as Charon slowly paddled the boat toward them with a load of shades eager to get started with their life in Hell, and when the boat emptied, he motioned for his shades to get in. Charon started to protest when he climbed in after them, but with a heated glance, Blair warned him that he was not in the mood. Tight-lipped, the old man took them across Acheron. While in the ferry, Blair looked back again and noticed the rain of fire was getting closer and closer. Wherever the fire landed, it lit and spread, and he wondered if he was going to see what the word inferno truly meant.

By the time they skirted around the eternal circle of Lurkers and Bystanders, the fire had reached that far, and their cries were not because of the stinging insects, but because of the conflagration which consumed them. He goaded the shades into a mad sprint, grinning with relief as the arch loomed ahead of them. The grin faded as an ember fell from the sky and singed his arm. Just as he dove under the arch, the embers became a downpour. As he looked up from the ground, safe on the other side of Hell, he sent up a prayer to those looking after Jim.

*****

Tony Bozeman watched the streak of light banish the darkness from the loft, and felt something akin to an orgasm. No, something even more heady than that. No mere sexual act could come close to what he was feeling now that he had proof of his beliefs. It was true, all true.

With a moan of ecstasy, he fingered the remote control, and watched the tape again.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jim groaned as he came to, high on the stone staircase where the explosion had thrown him. Okay, to be honest, he'd never expected what happened to happen. He'd seen what his blood had done to the Dark Angels and he'd figured more than a drop would just cause a bigger fire. He never once considered that it would be the equivalent of a megaton bomb. Distractedly, he had watched it drip from his wrists and into a dark red pool at his feet. It had massed itself into a gelled oval, with an almost shiny surface, then it had started to sink in the middle and for a moment, Jim had been reminded of his physics professor's lecture on the characteristics of a black hole: how it sucked in energy, then on occasion expelled it with a force unlike any other in the galaxy.

Guess it was some kind of black hole, he thought as he attempted to sit up, because it had kicked ass when it let loose. His body not only hurt, but was strangely weak. Strangely, hell. You cut your wrists, you idiot. He looked down at the offending body parts and noted that although the cuts were visible, the blood had stopped flowing. Was that because the explosion had somehow cauterized the wounds, or had he just run dry? Well, now, if he'd run dry, he would be dead, right? God, he wasn't dead, was he? He was all for sacrifice and everything, but he really didn't want to be dead. He was finally getting the hang of doing the stuff he could do, and Blair would really be pissed at him. And to make matters really bad, if he was dead, he was in Hell, and that meant he wouldn't be able to see Alicia and the others anymore. No. No, he couldn't be dead.

Five minutes later, the pain in his head eased enough for his thoughts to clear and focus. No, he wasn't dead, but if he didn't move, he was going to be. The eerie red cloud above him didn't look too promising-- in a life-affirming way. Well, Jim, if you're strong enough for sardonic thoughts, you're strong enough to get your ass up and moving. He tried to stand, using the sword he'd managed to hold onto as a crutch, but after the third attempt, he settled for getting up the stairs the best way he could, which was a strange mixture of scrambling and crawling.

At the top of the Pit, he finally managed to get to his feet and shuffled his way forward. The drops of fire began as he made his way past Abattoir Valley and he had to turn down his hearing to nearly zero when the shades started screaming as they ignited. By the time he made it to the Burning Tar Pit, there were no centaurs to be found, and the shades were like lit wicks in a giant candle, slowly incinerating into nothing. Surprisingly, he couldn't feel the drops of flame and red hot embers hitting him, and he wasn't sure whether that was because he was shielded or because he could no longer feel.

He wasn't sure of a lot of things, he realized a few minutes later-- like how he ended up on his back on the ground or when the creature Geryon had come upon him and was now calling out, "Master! Master!"

"Being the hero sucks," he told the creature, giggling as he wondered if he could get a refund for his cape. Giddiness is a sign of shock, he warned himself, as he turned over to his knees and scrambled onto Geryon's back at the beast's urging. "Blair," he said, as he struggled to control his thoughts. "Did you help Blair and the others?"

"Yes, Master. Your friend sent me back for you."

"That's nice. Blair always looks out for me. He's a good friend. So are you."

"Thank you, Master."

"Friends don't call each other master," Jim said, closing his eyes as the terrain flew by. Blood loss and a concussion. Where was Cascade General when you needed it?

"I like to call you master, Master. It is a title of respect, and I respect you."

"Why? You don't know me." Keep talking, Jim. Keep conscious.

"I know that my Mistress Lilith loves you. I know you have come into this realm to help someone other than yourself. I know that you have defeated Satan. What else do I need to know, Master?"

"That you have my gratitude, my friend."

"Hang on, Master."

The beast ran, climbed, and swam, but Jim could feel the fires closing in on them. He kept his eyes closed. He held on.

But he really didn't think either of them was going to make it.

*****

Blair watched Hell turn to living flame and refused to grieve. Jim had promised to do his best to survive and Jim took all his promises seriously, especially the ones made to his Guide. Besides, there was no way he could get the shades back to the real world by himself. He didn't have enough power. Your perfect plan had a flaw, Jim. Why didn't I see that before? Maybe then I could have stopped you. Nah. You would have said, "You'll figure something out, Chief." Well, I don't want to figure anything out. I want you to get here and finish this yourself.

He flicked his eyes over to where the shades crouched together. They weren't looking too great. In Hell, it had taken a slant of the head, a narrowing of the eye, to see that they weren't of mortal substance. But outside the confines of Hell, they were more ephemeral, mere tricks of light. Their existence was so thin now that he feared it didn't matter whether he could take them across planes; he wasn't sure they would last another hour. Damn it, Jim. Get here!

And suddenly, Jim was there, coming though the wall of flame, barely astride Geryon like a drunken horseman. Or a hurt one. "Jim!" he cried as the man slipped to the ground just on the right side of the arch.

