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"Are we 'deja vuing', Jim? Isn't this where we started?" Blair asked as he joined Jim on the balcony several hours later, reaching for the mug in his partner's hand. "Well, at least the coffee's not ice cold this time."
"I just made a pot. Help yourself," Jim said, just enjoying the warmth of the sun beaming down on him from Cascade's blue sky.
"There's no damage," Blair said, partially to himself.
Jim shook his head. "And I managed to take out the trash when one of our neighbors was doing the same. They all slept like babes. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary."
"But it all happened," Blair said firmly.
"Yes," Jim agreed. "It did."
"I checked my bed. You didn't sleep in it."
"Couldn't."
"Why? Is another attack imminent?"
"No, but..."
"But?" Blair urged impatiently.
"My body is on alert, Chief. The senses are humming, the energy levels are up. I can't rest."
"Are your senses spiking?" Blair asked anxiously. "Are your controls failing?"
"Nothing like that, Chief. It's... it's as if this state is natural, that it is still all under my control."
Blair nodded as he thought it through. Apparently the Sentinel as a whole had been affected by Alicia's gift. He had seen Jim in protective mode before, but he wore this much more easily. There were no signs of strain, no wrinkle in the middle of his forehead signaling a headache, no clenched jaw advertising stress. But looking closer, he noticed the Sentinel constantly scanned the area, his head tilted slightly as if catching every sound, his nose wiggling as every inhalation was analyzed and processed.
Blair looked as if he was going to make a comment but Jim touched his shoulder to signal someone was joining them. "Good morning, Daryl."
"Good morning, detective, Blair," the teen greeted them with a yawn.
"After last night, I think we can change that to Jim."
"Okay. Good morning, Jim."
Jim looked at Blair and nodded. "You have any questions you want to ask, Daryl?" Blair inquired, knowing that the teen talked freer to him.
"Yeah. You got anything around here for breakfast?"
"Don't be rude, Daryl," Simon said, joining them on the balcony.
Blair held up his hand for Simon to be silent. "Actually, I was wondering if you had any questions about what happened last night."
Daryl shook his head. "Jim-- he told me to call him that, Dad-- is the Sentinel and the dark forces are after him. You and Dad are part of his team and they hoped to get to Dad through me and Jim through Flip. So Jim brought us all here and kept the demons at bay. The only question I have is, have you given anyone the video rights yet? I've been fooling around with designing video games and this would be cool."
"It's not a game, son," Simon said softly.
"I know that, Dad. I was here last night, remember? But just because it's real, doesn't mean it won't make a cool game."
Jim shook his head and chuckled. So much for lasting psychological damage. "You can do the game but you have to keep our identities secret."
Daryl rolled his eyes, wondering just how dumb they thought he was. "I'll make the hero Black. They'll think I'm basing it on my dad. Most kids do that anyway."
"That's fine, Daryl," Jim said. "Now, I have another favor to ask of you." The teen looked at him expectantly. "I want you to stay close to Flip during all this. The people, the humans allied with these demons, they like little girls." Daryl's eyes widened as he understood the implication. "I need to know there's someone watching out for her if my attention gets diverted."
Simon swore his son grew another inch as he accepted the responsibility. "You have my word, sir," Daryl said solemnly as he shook Jim's hand. "I'll look out after her as if she were my little sister."
"Thank you, Daryl. That will make my life much easier," Jim said gratefully, before turning to his partner. "Blair, why don't you take Daryl into the kitchen and start breakfast and Simon, I need you to come with me." Inside, Jim picked up their guns from where he'd placed them on a high shelf and handed the captain his.
Simon frowned as he automatically checked his weapon. "What's going on, Jim?"
"In a minute, Simon." He went over to the sofa where Flip was just waking. "Morning, sweetheart."
"Mornin', Daddy."
She clung to the word so tightly, Jim didn't have the heart to remind her it was just a game they had to play at the hospital. Besides, it had given her comfort through a very difficult night. "I have to go out for a few minutes. I won't be far and Blair and Daryl are going to be here with you. Okay?"
"'Kay. 'Cause you can hear me if I yell?"
"Yeah, I'll hear you." He motioned for Simon to follow.
"What is it, Jim?" Simon asked again in the hallway.
"Two men in a car. They've been watching the loft I know since early morning. They could have been here all night."
When Jim made a move toward the steps, Simon's hand reached out to grab his arm. "Why didn't you wake me earlier?"
Jim shrugged. "They didn't look like they were going anywhere. I figured you needed the sleep."
"And you didn't?"
"No, I didn't," Jim answered. "I'm being completely honest, sir. I explained it to Sandburg and he seemed to accept it."
"Oh." If Sandburg bought the explanation, it must have made sense... in some strange and unique way, no doubt. But he was the expert on Jim. "How do you want to do this?" he asked as he followed his detective.
Jim smiled evilly."Let's try the direct approach."
Simon walked out the door and straight across the street to where the car was parked. He tapped on the closed passenger window, smiling as it was partially opened by the two men sitting nervously inside. "Excuse me," he said amiably. "But could you tell me why you're so interested in my friends' loft?"
The driver started to crank the car, but the sound of Jim tapping on his window with his gun and badge halted his movement. "The captain asked you a question, gentlemen. I suggest you answer it. Now get out of the car and let's discuss this like the civilized men we are."
He and Simon stepped back as the men exited. The driver, a tall, thin man with closely shorn hair and slightly pointy, prominent ears, held up two fingers and slowly reached toward his pocket, continuing the movement only after Jim gave him the go ahead. He extracted a business card and held it out to the detective.
A picture of a snake eating its tail, followed by a name: Peter Watts, Millennium Group. Jim reached the card across the car to Simon. "Mean anything to you?"
"Not particularly. You?"
"Sounds like some freaking cult. Let's get them up to the loft and I'll put in a call to Whitney."
"The FBI? Why?" Simon asked.
Jim leaned close to Mr. Peter Watts and took a deep, dramatic sniff. "Because he smells like a former fed."
The Millennium Group members looked at each other. "Detective Ellison, this is a Saturday morning. I'm sure the deputy director isn't even in his office," Watts pointed out.
"Then I'll try his personal cell number," Jim said with a shrug. "You may know my name, Mr. Watts, but you apparently know little else about me. Now let's not give my neighbors any more of a free show than they've already received."
Simon looked around, but couldn't spot any curtains moving. But if Jim saw neighbors... "Maybe we should sell tickets next time, Jim."
"Provide opera glasses for those on the upper floors?" Jim suggested with a grin, which grew as he noticed the wary look Watts threw his partner. Good. Keep them off balance. Simon and Jim were still going when they reached the loft.
Blair relaxed as he heard their laughter, so he was surprised when they walked in with the two men and their guns were still unholstered. "Company for breakfast?" he asked as casually as he could. He was grateful now that he had sent Daryl and Flip to his room. And, oh yeah, when he got a minute he was going to commend Jim on his handling of Daryl; with one simple request he had shifted the teen from victim to protector. Cool move.
"Nah, Chief. Just a couple of people I need to run a quick check on. Here's their card." He handed the small white rectangle to his partner and immediately noticed the shift in heartbeat. "You've heard of this outfit? The Millennium Group?"
Blair nodded. "Yeah, I would have recognized it from the ouroborus."
"Speak English, Sandburg," Simon prompted, not in the least bit surprised to find the anthropologist knew of the group. He had learned that there was little the grad student didn't know.
"Oh, sorry. The ouroborus is the 'tail devourer', this picture on the card. It symbolizes such concepts as completion, the endless round of existence. The Millennium Group uses it as its symbol because they think the world will either end or begin the end at the upcoming millennium, right?" he asked the thinly mustached guy who was apparently the leader. Well, at least he was glaring like the leader.
"How do you know so much about the Millennium Group?" Watts asked Blair anxiously. Blair just shrugged.
"What's their purpose, Sandburg? And why do you think they were outside watching the loft?" Simon asked as Jim reached for the phone, pulling it into the privacy of the kitchen.
