This one might be a bit intense for some readers. Rated R. There's no slash, just violence, strong language, and a hint of sexually-explicit material.

I n f e r n o

Blair's heart stopped momentarily when he heard the gunshot and saw Jim's body convulse briefly, then teeter over the edge of the roof.

"NO!" Blair flung himself through the doorway of the stairwell, panting heavily from his five-flight marathon.

The gunman turned, and Blair rolled just as the man's hand squeezed the trigger. With speed born of adrenaline and desperation, Blair shot to his feet and tackled the man. The gun flew out of the larger man's hand, sliding along the cement as both men fell in a twisted heap of arms and legs, with Blair landing on top of the perpetrator. The man's arm shifted, pushing upward into Blair's ribcage. The young man gasped as a sudden pain flared through his right side. He found himself falling backwards, and glanced with anguished eyes to the spot on the ledge where Jim had fallen. He tore his gaze away from the ledge and rolled swiftly toward the gun. His hands clasped the hard metal of the barrel, and he twisted his body to bring the gun around.

For an instant, time froze. The large man had risen to his feet, and now stood over Blair, his eyes blazing with anger.

"FREEZE!" Blair hoped he sounded convincing enough as he stared at the furious figure above him.

"Your partner's dead, asshole."

"Go to hell!" Jim. God Jim, I'm sorry. Don't be dead. Please Don't be dead.

"You gonna shoot me?"

Blair swallowed, tightening his grip on the gun. "Try me," he said, his voice low.

The man smiled and raised his hand. It was then that Blair saw the bloody hunter's knife. He stared at the blade, watching red drops slide along the edge of the metal before succumbing to gravity. His eyes followed a few of the red spheres as they descended through the air, finally landing with a soft splat against the white cement.

Who's blood, he wondered.

"Cascade PD. Drop the knife!"

Blair flinched, nearly pulling the trigger in surprise. He turned to see Simon, Rafe, and Brown crouched near the stairwell, their guns aimed on the looming figure above him. The man cocked his head, a slow smile forming on his lips. He raised the knife higher.

"Put it down," Simon bellowed.

The knife arched downward suddenly, toward Blair's chest. Blair shifted the gun, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger. The gun recoiled painfully, sending a sliver of pain through his wrist. Four gunshots sounded simultaneously. Blair felt a warm spray of wetness on his face, then something heavy slammed into him.

"Sandburg!"

The weight on his chest lifted, and he felt himself being shaken. He opened his eyes to see Captain Simon banks kneeling next to him. The larger man held Blair's shoulders, shaking him gently.

"Thank god...."

The reality of the situation assaulted him like a fist in his gut. He leapt to his feet and scrambled to the edge. "Jim!" His chest tightened as he peered over the edge. For a brief moment, he thought his eyes betrayed him. He blinked, sending hot tears down his cheeks.

"Get the medics up here now," Simon ordered.

Blair sighed and fell against the ledge. "Thank God."

He kept his eyes focused on the limp figure of the sentinel, sprawled a few feet below on the fire escape, his chest protected by a black bullet-proof vest. Blair felt a hand on his arm and found himself being pulled to his feet. He turned to see anxious dark eyes peering at him.

"Sandburg, you okay," Simon asked, inspecting the young man with a critical gaze.

It took Blair a moment to register the question, then he looked down at his shirt and jeans, just then realizing that they were covered in blood. Suddenly, the coppery stench assaulted him, and he looked up at Simon with frightened, pained eyes.

"I shot him," he whispered. Then the ground slammed into him, sending him reeling into darkness.

Jim smelled Simon's cigar several moments before his Captain opened the door and walked into the room.

"How is he," Simon asked, sans cigar.

Must be in his clothes, Jim thought as gazed up at his friend.

"Jim?" Simon reached out and put a hand on the detective's shoulder. "How's Sandburg?"

Jim blinked. "Oh, he's going to be fine," he muttered, turning back to look at his pale, sleeping friend.

Simon released a long sigh. "That's a relief." He grabbed a spare chair from the opposite wall and pulled it over to Blair's bed. "I don't think he even realized he'd been stabbed," he commented, sinking into the softy vinyl seat.

Jim closed his eyes and brought his hands up to rub his face. "I wish he'd just do as he's told for once."

Simon managed a small chuckle. "If he did, he wouldn't be Sandburg.... and you probably wouldn't be alive right now."

Jim swallowed and looked over at Blair. The young man's face looked pale, but peaceful, and Jim reached out to brush a stray curl away from his partner's face.

"You know, half the guys think I'm lying. Hell, I have trouble believing it myself. Imagine... one unarmed anthropologist tackling a 6'2" two-hundred and seventy pound gun-wielding maniac? The kid never ceases to amaze me," Simon remarked.

"Sometimes I think he believes he's immortal," Jim sighed.

"Not at all like you, of course."

Jim's blue eyes flashed with irritation, then, as he took in Simon's fatherly gaze, he allowed himself a small smile. "Don't let him hear you say that, Sir," Jim said, indicating Sandburg with a jerk of his head. "He'll think you approve of such behavior."

"Too late," came a soft, raspy voice.

Both men turned to look at Sandburg, who stared at Jim with tired blue eyes. "You okay?"

Simon grunted. "Figures."

Jim smiled reassuringly. "I should be asking you that question, Chief."

Blair's mouth twitched with the beginnings of a smile. "I'll take that as a yes," he said, his voice barely audible.

Jim patted Blair gently on the shoulder. "I don't know whether to hug you or strangle you, Sandburg."

Blair grimaced. "Neither. I hurt too much."

Jim's eyes darkened, and he squeezed Blair's shoulder. "Hey, just rest now."

Blair shifted his gaze to look at Simon. "Is he dead?"

Slowly, Simon nodded. "Yeah, Sandburg, he's dead."

Blair closed his eyes, his face loosing all hint of color. "I killed him," he whispered.

"No you didn't, Sandburg."

Blair's eyes shot open.

"Your bullet took him in the shoulder. Me, Rafe, and Brown fired on him at the same time. We killed him. Your bullet alone would have simply wounded him," Simon explained, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Blair took a deep breath, wincing slightly. His eyes drifted toward Jim, and he held the sentinel's firm gaze for several seconds before releasing a shaky sigh. He closed his eyes and sank into the pillow. "You're telling me the truth, Simon?"

"Sandburg, if you're suggesting I'd lie about something like this just to spare your feelings, you'd better reconsider. I won't have any of my men calling me a liar to my face, no matter how doped up they are."

"Sorry," Blair mumbled.

"You'd better be. Now I don't want you --"

"He's asleep, Simon," Jim informed the Captain.

Banks looked at Jim, his severe expression softening as he took in the exhausted lines of his friend's face. "Figures he'd take the easy way out," he remarked. "I suggest you do the same, Jim."

Jim's brow furrowed. "Sir?"

"Get some sleep, Ellison. Go Home."

Jim shook his head. "No, Sir. I'll stay here for a little while longer."

Simon rose from the chair. "Jim, you're exhausted. Blair's out for the count. He won't know one way or the other, and he certainly wouldn't want you making yourself sick standing vigil over him like some over-zealous--"

"Blessed protector," Jim finished. He lowered his head to stare at the white tile on the floor. "Some blessed protector. I'm the ex-special forces cop with heightened senses, and he ends up saving my butt on that roof." He swallowed. "I let him down, Simon. He's my partner, and I let that guy get the drop on me. He never should have had to take on Parker alone like that."

"Listen to me, Jim, Sandburg knows the risks involved with this kind of work. You do your best to protect him, but, sentinel or not, you're only human. Besides," he continued, "the kid did pretty good for himself up there."

Jim looked up at Simon, a tiny smile touching his lips. "Yeah, he did, didn't he?"

Simon gave a brief, curt nod. "Damn right he did. Now, about changing the subject -- don't. Go back to the loft, get some sleep, take a shower, then get your butt back here and give Sandburg your infamous 'next time do as I tell you' speech. Okay?"

Jim suppressed a grin, opting to nod obediently instead. "Yes, Sir. Whatever you say, Sir."

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Good. Now Get."

Two days later...

Jim opened the loft door and reached out to put a hand on Blair's arm. Gently, he guided the young man inside, tossed the keys in the basket, and closed the door.

"Want something to eat?"

Blair nodded, slipping out of Jim's grasp as he headed to the couch. "Yeah, thanks," he said, settling into the cushions as he stifled a yawn.

"Soup? Sandwich? Chile?"

Blair propped his legs up on the coffee table. "Whatever, Jim," he replied, waving a hand absently in the air as he grabbed the remote.

"Decisive, aren't we?"

Blair craned his neck to look back at Jim, a silly grin plastered on his face. "Hey, man, if you want to start smothering me with attention, be my guest. I'm tired of fighting you. You tied my shoes at the hospital, buttoned my shirt, made me wear this jacket even though it's, like, 65 degrees outside, buckled me into the truck, and watched me like a hawk the whole way up here."

Jim raised his eyebrows. "Well, you're still wearing the jacket."

Blair shrugged. "Okay so I'm a little chilly."

Jim grinned. "Somehow, 'See I told you so,' seems vaguely appropriate here."

Blair made a show of turning his attention back to the television screen as he pressed the power button on the remote control. He flicked the channel passed several talk shows, finally settling on an old Incredible Hulk re-run on the Sci-Fi channel.

"I'll make you some soup," Jim informed him. "Now, do you want Chicken or Clam Chowder?"

"How 'bout some chile? I'm waaay to hungry for soup, man. That hospital food is nothing."

"Now you have a preference? Two seconds ago you could care less."

"And some tea, please," Blair added. "The herbal tea in the green box. Could you put a squeeze of lemon in it, too?"

A brief pause. "Sure, Chief."

"Oh and can you get my laptop?"

"Aren't you supposed to be relaxing in front of the television," Jim asked, grabbing two cans of Chile from the cabinet.

Blair gazed absently at the television. "I can relax in front of my laptop just as well. Besides, I've seen this episode."

"I see."

"Oh, and can you get me my walkman?"

"Sure."

"And a pillow, if you don't mind. These couch cushions aren't quite supporting my back."

"Okay, no problem."

Blair kept his face away from Jim, staring intently at the television, as the grin spread across his face. "And a blanket, too, please."

"Anything else?"

Blair's grin widened, and he barely suppressed a chuckle. This was so much fun. "Uh.... no, that should be it for now, though I was wondering if you could stop by my office later today and grab some papers... you know, since I need to be resting, and all."

Blair was totally unprepared for the swift slap on the back of his head. He hunched his shoulders and brought his hands up to cover his head. "Hey! What's that for?" He turned his head, putting on his best expression of innocence. "You can't go beating up on the sick and injured, man. It's just not cool."

"That's for trying to play me. Are you through milking this," Jim asked.

Blair grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "Hey, you asked for it, man."