Jim blinked up at his partner and started to laugh. "Did you hear the one about the man who went to Hell and decided to redecorate?" he joked, never so glad to see anyone in his life.

"Oh, God, you hit your head again, didn't you?" Blair said worriedly, peering into Jim's eyes to check his pupils for uneven dilation.

"As a matter of fact, I did," Jim confirmed. "But I'm fine."

Blair stared at him. "Jim, you're lying on the ground, making bad jokes," he said flatly, then laughed. "Yeah, man, you're definitely ranging on normal. Glad you found the exit in time."

"Thank Geryon." He turned his head to the brown-eyed chimera. "I was pretty much useless."

"If you were useless, then I, too, was the same," Geryon replied.

Blair frowned. "What do you mean? You got him to safety."

"No. We were brought to safety. I know not how we arrived here. There was the flame, then we were here."

Two mortals shared confused glances. "I thank you, then, for not abandoning him to seek shelter for yourself," Blair continued.

"I was in the shelter of the Beloved. There was no safer place."

Lilith. Someone should give her a refresher course on how demons were supposed to act, Blair thought with a grin.

Jim sat up slowly and faced the always solemn brown eyes of the creature. "Still, for your faithfulness, you deserve a reward. What is your desire?"

"To not go back in there," Geryon replied quickly, looking at the flame. "It will rebuild."

"I know." Jim placed a hand on the turtle-like head. "Do you like children, my friend?"

"I do not know. Are they like you?"

Jim smiled. "These are."

"Then I will like them. But...but they might not like me. I am ugly."

"These children will only see your heart, and that, Geryon, is quite beautiful." Jim closed his eyes and concentrated. "Say hello to Alicia for me."

Blair watched silently as the creature shimmered, then disappeared. "You sent him to Heaven," he said softly.

"I did."

"Is that allowed?"

Jim shrugged. "You said it yourself: just because he was created by evil, does not make him so."

"Geryon said this place would rebuild."

"Yes. In a few days, maybe a week, all will be re-formed, Circles and shades alike. Hell will continue as before."

"But without Geryon."

Another shrug. "If Satan doesn't like it, he can try to get him back."

Blair's eyes widened. "Are you that determined to start Armageddon?"

"No, Chief. And I'm sure this won't. Unlike Heaven, Satan doesn't have a big enough fool to challenge certain 'relocations'," Jim pointed out dryly.

"You weren't a fool, Jim. You saw a wrong and moved to correct it. That is not foolishness, but bravery."

"Yeah, yeah," he said dismissively. "Give me a hand up. We need to get out of here."

Blair reached out, then left Jim's hand hanging as he spotted the red mark on his wrist. He grabbed the other arm, noting the similar wound, as well as faint traces of dried blood. The Guide stepped back as his face changed from disbelief, to horror, and finally, to anger. "Goddamn you, Jim!" he hissed.

"It got the job done," Jim said unrepentantly.

"You promised!"

The pain in Blair's voice caused Jim to hang his head. "It was the only way, Chief. It was an acceptable risk."

"Only acceptable to you, man," Blair said softly, reaching out again to help Jim to his feet. "How did you hit your head?" he asked as his partner wobbled, then regained his balance.

"The explosion threw me against the steps."

Blair winced sympathetically. "We need to get you home, but...but I think we might be going alone. The shades are pretty ragged, Jim." His eyes barely found what was left of the trio.

"Don't worry, Chief. It's being taken care of." Jim's eyes sought the woods and smiled. "Didn't you wonder where our friends were?"

Friends? The Spirit Guides-- Jaguar, Wolf, and Cougar! Blair looked around quickly and saw them minutes after Jim did. The three animals sauntered towards them, followed by three forms. When they drew closer, Blair saw that the newcomers were the mortal casings of the three men. He shivered, not even wanting to know where the spirits had found them.

The weakening shades looked curiously at their physical selves, then stepped up to them and hesitantly flowed into the corresponding forms.

"Ready to go home, Chief?"

Blair gave a grateful smile. "Yes, Jim. Let's go home."

*****

At first, Simon thought it was just another twinge going through his abused body. He'd been sitting in the same exact spot for hours, and it had been quite a while since he'd curled up his long legs Indian-style. Sheer will had so far defeated most of the threatening cramps, but he didn't know how much longer he could last. Then he realized that what he was feeling was not a cramp at all.

"They're returning," he told his companions with relief.

"Are you sure?" Micki asked, looking at Jim and Blair but seeing no signs of reanimation.

"I'm sure," the captain said. "Just wait."

Two minutes later, Blair's eyes popped open. "Move back," he ordered sharply.

They scooted backwards, biting back the questions they had, questions that faded as the room suddenly crowded with three extra people.

"Ryan!"

"Jim!"

The shouts tumbled over each other, and Jim felt the former shades tense. "Quiet!" he yelled. Seven pairs of eyes stared at him.

He looked at all of them and smiled. "Let me tell you about the house rules around here."

Chapter Twenty-Six

Five pairs of eyes looked at him in confusion. Two pairs just rolled in their sockets good-naturedly.

"I better make use of the facilities before you shut them down," Simon said gruffly, getting to his feet. "And no, I didn't tag the leftovers in your fridge," he muttered as he headed toward the bathroom. "You can write down the date yourself."

"A man's home is his castle, Simon," Jim called out.

"You know what you can do with your turrets, Jim," was the reply as a door slammed shut.

"I didn't even get a chance to ask him how long we were gone," Blair said in frustration.

"It's a little after 3 AM," Jack responded. "Monday."

"Monday?" Blair repeated hollowly. They had left Saturday morning. That meant they'd been gone forty-two hours, nearly two days. Shit. "Hurry out of that bathroom, Simon! There were no Rest Areas in Hell."