"They call themselves a consulting firm and what they mostly deal with is what they perceive as the growing conflicts between good and evil as the millennium approaches."
"Zoroastrianism again?" Jim asked with a long-suffering sigh as he waited to connect with Whitney.
"You know of Zoroastrianism, Mr. Ellison?" Watts asked with a hint of disbelief.
Blair smiled. People's biggest problem with Jim was underestimating him. They looked at him and thought, "dumb cop." But what Blair had learned from Jim, as well as the others he'd worked with on the force, "dumb cop" was a generality that didn't apply to ninety-five percent of the officers. He rolled his eyes at the consultant and continued his report. "The Group works a lot with the local authorities, the FBI, and other government agencies when they run into something they can't quite explain by conventional means. I know there's a unit working out of Seattle. Much of their work involves interpreting ancient prophecies and certain natural signs. Perhaps they saw what Hell had in store for us and decided to come see the sights."
Peter Watts was growing more apprehensive by the minute. First, Ellison wasn't what he appeared to be and now a simple grad student was giving out what was supposed to be confidential material. "Mr. Sandburg, I insist you tell me how you came across this information."
"You tell me what you're doing here and I may tell you how I know about you," Blair offered, not liking the man's tone. Who was in whose house? And which one of them was protected by two, big, armed cops?
"We had information that there would be an event last night involving this address."
"What kind of information?" Blair asked curiously. "Were we mentioned in a prophecy or did one of the psychics in the Group zoom in on us?"
Watts ignored the question. "As the millennium approaches we must look at all paranormal occurrences as signs of what is to come. Therefore, Mr. Miller and I were sent here to investigate."
"And now you can go home," Jim said acerbically as he walked toward them, holding the phone. In his book, a cult with government connections was still just a cult. "The deputy director wishes to speak to you, Mr. Watts."
A minute later he handed the phone back to Jim and after a quick conversation, the call ended. "You and your colleague are free to go, Mr. Watts," Jim said as he opened the door. "But just for the record, what occurred here has nothing to do with the end of the world or whatever it is your group is searching for. This is personal, pure and simple."
The two men walked out and Jim listened until he heard them get into their car and drive away. "Ghouls by any other name," he said bitterly. No matter how horrible the accident, there was always some lower lifeform who wanted to stand by and gawk. He put the Millennium Group in that category. "How do you know about them, Chief?"
"I had an undergrad professor for a religion class-- I forget what it was called. Anyway, he and I didn't see eye to eye on the meaning of certain world events. He was sure every earthquake, hurricane, tornado, or whatever, was a sign that we were entering the age of the Apocalypse. I was just as certain that it was the world just being the world, the way it has always been. I'm sure when Mt. Vesuvius blew its top, everyone though the end of the world was near too. I accused him of being a 'Chicken Little' and he accused me of being an ostrich, hiding my head in the sand... which, by the way, is just an old wives tale. Ostriches don't bury their heads--"
"Sandburg!" Jim called sharply. "You know about the Millennium Group how?" he prompted.
"Oh, the professor was a member. He showed me their stuff trying to get me to believe. Apparently he thought I was too bright to be kept in the dark. Anyway, the next semester he went traipsing off to look for more Dead Sea scrolls and I haven't heard anything about him since."
"Well, what was your impression of the information you saw?" Simon asked. "Is this some flaky outfit or something we need to take more seriously?"
"There are several big name scientists involved with the Group. Maybe this isn't just about you and Helaire, Jim. It could have more widespread consequences," Blair pointed out.
"All the more reason we should focus on our own concerns, Chief. Let Peter Watts and the Millennium Group worry about what will happen in the next two years. I just want to get through the next two nights or even just the next two hours."
Blair nodded, knowing there was no use in arguing. "I put the kids in my room just in case there was trouble. Tell them breakfast will be ready in a minute, will you?"
As Blair turned toward the kitchen, he tucked Peter Watts's card into his pocket... Just in case.
*****
Back in his comfortable home in Seattle, Peter Watts watched the ouroborus fade from his computer screen after he uttered his password. Then he began to type and receive a reply.
>Tony, the surveillance was incomplete. We ran into difficulties.
>>Ellison found you out and ran you off, right?
>Yes. I think you left out important information about him.
>>I sent you his file.
>But that too is incomplete, isn't it?
>>I told you he is very skilled. Did you tell him who you were?
>Yes. But he was not impressed. Another thing you left out of your request for a surveillance report was that he is protected by the Bureau.
>>What do you mean?
>We were warned off by Whitney.
>>Ellison has new allies. I am not surprised. To know him is to protect him.
>He does not seem to be the type that needs protecting. He looks damned capable of doing it himself.
>>The detective is more than he appears to be, Peter. I'm surprised you did not recognize that. What he is capable of, we cannot yet determine. That is *why* he is protected. Did he have his anthropologist and captain with him?
>Yes. They and two children were present when the attack occurred.
>>Then he was aware the attack was coming. Good. Thank you, Peter.
>Do you want to try another surveillance?
>>No. That was sufficient. I have the information I need.
>Tony, what does this have to do with the millennium?
>>Everything, Peter. Everything.
Chapter Seven
"Flip?"
The child looked up from where she was sprawled in the floor watching Simba's Pride after having seen The Lion King earlier. "Yes, Daddy?"
"Open the door."
She scrambled up and dodged the tangle of adult feet and legs that surrounded her. Only Daryl had joined her in the floor although everyone was watching the video. She was surprised but happy to find that all of them knew both movies quite well. But she wasn't surprised to be sent to the door before anyone knocked. Her mama had the gift of knowing who was coming and going. So did her new pretend daddy apparently.
Speaking of... "Mama!" she screamed as she was lifted up into familiar arms. "You're here!"
"Yeah, baby. Your mama's here." Odette Fourtier wrapped her arms around her daughter and let her tears flow. "Don't you go running off without your mama again, you hear, Philip Marie?"
Flip nodded solemnly. "I didn't wanna go, Mama, but those bad men made me. But I 'member what the angel tell me. He say if something happen I was to wait a long time, then I was to call out to Mr. Jim and he would save me. And he did, Mama!"
"I know he did, baby." She looked at Jim who had joined them at the door and smiled her thanks. Jim just nodded and guided them over to the sofa so the rest of the party could enter.
"Rankin, Allen," Simon said as he joined them. "You guys acting as escorts for T'Dette?"
Mike Rankin shrugged. "That and we're real interested in the two fellows you got for the kidnapping. I know the feds want them, but the descriptions you faxed us sounded familiar. We might have some murder charges against them."
"We talking extradition here?"
"Not sure. Our D.A. was supposed to be talking to your D.A. You haven't heard anything?"
"We've had other things to hold our attention," Simon said casually. "Let me call down to the station and see what's going on."
"So, Joey, how's life as a big time detective?" Blair asked Mike's young partner. When they had first met, Joey Allen had only been a detective a couple of months. Putting the Society out of business had been one hell of a way to get acclimated to the job.
"Well, things have been so calm, I was started to get bored. That's why when Mike said we're flying all the way up here to visit y'all, I just nodded and went to pack. According to the word on the street in New Orleans, Helaire's busting your asses again?"
"Yeah," Blair said with a shrug. "She and Jim have this love/hate relationship-- they love to hate each other. Come on out to the balcony and I'll fill you in."
"Is this something I'm going to understand?" Joey asked. "Because I'm still not sure what went on back then."
Blair grinned. "If you're confused over that, wait until you hear the latest. Come on. You too, Mike. Jim?"
"In a minute, Chief." Jim looked around the loft at the men heading outside, the one on the phone, mother and daughter on the sofa, the teenager still in the floor in front of the television, and sighed. It all seemed so peaceful, but he knew it was just a temporary interlude. The forces against them were building even as his stomach growled. Stomach growled? He looked at his watch. Way past lunch time. He was surprised Daryl hadn't said anything, but one look at the teenager told him the kid was into the movie. Apparently Timon and Pumbaa could charm any age.