"Yeah, well, I'll feed you, make your tea, but then you're going to bed, Chief. Playtime is over," Jim said.

"Excuse me? I thought I had some first amendment rights here? Besides, I got plenty of rest at the hospital."

Jim folded his arms across his chest and gazed critically at his young partner. "Oh? How many phone numbers did you manage to rustle up?'

Blair blushed, lowering his gaze briefly. "Three."

Jim raised his eyebrows. "And you call that resting?" He pointed to the bedroom. "Dinner, then bed."

"Hey, that's what I was hoping for with the phone numbers."

Jim gave him another swat on the head, then turned back to the kitchen. "Keep it up, Chief. With your track record, two out of the three will be psychotic killers."

Blair narrowed his gaze. "That is SO unfair, man. Shall I submit their names to you so you can run a criminal background check on them?"

Jim threw Blair a deadly glare. "I thought those pain killers were supposed to make you drowsy? Maybe we should just up your dosage."

Blair turned his attention back to the screen, where a large green man was battling a tank. "Oh man, you just had to go and say that, didn't you?" He emphasized the last word with a yawn.

Jim put the tea kettle on the burner and dumped the chili in a pot, setting both flames to medium. "Just stay awake long enough to eat. Okay, Chief?"

"'Kay," Blair muttered, sinking into the couch. Five minutes later, he fell into a deep slumber.

Several Days Later....

"Don't forget to read chapter 6 for Monday," Sandburg said, dismissing the class with a wave of his hand. "Have a nice weekend. Don't throw any wild parties without me."

The students chuckled as they rushed past the podium. He watched them file out the door, a smile on his face. When he saw a figure in black flutter across the doorway, his smile faded. He kept his gaze trained to the doorway, waiting to see if the figure returned. He wasn't quite sure why the brief vision had unnerved him, but it had seemed vaguely familiar. As the students continued to file out of the classroom, a man stepped into view. Blair's heart skipped into overdrive as he stared at the grinning figure in the black trenchcoat. Parker. Blair closed his eyes, swallowed, and tried to get a grip on fear. It can't be him. He's dead. When he opened his eyes again, Parker was gone, and Blair found himself standing alone in the empty classroom.

Taking a deep breath, he walked over to his backpack and fished out the cell phone. He flipped it open and kept his hand over the speedial. With a fearful glance at the doorway, he swung the backpack over his shoulder, grimacing as a sharp pain pierced his tender side. Cautiously, he took a few steps toward the hall. He saw students dash past the classroom, and he took two more steps toward his destination. What can he do to me here? There's too many people. With that thought, he squared his shoulders and dashed through the doorway. He skidded to a halt in the hallway, looking around frantically. There was no sign of Parker. He breathed a sigh of relief and closed his cell phone, tossing it over his shoulder into his open backpack. God, I must be losing it.

He walked with hurried steps to his Volvo and hopped inside, locking the door and glancing over his shoulder toward the backseat as he tossed the backpack on the floor. His hand shook as he inserted the key in the ignition, and he closed his eyes, taking several deep, slow breaths. He'd felt exactly this way the first time he'd spotted Lash in the car window that night. His chest felt tight and the back of his neck tingled, sending a chill down his spine. He continued his breathing exercises for several seconds before his shaking subsided. With a sigh, he opened his eyes and turned the ignition. The Volvo revved to life, and he slammed down on the accelerator, driving a little too fast toward the loft.

Jim sat on the couch, semi-mesmorized by the evening newscast. His trance-like state was interrupted when a familiar sound reached his sensitive ears. He listened to the frantic heartbeat and hurried steps of his Guide in the hallway outside. In an instant, he was at the front door, his brow creased with concern. Blair was scared, that much was obvious. Or maybe he just decided to take the stairs up. That would explain the rapid heartrate and hurried steps. He felt the tension leave his shoulders with that single, logical thought. He took the chain off and opened the door. Sandburg held his key in front of him, looking up suddenly as the door swung open. He took a step back, his eyes wide. Jim noticed tiny beads of perspiration on his partner's forehead. Immediately, the tension returned, and Jim reached out to place a hand on Blair's shoulder.

"What's wrong, Chief?"

Blair breathed a visible sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping as he walked passed Jim. He tossed the keys into the basket and dropped his backpack by the door just before making a bee-line for the couch.

Jim eyed the discarded backpack critically. If Blair was so blatantly disregarding the houserules, something must be up... and it couldn't be good. Cautiously, Jim walked over to the couch, sitting on the adjacent armchair as he faced Blair.

"What's wrong," he asked again.

Blair ran one hand over his face, then looked at Jim. The lines around his mouth seemed etched with worry, and his eyes held a hint of fear. He swallowed. "Jim, Parker's dead, right?"

Jim stiffened. "Yeah, Blair, he's dead."

Blair gazed skeptically at the sentinel. "You're sure? I mean, you're absolutely sure?"

Jim nodded, his eyebrows creasing. "Yes, I'm sure. I saw them cart the body away. He had four bullet holes in him. No heartbeat. Nothing. He's at the morgue right now."

Blair buried his face in his hands. "Oh man, this isn't good."

Now Jim was thoroughly confused. It wasn't good that Parker, the man who'd killed five women, was laying dead on a slab downtown? Jim eyed his sullen partner, noting the pale complexion, rapid heartbeat, irregular breathing, and tiny tremors that wracked his shoulders. Blair couldn't be blaming himself for this, could he? Simon had already explained it to him.

"Chief, you know this isn't your fault. Your bullet took him in the right shoulder. He died because three other bullets found more critical marks."

Blair shook his head, raising his head to look at Jim. "No, you don't get it. It's not that...."

"What then?" Jim raised his hands in front of him, palms up, in what he hoped was an encouraging gesture.

Blair cleared his throat, sinking back against the cushion. "I know how this is gonna sound, man, but...well...." his voice trailed off and he closed his eyes briefly.

"But what, Chief?" Come on, spill it, Sandburg, Jim thought.

"I saw him today." He fixed anxious blue eyes on his partner. "At least, I thought I saw him. He was at the university, just outside my classroom. At first I got a glimpse of him dashing past the doorway, then he stepped right into view." He shuttered, taking a deep breath. "He just stood their, grinning at me. It was eerie, man."

Jim met Blair's gaze with calm, steady eyes. Inside, his heart pounded fiercely against his chest, but outside he maintained an air of calm confidence. Slowly, he reached out a put a hand on Blair's shoulder.

"Listen, Chief, you know you've been under a lot of stress lately--"

Blair raised his hand, shaking off Jim's touch. "I know! Don't you think I thought about that? This... Jim, this was so real. I mean, there's no way around it, either he was there, or I was hallucinating. This is no case of mistaken identity. I didn't just spot some student or prof in a black trenchcoat who had a passing resemblance to Parker. This was him. He stood in the doorway for, like, several seconds... Right there in front of me." He raised one hand to rub his eyes. "So either I"m starting to see things that aren't there, or Parker's stalking me. Neither scenario really appeals to me, Jim."

Jim's face could have been etched in stone, but, when he spoke, his voice was gentle. "We can go down to the morgue tonight if you want?"

Blair stopped breathing for a moment as he stared at Jim. Finally, he released the breath and nodded. "Okay," he said, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. "Let's go."

As the two men rose to their feet, Blair muttered so softly that Jim's sensitive ears had to strain to make out the words. "I can do this," the young man reassured himself.

The attendant pulled the slab out, exposing the body of Anthony Parker. Blair's heart skipped a beat when he looked at the slack face of the corpse on the table. The man's dark hair gave sharp contrast to the pale skin on his square face. That was definitely Parker, no doubt about it. That was exactly the same man he'd seen on the roof... and then outside his classroom a few days later. He closed his eyes. So I'm crazy. I feel SO much better now. He felt a pressure on his shoulder and opened his eyes to see Jim peering at him critically.

"You okay, Chief?"

Blair nodded, not trusting his voice.

Jim turned to the attendant and nodded. "Thanks, Jeffrey. Sorry to trouble you."

"Not a problem, Ellison. I don't get much company down here this late," he replied.

Jim gave Blair's shoulder a slight squeeze. "You ready?"

Again, Blair nodded, turning away from the body. He followed Jim silently all the way to the truck. Both men slid into the truck and fastened their seatbelts. Finally, Blair turned to Jim, his stomach clenched in a knot.

"I'm sorry for dragging you out here like this."

Jim glanced over at his partner as he pulled the truck into the street. "It's okay, Sandburg." He flipped the turn signal on as he turned right at the intersection. "How are you holding up?"

Blair sighed, tilting his head back against the seat. "Oh just great. I'm not being stalked by a psycho, I'm going crazy. That makes me feel SO much better."
 
 Jim kept his eyes on the road, sparing only a brief glance at his partner. He reached over and patted Blair on the cheek. "You're no more crazy than usual, Chief."

Blair threw him an annoyed glance, but Jim continued. "Come on, so you thought you saw Parker. It doesn't mean you're loosing your mind. Sandburg, you shot a man and then nearly bled to death on the roof." His voice sounded strained with that last sentence. "This is a perfectly normal reaction."

Blair raised his head, looking at Jim hopefully. "You think? I mean, it was SO real. I couldn't have imagined it, could I?"

Jim shrugged. "You saw Parker's body with your own two eyes."

Blair swallowed, then nodded. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the seatback. "Man, maybe I need more sleep, or something."

"Try less caffeine," Jim suggested.

Blair followed Jim into the bullpen of Major Crimes. The two men hadn't even reached the desk when Captain Simon Banks threw open his office door and bellowed, "It's about time you two showed up. My office, now."

Blair looked anxiously up at Jim. "It's Saturday, we don't even have to be here," the anthropologist muttered.

Jim simply shrugged and headed for Simon's office. Both men entered the office warily. Jim took a seat in front of Simon's desk as Sandburg closed the door.

"What is it, Captain," Jim asked.

Sandburg leaned against the table, waiting for Simon to answer. The Captain picked up a manila folder from the corner of his desk and tossed it to Ellison. The detective opened it, scanning the contents carefully for a couple of seconds, then returned the folder to Simon's desk, his face impassive.

"A copycat?"

Simon shrugged, shaking his head. "That detail about the markings on the victim's feet wasn't released to the press, and only you, me, and the coroner actually know about it?"

Sandburg tilted his head. "What's going on? Who's copycatting what? What markings?"

Simon glanced at Sandburg, then at Jim, apparently waiting for the detective to fill in the anthropologist. Jim turned in his seat to look at his partner. "Each of the five women Parker murdered had a number tattooed on the bottom of her right foot, almost like a serial number." He paused for a moment, glancing quickly at Simon. "Apparently another body turned up last night. A young woman by the name of Andrea Carter. The MO fits Parker, and she has the tattoo on her foot, something a copycat shouldn't have found out about."

Blair's face paled and slid off the table, pacing to the window and back again. "Oh man," he said, raising his hands in the air. "This isn't happening. I mean, how can this be happening?"