When Blair returned to the living room, Jim was still seated on the floor. He looked at him worriedly. "You doing okay, man?"

"Been sitting too long," he replied, accepting Blair's hand up. "Guess I'm getting too old," he added, as he regained his equilibrium.

"Too old, or," Blair said softly, running a finger across the healing cut on Jim's wrist, "too dry?"

Jim flushed. "Are we going to get into this now, Sandburg?"

"No. But we will get into it at some point, Jim," he warned.

Jim sighed, not happy that it had to be discussed at all, but pleased by the reprieve. If he was merely soul-weary in Hell, he was soul-weary and body-weary here in the real world. What he wanted more than anything else was to climb the stairs, drop onto his bed, and sleep for the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours straight. But as life had taught him over and over again, what he wanted mattered not the least.

"Jim? Something's wrong with Ryan," Micki was saying, her voice bordering on frantic. "Something's wrong with all of them!"

Jim looked quickly to the three men. He hadn't really paid all that much attention to them. In the beginning, Satan had attracted most of his focus, then later, he'd had to concentrate on getting them back to Cascade. He recognized Ryan Dallion from Micki's memories, but the other two were mysteries. One was a young man, barely out of his teens with short, reddish blond hair, and wide, muscular shoulders. The other was probably about his own age, tall and slender, and Jim got the feeling that the man was highly intelligent. How he knew that, he didn't know, because all three men's eyes were empty, devoid of consciousness and sentience.

"Jim, Ryan was held there for ten years, and we don't know how long the others were there. Maybe--" Blair began, horrified that maybe even though they had successfully reunified body and soul, sanity was irrevocably gone. Who knew what Satan had put them through, done to them....

"No," Jim whispered, refusing to believe that he'd brought them this close, only to fail now. He placed his hand on Ryan 's face, oddly familiar because of Micki's memories, seeking his thoughts first because he knew what to look for. He smiled as he found the man's mental essence whole and intact. It just needed to be-- grounded. He took the thoughts that whooshed into his mind and placed them where they belonged. Expressive eyes met his.

"Welcome back, Ryan Dallion," he said formally. "There are two people here who are desperate to see you."

Ryan's eyes darted around the room and saw his two partners. "Micki! Jack!" He threw his arms around them, and they he, tears shared and ignored.

Jim left the threesome to their joyous reunion and reached out for the second man, the younger one. What he saw, what he read in this man's thoughts disturbed him at first, but Jim-- now used to the extraordinary becoming quite ordinary in his life-- quickly overcame his wonderment and replaced the thoughts as reverently as he'd taken them. Blue eyes blinked at him. "Richie Ryan-- live, grow stronger, fight another day," he pronounced.

"You sound like--" the young man began, and Jim nodded wordlessly. "Where am I? How long has it been?" he asked quickly.

"You're in Cascade, Richie, and it's 1999."

"I have to--"

"I know. But it's late. A few more hours won't make a difference now."

Richie nodded.

Jim turned to the third man, and these new thoughts were as improbable and as real as the previous ones. One of these days, I'll learn not to be shocked by what this world offers. "You took quite a leap, Dr. Sam Beckett. Welcome home."

"Home?" Sam asked.

"Yes, Dr. Beckett. Cascade, Washington, 1999, and your own body."

"Oh, boy," Sam muttered nervously. "I need to contact Al--"

Jim shook his head. "As I told Richie, a few more hours won't make a difference. We've all been under-- stress. Some downtime is in order, and your loved ones are going to be shocked, to say the least. For their sakes, for yours, I think morning will be soon enough. Chief, you want to go to the basement and get the sleeping bags? Micki, since you have the honor of being the only female, you can have the privacy of Blair's room--"

"That's where I'd already put her, Jim," Simon spoke up.

"Good man. Did you give Jack my bed? He can share it with--"

"No," Blair said.

"No what?" Jim asked, irritated by the interruption.

"You've sacrificed enough. Host or no host, you are sleeping in your bed tonight."

"Sandburg, I--"

"You got to do things your way while we were in Hell, but we're not there now, are we?" Blair said stubbornly.

"I don't know what's got your boxers bunched--"

"You slit your fucking wrists, Jim! I have a right to be pissed and you know it!"

"I thought we weren't going to get into this now--"

"Let me do this the way I want to and we won't!" Blair yelled.

"Hold it!" Simon shouted. "What the hell are you two talking about?" He glared at his detective. "Jim, did you slit your wrists?"

"I had to, Simon. It was the only way. I thought it would be sort of a distraction. I didn't know it was going to cause such a major explosion--"

"Explosion? Don't tell me you blew up Hell, Jim?" Simon exclaimed.

"Well, yeah," Jim admitted sheepishly.

"Sandburg?" the captain asked, desperate for an explanation.

"As they used to say in the seventies, Captain, Jim 'burned that mother down'."

Simon shook his head. "Jim, let the kid handle the sleeping arrangements. I think you've done enough for one night."

"Fine," Jim muttered, stalking over to the balcony-- getting out of the way since obviously his presence was unnecessary.

Jack left Micki talking to Ryan and approached the tense man. "Jim, you actually blew up Hell?" he asked a little breathlessly.

"It seemed like the thing to do at the time."

"How?"

"It seems Satan and his goons are sort of allergic to my blood."

"Oh. So that's why--?" The older man rubbed at his own wrists.

Jim shrugged. "It worked. Ryan is here, right, Jack? And so are Richie and Sam."

Jack nodded. Jim had merely done what they had asked of him-- and more. "What happens to Hell now?"

"It rebuilds."

"Will there be a retaliation attempt?"

"No time soon. Eventually, maybe. But I doubt if you have to worry any more than you already do. You're basically in the business of pissing Satan off anyway."

"What about you, Blair, and Simon?"

"Satan will lick his wounds for a while, plot a lot of nasty things in his mind, but he won't attack-- unless he's certain he can win. I don't plan on being that careless."