A quick trip to the kitchen quickly proved to be futile. Well, what could he expect? Goods for two didn't last long when they had to support five and may as well not exist when it came to feeding eight. He debated between a trip to the grocer and a call to the nearest take-out joint. Wasn't really much of a debate.
"Saving the world and feeding us too? What can't you do, Jim Ellison?" T'Dette asked as she came up behind him.
"Well, considering I don't even have five loaves and two fishes, I'm afraid the feeding part is out of my realm as well," he said jokingly.
"Got no business in a kitchen when I'm 'round anyway," the restauranteur said, nudging him from in front of the refrigerator. "Bachelors," she complained with a shake of her head as she examined the contents.
"It's okay, T'Dette. You go be with your daughter. I'll think of something."
T'Dette snorted. "My daughter prefers the company of that Daryl boy to me. That's okay with me though. Just mean she gonna be fine."
"She say anything about last night?"
"Oh, 'bout how the boogeyman came callin' and everyone sat 'round holding hands until you made him go away? Yeah, she said something about it. Would have thought it was something she made up, but Philip Marie ain't a fanciful child, and I know what went on when y'all were in N'awlins."
"I'm sorry she was caught up in all this, T'Dette. I don't know why they chose her to get to me, but I apologize," Jim said solemnly.
"You ain't got no reason to apologize, Jim. I'm the one who introduced you and Philip Marie, remember? And I think that was all it took-- you knowing her. Helaire Delacroix is just a spiteful bitch and you ain't got no cause to be taking the blame for her doings," T'Dette said in her practical wisdom. "Now if you want to apologize for somethin', why didn't you wake me when you crawled into my bed?"
Jim frantically juggled the carton of eggs she had placed in his hands. "I beg your pardon?" he said quickly.
T'Dette laughed. "Well, that's the only way I can figure you got to be Philip Marie's daddy."
Jim had forgotten Flip's fondness for the name. "Oh. I didn't mean any disrespect to you or her father. It was the only way I could stay with her in the emergency room."
"Yeah, that's what she told me. But people thinking you been in my bed ain't disrespectin' me one bit and as far as the bluesman who fathered her, he ain't caring either. He was just passin' through which I already knew. He wanted someone to warm his bed and I wanted someone to warm my heart." She gave a shrug. "We both got what we wanted. Ain't nothing wrong with that, is there?"
"Not at all."
"So you're the first and only man Philip Marie has called daddy. I don't have nothing against that, but if it's gonna cause you trouble, I'll put a stop to it immediately."
Since T'Dette was less than an inch shorter than he, it wasn't hard for Jim to look her straight in the eye. "It used to be that I didn't give a damn about what people thought of me, T'Dette. Now, I care even less. If it makes Flip feel more secure, gives her back some of the childhood this incident has stolen from her, then she can call me whatever she wants, for as long as she wants."
"You're a good man, Jim Ellison," she said huskily and embraced him. "Thank you for taking care of my baby. And thank you for taking on Helaire. Not many people in this world would do it."
"As if I have a choice," Jim said, embarrassed by the praise.
"Oh, you have a choice, Jim," T'Dette said knowingly. "Just not one you've wasted time considering. Now get out of my kitchen and let me get some lunch started. I'm starting to feel hungry myself. Heaven knows, I haven't eaten since Philip Marie disappeared... And don't you start apologizin' again," she added, seeing the sentiment in his eyes. "Go on outside with the men where you belong."
"There are more men chefs in New Orleans than women," he reminded her.
"Yeah, but you ain't one of them," she retorted, her smile taking the sting out of her words. "You need a break, Jim. I don't know what's coming, but something is. Rest while you can."
He raised an eyebrow. "You feel it too?" She shrugged. He knew her talents. "Can you feel it going?"
Her eyes were sad when she lifted them to him. "Can't say when it's going until it comes. But I know you need to be real careful. What Helaire done sent for you, it ain't gonna wanna take no for an answer."
*****
"Chief, you sure you don't want to come with us?" Jim asked for the second time as he and Simon prepared to take Rankin and Allen down to the station. The two men charged with Flip's kidnapping were suddenly refusing to talk. Simon hoped that Jim's presence would convince them otherwise. But he was reluctant to leave the loft and especially Blair. He had already explained to T'Dette that he wanted her and Flip to stay at the loft for a couple days or at least until he was sure Helaire was under control. T'Dette had merely nodded and said that was why she had packed Flip and herself a couple changes of clothing before catching the plane.
"C'mon, Jim. You know someone should stay behind," Blair said, trying to ease the worry he saw in the Sentinel.
"T'Dette will be here with the kids. And the protective circle is still in place. No one can cross it without permission. The loft is secure."
"Then you should have no problem leaving me here then," Blair argued with flawless logic... as usual.
Jim sighed and ignored the screaming in the back of his head that told him to ignore his Guide and stay by his side. "We'll be back soon. Don't invite anyone inside, okay? If someone knocks, ignore it or speak through the closed door. Understand?"
"Got it, Jim. Now go teach those guys just how sacred our loft is to us."
"Well, gentlemen, I have my orders," Jim said with a grin. "Let's get out of here." He paused before closing the door. "Take care, Chief."
"I will." Blair rolled his eyes as the door closed. "He's so overprotective," he told T'Dette as he joined her in the kitchen while she contemplated what to make for dinner. "You know, we could just as easily call for take-out. You're a guest, remember?"
"And you want to poison me with food made by some stranger? An odd sense of hospitality you have here up north," she said. Lunch had been a success with potluck-- she put what she could find in a pot, boiled it for a while and luckily it had been edible. But dinner was going to be a problem without supplies. "You have markets up here? Stores with groceries?" she explained carefully, having doubts about his knowledge of such places considering the state of the cupboards.
Blair smiled. "Yes, ma'am."
"Any of them deliver?"
"Probably. But the easiest solution would be for me to pop down to the store and get what you want. Make a list and I'll try to get everything on it."
T'Dette shook her head. "We're not supposed to leave this place."
"No, we're not supposed to invite anyone inside. The market is just around the corner, T'Dette," Blair argued, tossing a notepad to her. "What do you need?"
"I don't think this is a good idea," T'Dette said warily as Blair reached for his backpack. Then he let his hand drop. Juggling bags of grocery would be hazardous enough without adding the pack to the mix. Instead, he just picked up his keys from the basket by the door.
"I'll be back in a few minutes," Blair assured her with a smile. Snagging the list from her hand before she could lodge another protest, he scooted out the door. On the first floor, he noticed a white note sticking out of their mailbox so he grabbed it as he headed out.
Mr. Sandburg, it is urgent that we talk with you. Your partner does not know what he is getting into. The consequences could be quite deadly. If you get this message in the next several hours, we have a room at the Cascade Towers, #666. -- Peter Watts
Blair barely made it past the word deadly before he was running to his car.
Chapter Eight
"You know, Ellison, we need to find a way to bottle what you got and sell it to law enforcement members everywhere," Joey Allen said as they walked out of the interrogation area of the Cascade P.D. where the two felons had just confessed to every crime they had been accused of. Whatever fear Helaire had of Jim, she had shared it with her followers.
"Or else we could just kidnap him and take him back with us," Mike Rankin added, pleased with the way the afternoon had gone.
"Sorry, gentlemen, I have dibs on him," Simon said. "He's going nowhere but upstairs with me to Major Crimes to make sure everything is going well in our absence. But I know my men and women are on top of everything. It's the kind of ship I run."
"Aye, aye, captain," Jim mumbled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. The elevator opened to deposit them on the seventh floor. "You know, Mike, Simon--"
It happened so swiftly that no one had a chance to react. One minute Jim was talking, the next he was on the floor, his hands clutching his head. "Shit," Simon muttered, kneeling quickly beside his friend. With relief, he noticed Jim was still conscious. "Jim, what is it, man?" he asked softly. Passing officers paused, alarmed to see the capable detective stricken down, but moved on when the captain waved them away.