Simon looked confused. "Calm down Sandburg. I mean, I know this kind of cruelty gets to you, but--"

Sandburg turned to Simon, glancing back and forth between Jim and the Captain. "This isn't a coincidence. I mean, come one, what are the odds. You said it yourself, there's no way a copycat could have found out about the tattoo."

Jim rose from the chair, walking over to Sandburg and placing a hand on the anxious man's shoulder. "Easy, Chief. We saw Parker's body last night. There's no way this is him."

"Would someone mind filling me in," Simon asked, his voice impatient.

Jim turned back to look at Simon. "Sandburg thought he saw Parker at the university yesterday."

Simon stood up. "What?" He walked around his desk to stand next to the two men. "That's impossible, Sandburg, Parker's body is in the morgue."

Sandburg slipped out of Jim's touch and began pacing the confines of the office, gesturing wildly with his arms. "I know what I saw, man. I mean, sure, at first I had my doubts, and then when Jim drove me to the morgue I thought for sure I was seeing things, but I wasn't. I mean, he stood right in front of me in broad daylight. He just stood there with this... this freaky smile on his face." He looked at Jim, then at Simon, his eyes pleading. "Come on, this new murder, that isn't a coincidence."

Simon crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the observer. "So what do you suggest, Sandburg? Parker's joined the ranks of the living dead?"

Blair shook his head. "No. Of course not. But..." He rubbed his brow, as though warding off a headache. After a second, he snapped his fingers and looked up at Jim. "Couldn't Parker have a brother? You know, a twin?"

Banks glanced skeptically at Ellison, then turned his attention back to Blair. "There's nothing in his file about a sibling, Sandburg."

Blair raised his hands toward the ceiling. "I know that, Captain. I'm talking about--"

"A long lost twin? Come on, Sandburg, that's a stretch. Besides, that would mean Parker was working with...." his voice trailed off just as Jim raised his head sharply.

"That would explain some things, Captain," Jim offered.

Banks sighed, pulling his glasses down on his nose to rub his eyes. "Yeah, yeah... maybe...."

Blair caught on immediately. "Like how Parker seemed to kidnap two women at the same time from opposite ends of town?"

Both Simon and Jim nodded grimly.

"I knew it!" Blair bounced on his toes. Suddenly, he realized the implications of the revelation and sank back against the table as his knees threatened to betray him.. "Oh man...."

Jim was at his Guide's side immediately. "Don't worry, Chief, he's not going to get near you."

Simon nodded. "I'll arrange protection for you, Sandburg."

Blair nodded absently, staring blankly at the carpet.

"I can protect him, Sir," Jim stated.

Banks shook his head. "Most of the time, yeah, but not even you can be with the kid twenty-four-seven, Jim. I mean, I do need you here when he's at the university."

Jim turned to Blair. "Can you take some time off?"

Blair looked up at Jim, his face etched with worry. "No. I've already lost too much time at the university."

"I'll talk to whoever--"

"No!" Blair interrupted. "I'm not taking off anymore time. I can't. It's my job, man."

"Okay, Sandburg," Simon began, "I'll have a plain-clothed officer with you at all times when you're at the university. The rest of the time, you're with Jim."

Blair nodded. "Thanks, Simon."

"Now I want you two to start digging into Parker's file... see if you can find any record of a brother."

Jim nodded, heading out of Simon's office. "Yes, Sir." He grabbed Blair by the elbow and guided him through the door. "Come on, Chief, you can do the computer work."

"I found it!"

Jim nearly jumped from his seat at Blair's exclamation. He looked up at the young man sitting at his computer, and rolled his chair around the desk so he could see the screen. "What have you got, Chief?"

Blair pointed to the screen. "Anthony Parker did have a twin, but it says here the infant died soon after birth. This was on June 12, 1969 at Atlantic City Hospital."

Jim tousled Blair's hair. "Good work, Chief. Let's get this info to Simon and then make a few phone calls."

"For those who haven't turned in the topic for your research paper, the deadline is tomorrow, 3 pm, my office," Sandburg finished. He glanced up at the clock as the students rose from their seats and headed out the door.

There was one man left seated in the classroom as the last student exited. Blair walked up to the dark man and smiled brightly. "So, Brown, what do you think about anthropology?"

Brown stood up and raised his arms over his head stretching. "It's been a long time since I've sat in a classroom like this. I don't miss it."

"Gee, thanks. I see my lecture had you rivetted."

Brown grinned sheepishly. "I didn't mean it like that. You do tell interesting stories. I wish I'd had more teachers like you when I was in school."

Blair blushed, quickly turning away. "Wanna get some lunch before we head off to the station?"

Brown nodded. "Sure. How 'bout Wonder Burger?"

Blair grimaced and turned back to the large detective. "What is it with you cops and junk food?"

"Hey, skinny butt, don't knock it. I'm definitely not going to eat at one of those tofu places Jim mentioned."

Blair raised his hands. "Okay, okay. Wonder Burger it is. I suppose it's the least I can do since you volunteered to babysit me. I'm sure I can find a nice chicken sandwich to eat."

Blair reached down to grab his backpack from the floor, but Brown beat him to it. "Nope. Jim told me not to let you carry this thing. Doc says you gotta take it easy with those stitches."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Jim's a bit uptight," he said, heading through the door with Brown at his heels.

The detective chuckled. "He also said you can be a real pain in the ass and that I had permission to whack you upside the head if you got out of line."

Blair threw the detective a deadly glare. "Did he also tell you when to feed and burp me?"

Brown roared with laughter. "You know, you're a lot funnier than I thought."

Blair cocked his head as he walked out of the building and into the warm spring sunlight. "So why did you volunteer for this?"

Brown shrugged, increasing his pace to move slightly ahead of Sandburg. "Hey, we all have a vested interest in keeping you healthy. Ellison was practically impossible to work with before you came into the picture. I mean, don't get me wrong, he was a great detective... it's just that..."

"I know, I know," Blair said. "I DO remember my first encounter with him."

Brown chuckled as he unlocked the passenger door of the blue sedan. His laughter was cut short as his body slammed forward into the car, followed a half a second later by the sharp sound of a gunshot. Blair jumped back as the detective slid to the ground, leaving a streak of red against the blue metal.

"Brown!" Blair lunged for the big detective, grabbing him by the shoulders as he looked frantically around the sparsely populated street for the source of the gunshot.

Quickly, he reached into his backpack and pulled out his cellphone. He speed dialed the station just as two students rushed up to the car.

"Hey, what was that? A gunshot? Oh my God, he's bleeding," a young blonde woman exclaimed as she stared at Brown's limp form.

"Get down," Blair yelled at them as he listened to the ringing on the other end of the line. He took off his flannel overshirt and pressed the material against the wound on Brown's shoulder.

"Ellison."

"Jim? Oh thank god. Listen Brown's been shot--"

"What? Sandburg? Are you alr--"

"I'm at the University. Get an ambulance. No, I'll call for one.. just get--"

Blair stopped in midsentence as he saw Parker round the corner at full speed, heading straight toward him. He froze, momentarily unsure what to do. He didn't want to leave Brown, but he sure as hell didn't want to get murdered by that psycho.

As soon as the two students saw the gunmen running toward them, they screamed and took off toward the campus building. Blair held the phone limply at his side, glacing between Brown and Parker. He couldn't take off and leave Brown alone, not when Parker could easily put a pullet in the detective's head on his way past the car. Coming to a decision, Blair dropped the phone on the blacktop, just behind Brown. Slowly, he stood up and put himself between Brown and Parker just as the killer skidded to a halt in front of him.

Parker raised the gun to Blair's throat, pinning the younger man's gaze with dark, narrow eyes. Blair swallowed, his heart pounding.

"You're with me," Parker stated, grabbing him by the collar. "You fucking killed my brother, and now you're going to pay for that little mistake."

The large man dragged him across the street toward a black Ford Explorer. He pinned Sandburg against the side of the car, then punched in the combination to the door lock.

"Black Ford Explorer, looks new," Blair mumbled softly, praying Jim could still hear him.

Parker either didn't hear Blair or chose to ignore him as he flung the door open, reached into the car, and pulled out a syringe. Blair eyed the long needle with wide eyes, and slammed his head back toward Parker. Unfortunately, Parker had a good eight inches on him, and Blair's head struck the man in his chin. Parker jerked slightly, but maintained his hold on Blair as he brought the syringe to the young man's neck. With one swift motion, he plunged the needle into the base of Blair's neck.

"No..." Blair croaked out that one word just before he succumbed to the thick darkness.

"Ellison!"

Jim felt himself being shaken. He blinked, realizing he was standing at his desk with the phone held to his ear. Reality slammed into him and dropped the phone as though it were a snake.

"Simon, Parker's got Blair. Brown's been shot. We're looking for a black, late model Ford Explorer," he told the Captain as he dashed through the outer doors of the bullpen.

"Damnit!" Simon ran after Jim, yelling on his way out. "Get all available units out there now, and call an ambulance," he bellowed, directing the order to no one and everyone in particular.

On the way to the truck, Jim kicked himself mentally. Damnit, he'd zoned out listening to Parker grab his partner. He'd heard every word, and listened as the two sets of footsteps pounded the pavement. He'd heard Blair struggle, then utter that one, soft word that tore through his chest like a knife. Damnit! Damnit! Damnit! Blair had called him for help and all he could do was zone out and waste precious seconds while that madman dragged his partner off to who-knows-where.

He floated in a sea of thick, cool molasses. His body felt numb, his mind trapped in a black, dense fog. He remained unaware of the passage of time, but, eventually, the fog thinned. Slowly, one by one, his senses came online. The first sense his brain registered was smell -- a horrible, nauseating stench. He tried to swallow the bile touching his throat, but his mouth was completely try.

The next sensation was touch, and he felt the sharp stinging of pinpricks all over his body -- almost maddening in their number and consistency.

An indiscriminate amount of time later, as he wallowed in the misery of the pain and stench, his brain decided to register sound. Several soft moans reached his ears -- sounds of misery that mirrored his own agony.

Next came more pain. The throbbing in his head made itself known, and he opened his mouth to echo the low moans around him.  He opened his eyes, blinking as blurred images swirled around him. His stomach rolled, threatening to send more bile upwards. Quickly, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths. Several moments later, he opened his eyes again... and immediately wished he hadn't.

His vision, unfortunately, was much clearer as it took in the horrendous sights around him. He was in a large dark room with brick walls, very much like a dungeon. He held his breath as he stared at the other occupants of the dismal prison. Three young women, barely conscious, were chained to a pole jutting out from each wall. The women had been stripped down to their underwear, bare-chested and shivering. Each woman looked pale and sickly. He squinted, trying to pierce the gray darkness to see the scars he could just make out on their bodies. Burns? Cuts?