Jack slowly nodded. "You went for one, and came back with three."

Jim gave a small smile. "An abundance of riches."

"Were they the only three?"

"Yes. I wouldn't have left anyone behind who didn't belong," Jim said, wondering if that was what Jack was implying.

With eyes that had witnessed great evil, and a soul which had fought such evil, faltered yet still fought on, Jack assessed the man before him-- a man powerful enough to have brought about the temporary destruction of Hell, yet vulnerable enough to cautiously defend his actions-- and rediscovered the reason why he had "picked up the cross" which his old friend Lewis had inflicted upon the world. It wasn't just that he felt guilty for providing Lewis with so many of the objects. It wasn't just that Ryan and Micki had needed him. It was because along with the evil, there was good. And good deserved to be protected.

He laid a hand upon the solid shoulder of not only his fellow protector, but a prime example of good itself. "No, Jim. You wouldn't have left anyone behind. You haven't left anyone behind."

Jim looked at him curiously, wondering how the old man had stumbled upon a vague fear of his. Then he turned his attention back to the balcony.

*****

"Hey, Simon," Blair called as he sifted through the camping gear stored in the basement of the building. "Why is your sleeping bag down here?"

The captain frowned, trying to remember the last time he'd seen his bag. "Oh, remember our last fishing trip? You and Jim stumbled upon that drug operation--"

"You were there, too," Blair reminded him.

"Whatever. We just dumped everything in the truck, contacted the authorities, then somehow ended up in the middle of a shootout. By the time everyone was patched and bandaged, I guess we just never got around to sorting our gear."

"Cool. It'll come in handy. Let's see: you have your sleeping bag, Jim has his bed, and Micki's in mine. We'll put Jack on the long sofa, Richie on the shorter one, and Ryan and Sam in the other sleeping bags. That about does it, right?"

"Except for you."

Blair gave a casual shrug. "I'll bunk with Jim. There may be...nightmares."

"Yours or his?" Simon asked softly.

"Either...both. There were some intense moments, Simon, and a lot of what I saw...." His eyes gazed sadly into his friend's. "Try to live a good life, Captain. You really don't want to end up in Hell."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah, man. That bad."

"And Jim's actions--"

"Jim did what he thought was necessary," Blair interrupted, realizing his earlier eruption made it sound as if Jim had been reckless. "I know that intellectually, but knowing doesn't ease the knot in my chest. He takes such huge risks for others."

"Isn't that stereotypical Jim?"

"Yes, but...."

"But?"

Blair shrugged. "I just worry that he won't give himself the same consideration."

"Would it be cold to remind you that he lived over thirty years before you met him? And in all that time, he managed to survive-- even when the odds were against him."

"But in those years, he wasn't who he is now. As he becomes more," Blair said for want of a better word, "his responsibilities become more widespread, and the risks become greater. I just don't want him to lose sight of the fact that he's just as important as the people he saves."

"Maybe there's a reason why he didn't become who he is until he met you," Simon contended.

"Because I'm his Guide?"

"And his conscience, along with nursemaid and greatest supporter. You keep him honest, Sandburg."

"Jim doesn't lie."

"Only to himself."

Blair had to nod at that. "Fine. If it's my job to keep him honest, to keep him safe, then I gladly accept it. But it's not an easy job, and on occasion I'm going to need some backup."

"I'm a cop. I carry cuffs, mace, and I'm bigger than he is."

Blair grinned. "I like your qualifications. Welcome to the team."

"I thought I was already on the team."

"Jim's team. Now, you're on mine."

"Can I withdraw my application?"

Blair chuckled evilly. "Too late for that, I'm afraid."

Simon clutched his sleeping bag and looked suitably horrified.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Simon tiptoed around the various bodies occupying the loft, gathering his files and removing any other detritus he had left laying around. He was less than looking forward to his day already; he didn't want it to end with a lecture from Jim about the sanctity of the loft. The sanctity of the loft. Why did that now have a different connotation?

"Morning, Simon."

The captain jumped back about ten feet, his latest bunch of folders sliding from his hands. "Shit, Jim," he whispered in deference to the sleeping. "You move as silently as that spirit guide of yours. Are we going to have to put a bell around your neck or something?"

Jim grinned and helped him pick up the papers. "Speaking of spirit guides, Blair and I met yours."

Simon tried to act disinterested. "How nice. Who do I have?"

"Cougar."

Since Jim knew he didn't know anything about animal spirits, he waited for his detective to elaborate. Of course, the stubborn man just handed him the now tidy folders. "Well, is that good or bad? Who is Cougar?" he finally broke down enough to ask.

"Because of the bell crack, I'm not going to tell you. Ask the internet."

"You've been around your partner too long," Simon replied with a sigh. He looked around to make sure he had everything. "I guess I'm out of here."

Jim nodded and accompanied the captain out the door. When he had discerned that the noise which had awakened him was Simon moving about, he'd carefully slipped out from beside the deeply sleeping Blair, slid into a pair of jeans and come downstairs to find his boss showered and dressed for the office. "You're going in?" Jim asked as he shut the loft door behind them.

"Yeah, so I can send Joel home. He's been playing detective and captain all weekend."

Jim nodded. "Thank them all for me. And tell H. and Rafe they can stop looking for Little Mo. His body is in a yellow refrigerator at Franklin's Salvage."

"How do you know--" Simon began, but didn't even finish the question as he hurried to add, "No, I really don't want to know."

"Little Mo told me himself," Jim replied.

"Didn't I say--" Simon fussed, then shook his head. "He tell you anything else? Like who whacked him?"

"Joey Basso. He's the new fence in Cascade, and he's also an enforcer for the Manolo Brothers."

"Gee, thanks, Jim. Now that the case is solved, I just have to go back and build one. Ever heard of crawling before walking?"