"Blair," Jim whispered, the strained on his face telling Simon he wasn't just requesting his partner's presence.
Simon whipped out his cell phone and handed it to one of the visiting detectives. "Speed dial three." Right behind Daryl and the department. "Can you make it to my office, Jim?"
"Simon, he's gone."
"Who's gone, Jim? Sandburg? We left him in the loft, remember?"
Rankin tapped the captain on the shoulder. "T'Dette says he left over an hour ago to go to the store and she hasn't heard from him since."
"Damn," Simon muttered. What had that kid gotten himself into? "Help me get Jim to my office now!"
The Major Crimes contingent looked up expectantly as Simon entered. Then they noticed he was supporting a very pale Ellison. Uh oh. "Captain?" Brown asked hesitantly.
"Later," Simon said abruptly and motioned for someone to get the door to his office. Then it slammed shut behind the two strangers who had accompanied the captain and Ellison.
Joel had walked in as the door closed. "Where was Blair?" he asked quickly. Brown looked at him and both men silently agreed: if Blair wasn't with Jim... "Think we should put out an APB?"
"I'm ahead of you," Brown said, already on the phone.
Inside the office, Simon squatted down beside Jim's chair. ""You said Sandburg's gone, Jim. What do you mean? Do you know where he is?"
Jim shook his head. "I can't... I can't feel him anymore, Simon. Can you?" he asked desperately.
The familiar protest almost leaped off Simon's tongue, but he stopped himself. No time to pretend not to know what Jim was talking about. As Watcher, he was connected, albeit it not as strongly as the two of them, to both Sentinel and Guide. He closed his eyes and searched for the presence he associated with Sandburg. It wasn't there. "What does this mean, Jim?" he asked hesitantly, hoping it didn't mean Blair was dead. It couldn't mean that.
"Someone, some thing, is obstructing the connection. I felt it being severed, as if a veil suddenly blocked the light." Jim reached out for Simon's arm. "He's not dead, Simon. We would know that too."
Simon nodded, not totally convinced but content to rely on Jim's instincts. "So we need to find him." He walked over to the door. "Brown, put out an--"
"The word's already out, captain."
Simon nodded and turned back to Jim, too disconcerted to wonder how Brown knew to put out the APB. "What do you want to do now?"
"We need to get back to the loft."
"Fine. We'll--" His cell phone rang. "Banks... Yes. I'll send them over immediately." He stuck the phone back in his pocket and faced Rankin and Allen. "You're needed over at the D.A.'s office. Something about the extradition." He opened the door to the bullpen again. "Hey, Brown! You mind walking these guys over to the Justice Building?"
"No problem, captain." Maybe he could pick their brains on the way.
"Good thing we came in separate cars," Simon said, Rankin having rented a car at the airport. "Meet you back at the loft when you're finished."
"Sure, captain."
Simon made the introductions, then sent the visitors off with Brown. At that moment, Joel popped his head into the office. "Anything else you need, Simon?" he asked.
"No, taking care of this place for me is enough," Simon told his old friend. Formally asking for time off would require explanations he didn't have. "If you need me, I'm still crashing at the loft." He looked to Jim for confirmation and received a slight nod in reply.
"Well, we'll contact you if we get a lead on Blair. Jim, you gonna be okay, man?" Joel asked worriedly, having heard about the collapse in the hall.
"I've had better days, Joel," Jim replied honestly.
"Yeah, well, I'd be a wreck too if someone had taken my kid." Jim and Simon stared at him. "Oh, I know it's a big secret and I understand why. We'll keep our mouths shut."
"Mouths?"
Joel shrugged. "What can I say, Simon? This is a police station, not the CIA. Keeping something inside the department is one thing; keeping it from the officers is another.."
Simon looked at Jim, silently asking if he wanted the situation straightened out, but Jim had told T'Dette the truth when he said he gave less than a damn about what others thought about him. "We have to get to the loft," he urged.
"Why, Jim?" Simon asked in the privacy of the elevator. "What's so urgent about getting back to the loft? You think Sandburg will try to contact us there?"
"I don't know, Simon. I just know that I need to be there." He shook his head. "It's a damn nuisance knowing these things without something tangible to back them up. I mean, I know, but I don't know how I know and I can't even prove that I do."
Simon heard the frustration in the Sentinel's voice and sought to reassure him. "That's okay, Jim. I don't require an explanation. And after all we've been through together, needing proof would be like closing the barn door after the horses have left." He clasped his hand on the tense shoulder beside him. "I told Sandburg earlier that I was going to allow you guys to lead and I was just going to follow. I meant it, Jim. Where you lead, I'm right behind-- no questions asked."
"Glad to have you along, Simon, no matter where you are-- behind, in front, at my side. I hope you know that," Jim emphasized gratefully. Once, he had been content to face everything on his own. But now, it felt good to know he wasn't alone.
Simon shrugged. "We staffs are here to serve... and drive," he added as they reached his car. "Why? Because I wouldn't be caught dead in that hayseed truck of yours... which I probably would be, considering the way you drive."
"Hey, I'm offended on behalf of my truck," Jim said, rising to the bait the way Simon had planned. "Talk about me all you want, but leave my classic automobile out of it."
"Classic? I'll give you a classic. When I was in high school, my father had this..."
*****
The light moments at the station were forgotten as Jim and Simon neared the loft. "What is it, Jim? What do you hear?" the Watcher asked as the Sentinel cocked his head.
"I'm not sure," Jim said slowly. He continued to listen as Simon drove the remaining distance to the loft. He sighed heavily as he got out of the car and Simon assumed he was thinking about his missing partner...
Who happened to be standing in front of the loft door as they stepped out of the elevator. "Sandburg! Where the hell have you been!" Simon shouted upon seeing the anthropologist. "Don't you know how worried we've been about you!"
"I'm sorry, Simon," Blair said, shrugging his shoulders. "I just had to run a quick errand. I didn't think it would cause trouble."
"Well, it did, Chief," Jim said slowly, eyeing the figure in front of him. "Why don't you go on in? Simon and I will join you in a minute."
Blair gave a sheepish smile. "Uh, that's one of the reasons I'm glad to see you guys. I sorta forgot to pick up my keys."
"Really?" Jim asked, putting up his arm to block Simon as he moved toward the door. "How'd you drive the Volvo without your keys, Chief?"
"I didn't drive my car, Jim," Blair said, his eyes darting back and forth between Jim and Simon.
"Then why was there heat radiating from your engine?" Simon stared at Jim. They had both noted Sandburg's car in the parking lot, but Jim hadn't mentioned anything about it being recently used.
"Quit with the twenty questions, man, and let me in," Blair fumed fitfully.
The air in the hallway grew colder and Jim detected a shiver in Simon as the Watcher sensed the temperature drop. However, he hadn't yet sensed the most monumental change. With a sad shake of his head, Jim replied to his partner's request. "Can't do that, Chief. And if I don't let you in, you can't go in, can you?" He'd heard Blair asking T'Dette to let him in, the anger growing in him as she refused. But even before he heard, he had known.
"Jim?" Simon asked with dawning horror.
"Meet the reason why we can't feel Blair, Simon. Something else is inhabiting his body."
"Shit." Simon fumbled for his weapon.
"No!" Jim said sharply. "That's Blair's body, Simon. We can't hurt him."
"But I can hurt you!" It/Blair suddenly screamed and launched itself toward Jim.
The Sentinel felt nails dig into his face as the demon occupying Blair grabbed him and refused to let go. Trying for my eyes, Jim thought idly as he struggled to free himself without hurting his partner. The entrances to my soul. Should let him have a look around. Probably scarier than the place he comes from. "Keep away, Simon," he ordered as he sensed the bigger man preparing to jump in.