He closed his eyes. God. A sob threatened to escape his throat, and he clenched his jaw. Stay calm. Just stay calm. Jim will come. He heard, he'll come. He repeated the chant several times before raising the courage to open his eyes again. This time, he looked up, seeing that he was also chained to a pole jutting out from the wall. He looked down, noticing the cuffs around his ankles that tethered his legs to a metal ring in the floor. He was unclothed, except for his cotton boxers. His arms still felt numb, except for the pringling that threatened to bring pain as sensation returned to him.

As the fog continued to lift from his mind, he tried to remember the details of Parker's MO. Each woman had been kidnapped, tortured, and then killed, her body found about 36 hours after her reported disappearance. Each woman had been independent and professional. One, he remembered, had been a computer programmer.

Blair forced his eyes back to limp figures around him. The woman to his left hung unconscious, her head forward. The woman opposite of him also hung limply, but soft sobs shook her body. His heart dropped to his feet as he listened to her soft cries.

"Hey, can you hear me," he asked, his voice slurred. His tongue felt dry and heavy.

The woman gave no response.

"My name is Blair Sandburg. I'm a consultant for the Cascade Police Department."

Finally the woman lifted her head, staring at him with wet, green eyes. Blair gasped when he noticed the red, blistered burn on her left cheek, but he tried to keep the rest of his reaction in check.

"Who are you?" He kept his voice soft and steady, speaking slowly so his words came out distinct and clear.

The woman stared at him for several seconds. Then she blinked, her eyes filling with new tears. "April Savino."

"April, I want you to know that help is on its way. My partner knows I've been taken. I'm sure the entire police force is out there looking for us. They'll find us. It might take them a liitle while, but they will find us," he reassured the young woman.

The woman nodded. "You're a cop?"

"A police consultant. Not a cop. My partner is a detective in Major Crimes. He'll find us," he repeated, suddenly wondering who he was trying harder to convince, her or himself.

Suddenly, the door flew open and April cringed, releasing a startled sob. Blair whipped his head around, immediately regretting the action when the room spun wildly, sending his stomach into flip-flops. He closed his eyes briefly to combat the dizziness, then opened them to look at the intruder.

Parker stood in front of him, leering.

"Comfy?"

Blair's throat constricted.

"Nothing to say? Just as well. It's time to get the show on the road, so to speak," Parker said, a mad glint in his eyes.

The large man bent down, and it was then that Blair noticed the oversized briefcase at his feet. Parker snapped the case open, and Blair cringed when he caught site of the contents: two vials filled with clear liquid, a syringe, a small cattle prod, a blow torch, a leather whip, and a wicked-looking hunting knife.

Parker glanced up at Blair, an evil smile on his lips. He reached for the cattle prod, his hand wrapping around the smooth handle. He stood up, rising to his full height, and towered over Blair. Parker raised the instrument to Blair's chest, keeping it poised a few inches from the younger man's right shoulder.

"Let me see, is this where you shot my brother?"

Parker pressed the cattle prod hard against Blair's shoulder. Blair was totally unprepared for the intensity of sensation that assaulted him. The electricity spiked through his body, setting his nerves on fire. He arched his back and screamed, struggling convulsively against the bonds that held his wrists and ankles. An eternity later, the pain ceased suddenly. Blair's body lost all feeling, and he went limp, his head falling forward until his chin rested against his chest.

Paker patted Blair on the cheek. "Aw, come one. You can't check out now. We haven't even started."

Blair raised his head slowly, fixing angry blue eyes on the man in front of him. "You're insane. A fucking psycho," he whispered, his voice strained.

Parker smiled, dropping the cattle prod to the ground. He reached into the briefcase and withdrew the blow torch. Blair's eyes widened and, with renewed vigor, he struggled against the restraints.

"STAY AWAY FROM ME YOU HEADCASE!" His screams pierced the air loudly. He bucked wildly, trying desperately to free himself from the cuffs.

Parker grinned happily, baring his teeth, as he flicked the blow torch on. The narrow, blue-tipped flame flared to life. Parker waved the torch in front of Blair's face, laughing as the young man tried to back away from the flame. Slowly, he lowered the flame.

"Please, listen to me," Blair begged. "I didn't want to shoot your brother. I tried to save his life. I--"

"SHUT UP!"

Parker pressed the the flame into Sandburg's right side, directly onto his stitched wound. Blair's head shot back and he released a low, primal scream. Parker withdrew the flame quickly, giggling as Blair sagged forward, sobbing quietly.

"I'm so sorry, Ellison."

Jim patted Brown on his good shoulder. "It's not your fault. You took a bullet protecting him."

Simon cleared his throat. "I'm glad I haven't lost one of my detectives." He paused, glancing at the floor. "I'm damn sure Sandburg wouldn't have wanted you to die for him."

"Wouldn't want, Sir. You're talking about him like he's already dead," Jim snapped. "He's alive, and he's counting on us to find him."

Simon took a deep breath. "We've got every available man on the case, Jim. He dumped the Explorer in a parking garage, so we don't even know what car he's driving now. I know how hard this is for you, and God knows I don't want to lose the kid, but you've got to face the facts, Jim. It's been over 24 hours. We're working on a strict time limit here, based on Parker's MO. Our chances of finding--"

Jim raised his hands, storming toward the door. "I know what the chances are! We've got about 12 hours before we find Sandburg's body dumped in a park, or an alley, like yesterday's garbage. Twelve hours! And that means he's probably already been tortured." His voice cracked, and he looked away. "I'm going to find him, Sir," he stated, his jaw muscles tight.

He walked stiffly out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Blair's side raged with fire. His throat hurt, probably from the agonizing screams that it had been forced to sustain. The rest of his body felt numb. His mouth was intolerably dry, and he desperately wanted water.

"Blair?"

He heard the voice as a dim echo that reverberated through his skull.

"Blair?"

The voice was louder, more insistent. For some reason, he felt compelled to respond to it. His head felt heavy, like a lead weight against his chest. He didn't even have the energy to raise it.

"Hmmm," he muttered.

"Remember, you said your partner's gonna come for us? You remember?"

Partner? Jim? Oh Jim, where are you?

"You've gotta remember that, Blair. They're going to find us."

Jim's coming. He heard me. He's coming. He always comes. He found the strength to raise his head.

"That's it, Blair."

He saw April staring at him, eyes wide with concern. He should say something, shouldn't he? Somehow try to reassure her that things would be okay....

He forced a small smile on his lips. "He's coming," he rasped.

She smiled, tears spilling onto her cheeks. "Thank you," she whispered.

He blinked. What had he done to deserve her thanks? "For what?"

"For giving us hope," she replied, glancing at the two unconscious women on the adjacent walls.

Oh. For that. He could have almost laughed. Hope. How long had he been there? A day? Maybe more? Hell, his bladder had already betrayed him twice, but he'd long since grown insensitive to the small of urine, no longer able to distinguish it from the rest of the sickly stenches. He swallowed dryly. Time was running out. Face it, Sandburg, Jim's only human. He's just a sentinel, not a psychic. He's not going to find you in time.

He didn't dare voice his thoughts to April. Instead, he simply forced the smile wider and nodded. "He'll be here. Don't worry."

The door opened, and Sandburg flinched. Please, no more. Parker walked into the room, straight passed Sandburg. He stopped in front of the unconscious woman hanging to Blair's left. He grabbed a key from his pocket and unshackled her ankles. Then he unlocked the cuffs around her wrists, catching her as she fell. Silently, he hefted her over his shoulder and turned toward the door.

"What are you doing," Sandburg asked, his voice weak. "Leave her alone."

Parker smiled, barely sparing Blair a glance as he headed to the door. "Time to dispose of the garbage," he explained, kicking the door shut on his way out.

"No!" Sandburg struggled briefly against his restraints, painfully aware of his dire helplessness. Parker was going to kill her -- if she wasn't dead already -- and dump her body. There was nothing he could do to stop it. Softly, he began to cry.

Some time later, the door opened again. Parker stepped in, briefcase in hand. Blair gazed blankly at the black case, his chest tight. He really didn't think he could take another round of torment.

Parker set the briefcase next to Blair, flashing a smile at the young man. Blair closed his eyes. Just let me pass out. Is that too much to ask?

He heard the soft rustle of a chain and opened his eyes to see Parker removing the cuffs from the woman on the right. When the woman was freed from her restraints, Parker carried her limp body to the center of the room. She mumbled something incoherent, turning her head toward Blair, her eyes closed.

Parker dropped her to the floor and walked over to briefcase. He snapped it open and took out a  small bottle of rum. Blair stared at the clear liquid, wondering what Parker could do with the alcohol. The man held the bottle firmly in his hand while he unscrewed the cap. Then he walked back to the mumbling woman and poured half the contents over her body, covering her face, part of her chest, and her right thigh.

He looked over at Blair. "Play time," he said.

Blair felt the blood drain from his face. Parker walked toward him, slowly. He reached into the briefcase and withdrew the whip, holding it up in front of Blair's face.

"Take a look at this leather. Top quality, you know," he told Sandburg. He sniffed the handle. "Smell that? Real good stuff."

Blair realized he was trembling, and he felt his face grow hot with shame.

"Now, this is how it's going to be," Parker began. "I'm going to take you off of that pole and let you go over to Kristy there. You're going to do what I tell you, or I'll kill her." He put his hand inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a gun. "See this? This is to make sure you don't get any ideas... not that I think you have the strength to try anything, but it's better to be safe than sorry."

He walked over and closed the door, returning the gun to his pocket. Then he knelt down to the briefcase and removed a rag and a brown bottle filled with liquid. Blair couldn't see the label, so he had no idea what chemical Parker held in his hands. Parker opened the bottle and spilled some of the liquid on the rag. Blair reeled from the smell, reminded of his undergrad biology lab. Ether? Chloroform? Parker closed the bottle and rose to his feet. He stuffed the rag in Blair's face, holding it over his nose and mouth. Blair strained back, turning his head in an attempt to slip away from the rag. Parker grabbed his hair and held his head still, keeping the rag pressed firmly over his face.

Blair felt as though the ground had given way. His vision blurred and the room swayed. He felt horribly light-headed, almost nauseous. His eyelids felt very heavy, and darkness crept along the edges of his vision. His last thought before succumbing to the darkness was that he hoped he never woke up....

He didn't get his wish. He heard a voice speaking his name.

"Come on, Sandburg. Rise and shine."

God, how long had it been? It seemed like he'd only been out for a fraction of a second. With a groan, he opened his eyes. He was laying on top of the naked body of the woman Parker had called Kristy. He raised his head, glancing at April. She stared at him with sad, tired eyes.

"Good to see that you're back with us," Parker said. He stood against the empty wall, aiming the gun at Blair. In his other hand, he carried the whip. "That stuff only lasts for a few seconds after the rag's removed."

Blair pushed himself off the woman, rolling onto his back on the cold, hard floor.

"No, no, Blair. That's not what you're supposed to do."