"I've always been precocious, Simon," Jim said with a small chuckle. "Tell you what, I can put in a few hours today, and--"

"No. You stay here and take care of those 'refugees' you have. They are your priority for the time being." And Sandburg will have my ass if I let you go in today.

"Okay. I don't see them hanging around for much longer. As soon as their loved ones find out they're alive, they will come for them."

"Sure. After a stop by their local shrink's office." Simon laughed. "Sorry that I woke you. Hope I didn't disturb Sandburg, too."

Jim shook his head. "It'll take a lot to get him to surface. He wore himself into quite a frazzle this weekend."

"How about you?" Simon asked meaningfully.

Blue eyes regarded brown ones with frankness. "If I let my guard down, I'd probably find myself in the middle of the mother of all frazzles. But I need to hold it together a little longer. As you pointed out, I still have my refugees to take care of." He cocked his head to one side. "And they're starting to stir."

"I'll let you get on with it, then. But, Jim, remember you're not alone in this."

"I know. Even when it seems like I don't know, I do, Simon."

"Good. I'll see you later."

"You need your rest, too."

Simon shook his head and grinned. "Jim, you have an entire apartment full of people to take care of, and you still have time to worry about me? Believe me, man, you've already won your Blessed Protector gold medal."

"Maybe I'm going for platinum."

"I haven't decided whether you're going to make me gray or bald."

Jim snickered. "Go for bald, and I'll even buy you a gold hoop for your ear."

"Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum," Simon sang, completing the pirate image. "Go tend to your tribe, Sentinel."

"Take care, Watcher."

Jim let himself back into the loft, and his eyes went immediately to the lone figure on the balcony. Richie Ryan. Immortal. Damn, that was going to take some getting used to. Not the immortality part, per se, but that they walked around on earth, killing each other. Quite bizarre.

"You okay, Richie?" he asked, joining the young man outside. At least, he actually was a young man. In Richie's thoughts, he'd run across someone who was five thousand years old. Jim wasn't sure whether he should envy or pity them.

"They think I'm dead," Richie replied, horror tinting his voice. "I called Joe and asked him to come get me, and he started yelling, calling me a sick bastard for imitating his dead friend. I didn't know. I wouldn't have.... Man, the pain in his voice...."

"I would think that Joe would be used to you coming back from the dead." He'd learned from Richie's thoughts how important Joe Dawson was to him.

"Yeah, so for some reason he must think someone took my head. Damn Watchers probably got my head confused with someone else's. When I find out who screwed up and caused Joe all this pain--" He stopped and paled. "Poor Mac! He's probably spent all this time looking for the jerk who killed me. He wouldn't like the thought of my Quickening running around in a stranger. I hope he hasn't taken any stupid challenges because of me."

"You hope he hasn't lost his head," Jim admitted for him.

"Yeah." Richie looked at him. "I don't particularly like the idea that you've been in my head, but it's nice to have someone to talk to about all this. I was never much into secrets, and now I have all these big ones to keep."

"If it makes you feel better, I don't particularly like the idea of being in someone's else head either," Jim pointed out softly.

The youthful-looking man gazed at his companion. "I haven't even thanked you, have I? For going to all the trouble you did to rescue me, for giving me a place to stay last night, for the little introduction you left in my thoughts to calm me. It was really weird as I told Joe your name and address as if I'd always known them. Knowing that kept me from screaming when Joe kept insisting I was dead. I just wish I knew why he was so certain of that. The last thing I remember doing was calling Mac and telling him Joe was with the demon at the old racetrack. How did they interpret that as my being dead?"

"I might be able to shed some light on that," Ryan Dallion said as he joined them under the partly cloudy skies. "According to Jack and Micki, I was running around France killing people for Asteroth right before I died. But to my knowledge, I've never been to France."

"So, you think a demon or something took over our bodies, and we can't remember?" Richie questioned.

"I think we were replaced with fakes, clones, whatever-- and they are the ones that killed, or in your case, was killed. I mean, if I was killing people, you would have seen that in my memories, right, Jim?" Ryan asked, desperation in his eyes as he looked at his rescuer.

"Right. I neither saw you causing havoc overseas, nor Richie being killed."

"But maybe that's because we can't remember," Richie protested.

Ryan shook his head. "I can't remember what happened while I was in Hell either, but Jim saw that, didn't you?"

His eyes challenged Jim to deny it, but he couldn't. He knew exactly what Satan had done to his captives, and he sort of hoped they would never remember. "Ryan's right. I think at some point doubles were substituted for each of you."

"So, this is where the After Afterlife Symposium is being held," a dry voice called from the doorway.

"Come and join us, Dr. Beckett," Jim said graciously. "You probably know more about what happened than I do."

"Call me Sam, and you're giving me too much credit," the man said as he joined the others. "I may have degrees in quantum and theoretical physics, but this is way out of my field of study. My colleague is on his way here, and I'm sure he's going to burn the circuits looking for answers. However, I'm not sure he's going to find any."

"You didn't have any trouble convincing him you were alive?" Richie questioned.

Sam smiled. "Al and I have been through this before. I disappear, everyone assumes I'm dead, then I show up again. I don't care how many times well-meaning persons told him I was dead, I'm sure Al never gave up on me."

"We think the demons replaced us with doubles after we were snatched," Dallion explained.

"Makes sense," Sam agreed. "My last coherent thought was a situation with Alia and Zoey, but Al seems to think I disappeared long after that."

"Alia and Zoey?" Ryan asked. "Were they your demons?"

"Something like that," Sam said, frowning as he remembered the women. Zoey was Alia's Observer in the project that paralleled Project Quantum Leap, and she was completely evil. However, he had doubts about Alia's willing participation. Perhaps she had as little control as he did. He never knew whose life he would pop into to set right what went wrong, and maybe Alia was just as helpless when she popped into someone's life to make sure right didn't occur.