Uttering an apology, he slammed Blair against the wall. The talon-like fingers finally detached, only to fly at him again. Jim dodged and feinted, hoping to tire out Blair's body without damaging it. Maybe then, he could control the demon and protect Blair without any permanent damage. The demon, however, had other plans. It ceased its forward assault, stepping back closer to the wall in preparation. Words flowed from its mouth, sounds that Jim could, but couldn't decipher. It was as if he'd heard the words but they made no sense in the order in which they were delivered.
A second later, Jim had much more to worry about. The demon's hands, Blair's hands, were held high and Jim felt, rather than saw, the energy gathering in the air. With a hoarse cry, the hands lowered to point directly at the Sentinel. After making sure he was between the demon and Simon, Jim just stood there, waiting for the bolt of energy that lashed out in his direction. That the power would disable and more than likely kill him was a given and even as the streak of light neared, he could hear the captain saying a prayer on his behalf behind him. He wished he had time to ask Simon to take care of Blair when this was all over, but he knew the Watcher would automatically look out for the Guide. It was his duty... as this was the Sentinel's.
He smelled the frying of the air around him and forced his eyes to remain open as his death grew nearer. But at the last second, the rush of power hit a force stronger than it, a transparent wall which blocked the energy and dissipated it in a showy display of crackling sparks.
"Thanks, Lici," Jim mumbled softly as the thing before him howled its disappointment. Once again it raised its hands, but the energy failed to coalesce into the bolt again.
In fact, Jim noticed that not only couldn't the demon collect the energy it needed, but the being itself was considerably weaker. Now was the time to subdue it. He charged it and it briefly grappled with him, with even less strength than Blair would have. Jim backed off slightly, not wanting to injure his friend. The demon sensed the hesitation and carefully inched its way toward the stairs.
At first Jim thought it meant to lead him toward the stairs. Warehouse stairs. Solid metal with just a hint of rubber to keep the residents from slipping. Definitely not something someone wanted to hit with any force. But as soon as he had that thought, a vision followed. A glimpse of the landing below, not with his body contorted upon it but Blair's. The fiend wanted to kill Blair, not him! Even as he comprehended this, Blair's body was soaring over the railing and through the air. He couldn't remember if he cried out or not, but Jim reached out and wrapped himself around Blair protectively in mid-air. The stairs met them all too soon, the Sentinel careful to keep his head from striking first. If he knocked himself out, the demon would have the upperhand.
Black dots floated before Jim's eyes as his back made contact on one of the lower stairs, then both of them rolled to a stop on the landing. Thankfully, he managed to be on top and even as he tried to manage the pain, he was securely pinning the demon. Then he used his senses to check the seemingly unconscious figure beneath him. He was concerned that when they rolled to the bottom, Blair may have been hurt. Should he be calling for an ambulance?
Suddenly, the demon's eyes opened and instead of the familiar deep blue surrounded by white, Jim looked into two black pools that gathered him close and began sucking him in. He felt himself loosening his grip and he struggled to fight against whatever this power was. But his senses were already overcompensating for the pain and now there was this...
"Jim, damn it! You listen to me!" Simon yelled, digging his fingers into the Sentinel's shoulder. "You come back here! Now! I am NOT fighting these demons by myself!"
The new pain registered in the Sentinel and as he shifted his senses, he heard Simon's cry. Spurred by the call of his Watcher, he found the strength to blink and in that one beat, the demon's spell was broken. "Find his backpack, Simon!"
Simon raced back up the stairs before he realized he didn't know if Blair had taken it with him when he left. If he had, it could be anywhere. Before he could turn around and ask, the door to the loft opened and T'Dette stuck the backpack out before slamming the door closed. Well, Simon thought as he headed back down the stairs, at least he knew his son was safe. He started to call down to Jim that he had it, but he stopped when he heard the demon speaking.
"You ride the pale horse! You ride the pale horse! Death rides the pale horse! The Sentinel rides the pale horse!" it chanted.
"Shut up!" Jim replied, wondering if Blair would forgive him for popping him in the mouth. The screeching voice was highly annoying.
"Ask Lila. Ask Danny. Ask the seven men in Peru. Seven little soldiers, all dressed in greeny- greeny, trying to get to Heaven on the end of a stringy-stringy," it sang the familiar campfire song, "Bump in and break in and down they all fell. Instead of going to Heaven, they all went to HELL!" It screamed the final word, then laughed as it had last night.
"Simon!" Little bastard was getting personal.
"I have it, Jim!"
"Open it up. There should be a bottle of water in there."
A bottle of water? Simon held back the urge to ask. Follow, he thought to himself, just follow. "This it?" he asked, pulling out the bottle that was about a quarter empty.
"Open it."
He did as asked, then reached it to the Sentinel's outstretched hand. He stood back as Jim forced the water into Blair's mouth, making him swallow by pinching his nose. Blair started choking and only then did Jim release him and roll him to his side. First, water bubbled out of his mouth, then gushed out a black goo which had the consistency of hot tar and smelled ten times worse. It puddled onto the landing, then seemed to gather itself and oozed toward the next set of steps.
"Stay back!" Jim called sharply and it was only then that Simon realized Rankin and Allen had entered the building and were looking up at them. "Simon, get a bucket!"
This following thing was getting old, Simon thought as he trudged back up the stairs. Then he thought about the stuff that had crawled out of Blair and figured there were worse things than blindly taking orders. At the loft door, a bucket sat. It seemed T'Dette knew something about following too. He tossed the bucket to Rankin who seemed to understand and sat it where the black ooze would slide into it.
"Throw the whole bucket into the incinerator out back and hit the ignite button!" Jim said and now that the danger was past, he focused on his partner. Unconscious, but his vitals were normal again. He could sense him, not just physically, but mentally... the light in his mind had returned.
"Jim?"
He felt the Watcher's hand come to rest on his shoulder and he looked up at him smiling. "He's back, Simon."
"I know." Keeping his hand on Jim's shoulder, Simon reached out and brushed a curl away from Blair's cheek. One day, he would sit down and seriously worry about how close he was to these two men. But for now he was content to have them close again. Both of them.
Chapter Nine
"We need to get him into the loft, Simon." Jim moved as if to lift Blair, but groaned instead. Too much pain to control.
"I'll get him, Jim. Allen, help Ellison up." Finally able to lead, Simon gathered Blair over his shoulder and marched upstairs as Jim, leaning heavily on Joey, slowly followed. This time the door remained open and T'Dette was there to usher them inside.
"Put him on the sofa," she ordered," and you look after him. I'll look after this one," she added as Jim limped in. "Put him in the bathroom."
"I need to see Blair," Jim protested stubbornly.
"You need to be looked after," T'Dette argued, looking at the deep gouge marks marring the handsome face. Maybe they didn't hurt now, but that wasn't going to last much longer and from the way he was holding himself, he was hurt in other places as well. She glared at Joey. "Put him in the bathroom and put some speed on it!"
Jim tried to glare at Joey too as he was nudged into the bathroom and plopped gently on the closed toilet seat, but the detective refused to look at him which meant the glare was useless. Besides, the action was making the skin around his eyes sting. How badly was he injured? His hands went to his face but before they could make contact, they were slapped away by T'Dette. "Face wounds like to pick up germs," she warned, smiling slightly to show she was doing this for his own good. "They be pretty bad, but I can take care of them, I think. Unless you want Joey and Mike to take you to the hospital?"
Jim shook his head. He'd seen too much of that place already. Besides, someone was going to get suspicious and start investigating him if he went back. First he was injured, then his daughter, then him again... Yeah, it sounded like something he himself would investigate. But no cop could help with this. The unfortunate officer or detective would end up only being in the way. "Do what you have to do, T'Dette," he told her.
"First, I'll clean them and see what we're facing. You got bandages and stuff?" Jim pointed to the large first aid kit beneath the sink. "I see this is not unfamiliar 'round here. Well, you lucky that T'Dette has patched up her share of men after a weekend in the Quarter. You're in good hands," she said gently as she sat down on the edge of the bathtub and leaned forward to inspect the damage.
"I know."