Blair closed his eyes. "What do you want?"

"What do you think I want? I want you to slap her around, then rape her."

Blair felt like he'd suddenly been kicked in the gut. He looked up at Parker, his eyes pleading. "Please, don't do this..."

Parker chuckled. "You shot my brother. This is how you're going to pay for it. You think you're so innocent? Well I'm about to change that. I want you to have a taste of the darker side." He cocked his head and grinned. "Maybe you'll even like it."

"No..." Blair closed his eyes, shaking his head.

A loud crack pierced the air, and he felt a slice of agony across his shoulder. He cringed, curling himself into a ball.

"That's what the whip is for, Blair-Boy. Now move, or the next one who gets a taste of this thing is little Miss Muffet next to you."

Blair trembled, fighting the sob that threatened to escape his throat. He opened his eyes and looked at Kristy. He rolled over onto his stomach and, with shaking arms, lifted himself onto his knees.

"That's better," Parker commended him. "Now give her one good slap across the cheek."

Blair raised one trembling hand. Kristy moaned softly. He closed his eyes and slapped her gently on the cheek. The whip cracked again and he felt the rush of air next to his hand. Kristy yelped, and Blair opened his eyes to see the woman covering her her face with her hands, sobbing weakly.

"You bastard," he hissed, glaring at Parker. "You fucking, insane psycho!"

The whip cracked again, producing an angry red streak across Kristy's chest. She screamed, bringing her legs up and folding into the fetal position.

Blair felt a sharp pang in his chest. God, just shut up, Sandburg. Look what you did....

"Now, when I say slap her, I mean slap her. Do it like you mean it. Put some of those pathetic muscles behind it, boy," Parker insisted, shaking the whip for emphasis.

Blair nodded, grabbing Kristy by the shoulder and pulling her onto her back. God, forgive me. I don't know what else to do. His slapped her hard, and she yelped again, covering her already injured cheek with her hand.

"Again," Parker commanded.

Blair slapped her again.

"No... no more," she begged, crying weakly.

Blair clenched his jaw. He was going to be sick.

"Again!"

Blair turned away from Kristi and doubled over, gagging. He managed to vomit up some bile, which set his throat on fire.

Parker laughed. "You have such a weak stomach, boy. Now hit her again or I will!"

Blair turned back to Kristy, his face white as a corpse. He raised his hand again and back-handed her across the face. His own hand stung from the impact, and he winced, imagining what it must have felt like for Kristy.

The woman curled herself into a ball again and sobbed softly.

"That's good, Blair. Now do her."

Blair looked up at Parker, his mouth open.

"I said do her!"

Blair shook his head. "Please... please don't make me.... I can't....I'll do anything, anything you want, but not that...."

Parker stared at Blair for a few seconds, looking lost in thought. Finally, he shrugged. "Okay, fine. You don't have to rape her." He waved the gun toward the wall. "Move over there."

Blair pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. Slowly, he walked over the wall, willing his weak legs to support him long enough for him to reach his destination. When he reached the wall, he stretched out one hand to touch the cool brick, then collapsed against it.

Parker pulled a loose cigarette out of his jacket pocket and placed it between his lips. He then reached in and grabbed a bronze lighter from the same pocket. Casually, he flipped it open, lit the cigarrete and then tossed the open lighter onto Kristy's web body. Her flesh erupted in a blaze, and she howled insanely, writhing on the floor.

"NOOO!" Blair lunged forward, falling to the floor as he watched the flames engulf the screaming woman. He felt the heat against his cheeks and buried his face beneath his arms. "No, no, no..." he sobbed. "Oh God... Jim... I'm so sorry. Kristy, I'm sorry... Oh, God... "

Then it began to rain. Blair barely noticed. Finally, when he was thoroughly drenched, he looked up. The rain had stopped. The floor was soaked, almost flooded. Parker leaned against the adjacent wall, his clothes drenched, the cigarette no longer in his mouth. He kept the gun aimed at Blair as he glanced up at the ceiling.

"Betcha wouldn't have thought a place like this would have a sprinkler system, eh?"

Blair's heart pounded furiously in his chest. He turned his gaze onto the burned, unrecognizable figure of the woman on the floor. The stench of burnt flesh hit him full force, but, instead of gagging, he closed his eyes and screamed... screamed with rage, with grief... He screamed in agony at his own weakness. He screamed in denial of the horror around him. He screamed until his voice gave out, then he covered his head with his arms and sobbed.

Jim played a morbid hunch as he steered the truck down University Avenue. Three of Parker's victims had been dumped in alleys within five blocks of Ranier University. Two had been dumped in a park across town. The last one, found only a few hours ago, had been dumped in an alley two blocks from the police station, like a slap in the face to all the officers in Major Crimes.

Parker was making this personal. So, Jim parked his truck a block away from the university, his ears open to the sounds of the city around him. Maybe, just maybe, Parker would dump his next victim near Blair's place of work, like he had the others. This time, he figured, Parker would bring the body closer. He closed his eyes. He only hoped the body wasn't Blair's. I'm sorry, Chief. I've tried. There's no trace. Nothing. This was his only shot. He didn't exactly relish the prospect of waiting around helplessly for another victim, but he didn't see any other options. This was a final act of desperation on his part, and he prayed to God that it would pan out.

About an hour later, his wish came true... either that, or his nightmare. He heard Parker's low, mumbling voice.

"Oh, Blair-Boy, if you'd only listened, but, no, you had to take all the fun out of it--"

A car horn screamed, sending a flash of pain through his skull. His hands shot to his hears and he closed his eyes, almost turning down the dial on his hearing. Almost. Instead, he opened his eyes and ignored the pounding in his head. He started the engine and pulled the truck into the street, heading toward where he thought he'd heard Parker's voice. Blair... God forgive me if I'm too late...

Three minutes later his sentinal vision spotted a large man dressed in a trench coat, returning from an alley two and half blocks from the main campus building. His vision zoomed in on the man's face. Parker.

Jim grabbed his cell phone and dialed Simon's desk. Parker walked across the dimly-lit street to a beige sedan. He looked around briefly, then hopped in the drivers seat.

"Banks here."

"Simon, I've spotted Parker. I think he just dumped a body in the alley near the corner of Fifth and Sierra."

"Oh God, Jim... Who?"

Jim's voice was tight. "I don't know, Sir. I'm in pursuit. If I stop to check, I'll lose him."

"Go. I'll get backup on it and send a team to the alley."

He clenched his jaw. "Let me know what they find." Let me know who they find...

"As soon as I get that info, I'll dial your cell phone... turn it off if you're in a bad situation."

"Okay, Sir. He's turning south on University.... driving a beige Buick Skylark. License 4DWD23D2."

"Got it."

"Simon, I can follow him from a distance. If any cruisers get to close, they'll spook him..."

"Understood."

"Thank you, Captain. Call me when you get that info."

"I will."

Jim ended the connection and flipped the phone closed, tossing it on the passenger seat. He stayed several blocks behind Parker's car. About ten minutes later, the cell phone rang. He snatched it off the seat and flipped it open.

"Jim, the body in the alley is a woman's. We.. uh.. haven't been able to identify her yet."

Jim breathed a sigh of relief, almost hating himself for being relieved by the news. Sandburg was alive, but another woman had died because of his inability to track Parker. He clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Parker wasn't going to get away from him now.

"Thank you, Simon," he muttered. "I'm still in pursuit. He's heading out of the city, southbound over the Bastrop bridge."

"There are three units behind you, Jim."

Jim glanced in his rear view mirror. In the distance, he saw headlights. He didn't risk using his sentinel vision to zoom in on the cars. He was sure those were the cruisers. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the car almost a mile in front of him. His own headlights were off and he hoped Parker couldn't see the lights on the cruisers.

"Simon, it's pretty deserted here. Have the cruisers turn off their lights."

"Okay, Ellison."

The Buick turned right on a dirt road. Jim slowed the truck, not wanting to get too close to Parker and risk being spotted. Even with his headlights out, there was a fairly bright moon out.

Jim turned the truck onto the dirt road, keeping his sight fixed on the car ahead of him.

"Jim?"

"I'm here."

"Don't you dare zone behind the wheel."

"I'm okay, Sir. He turned right on a small dirt road about a mile passed the bridge." Jim thought he saw something in the distance and stretched his vision out even further. "I see a house up ahead." That's gotta be it. Hang on, buddy, I'm coming.

A pungent odor slammed Blair to consciousness. He whipped his head away from the stinging scent and opened his eyes. He saw Parker standing in front of him, holding smelling salt in the air.

I'm still in hell, he thought. Why doesn't he just kill me and get it over with?

"Hello, Blair. Did you sleep well?"

Blair stared at his tormentor numbly, not daring to speak... not even sure if he possessed the strength to speak.

"Wanna try this again with April."

Blair felt the tears fall onto his cheeks. He looked at the limp body of April, her eyes closed. He saw fresh cuts on her torso.

"What did you do to her," he asked softly.

Parker smiled. "Just a little more fun and games before I dumped Kristy. You were out for the count."

Blair closed his eyes, biting back a retort.

He felt a stinging slap on his cheek, and his head whipped around from the force. He opened watery eyes and glards at Parker.

"You keep your eyes open until I tell you. Got that?"

Blair bit his lower lip, then nodded.

Parker relaxed visibly. "You're catching on." He knelt and snapped open the briefcase, pulling out a large bottle of tranparent, white liquid. He opened the cap and poured the liquid over Blair's head. Blair kept his eyes open, remembering Parker's instructions. He resisted the urge to struggle, letting the liquid stream down his face and chest. The liquid washed over the welt on his shoulder and slithered down to the burn on his side, setting each wound on fire. He bit his lip, stifling a scream. His eyes stung, and he blinked, trying desparately to keep them open. His eyes watered shamelessly in response. He opened his mouth, tasting the salty liquid.

Salt water, he realized. What's he going to do with...

His mind went blank when he saw Parker reach into the briefcase and remove the cattle prod.

Oh no.. not again... please, no more...

Parker raised the instrument to Blair's stomach. "Well, let's try this one more time before I kill you."

Parker pressed the stick into Sandburg's stomach and turned it on. Blair's body flared with agony, every nerve ending on fire. This was so much more intense than the last time, if such a thing were possible. He was vaguely aware of the sound of someone screaming. He didn't even realize it was him.

"Well, let's try this one more time before I kill you."

Jim cocked his head, honing in on Parker's location. He heard two heartbeats, one slow and steady, the other weak but fast. The crunch of gravel outside told him that backup had arrived. A deep, agonizing scream pierced his eardrums, and he instinctively covered his ears, almost falling to the ground at the suddenness of it. He didn't need sentinel ears to hear those screams. Then he realized there was only one person who could be making that sound, and he broke into a run.