"Breakfast is ready," Blair called, and Jim knew better than to ignore him. He led the way inside.

"Jack and Micki went back to the hotel to freshen up," Blair explained. "They'll be back soon, Ryan. They wanted to tell you so themselves, but they didn't want to interfere with whatever you guys were doing on the balcony."

"Brainstorming, Chief. Trying to figure out the sequence of events that led up to their capture."

"So, did you come to any conclusions?" the anthropologist asked as he sat down with his eggs and juice. They filled him in on their doubles theory. "Those were your last clear memories before Hell. What do you remember afterwards?"

"Jim," they chorused.

"Everything around him was gray, but he was in color," Richie said.

"And he was bright," Ryan added.

"I felt compelled to look at him," Sam replied. "And to obey him."

"Yes, I felt that, too," Ryan said, and Richie nodded in agreement. "It didn't feel right leaving him in that grayness, but he told us to go, that you would take care of us, Blair. Thanks, by the way. What the two of you did--"

"We did because we could," Blair replied, accepting the gratitude on both their behalves. Jim didn't accept thanks well.

Richie gasped and looked at the door, then sent a frantic glance around the room.

"Relax," Jim said, standing to walk across the room. "You're safe here, Richie. I promise."

Jim opened the door before the man standing in the hall could knock. He smiled as Richie's thoughts identified the stranger. Even without the ponytail, this man had to be Duncan MacLeod. "Come in, Mr. MacLeod. There's someone here eager to see--"

"Mac!" Richie yelled, setting his plate on the coffee table. "Man, am I glad to see you! Joe called you, huh? I didn't mean to scare him like that. It was just--" His rapid monologue came to a crashing stop as Duncan stared at him as if he'd grown an extra head. "Mac?"

"This can't be happening," the Scot mumbled, obviously shaken.

"It was just a mistake, Mac. The Watchers must have screwed up the report or something," Richie rushed to explain. "I'm not dead. See?" He raised his hands to the sides of his head and gave a small jerk. "Firmly attached."

"But I--" MacLeod stopped as his vision started to tunnel. Someone led him to a chair and pushed his head down.

Richie knelt in front of his friend, teacher, and surrogate father. "It's all right. I'm here. Really here, man."

"But I saw you. You were--" Still MacLeod couldn't say the words.

"You saw me dead? We've been thinking about that. What we think happened was--"

"I killed you."

"You what!" Richie had never considered that possibility. But Ahriman had played with his mentor's mind quite a bit. "No, Mac. It wasn't me. Just another hallucination, maybe."

"Joe...Joe saw me do it. And so did Methos." The words had no inflection.

"It wasn't me. It was a double." The hunched shoulders started to shake. "Mac?" Helplessly, he put his arms around his friend as the sobs wracked through the powerful body.

Jim and Blair ushered the others outside, leaving the two Immortals to their privacy.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jim slid the last of the furniture back into place, and gave a pleased sigh. The protective dome was gone, as well as all the recent guests of Supernatural Sanctuary, Inc.-- never let it be said that fear ever affected Blair's sense of humor. The refugees had been claimed, and bundled off to their respective homes in the care of loved ones.

By far, Richie Ryan's reunion had been the most emotional, but also the one Jim best identified with. He knew Duncan MacLeod's fear intimately; only his nightmare had occurred at a fountain and not at an abandoned racetrack in Paris. Admiral Al Calavicci had merely sauntered into the loft, wrapped his arms around Sam, and said it was about time he made it home. They had all sat down, discussed theory and fact, came up with no real conclusions, and eventually decided they never would. Richie and Duncan had climbed into a classic black T-bird, wringing a promise from their hosts that if they ever needed them for anything, they should not think twice about calling Seacouver and/or Paris. Sam and Al had stepped into the back of the waiting military vehicle, which would carry them to the airport where a jet would wing them back to Stallion's Gate, New Mexico and a party thrown by Ziggy, Gushy, and the rest of the project team. A series of hugs, and kisses from Micki, had preceded the packing of the black Mercedes. They all promised to keep in close contact, considering the similarity of their work, and Jack left some strange material for Simon to read.

"Was this all just one long weekend?" Blair asked, coming in from taking the trash to the incinerator.

"Yeah, it does seem more like a month, doesn't it?" Jim agreed, flopping down on the now properly positioned sofa. "Do you have to go in? Oh, that's right, you've finished the dissertation," he remembered belatedly.

Blair paled and took the opposite end of the sofa. "You know?"

"Satan told me."

"Shit. I never meant for you to find out like that," Blair said quickly, searching for hurt in Jim's voice or eyes. Even though he couldn't find it, he went on. "This wasn't a betrayal, Jim--"

"I know, Chief. Don't sweat it. Like I told the Old One, you were just waiting for things to settle down before you talked with me." Blair stared at him. "What? Just because I expect betrayal doesn't mean I see it in every action. I'm perfectly capable of giving you the benefit of the doubt."

"I think you need more liquids and a nap," Blair said, going over to the refrigerator for a bottle of water.

"No more," Jim begged. "You had me replenishing my fluids so much last night, I was getting up every hour on the hour." He took the offered bottle anyway.

"Considering the short while you stayed in bed, that couldn't have been too many times. What was it? The number of people in the loft, or are you worried about retaliation from you know who?"

Jim gave a brief shrug. "Nothing specific. I just felt I had to keep watch. And...."

"And?"

"I don't know. At times I felt like I was under watch."

"From above or below?" Although he knew Heaven and Hell were directionless, the old references were understood by all.

"From here."

"Someone's watching us?"

"No. Not now anyway. Probably just leftover vibes from the Millennium Group. Don't worry. I'll keep my 'feelers' up for a few days, just to be sure."

"No. Your 'feelers' have been up for too long already. You need some downtime, Jim. We all do."