"Your friend, that Blair, will be fine," she told him soothingly, sensing where his thoughts lay. "But he needs to wake up without you. Then he will know for a few seconds what it felt like for you while he was gone."
He winced as she dabbed an antiseptic wipe across his face. "A little cold-hearted, don't you think?"
She shrugged. "Make him think before he do something so dumb next time. Don't worry. As soon as I'm finished, you can go out there and give him a hug and tell him you're glad he's back."
"I have your permission, huh?" he inquired with a grin, thinking Flip was a lucky child to have such a wise mother. Speaking of... "Did the kids hear any of what went on?"
"Daryl took Philip Marie into Blair's room when that thing come to the door and asked me to open it."
Jim looked at her in amazement. "You knew it wasn't Blair?"
She shrugged and spread ointment across the deep gouges. "I knew Blair would be able to open the door on his own. So if it was Blair, he would be angry but inside. If it wasn't Blair, he couldn't come in and me and the children would be safe."
Jim looked at her. "This happen to you often?" New Orleans was known for its "spiritual" side but he wasn't sure of how much experience she'd had with such occurrences.
"No. The spirits usually leave me be." She grinned. "The lives ones know not to mess with T'Dette and the dead ones ain't that much dumber. But I listen to the stories my customers tell. I know of things that go bump in the night... and the day. So whatever you got to do, you can do it without worrying about the captain's son or our daughter. Now that I know what we're up against, I will take care of them. You have T'Dette's word."
"I still hate that you were involved in this in the first place."
"The devil call a war, everyone is involved. Some of us more deeply than others," T'Dette said as she stood back to inspect her work. "There may be some scarring, I'm afraid," she warned. "I'll have Grandmere send you some of her special cream. Now, where else you hurting'?"
"I'll be fine," he said, raising up to leave. He sat back suddenly as a sharp pain wrapped around his middle.
"I didn't ask you if you'd be fine," she fussed as she begin poking his sides. "A rib maybe?"
He closed his eyes and focused inwardly. "Two."
"You bleeding on the inside?" she asked, not questioning how he'd made the diagnosis.
"No. If you can tape me up, I'll be fine."
She helped him out of his shirt and wound the bandages tight around him, noting the scars on his body. "You look like you belong in the Quarter. The next time I hear on the television that N'awlins is the most violent city in this country, I'm going to call them up and tell them about Cascade."
Jim shrugged. "Helaire wasn't my first enemy."
"No, I'm sure a man like you has several." She gently peeled back the now dirty bandage on his hand. "Would you like me to read your palm?" she inquired casually.
"You can do that?" he asked with no skepticism. Ever since his trip to the bayou, he no longer scorned the supernatural. Gee, and all it took was a simple raising of the dead to accomplish that. "Alicia wanted to read my palm. I wouldn't let her. I'm not sure I shouldn't say no again."
"Alicia Delacroix? My power is not so great as that dear child's. I only dabble, seeing very little. But it is your decision." She replaced the bandage and waited patiently for him to make up his mind. Rather reluctantly, he held out his uninjured palm.
She placed her palm against it. Her voice grew low, taking on a singsong lilt and oddly losing the Southern accent he had grown used to. "You are a man of great rage, Jim Ellison. But it is tempered by a kindness, a generous heart, which you used to keep hidden. Now, both are on display and you balance upon a thin edge. The rage calls to you but you are frightened by it, unsure of your ability to control it if it is released. Yet, the kindness also scares you because you know it leaves you defenseless against the darkness that nips at your heels at every turn. Blair is representative of the kindness. His enthusiasm for life is infectious and his willingness to sacrifice for a friend touches your soul. He rushes in with his heart and he beckons everyone to follow. The captain is more symbolic of your rage. He is powerful, loud, bold, strong. A desire for justice burns within him as it does in you."
She looked up from his palm and locked her hazel gaze with his blue one. "They give you balance, but soon you will go on a journey without them and you must find the balance within yourself. Tip one way or the other and all will be lost. Stay on the edge and those who block your path will have to give way." She blinked and suddenly her eyes became unfocused and she would have toppled over if Jim hadn't reached out to catch her.
"T'Dette?' he asked in concern as she slumped against him.
She regained her equilibrium and pulled back from the embrace, her eyes wide with wonder. "Nothin' like that has ever happened to me before. I felt..." Words left her. "Your power is so great, Jim, that it reached out and strengthened mine. Poor Helaire."
"Poor Helaire?" he repeated disgustedly.
"Yes." T'Dette clasped her hands around his. "She doesn't stand a chance against you."
"Is that another prediction?"
"No," she said calmly. "Just a statement of fact."
*****
"No!" Blair cried out as he jerked to consciousness.
"Easy, Sandburg," Simon said quickly. "After all the trouble Jim took not to hurt you, we can't have you falling off the sofa."
"What?' he asked as the captain's words sank in, anchoring him, yet causing a disturbing half-memory. "Man, you wouldn't believe the dream I had while you were at the office," Blair said, with a shaky chuckle. He sat up, then tucked his feet beneath him, giving Simon room to sit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mike and Joey sitting at the kitchen table, looking slightly ill-at-ease.
"What kind of dream was that, Sandburg?" Simon asked softly.
"Well, I... Wait a minute. Where's Jim?"
"T'Dette is patching him up in the bathroom."
"Patching him up..." Blair looked at Simon, his eyes widening in horror. "Oh God, Simon. It wasn't a dream, was it?"
"No, Chief, it wasn't," Jim said as he limped into the living room on T'Dette's arm. "But we're both all right," he added as he heard his partner's pulse began to race. "Just take a deep breath and concentrate on that."
"Then tell us what the hell happened," Simon added, refusing to back down as Jim looked at him furiously. "We need to know how this happened so we can avoid it in the future."
"I was going to get groceries for T'Dette," Blair began. "She tried to stop me. So please don't blame her."
"I don't," Jim said. "But the next time I'm going to ask her to wrestle you if you try to leave."
"I can do that," T'Dette replied firmly.
Blair had no doubt she could. "It wasn't the grocery-shopping that got me into trouble."
"What was, Chief?"
Blair squirmed uneasily. "There was a note on the mailbox, supposedly left by Peter Watts."
"Damn cult!" Jim growled. "I should have known they had something to do with this!"
"No, Jim. Don't blame them," Blair begged. "I'm not even sure they were actually involved. I think --it, they, whatever this is that is after us-- spotted a weakness as they did last night and exploited it. But unlike Daryl, I didn't have sense enough to ignore them. No one is at fault here but me."
Jim shook his head. "No, we both ignored our instincts, Chief. You knew it was wrong to leave here or else you would have called and told me you were going. I knew it was wrong to leave you here, but I didn't want to hurt your pride by saying I didn't trust you to stay here on your own."
"But you couldn't trust me," Blair pointed out sadly. "And now look at you." He reached out to lightly touch the bandages on Jim's face. "I did this, didn't I?"
"What do you remember, Chief?"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "This is the note."
Jim read it and passed it to Simon. "Uh, I'm no expert, Sandburg, but didn't the room number sorta clue you in?" the captain asked.
Blair snatched the note back. "What are you... Oh, man! How dumb am I?" he moaned. 666-- the number of the beast according to the Book of Revelations.
"Did you make it to the hotel?" Jim asked.
"Yeah, but that's where everything becomes fuzzy. It was as if everything was underwater, you know? That's why I thought it was a dream. I came back here. T'Dette wouldn't let me in and then you and Simon showed up. I attacked you, didn't I, Jim? Then I tried... I raised my hands?" Jim nodded, urging him to continue. "I felt... power... growing in me and I sent it toward you. But something went wrong? That didn't hurt you like it should have."
"I think Lici arranged for my protection. Something similar occurred in the bayou." He vaguely recalled an approaching alligator and the way it was flung back across the water.
"I, it, was angry. I was going to throw myself down the stairs... I was gonna what!" Blair shook his head. "Man, I tried to kill you and myself? What else have I done?"