He rounded a corner just as the screaming ceased, and his heart nearly stopped. He saw a door down the hallway and ran toward it, headless of danger. If Blair had stopped screaming... Oh God. He stretched his hearing out again and released a sigh when he heard the familiar patter of Blair's heartbeat, now alarmingly irregular.

Jim flew through the door and saw a staircase leading down. He followed it down into a dark basement.  His eyes immediately adjusted to the darkness. His nose picked up a mixed stench, and he quickly dialed down his sense of smell. He saw another door in the far wall, and he heard the two heartbeats coming from the other side of it. He raised his gun and plastered himself to the side of the door, against the wall. Cautiously, he reached out and tried the doorknob. It turned freely, and he pushed the door inward, moving with lightning speed as he flung himself into a roll and landed on one knee, gun poised on Parker, his eyes focused on the limp, wet body of his guide hanging from a pole in the wall.

"Cascade PD! Freeze!"

Parker whirled around, and Jim caught a glint of metal. He fired twice. The bullets slammed into Parker, sending him flying backward to the ground. He landed with a hard thud, his body perfectly still, his chest covered with blood. Jim listened for a heartbeat, finding Parker's to be weak and erratic. Overlaid with that sound was a more familiar one -- the alarmingly irregular rhythm of Sandburg's heart.

With a glance at the woman's body hanging on the opposite wall, Jim tucked the gun in his the waist-band of his jeans and shot to his feet, moving to Blair instantly. He reached one hand up and brushed the side of his partner's face. Blair cringed away from the touch, his eyes closed. The gesture hit the Sentinel like a knife through his heart.

"No..." His voice was low, barely a whisper. He began to cry quietly. "No more... "

The knife twisted in Jim's chest, and he clenched his jaw. "Easy, Chief. It's me. It's Jim."

Reluctantly, he moved away from Blair, crouching next to Parker's body. He searched the man's pocket, finding a set of keys in coat. Quickly, he rushed back to Blair, fumbling with the keys until he found the one that fit the cuffs around Blair's ankles. Once that was accomplished, he focused on the wrist cuffs. He found the right key on the second try, and opened the cuffs. Blair fell forward into Jim's arms, his body limp as a rag doll.

Jim cradled Blair in his arms, hearing the sound of footsteps descending the stairs.

"Easy, buddy. I've got you," he whispered to his unconscious partner.

Two uniformed officers burst through the door, guns drawn. When their eyes took in the scene before them, their faces went white. One staggered backward, out of sight. Jim heard the man retch several times. It was only then that Jim allowed himself to really look at his surroundings. The large, brick room had all the characteristics of a dungeon. The woman on the opposite wall was dead, of that he had no doubt. She was covered in filth and blood, and the right side of her face had been burned. Her head hung in front of her, eyes closed. Jim closed his eyes, struggling to gain control of the rage that threatened to overtake him. He took several deep breaths, keeping the dial on his sense of smell turned almost completely off.

"Detective Ellison, the ambulance just arrived."

Jim opened his eyes to look at the young uniformed officer staring down at him, a radio in his hand. Ellison frowned. He hadn't even heard the cackle of communication over the radio. Absently, he nodded, then looked down at the fragile body in his arms. He struggled to keep his breathing steady as he scanned Blair's body with his eyes, taking in the injuries. Blair had an angry streak of red on his left shoulder, probably from a whip. His right side sported a large, blistery burn, and part of the skin had peeled away to reveal glimpses of fat and muscle tissue. Jim swallowed, clamping down on his emotions. He couldn't lose control here, not in front of his fellow officers... not when Blair needed him.

He closed his eyes and lowered his face to rest his chin on Blair's head. "You're going to be okay, Chief. Just stay with me. A little longer, buddy. Just a little longer." He tuned his ears once again to Blair's heartbeat, holding his breath as he listened to the fluttering beat of his guide's heart.

"GET THE MEDICS IN HERE NOW!" Jim tightened his hold on Blair. "Come on, Chief. Don't do this to me. Stay with me." He rocked the still figure in his arms gently, back and forth. "Hang on, Blair. Just a little bit longer."

The Emergency Medical Team burst through the doors. Two men rushed over to the woman hanging from the wall and two knelt down next to Jim and Blair.

"Excuse me, Sir," one of them said, a young woman. "We need you to let go of him."

Jim continued to rock Blair gently, muttering soft reassurances. The two paramedics gently grabbed Jim's arms and slid Blair out of his grasp. Jim trembled with the effort it took to relax his hold on Blair, almost releasing a short sob when he felt the warmth of his Guide leave his arms.

Ellison sat by Blair's bedside, holding his friend's hand in his own. Sandburg lay sleeping on the hospital bed, hooked up to the heartmonitor, a tube in his nose. His burn had been scrubbed clean and bandaged as the doctor's prepared to do a skin graph, growing a sheet of Blair's skin in the lab for use in the surgery.

Blair had been unconscious for six hours, not waking up once since they'd brought him here. Occasionally, he'd mutter in his sleep, usually either calling Jim's name or begging for the pain to stop. Each time, Jim would hold Blair's hand firmly and utter soothing words or reassurance.

The hospital door opened and Simon walked in. "How is he?"

Jim turned to look at his Captain. "The same. He hasn't regained consciousness yet."

Simon nodded. "This was too damn close."

Jim nodded, his throat tight. "You should have seen it, Simon... Seen the way he was hanging there, limp, drenched in salt water and sweat. I touched his face and he flinched away." He swallowed. "That basement... it looked like a dungeon. They were chained up like animals, smelling like blood and urine." He closed his eyes. "It was hell... It could have been a scene right out of Dante's Inferno."

Simon patted the detective on the shoulder. "The important thing is that he's alive. He'll pull through this."

Jim opened his eyes and stared uncertainly up at his Captain. "You don't know that, Simon." He sighed. "He was tortured... probably watched those women die...."

"Jim," Simon began, his voice low. "I wanted to wait to tell you this, but--"

Jim's head shot up. "What?"

Simon took a deep breath. "We found a video tape."

Jim stiffened.

"There was a hidden camera hooked up to the basement, voice activated. Anything above fifteen decibals activated it, and it had a remote switch. Parker could activate and deactive it whenever he came and went," the Captain explained.

Jim's balled his free hand into a fist. "Have you watched it?"

Simon nodded. "Part of it."

Jim's blue eyes flashed with an indescribable emotion. "And?"

Simon closed his eyes, bringing one hand up to rub his forehead. "It's bad. The worst I've ever seen... or could have even imagined."

"I need to see it," Jim stated, his voice flat.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Simon countered.

"I need to see what Parker did to him. I need to be ready to help him when he wakes up."

Simon sighed. "You need to stay here. Don't you want to be here when he comes to?"

Jim closed his eyes and nodded. Bring me a copy of the tape here. I'll view it privately in one of the administrative rooms here. I'm sure the hospital will okay that. If he wakes up, I'll be right around the corner."

"Jim you don't want to view that thing here," Simon protested.

"No one will see it but me. I'll be locked in a private room."

"Jim," Simon sighed. "I can't let you see it. Not yet, anyway. Maybe later when this isn't so fresh. Right now, trust me, Jim, it'll kill you to watch it. I had to shut it off a halfway through to spill my guts in the men's room."

Jim stared blankly ahead, fixing his gaze on the wall. "Blair lived it," he said, his voice low. "I have to know what I'll be dealing with once he wakes up.... psychologically." He took a deep breath and finally turned his gaze to Simon. "I was in Covert Ops, Sir. I've seen all kinds of torture. This won't be anything new."

Simon inhaled a deep breath. "Listen, Jim. This is different. This is Sandburg we're talking about. You don't want those images etched on your brain."

Jim clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck taut. "I have to, Simon. I have to know. Please."

Several seconds of silence hung in the air as Simon studied Jim's impassive face. Finally, he nodded. "Okay, but I'll be with you. God knows I don't want to watch another second of that video, but I'm not going to let you go through that alone."

"You don't have to, Sir."

"That's non-negotiable Ellison. Take it or leave it."

Jim nodded. "Thank you, Simon. Let's get this over with as soon as possible."

Jim sat rigidly in the chair as Simon popped the video into the VCR.

"This is about five hours long. Some of the sound isn't very decipherable, but you might be able to use those ears of yours to figure it out." Banks turned on the television and VCR and pressed the PLAY button. Then he took a seat next to Ellison in the cramped office belonging to Dr. Bailey, who fortunately wasn't due back on shift for another ten hours.

The basement flickered into view on the screen. The camera was fixed on Blair, who hung limply against the wall, his hands cuffed to the pole above his head. Jim could see the doorway to Blair's left, and an unconscious woman hung to Blair's right. Parker walked through the door, looking straight at the camera. An evil grin spread across his face.

"Hello to the fine men and woman of the Cascade Police Department, and, particularly, to Detectives Ellison, Rafe, and Brown. Oh, and of course I mustn't forget Captain Simon Banks. This is a little 'thank you' gift to all of you for putting four bullet holes in my brother. I must warn you, this film is rated... well, off the scale. I sincerely hope you haven't eaten within the past couple of hours."

The image flickered, indicating that the camera had been shut off, then reactivated. It remained focused on Blair, but Parker was no longer in the room. Blair was now awake, and the camera cut in with the young man speaking.

"-- Can you hear me," Blair asked, his voice slurred. He stared at someone off-camera, probably the woman who had been chained to the wall opposite him.

"My name is Blair Sandburg. I'm a consultant for the Cascade Police Department."

He saw Blair gasp. "Who are you?" He kept his voice soft and steady, speaking slowly so his words came out distinct and clear.

Sevaral seconds of silence, then, "April Savino."

"April, I want you to know that help is on its way. My partner knows I've been taken. I'm sure the entire police force is out there looking for us. They'll find us. It might take them a liitle while, but they will find us," he reassured the young woman.

Jim's felt a tight pressure clamp over his heart. I'm sorry it wasn't sooner, Chief.

The woman spoke. "You're a cop?"

"A police consultant. Not a cop. My partner is a detective in Major Crimes. He'll find us," Blair repeated.

Suddenly the door flew open and Parker walked in, carrying a large, black briefcase. He walked over to Blair and set the briefcase down.

"Comfy?"

Blair remained silent.

"Nothing to say? Just as well. It's time to get the show on the road, so to speak," Parker said.

The large man bent down, snapping the case open. Blair cringed visibly when as he gazed down at the contents.

Parker glanced up at Blair, an evil smile on his lips. He reached for the cattle prod, his hand wrapping around the smooth handle. He stood up, rising to his full height, and towered over Blair. He raised the instrument to Blair's chest, keeping it poised a few inches from the younger man's right shoulder.

"Let me see, is this where you shot my brother?"

Parker pressed the cattle prod hard against Blair's shoulder. Sandburg arched his back and screamed, struggling convulsively against the bonds that held his wrists and ankles. A minute later, Parker pulled the instrument away from Blair, and the young man went limp, his head falling forward until his chin rested against his chest.