Jim closed his eyes, then opened them when he remembered something important. "I never thanked you, did I? For getting the shades to safety?"

"I was just doing my job, man, the one you asked me to do," Blair said, refusing the thanks.

"Then I'd like to thank you for saving my life," Jim countered.

"When?"

"When I didn't think I would make it out of Hell, you called to me."

"I called?" He stopped, remembered. Damn it, Jim. Get here! "Yeah, so?"

"I heard you. That's how Geryon and I made it to the arch. You gave me your strength and I passed it along to Geryon."

"Oh." Blair was silent for a moment. "I thought you didn't remember any of this."

"I'm a Sentinel, remember? It's all in my brain if I take the time to sort through it."

Blair shook his head. "Do your brain a favor and sort through this some other time, okay? It's been battered enough. And I just don't mean physically. Your emotions have taken a beating, too."

"You mean in Hell?"

"Yes, but here also. I know what went through your mind when you heard MacLeod's story."

Jim dropped his head. "So, it went through yours as well. Damn."

"Jim, I know you find this hard to believe, but I think the whole incident is a lot more painful to you than to me. I lived through it, but you're the one who's living with the memories."

"Penance, Chief."

"You've been forgiven. When will you accept that?"

"I've accepted. I just don't think I'll ever forget."

Blair gave him a fond smile. "You're one of a kind, Jim Ellison, and I thank God for that."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"That's variable. You do spend an inordinate amount of time on my shit list," the younger man teased.

"Am I on there now?" Jim asked solemnly.

"No, man. Despite the bloodletting, you were on your best behavior this weekend, Jim. In fact, I've never been so proud of anyone."

"Good."

Blair frowned. "Why does my opinion matter so much to you?"

Jim rubbed his hands across his face wearily. "I don't know, Chief. I just know it does." He slumped against the padded arm of the sofa.

"You have a perfectly good bed upstairs," Blair reminded him.

"I'll go...up...in a minute," Jim murmured, asleep by the time he whispered the last word.

Blair grabbed an afghan and pulled it over his partner, resisting the urge to caress his cheek. Jim looked so young when he slept. It was hard to reconcile the peaceful figure with the man who had fought demons and blown up Hell. He smiled. Oh, he was definitely going to get mileage out of that, not to mention the other things Jim had revealed as they traveled that odd journey together.

But that was for later. Now, he'd let his tired hero catch up on much-needed rest. He grabbed and anthro mag that had come in the mail, then settled into Jim's yellow chair.

By his reckoning, it was his turn to keep watch.

*****

"Do you offer frequent flyer miles?"

"We don't, but you can always ask my brother."

Humor. That was promising, Jim thought as he found himself walking with Michael by the mountain lake. "Shall I ask how much trouble I'm in, or is it part of my punishment to wonder?"

"Depends on what you're atoning for."

"Well, I sent a Hell-beast here to frolic with the children."

"Your children. If you thought he was harmless enough, who are we to disagree?"

"I called on you for help in Hell, even though you warned me I'd be on my own."

"You had faith that I wouldn't let you down."

Jim was getting frustrated. Surely, he'd done something wrong. "All that is Created is sacred. I destroyed Hell."

"It will rebuild."

Jim growled, then looked at his general. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Immensely," Michael replied, smiling. "I would think you have enough trouble without looking for it."

"Yes, sir."

Michael patted his shoulder. "Just because you're here doesn't mean I'm calling you on the carpet, Jim. I happen to like your company."

"Thank you," the mortal replied, embarrassed.

"I also happen to like your style. Lucifer must be dumbfounded-- or he will be once he recovers. Boom, huh?" Michael laughed.

"Big boom," Jim agreed, chuckling loudly, as he and the archangel settled down for a nice visit.

"You look much better," Blair said, as Jim's eyes fluttered open later in the day.

"Michael's a good influence on me," Jim replied, confirming that he'd been with his general.

"So, everything's okay?"

"Uh huh. How long have I been out?"

"Just a few hours. Simon called. They recovered Little Mo's body, and he sort of shoved H. and Rafe's investigation in the right direction. He'll be over as soon as he clears up some paperwork."

"Better order some food in. That new Thai place?"

Blair nodded. "Sounds good." He stood up to go find the telephone number. A light touch to his wrist stopped him.

"Hey, Chief?"

"Yeah, Jim?"

"Michael's not the only one who's a good influence on me."

Blair flushed. "Does that mean I can order you the vegetarian plate?"

Jim frowned, but his blue eyes were dancing as he looked at his partner and whined, "I thought I blew up Hell."

"What if we add a little fried demon as a side dish?" Blair teased.

Jim laughed, and draped his arm across Blair's shoulders. "Sounds like a winner, Chief."

Epilogue

Al Calavicci sat across from his friend, Sam Beckett, in the military jet and tried not to stare. But it was difficult and he was failing miserably.

"It's okay, Al," Sam said, catching the concerned look. "I'm not going to leap out of here. At least, I don't think I am."

Al nodded, not looking the least bit convinced. "What do you make of this Ellison guy?" he asked. As long as they were talking, he could stare all he wanted to, right?

"What do you mean? I'm sure you ran a check on him as soon as I told you where I was." Sam knew if Al had found anything "odd" in Jim's background, the admiral would have arrived at the loft with military backup.

"What kind of racket is this he's running?"

"Racket? Al, he risked his life going to Hell and bringing me and the others back. I really don't think you can consider that a racket."

"Fine. But what does he get out of it? Other than everything you know.... Maybe I should put someone on him for a while-- make sure he doesn't try to sell the information he has on the project."

"Don't you dare!" Sam objected quickly. "He didn't even know he was going to find me, so I doubt if he has buyers waiting around for hot info."

"Okay, but that still leaves us with the question of why. Everyone has to have a motivation, Sam," Al fretted.

