In Hell (Edge of the Knife III: Jim)

By Demeter

EMAIL: Demeter

I don't remember stealing into his room the other night. Neither can I recall tying his wrists together, but I must have at some point. Did I go and get the knife then, or had I brought it with me?

He must have woken up, struggled. And I must have gone through with it anyway, leave those deep cuts, tasting. Now, I can't seem to get rid of the taste, and there's nothing good in that, not some weird underlying erotic as it might appear. I'm sick of myself.

Of what I've become. Still, I need to be near him.

***

The smell is strong even under all those bandages. My mind is clear of the haze now, leaving only guilt, and pain at the realization that there'll have to be consequences. Blair would still be trying to seek out answers, some explanation, with no regard for his own safety, and I have to draw my own conclusions from that.

We'll have to go separate ways from here.

I'm pretty sure that no one else would be in danger from me, because without a doubt, this is a Sentinel, a freak thing. I don't want a reason. I want him safe.

***

I'm aware of the strange looks Simon is giving me, and I know I have to do something soon. For now, I haven't objected to the doctor's idea of a suicide attempt. It will give me time to arrange things; and for sure, with a roommate like me, developping suicidal tendencies isn't all that surprising. I'm so sorry.

Maybe it's not fair; but it doesn't really matter any longer.

I'll be gone from his life, and he can hate me later.

"No, Simon, I have no idea."

"If you don't know, then who will?"

I can't give him any answer.

***

"No way I'm going to do this. Not until you told me the truth."

I stare at Simon incredulously. He can't object to this! It's the only hurdle left to take; I've signed every necessary paper, so the loft belongs to Blair now; I packed up, and I know it would be easy for him to arrange a transfer for me.

"There is nothing to tell. It happened and I couldn't prevent it." That's at least not a lie. "Reason enough for me to leave him alone."

"You mean, leave him alone, dealing with this shit all by himself, right?"

***

"Leave it, Simon. You don't want to know. So, about that transfer..."

In the end, he signs it, and it feels like a weight is lifted off my chest. I have already talked to the Captain of Violent Crimes in Tacoma, who is a friend of Simon's. He was interested right away.

It's time to start anew, shed my skin again, leave behind the shell of the ogre. It's better that way.

Before I leave Cascade for good, I need to go back to the hospital once more. I won't go without saying goodbye, that, at least, I owe him.

***

He's asleep when I step into the room. I ponder whether to wake him or not. That weight is back again, as I'm reminded that this will be the last time I see him.

I could have killed him that night. The fact that I did not was - fate? Coincidence? None of that is good enough for me. It could always happen again.

Blair wakes, his heartbeat skyrocketing when he becomes aware that I'm in the room. I can't blame him for that.

"Don't worry, Chief," I say. "I just came to say goodbye. You'll be safe from now on."

***

He's angry at me, and he's got reason for that, because the doctors are asking the wrong questions due to my negligence. Blair calls me a coward to run away, and I don't protest, because he's right, but in time he will see that this is the only solution. Safer for him.

He's still so weak, pale, has lost a lot of blood. "I'm sorry," I say it out loud finally, touching my hand to his cool cheek, one last time. This time, his heartbeat remains steady.

Where does all this misplaced trust come from, Chief?

"I need to go."

***

Forcibly, I crank down the dials, ignore his demands - or are they pleas? - to return and face the truth. I can't, have moved on, it isn't my truth anymore. If that's what a Sentinel is about, I chose not to be one any longer.

Let's face it, if Blair had found any writings about ancient blood rituals, would that have helped us any? I don't think so - because I can't imagine doing any shit like this intentionally.

I just want to get rid of it. There's a déjà-vu somewhere in this.

My fingertips are still tingling from the touch.

***

I do remember coming to with his blood all over me, pulsing from deep wounds: There's a moment when all of my senses just shut down; I can't hear his heartbeat, and I come close to ending it all with the same bloody knife.

Bloody fingertips on the receiver, after I've regained enough presence of the mind to call 911.

I use the same stripes of clothes to cover those hideous cuts, and then a torn shirt when they're soaked through. Waiting for the ambulance to arrive, I just hold him close, still in denial of what I have done.

***

Again and again, I've picked up the receiver, but never called. Blair has got to know by now. I've left him a letter, telling him to leave it be, not try to contact me.

It's harder than I thought; I still can't shut off the thoughts about how this could happen in the first place - all I wanted was for Barclay not to get to him, a cold-blooded killer who liked to draw it out.

On the other hand, what else am I?

I can't help the disturbing feeling getting hold of me that there's a timebomb within me.