Paker patted Blair on the cheek. "Aw, come one. You can't check out now. We haven't even started."

Blair raised his head slowly, fixing angry blue eyes on the man in front of him. "You're insane. A fucking psycho," he whispered, his voice strained.

Simon looked over at Jim, the detective's gaze fixed on the screen in front of him, his head tilted slightly. "Could you make that out?"

Jim nodded. "Blair called him a psycho."

Simon nodded, allowing himself a small smile before turning his attention back to the screen.

Parker smiled, dropping the cattle prod to the ground. He reached into the briefcase and withdrew the blow torch. Blair's eyes widened and, with renewed vigor, he struggled against the restraints.

"STAY AWAY FROM ME YOU HEADCASE!" His screams pierced the air loudly. He bucked wildly, trying desperately to free himself from the cuffs.

Parker grinned happily, baring his teeth, as he turned on the blow torch. The narrow, blue-tipped flame flared to life. Parker waved the torch in front of Blair's face, laughing as the young man tried to back away from the flame. Slowly, Parker lowered the flame.

"Please, listen to me," Blair begged. "I didn't want to shoot your brother. I tried to save his life. I--"

"SHUT UP!"

Parker pressed the the flame into Sandburg's right side. Blair's head shot back and he released a low, primal scream. Parker withdrew the flame quickly, giggling as Blair sagged forward, sobbing quietly.

Simon glanced at Jim, who sat stiff as a statue in the chair, his hands clenched into fists on his lap, knuckles white.
 

Five hours later, the tape came to a fuzzy end. The two men sat in shocked silence, staring blankly at the screen. Finally, Simon grabbed the remote from the desk and turned the power off on both the TV and VCR. He looked over at Jim, whose face looked deathly pale, and laid a gentle hand on the detective's shoulder.

"You okay, Jim," Simon whispered.

Jim didn't move. "I need to be alone for a moment."

Simon nodded and quietly walked out the door. Jim sat alone in the small office. He leaned forward, buried his face in his hands, and cried.

Jim found himself once again sitting at Blair's bedside. The hospital door opened and he looked up.

"Hey, how's the kid?" Brown walked over to the bed, his arm in a sling, and placed a hand on the bed rail.

Jim gazed blankly at the detective. "He'll pull through."

Brown smiled. "I knew he would. The kid's a fighter."

Jim nodded, turning his eyes back to Blair.

"You okay, Ellison? Is there anything I can do?"

Jim shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Jim. I volunteered to protect him, and I let Parker get to him. I--"

"It's not your fault." It's my fault.

"Well, when he wakes up, let him know... well, tell him I said I'm sorry."

Jim nodded. "Go home, Brown."

"Okay, Ellison. Try to get some sleep. You look exhausted."

Jim nodded. "Thanks." He didn't think he'd ever sleep again, not after watching that video.

Brown left and and Jim sat silently for a long time, gazing steadily at his guide's sleeping face. Blair looked so peaceful sleeping there, and Jim could almost imagine that the past couple of days never happened. His fantasy was quickly shattered when Blair's face contorted suddenly and the young man released a single muffled sob.

Jim bolted from the chair and grabbed his Guide's hand. "Easy, Chief. You're okay. I'm right here."

Blair's eyes fluttered open. He stared up at Jim, his expression blank. Slowly, recognition filled his eyes. He looked down at Jim's hand, then back up at the face of his Blessed Protector. He began to tremble gently. His heartrate escalated, echoed by the beeping of the heartmonitor.

Jim placed his free hand on Blair's forehead, brushing away a stray curl. "Hey, Blair. It's okay. You're safe now."

"April?" His voice was soft and unsteady.

Jim looked away for a fraction of a second. "Don't worry about that now."

"No...." His trembling grew more violent. The beeping of the heartmonitor grew more frantic.

"Shhh... Take it easy, Chief. I'm right here," Jim soothed.

Apparently the kind tone was more than Blair could take and he gave into the grief and fear so visibly etched on his face. He burst into tears, shaking uncontrollably, tightening his grip on Jim's hand. Jim quickly lowered the rail and sat on the edge of the bed, scooping Blair into a gentle but firm embrace. Blair buried his face in Jim's chest, grabbing the fabric of the larger man's shirt in his white, trembling hands. His cries escalated to sobbing, angry screams, muffled by Jim's chest.

The Sentinel kept his arms wrapped around his Guide, offering protection and comfort. "That's it. Let it go, Blair. You're safe here."

The Next Day...

Jim paced the length of the waiting room, his jaw clenched.

"Sit down, Ellison, you're making everyone nervous," Simon suggested.

Jim looked over at his Captain, who was seated awkwardly in one of the hard orange chairs against the wall. Then he scanned the anxious faces of the other detectives from Major Crimes: Taggart, Rafe, and Brown.

Taggart nodded, patting the empty seat next to him. "Take a break, Jim. They'll let us know as soon as their finished."

Jim took a deep breath, then nodded, walking over to the chair and collapsing into it. He tilted his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. "What's taking them so long?"

"It's only been a couple of hours, Jim. It's a skin graph, you can't expect them to be in and out just like that," Simon offered.

Jim closed his eyes, releasing a tired sigh. God, he was exhausted. He hadn't slept in.... well, he couldn't remember. He desperately wanted to tune his hearing to the operating room, but he knew in his sleep-deprived state he was primed for a zone-out, and he didn't want to risk one in front of his co-workers.

A few hours later, a doctor emerged for the double doors down the hall. She walked quickly over to the waiting room, straightening her aqua scrub shirt and slipping her head covering off, tucking it in the pocket on the leg of her scrubs. Jim rose immediately, meeting her halfway, followed closely by four large men.

"How's Sandburg," Jim asked quickly.

She smiled, and Jim felt the knot in his stomach relax.

"The surgery went very well," she informed him. "Mr. Sandburg's in recovery and we'll keep an eye on him for an hour or so before returning him to his r--"

"Can I see him?"

She tilted her head. "Normally we only let family in, but you are listed as next of kin on his chart." She nodded. "Okay, follow me, but I can only let you in for a few minutes."

Jim nodded. "Thank you, Doctor." He turned to the four men behind him. "I'll be back soon."

Jim followed the doctor to a large room filled with a row of beds against opposite walls. Most of the patients were semi-conscious, though some looked barely alive. Jim swallowed, his jaw muscles tight. He immediately honed in on the dark mass of curls a few beds down on his right, and hurried his steps.

Blair was conscious, but his face looked deathly pale, and his eyelids rested half-closed. Jim approached the side of Blair's bed and placed a hand on the young man's uninjured shoulder.

"Hey, Chief."

Blair's raised tired eyelids to look at Jim. He raised one hand and rubbed his throat.

"You want some water," Jim asked.

Blair nodded.

Jim turned to one of the nurses attending to a patient on the opposite wall. "Excuse me, ma'am, could I get some water for him."

The nurse looked up and glanced at Blair. She nodded. "He can only have a few sips for now. Once he's a bit more awake, he can have more."

She pulled her patient's blanket up to his chin and headed off. "I'll be back with the water," she told Jim, glancing over her shoulder.

Jim nodded his thanks, then looked back down at Blair. "It's on it's way, buddy."

A minute later, the nurse returned, handing a styrofoam cup and a straw to the detective. Jim took it gratefully and placed the straw between Blair's lips.

"Easy, now. Just a few sips," Jim instructed.

Blair took several greedy gulps, and on the fourth one, Jim took the cup away.

"More," Blair croaked.

Jim shook his head. "In a little bit. Once you're more awake."

"I'm awake."

"In a little bit," Jim repeated.

Blair closed his eyes, drifting into a fragile sleep. The doctor walked up to Blair's bed and looked at Jim. "Once he's shaken off a bit of the anaesthesia, we'll transfer him back to his room." She pulled a penlight from her shirt pocket and reached down to open one of Blair's eyelids. Then she shined the light in his pupils.

Blair flinched back, pressing into the pillow as he turned his head to the side and clamped his eyes closed. "No," he mumbled hoarsely. "Don't..."

Jim pressed his hand down on Blair's forehead and leaned closer to his partner. "It's okay, Blair. It's Jim. I'm right here. No one's going to hurt you."

"Mr. Sandburg, it's okay. I'm Doctor Kapler. You're in a hospital," the woman said, her tone cool and professional.

"No more," Blair rasped.

Jim threw the woman an annoyed glance, quickly turning his attention back to Sandburg. "No more, Chief. I promise. You're safe. Open your eyes. Come on, Blair, open your eyes."

Blair's eyelids floated up.

"That's it, Chief."

Blair focused on Jim's face, his eyes growing wet. "Stay."

Jim grabbed Blair's hand. "I'm right here. I won't go anywhere, I promise."

"Uh, Mr. Ellison--"

Jim snapped his head up, fixing the doctor with a cold glare. "I'm staying," he stated. "He needs me here."

Doctor Kapler looked momentarily uncertain, then nodded. Jim relaxed.

"Thank you," he said. "Could you tell the men in the waiting room that I'll be staying here?"

"Sure, I'll send a volunteer out to let them know."

Jim wheeled the chair around to the side of the bed and patted the seat. "Come on, Chief. Hospital policy."

Blair fastened the last button on his blue shirt and slid off the bed, wordlessly easing himself into the chair. That, more than anything, worried Jim. It wasn't like Blair to be so quiet and sullen. He should be complaining -- eager to go home and indignant at having to use the wheelchair when he was 'perfectly capable of walking'. These past few days, however, Blair had been reduced to one word answers and brief, curt phrases.

Jim tried to reassure himself that this was a normal reaction to the trauma his partner had experienced. He should be grateful Blair was at least coherent and composed. Only when the young man slept did he lose control and allow the nightmare to resurface. Jim made sure he was there everytime, waking his Guide from the night terrors and calming his tremors with soft, soothing words.

Banks had made an appointment for each of them with the department psychologist. Jim was scheduled to see her tomorrow morning, and Blair would go the following afternoon. The detective hadn't yet mentioned the appointment to his partner. He didn't quite know how Blair would react and he wanted to wait until they were home at the loft before broaching the subject.

Jim wheeled the chair into the vacant elevator and pressed the button for the first floor. After a brief hesitation, the elevator doors slid closed.

"All the guys at the station are anxious to see you," Jim said.

Blair remained silent, gazing solemnly at the floor.

"Brown asks about you every day."

Blair raised his head, glancing back at Jim. "He's okay?"

Jim nodded. "He's fine. He's still in a sling, which has earned him a nice, lazy vacation."

Blair swallowed, then turned his gaze back to the floor. "I"m sorry. You were right, I shouldn't have gone back to work."

Jim placed a hand on Blair's shoulder. "Don't go there, Chief. You were right, you get paid for your university work. You needed to be there."

"It wasn't worth Brown's life."

"Brown's alive. He's fine. He's more worried about you." Jim sighed. "He feels guilty for letting you down."