"Nothing, Chief. It wasn't you," Jim said firmly.
"Yeah, sure," Blair mumbled, furious at himself. "This isn't your flesh beneath my nails, right? And I wasn't the one who blamed you for Lila's death and Danny Choi's and..." He paused when he noticed the growing anguish on Jim's face. Way to go, Sandburg. Remind him again of the people he's lost. "Shoot me now and put us all out of our misery," he said dejectedly.
"Seems a little drastic, Chief, considering you're the one who saved yourself and me in the end," Jim pointed out. "It was your holy water that caused the demon to leave you."
"But how did that save you? You already had me restrained."
Jim eased down on the sofa, thinking it was about time for him to deliver that hug T'Dette had "allowed" him. "Chief, Blair, if I had had to really hurt you..." The ribs hurt too much to hug him, so he settled for squeezing his arm. "Believe me, you saved us both."
Blair didn't know what to say so he just clasped his hand over Jim's and silently thanked whatever entities watching over them that his foolishness hadn't caused irreparable harm; what could have been a devastating blow had simply become a lesson learned.
And one that would never be forgotten.
*****
Fifteen minutes later, an argument that started fourteen minutes ago was still going on. "You should go upstairs and rest," Blair told his partner for the fiftieth time as Daryl and Flip came into the living room.
"That'll take too much effort. I'm comfortable here," Jim said, adjusting a pillow behind him on the sofa.
"I should see the other guy, right?" Daryl asked as he took in Jim's appearance.
"Something like that," Jim joked, noticing the guilty frown on Blair's face. "Be sure you add this to your video game. You want it to be realistic."
"About video games..." Daryl hedged.
"Daryl brought his PlayStation from home," Flip said artlessly. "Can we hook it up to your TV, Daddy?"
Daryl rolled his eyes. Never have a seven-year-old as your accomplice if you wanted to use subtlety. "When Dad said it was for protection, I figured we'd be going to a safehouse and I didn't want to get bored," he explained. "I just yanked the whole thing out of the set in my room and stuck it in my backpack."
"Wonder where he got that from?" Jim asked Blair whose backpack was known to house all the necessities of life, plus a couple of non-necessities.
Blair ignored him. "Sorry, guys, but Jim needs to rest and I don't think he can take the noise--"
"Unless you let me play," Jim interrupted. "At least one game anyway."
"Jim, you haven't slept in nearly two days--"
"Which means a few more hours aren't going to make a lot of difference. How fast can you hook it up, Daryl?"
Daryl glanced from one friend to the other, unsure which he should listen to. He knew it was Jim's loft, but he also knew the detective often bowed to Blair's wishes, especially when it came to his health. Maybe it had something to do with the Sentinel gig. He turned to Blair. "Is it cool, man?"
Blair sighed as three pairs of eyes pleaded with him. "Just keep the noise to a minimum, okay, guys?" Daryl, with Flip skipping at heels, went to get the system. "You can blame me for a lot, but the headache you're going to get from this is of your own making. Understand?"
"So does this mean you won't massage my temples and tell me to lower my pain dials?" Jim questioned, his voice begging sympathetically while the blue eyes danced impishly.
"Man, you are scary when you get in this mood," Blair confessed with a shudder. "Yes, Jim, when your head starts pounding from the noise of the game, not to mention two kids who have been cooped up in this place all day, I will massage your temples and guide you through the pain. Now, does that make you happy?"
Jim grinned. "Ecstatic, Chief."
"Okay," Daryl said as he reentered, dragging a nest of wires behind him. "It'll just take me a minute to unhook the VCR and connect this. Don't worry," he added, seeing Jim's fleeting look of terror. "You're in the hands of a professional. Flip, you take the Game Boy and sit next to Jim. You can play with it while me and your dad play the NBA, okay? Then you and I will play something."
Blair was impressed with the youth. And he was beginning to think Jim was right; Daryl's backpack equaled his own. "PlayStation and Game Boy?"
Daryl shrugged. "The Game Boy was in case I got bored. The PlayStation was in case Dad got bored."
"I hear my name being used in vain?" Simon asked, joining them as he finished his conversation with Allen and Rankin. They had filled him in on the meeting with the D.A. "Hope you brought along the NBA game, son."
"See what I mean?" Daryl said dryly. "But Jim and I get to play first, okay? After all, it's his set we're using."
"But I get the winner. Where's the Game Boy?"
Daryl looked up from behind the television. "Flip has that, Dad. You're just going to have to wait your turn," the teen explained patiently as he went back to his wiring.
Blair eyed him peculiarly. "He'd make a great teacher."
"At least you didn't say father," Simon commented with a shudder. "Hurry up, son! Let's get this show on the road."
"Not so loud, Simon," Blair warned, angling his head toward Jim.
Simon looked chagrined. "Sorry, Jim. You up for this?"
Jim rolled his eyes. "Don't you start too, Simon. I get to be the Jags, Daryl."
"Why?"
"Because I'm older and uglier."
Daryl handed him a control pad. "Word."
"Wiseass," Jim muttered. "Prepare to lose in a big way, my friend."
The play was fast and furious and by the time Jim handed his controls over to Blair, too exhausted to follow the constantly moving figures any longer, he was up by double digits. To protect his friend's honor, Blair kept the lead and the team as he took on Simon. By the time T'Dette walked over to tell them dinner was ready, having had groceries delivered, Blair had slaughtered Simon and was working on Joey.
"Put away your toys and come eat," she called, shaking her head at the "children" in front of the TV. "You makin' 'nough noise to wake the dead," she chastised. "It's a wonder Jim can sleep through all this racket. Poor man must be mighty exhausted."
"Jim!" Blair dropped his controls and turned quickly. There was no way Jim could be sleeping through all this. But he was stretched out on the sofa, his feet propped up on Flip's tiny lap, providing a resting place for the Game Boy.
"Oh, no," he wailed softly as he recognized the unnatural, too still state Jim was in. This was as he'd been when transported to Alicia's reality all those months ago... When he had almost died inside her mind.
Flip looked up from the game as they all crowded around. "Daddy's gone," she announced calmly, smiling shyly at Daryl as he joined the adults.
Blair stared at the child as he stroked Jim's forehead. "Gone where, honey?" he asked.
"With that woman."
"What woman, baby?" T'Dette asked quickly.
"Daddy's other little girl's mama."
Chapter Ten
The room was silent as everyone, but Daryl, realized she meant Helaire. While they sat there, cheering their prowess, their mastery of a dumb little game, Helaire's spirit had come and taken Jim's away. And no one knew anything about it except for a seven-year-old.
Blair tried to get a grip on the panic that threatened to swallow him whole. "Did Jim try to get away from the lady?" Blair wondered if the injured Sentinel had struggled, maybe called out for his Guide... who was too busy taking virtual jump shots to hear him.
Flip shook her head. "She say Daddy needed to go with her so they can put an end to something. He said okay and followed her."
Damn. Blair walked away from the sofa and stood by the doors leading to the terrace. It was now dark so he wouldn't risk another possession by going outside, but he needed to get away from the silent figure of his partner. He had to get away from his own failure.
"Sandburg, what's going on?" Simon asked as he followed the obviously distraught younger man.
"Oh, just the usual: Jim stubbornly going off to save the world by himself. But this time there's something different about it, captain. This time I know why he left me behind. This time I deserved to be left behind."
"The possession was not your fault."
"Don't even try it, Simon. You yourself were-- are-- furious at me for allowing it to happen. Jim just wouldn't let you ream me out the way you wanted to."
"A lot of that was fear," Simon admitted reluctantly. "Fear for both of you. You saw it all happening through a dream. I saw it as reality. I was there, Sandburg. I saw you attack Jim. I saw you both go over the railing. I saw that horrible thing crawl out of you..."
"And a lot of it is just pure anger. You don't have to hold back now, captain; Jim isn't here to stop you," Blair pointed out bitterly.