"Were my leaps motivated, Al? I think Jim has as much control over what he does as I did. And I think Blair is just like you-- his Observer and researcher. Tell me, Al, what did we get out of all the leaping?"

Al shrugged. "A sense of accomplishment?"

Sam smiled. "Yes, exactly. I think that's Jim and Blair's reward as well."

Al took a moment to consider what Sam had said. It made sense in the strange way everything made sense around Sam. "God, it's good to have you home, Sam," he said fervently.

Sam grinned. "It's good to be home, Al."

*****

Joe Dawson heard the door to his bar open, and he came out of the back, leaning heavily on his cane. Whenever he got upset or angry, it seemed to settle in his hips, making manipulating his artificial legs that much harder. "MacLeod!" he called, recognizing the tall outline in the closed, and therefore dark bar. "Did you find that sick son of a bitch who called me? I hope like hell you took his head!"

"Gee, Joe, is it because I didn't pay my bar tab?" Richie asked, stepping around his mentor and grinning.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Joe said, glad there was a table in front of him, or else he would have toppled to the floor. "Richie?"

The Immortal hurried forward to help his friend into a chair. "Yeah, Joe. It's me. In the actual flesh," he said softly. He held out his hand and let the older man grasp it solidly.

"Mac, tell me this is real, or I'm going to think I'm going out of my fucking mind," Joe murmured.

"Aye, Joseph, it's our Rich," MacLeod said, as he stepped behind the counter, gathering glasses and a bottle of the bar's best scotch.

"How?" Joe asked bewilderedly. "I was there. I saw--"

"You were there, and Mac was there," Richie explained. "But I wasn't. That demon dude, Ahriman, he sent me to Hell, and replaced me with a double."

"Hell? So, you were dead?"

Richie shook his head. "Not dead, but trapped, chained really."

Joe looked to Mac for confirmation, not because he didn't believe Richie, but because he still needed reassurance that he wasn't having some kind of hallucination. "But you managed to escape?"

"Someone came for me and the two other guys who were trapped too. The man I told you about, Jim Ellison."

"A cop and former Army Ranger."

Mac raised an eyebrow.

"Just because the guy isn't an Immortal doesn't mean I couldn't find out anything about him," Joe informed him dryly.

"Did your Watcher contacts tell you that he's more than that?" Mac asked. "That he has the ability to go to Hell and take on Satan?"

Joe looked at him incredulously. Okay. He had swallowed the idea of Immortals, and when MacLeod had been terrorized by Ahriman, he opened his mind a bit wider and accepted that demons existed. But.... "You're telling me that there's a mortal who can--"

"Can and did, Joe!" Richie said excitedly. "He blew the hell of out the place-- literally!"

Joe laughed, then reached out to wrap his arms around the young Immortal. He'd known Richie even before his first death, and felt rather paternal toward him. "Tell me what this Jim Ellison of yours likes to drink, and I'll send him a case of it."

Mac smiled, ignoring the tears that were flowing again. "I left your number with him, Joe. Told him if he ever needed anything, it was his."

"Damn right." Joe sniffed, reluctantly letting Richie go, and picking up the shot glass with a shaky hand. "A toast, gentlemen. To the return of Richie Ryan! Welcome home, son."

The three glasses tapped, then the contents were tossed smoothly into the back of throats raw from emotion. It was the most satisfying burn all three men had had in a long time.

*****

"So, I guess you guys have made quite a headway in the manifest since I've been gone, huh?" Ryan Dallion asked wistfully.

"Not as much as you probably think," Jack replied from the driver's seat with a grim smile.

"I can't believe it's been ten years," Ryan said, glad that the highway looked relatively the same. He'd been shocked to see how popular cell phones and computers were. And what the hell was a DVD player?

"We're sorry that it took so long for us to figure it all out," Micki told him sadly.

"It's okay. I mean, I don't think I was hanging around there, waiting on you guys to mount a rescue. Of course, I don't remember a lot that happened there anyway. I'm just glad you got the idea and found someone who could do something about it."

"You need to thank Rashid. He's the one who recommended Jim," Jack said. "But I don't think even Rashid knows all of what's going on there in Cascade."

"Jim wasn't what you expected?"

"No. None of them were. Jim wields the power, but Blair and Simon feed it somehow.... At least that's what I think is happening. But I'm not sure. They were the most honest, non-forthcoming people I've ever met," Jack griped.

"But they got Ryan back for us," Micki reminded him, reaching out to fold her hand in Ryan's. "That's what we asked for, and that's what we got, Jack. If we want to know the truth, I guess that's for another visit."

Jack shook his head. "We've asked them for enough. If we're meant to know everything they do, we'll find it out eventually. Until then, I think we should just enjoy the good fortune they returned to us. Welcome home, Ryan."

Ryan reached his arm around Micki to pat Jack on the arm, then he laid his head on Micki's shoulder. "There's no place I'd rather be, guys. By the way, which one of you is going to tell Johnny to get out of my bed?"

Jack and Micki looked at each other guiltily, then all three laughed, knowing that everything would fall into place. When they were together, it always did.

*****

"The tape is very convincing."

"I know," Tony Bozeman said. Why do you think I showed it to you, you idiot? "I would like the Council convened so we can proceed with the rituals."

"Is that wise?" the other man asked. "If you're wrong, Det. Ellison will wind up dead and we'll have to deal with the police. Nothing makes them more diligent than searching for a cop killer."

"You've seen the tape. He will survive." Convene the Council or I'll strangle you."You have the proof in your hand. You must know that I'm right."

The man slowly nodded. "The Council will convene. I'll contact you when everything is ready."

"Thank you." Gee, you get to live another day. "Have a good evening."

Bozeman walked out of the office, smiling at his success. Even the diehards would have to believe after Jim made it through the rituals.

Maybe man would survive for another millennium after all.

THE END

To TVLIT 101

Comments? D.L. Witherspoon