"He didn't."

"I know. You can tell him that when you see him, Chief"

"Okay."

Jim shook his head, giving Blair's shoulder a final squeeze. He desperately wanted to see Blair smile again, hear the chuckle in his voice, see the glint of mirth in his eyes. The Sentinel's thoughts were interrupted when the elevator doors slid open.

"Hairboy!"

Jim forced a smile on his face as he wheeled Blair to the group of men rushing forward. Brown and Simon led the way, and Blair raised his eyes to greet the smiling faces.

"Brown..." Blair raised his gaze to look at the grinning detective, and his face immediately lit up as a broad smile touched his lips.

There's the old Sandburg. Jim found his own forced smile suddenly growing wider and more sincere. He looked at Brown, silently promising to put the man at the top of his Christmas list next year, right after Sandburg, of course.

Brown reached out to ruffle Blair's hair. "It's really good to see you."

Blair glanced at the detective's sling. "How's the shoulder?"

Brown shrugged his good shoulder. "Hey, just another war wound to woo the ladies with."

Sandburg chuckled. "I can give you some obfuscation tips, if you like."

The detective laughed. "You are the master."

Sandburg held his smile a moment longer, then it faded slowly. His eyes grew more serious as he gazed at Brown. "You're really okay?"

Brown nodded, glancing up at Jim. "Yeah, I'm fine. It probably looked a lot worst than it is."

Blair glanced at the floor. "It did... all that blood... I thought..."

"Hey," Brown interrupted. "I'm fine. I'm just sorry I let him get to you, kid. I screwed up. I--"

Sandburg raised his hands. "Hey, this isn't your fault. It's mine. I'm the one who insisted on going to the university in the first place. If I hadn't been so... so... stupid, you never would have gotten shot." He swallowed, gazing humbly down at the floor.

Brown looked questioningly up at Jim, who glanced at Simon, who looked down at Sandburg.

"Sandburg, you're not the first person in the history of this nation to need police protection," Simon began. "You handled yourself pretty good out there. You kept your head, you attended to Brown -- even though you should have just gotten the hell out of there -- and you gave Jim the description of Parker's car."

Blair kept his gaze pinned to the floor. "Thanks, Captain," he said, his voice flat.

Simon cast an anxious glance in Jim's direction. The detective shook his head and then looked down at Blair, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Chief. Let's get you home."

Jim smiled warmly. "Feel good to be home, Chief?"

Blair walked stiffly through the loft door, limping slightly from the pain in his side.  "No, I'd rather be back in the dungeon," he snapped, heading toward the couch.

Jim's smile melted and he clenched his jaw. Blair's anger was sudden and unwarranted, and he didn't quite no how to deal with the young man. Sandburg had been through an extraordinarily traumatic experience, one that even someone with his own type of military experience would have a hard time dealing with. Sandburg, however, was a sensitive scholar with a kind heart and an empathic nature. How could such a gentle soul assimilate such cruelty without losing itself to the darker aspects of human nature?

Sandburg lowered himself onto the couch. Jim tuned his ears into his partner's heartbeat, finding it a bit too fast. Blair reached forward carefully to grab the remote control, and it was then that Jim noticed his partner's shaking hands. Taking a deep breath, he moved to the couch, sitting next to Sandburg.

Blair looked over at him, his eyes saying what his mouth obviously couldn't. Jim accepted the silent apology and leaned back.

"Are you hungry?"

Blair shook his head, gazing at the blank television screen.

Jim sighed. "Chief.... " Where should he start? What should he say? "Look at me."

After a slight delay, Blair turned his head and fixed solemn blue eyes on the detective.

"What can I do?" Jim resisted the urge to reach and place a hand on Blair's shoulder. He'd done that a lot over the past few days and he wanted Sandburg to make the first move this time.

Blair looked away quickly, shaking his head.

"Come on, Chief. Let me help."

Blair shifted away from Jim's intense gaze, hiding his face and slumping his shoulders. "I can't do this right now," he whispered.

"Why? Because you're afraid of losing control? You're afraid of showing your emotions in front of me?" Jim took another deep breath. "You're safe here. You know that, don't you? It's okay to let your defenses down, lean on me for some help."

Blair inhaled a slow, ragged breath. "It's too much. I don't know how... I can't... think about it. Being here..." he raised his hands to indicate the loft, his voice trailing off.

"What? Being here makes you feel what," Jim prompted.

Blair began to shake, his breathing becoming fast and shallow. He was starting to hyperventilate.

"What, Chief," Jim asked again.

"It's like a dream," he said softly.

"Tell me about it... please," Jim encouraged him.

"Being here... well... I just didn't think I'd see it again. I'm afraid..." once again, his voice trailed off.

"What are you afraid of, Blair?"

"Please leave me alone, Jim."

"Not an option."

Blair stood up quickly, gasping with the pain it obviously caused. He gazed at his bedroom doors, seemingly unsure of himself. Finally, he walked over to them and disappeared into his room. Jim heard the lock engage, and he frowned. This wasn't the way he'd planned his partner's homecoming.

Jim stayed up most of the night listening to Blair move around in his room. He heard the the rustling of covers, the soft scraping of pen against paper, and the clacking of keys on the laptop. Occasionally, Blair would make his way to the kitchen, boil some water, and make himself a cup of tea. Several times Jim was tempted to get out of bed and talk to Blair, tell him to get some sleep and take it easy. He decided, however, that it would probably be best to give his Guide some privacy for the moment. He'd speak with the psychologist in a few hours, and then maybe he'd have a better idea about how to help Blair recover. He knew his roommate was going through Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, that much was obvious, and Jim had dealt with that particular condition enough times to prepare himself for what was to come. However, he'd always dealt with that in military situations, never on a personal basis... well, not counting his own experiences in Peru. Blair was different. He wasn't military. He was a guide, an anthropologist, and, by all rights, a shaman. Jim knew how to put a clamp on his emotions and block out unpleasant memories -- it was something he had become very good at doing, until Sandburg came along and gave him a taste of life again.
 
Finally, at about 5:00 am, Jim heard a muffled thunk, followed by soft snoring. He smiled. Finally. Blair had probably fallen asleep on top of his laptop. Jim pushed the covers away and slid out of bed. He walked down the stairs in his boxers and scanned the living room and kitchen, finding them both devoid of his guide. He shuffled over to the bedroom and, carefully, opened the door, trying to make as little noise as possible. Peeking his head inside, he spotted Blair hunched over a book on his desk, fast asleep.

He glanced over at the bed. The covers were a bit rumpled, but it was obvious Blair hadn't slept in the bed. He debated carrying Sandburg to the bed, but didn't want to risk waking the young man. However, looking over at his roommate, he knew Blair would wake up with several unpleasant kinks in his neck and back if he remained in that position for any length of time.

He listened to his partner's heartbeat, trying to decide on the depth of Blair's slumber. He found the rhythm slow and steady, deciding that it would probably be safe to move the young man. He cocked his head and stretched his hearing even further, listening to the heartbeat. When he'd found Blair, that rhythm had been dangerously irregular, and he listened to it now, trying to find even the slightest hint of arhythmia. To his relief, the beat sounded strong and regular. Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

Some indeterminate amount of time later he snapped to awareness when he heard the soft mumbling of his Guide's voice.

"Help..."

Blair was sitting straight up in his chair, his eyes open.

"Chief? You okay?"

Blair raised his hands in front him, turning his head away from the sound. "No. Don't touch me! Get away!"

Jim glided over to Blair, grabbing the anthropologist's arms. "Hey, Chief, it's me. You're okay."

Blair's leg shot out, catching Jim in the groin, and he flung himself backward, toppling the chair. "NO!" He rolled to his feet and dashed past Jim, who lay doubled over on the floor, clutching the offended area.

"Goddamnit," the Sentinel hissed through clenched teeth.

He heard the front door open and close, and his heart leapt to his throat. What the hell just happened? He pushed the pain aside and rose to his feet, careening toward the door in an awkward run. When he flung the living room door open, he saw Blair standing near the elevator, looking around with wide, fearful eyes, obviously disoriented. The sentinel noticed beads of sweat on Sandburg's forehead, and a few curls lay wet against his forehead.

Jim moved out into the hallway, his hands slightly raised at his sides. "Hey, Chief," he said, his tone light and reassuring.

Blair looked at him curiously. "Jim?" Blair surveyed his surroundings uncertainly. "What happened? How did I get out here?"

Jim breathed a sigh of relief. "You were sleep walking." He took a few steps closer to Blair, reaching his hand out in invitation. "Come on back inside, Chief."

Blair gazed down at Jim's open palm and, cautiously, reached out to take the hand in his own. He raised his gaze to meet Jim's. "Sleepwalking?"

Jim nodded.

"I've never done that before," he stated, his voice tinged with fear.

"It's okay," Jim said as he guided Blair back into the loft. "It's just the stress."

Jim locked the front door and settled Blair onto the couch. "You want some tea?"

Blair shook his head. "No thanks."

"Do you remember the dream?"

Blair shrugged, leaning back to gaze up at the ceiling. "No, not really."

"Not really?"

Blair closed his eyes. "All I remember is Parker coming at me."

Jim figured as much. With a controlled sigh, he said, "Listen, Blair, Simon's made us both appointments with the department psychologist."

Blair lifted his head and fixed his blue eyes on Jim's. "Nice of him to ask me first."

"It's department policy."

"I'm not a cop, remember."

Jim shook his head. "You're a member of the department."

Blair swallowed and rose from the couch, heading back to his room. "I'm not ready." He didn't bother to look back as he closed the door behind him.

Jim rubbed his eyes with one hand. This was not going the way he'd hoped.

"So this is the first time that you've seen him sleepwalk," Doctor Judith Carrows asked.

Jim nodded, resting both hands on the arms of the brown leather chair. "Yes. Even with all the other scares he's had, he's never done this before."

Doctor Carrows scribbled briefly onto her notepad. "It sounds like a night terror, otherwise known as pavor nocturnus."

"Yes, I've heard of those."

"The normal sleep cycle involves distinct stages from light drowsiness to deep sleep. REM, rapid eye movement, sleep is a different type of sleep, where the eyes move rapidly and vivid dreaming is most common. During a night, there will be
several cycles of non-REM and REM sleep. Night terror occurs during Stage 3 and Stage 4 sleep, deep sleep. The cause is unknown but night terrors are commonly associated with periods of emotional tension, stress, or
conflict," she explained. "Night terrors are most common in preadolescent boys, but they can also occur in adults, obviously. Sometimes they're genetic, and give people life-long problems. Other times they happen once or twice in a person's life, and many times people don't remember them the next morning. Usually, there's not much cause for alarm. With everything Mr. Sandburg has experienced lately, this is to be expected. He may or may not have more. If he does, you'll find that he might just go back to sleep. Othertimes he might be difficult to rouse fully. You can expect the feeling of terror to continue even after he's fully awake, and he