"Fine. If that's the way you want it." Simon looked around, wanting privacy but knowing leaving the loft was out of the question. "T'Dette was calling us for dinner. I don't think Jim would want us to miss a fine meal on his account. After all, he's going be okay."
"That's what the angel told me," Flip said as she squirmed from beneath Jim's legs. Simon helped her by lifting the white stockinged feet and the child stood, patting her "father's" legs as she made sure the captain put them back in just the right position.
"This the same angel who told you to call for Jim when the men took you?" T'Dette asked. Why had she not known her child saw angels? Or was Flip being affected by Jim's power like she was?
Flip shrugged, embarrassed to be talking about seeing angels in front of Daryl. She didn't want her "big brother" to think she was baby or anything. "Uh huh," she answered her mama as she crossed the room and scrambled into a chair at the table. She smiled as Daryl took the seat beside her.
Although Jim didn't look chilled, Simon pulled the afghan down from the back cushions and draped it over him. For some reason it made him look more like he was sleeping and less like he was dead. At the unsettling thought, his eyes sought his friend's shallowly rising and falling chest. Once before he had stood at this sofa and watched the chest stop moving, the heart beneath it failing to beat.
T'Dette lightly touched his arm. ""Is there anything you need me to do?"
Simon shook his head. "Just go on with dinner. Sandburg and I will join you later. But for now, we have to talk."
"Of course. I'll keep your plates warming."
Simon nodded his thanks, then turned to the silent figure who was still staring out the door. The kid was right; it was time for some things to be made clear.
"Sandburg," he called gruffly. "Your room... now!"
*****
Jim walked out of the loft behind Helaire and into a familiar void. It was the place that wasn't a place, the site he reached when in a deeply zoned state. Nothing existed in this world but him and he was never sure whether he himself existed most of the time. Sandburg had hounded him for a description, but he could never find the words to describe what "wasn't".
But no matter how much this felt the same, it was different. For one thing, he was positive that he was actually there. And for another, he wasn't alone. Helaire stood before him, her long dark hair flowing in a nonexistent breeze as was the black robe she wore. "So we are alone at last," he said with a hollow laugh. "Nice place you brought me to."
"Would you prefer the bayou?" She waved her hands and suddenly, he was plunged into the green darkness where he had tracked Helaire as she tried to escape.
"If I have preferences, put in my vote for someplace neutral."
Another wave of her hand and they were in a desert, tan sand shifting beneath his feet and a bright sun beaming down on his head. Somehow, it felt fitting. "So is this where we finally go one-on-one, just you, me, and my hands around your throat?"
"Barbarian," she remarked drolly.
"Well, my father told me never to hit a lady-- public opinion would go against you no matter the situation-- but since I don't consider someone who had her daughter raped and murdered a lady, I think I could kill you and my honor would remain intact," Jim replied easily.
"Just not the forgiving type, are you?"
"Some sins are unforgivable."
"And mine fall into that category?"
He crossed his arms and glared at her. "Forgiveness of your sins is not something that even remotely pricks at your conscience, if indeed you have one. Cut the crap, Helaire, and let's get on with this."
"Oh, you wound me, detective," she said dramatically. "Fine. My associates are more gallant than you, however, and will allow me to pick a champion to fight in my stead. Which do you think I should choose?"
Jim looked at the three choices, not surprised in the least by the apparitions in front of him. Hell, of course, would use every psychological advantage to hinder him. But the demons had nothing on a covert ops trained soldier; psych games were child's play to him. He barely wasted a glance at the Blair fighter. "Really, Helaire. That tango has already been danced. Give the guy a rose and send him home." The Blair form disappeared.
He eyed the Simon look-alike and smiled. "Been wanting to kick his ass for quite some time now," he said eagerly. That form, too, disintegrated. He was left with a likeness of himself and he made sure to swallow visibly before saying dryly, "It would be a shame to damage that good-looking fellow. But I have a problem with his attitude."
Helaire laughed, having caught his nervousness. "Well, here's your chance to change it."
His alter-ego rushed him and Jim easily rolled out of the way. One of the reasons he had pretended to be scared of this guy was because he knew how he would move, how he fought. Besides, according to Blair, he was always beating up on himself. Now, it would be for real. And since he had been instantly aware that his Sentinel traits didn't work here, wherever here was, fighting himself would be a reminder that he didn't have a built-in upper hand.
Mentally, he dubbed this double as Ellison. The doppelganger called to mind the days before Blair, even before the police department. Ellison was the son of a bitch the Army sent in to do their dirty work. He was the one who killed, maybe not easily, but certainly efficiently and without fear for himself. Fear required caring and he hadn't really cared one way or the other about his life since... since his childhood friend Bud's death.
Damn it, he thought as he swung and missed, Ellison had been the one on that helicopter in Peru. The one who had crashed, not the one who had been rescued, he realized as he dodged what would have been a very powerful blow. Whoever had been recovered was not only very aware of his mortality but his emotions as well. The knowledge that he had cared about the men who had died and what would happen to his own life frightened him. Hence, his resignation from the Army and his flight back to Cascade. Hence, the very solid wall he built around himself there. Hardcore, difficult to control, cold, mean... all words and actions meant to deter people from getting close to him, from him experiencing those emotions again. Even when he had married Carolyn, he wasn't sure whether it was because he wanted to marry her or because he thought he should marry her. Good thing she had been as tough as she was; a weaker woman he probably would have destroyed.
He caught a glancing blow to the ribs and sent his fist smashing into the face opposite his. That was when he learned a very valuable lesson: he could think of his opponent as Ellison, but the other guy was him and he had the aching jaw to prove it. He shook off the pain and allowed himself to be hit in the gut. As he held onto the already broken ribs, he watched the other for a reaction. There was none.
Words Blair would use tumbled from his mouth."Your rules really suck," he called out to Helaire who was standing to one side watching them.
"You weren't so naive as to think you would get a fair fight in Hell, were you?" she replied smugly. "But just so you don't think badly of me," she added as he ducked a roundhouse punch from his alter, "I'll let you in on a secret: this is a fight to the death. So, Jim Ellison, how suicidal are you feeling?"
He kicked out his legs and swept the other fighter off his feet, the resulting thump reverberating in his body. Suicidal? Not very. Homicidal? Definitely. But in this case, they were one in the same. Maybe Hell did know a thing or two about psychology. His double landed a low blow to his kidneys and he reacted instinctively, landing a slashing blow against his opponent's throat. They both dropped to their knees, gasping for air.
As Jim pushed himself to his feet, he saw the beauty of Helaire's plan and shivered. If Ellison defeated him, he was dead. If he defeated Ellison, he was dead. Win-win from her point of view. And what exactly would a win do for Helaire? Would she be miraculously freed from prison to feed on the children of New Orleans again? He thought of Flip and although he knew it would hurt, he executed a flying scissors kick that felled Ellison to the sandy ground. Or would she want to further destroy him by going after Blair and Simon?
The rage Ellison studiously held back was unleashed in Jim at the thought of what an unfettered Helaire could accomplish. The blows fell quickly and soon began to take their toll on both men. Jim felt a sort of pride as he and Ellison both sank to the ground. That son of a bitch Ellison was tough, but he had matured into a much better fighter. The emotions he was now capable of served to focus his skills. The tuning up of his body and spirit by Blair concentrated his energy, centering it in the places where he needed it most, and the restraint he'd learned from Simon made him judicious with his blows, each one calculated for maximum damage.
Purposely, he crawled over to where Ellison rested on his knees, panting heavily and momentarily incapable of resistance. He allowed his alter to read the intent in his eyes and he was amazed at how easily those blue orbs could be read. Another illusion biting the dust, huh? So he allowed his own eyes to reflect the sorrow he felt that this moment had been reached, that Helaire had forced him into this choice. But as T'Dette had pointed out earlier, he wasn't prone to wasting time considering choices that really weren't options at all. Helaire had to been defeated. That meant Ellison had to be defeated. That meant Jim would die. So be it.
He placed his hands just so around Ellison's neck... and twisted.