He walked slowly across the top of the roof carrying a metal case until he reached the edge with its safety wall made of brick. He looked down spotting his little flags that indicated wind direction, and nodded to himself. Laying the case down at his feet, he knelt and opened the case retrieving the parts to the sniper rifle which he expertly put together. He loaded the rifle with hollow point bullets, then through the scope he found his target.

The cop was wearing his blue uniform, badge shining in the sun as he walked his beat. The scope sights were placed directly on his head while he smiled. The trigger was squeezed and the bullet fled from the rifle.

People screamed as blood and brain splattered from the back of the cops head, and the man on the roof calmly diassembled the rifle and replaced it back into the silver case. Then picking up the case, the assassin left the building.

"You alright Rafe. You look kinda pale. Not coming down with the flu are you?" Simon Banks, Captain of Major Crimes asked the detective. The man in question shook his head, "No Cap, I'm alright."

Simon said nothing though he didn't believe his officers protests, but shrugging that aside Banks picked up a folder and handed it to Rafe's partner, Henri Brown. "Mike Dunnagan, a patrol officer for seven years. A good cop, clean record. Killed by a single shot to the head on 12th Avenue. He's the third cop to be killed in the last three days. Same weapon, same shooter. I want this cop killer off my streets gentlemen."

"You know it, sir." Brown said. Brown took the folder and he and Rafe left the Captain's office.

"You sure you're alright partner?" Brown asked his friend.

"Yeah, I'm fine, H. No problems." Rafe said. "Just hoping we catch this guy before he kills another one of our brothers."

"Yeah. A serial cop killer. The Feds are probably going to be all over this soon." Brown said as they sat down at thier desks and went over the three files.

"Edmund Rogers, a detective in Vice, Daren Reynolds, narcotics, and now Dunnagan. Other than the fact that they are cops, I can't see much of a pattern." Brown said reading over the files. "How about you."

"I knew them. They were good cops. Uhm, well we used to hang out at a few of the bars. Just drinking, playing pool, telling war stories." Rafe said.

"Don't worry Rafe, we'll find the bastard." Brown said patting Rafe on the shoulder.

Before or after he kills me? Rafe thought.

Rafe walked to his car feeling sick when Paul Borjn walked up to him. “Hey Rafe.” The patrol officer said with a smile.

“How can you be smiling with Edmund, Mike, and Daren are dead.” Rafe asked.

“Look, Rafe. I heard you where given the case. So you’ll solve it. Put that…” Paul cut off as Brown came up to them.

“Hey Paul, how you doing?” Brown asked. “Say Rafe, my wheels don’t wanna start. Think you can give me a lift?”

“Hey, Brown. Better than you apparently. Why don’t you buy you a real car.” Paul said.

“Hey, my baby is a real car. She may be old…” Henri said offended on behalf of his car.

“No problem, H. Hop on in.” Rafe waving his hand to the passenger door.

Henri went around Rafe’s Firebird to the passenger door.

“You know, we might try telling someone the truth.” Rafe said.

“Fuck that.” Paul said and left. Rafe watched him go, then got into his car. They drove out of the parking garage, and Rafe wondered if he would he see Paul the next day, and wether or not it would be in the morgue. After all Paul was next in line.

The patrol cop went straight to his own vehicle, a Chevy Impala, off white, and started her up. He left the parking garage, never noticing the tail he picked up.

James Ellison sat at his desk and watched the pale faced Rafe sweating as he sat at his desk. He wasn’t the only one to notice. He could see that Henri was worried about his partner. You should be. Jim thought. Four down, three to go. And then the nightmare started eight days before would be over. Jim’s only regret was what it was going to do to Blair. He knew that he couldn’t think about that, though. He couldn’t think about it. He also tried not to think about what happened eight days ago. Thank God they had not gone after Blair, and instead had chosen him as the target.

Jim was walking back to the apartment building from his truck. It was dark, and Jim was tired from a long day at work. Blair was in Seattle for an Anthropology conference enjoying every minute of it. Without his guide at his side, Jim had kept the dials on his senses down to normal levels unless he absolutely needed them. Not that he would, riding a desk for the entire week while Blair was gone. Paperwork made Jim more tired than chasing a perp, uphill, for three miles. It was too tedious for the sentinel.

So tired was he that he never realized that he was in trouble until they jumped him. Jim fought his attackers, seven in all until he was zapped by a tazer. He was dragged into the alley, and the seven masked attackers proceeded to beat him with nightsticks, and kicked. His senses, specifically, his sense of smell, told him who his attackers were. Fellow officers were beating him down, hissing and cursing words like ‘fag’ and ‘queer’, and Jim knew what it was about. The rumors about him and Blair had been going on for two years ever since Blair showed up at the station. They weren’t true. Jim would have liked them to be, but Blair was straight. Jim had never given much thought to the rumors, until now.

Scent told him that his attackers were slightly intoxicated. He could smell beer and whiskey and in one case Vodka on them.

Eventually they stepped back, stopped beating him, but Jim couldn’t move. He didn’t think anything was broken, but he couldn’t be sure. The tazer had done a number on him, and he knew he couldn’t get up.

“You betrayed us, fag. You aren’t a cop. You aren’t a man. You’re nothing but a whore, and we’ll show you.” Paul Borjn said. Jim recognized his voice, and his scent. He had tagged most of the officers at the precinct. What saddened him most was the familiar smell of Brian Rafe.

Jim had figured during the beating what would also occur. He had heard about it happening in other cities to other officers who had come out of the closet so to speak. He just never figured it happening to him.

Edmund was first, so he had the pleasure of stripping off Jim’s blood soaked jeans and boxers leaving the sentinel naked from the waste down. Two of the others held Jim down while Edmund unzipped his fly, and stroked his cock to full hardness.

“We’re going to treat you like the faggot whore you are, Ellison.” Edmund said then shoved his cock into Jim’s ass. Ellsion bit his lip to keep from crying out not wanting to give them the satisfaction of his screams.

Edmund pounded into Jim’s ass. The sentinel could feel the latex barrier between them. The condom would keep the evidence down to a minimum if any. Finally the man came with just a grunt, and Jim felt it though he tried to dial down his sense of touch, but nothing seemed to be working. Daren Reynolds took Edmund’s place and fucked Jim just as roughly while Rafe and Paul held him down. When Reynolds was done, Dunnagan was next. Dunnagan had the biggest cock, and managed to tear Jim inside, something the others hadn’t done. Reynolds took Paul’s place so he could take his turn which he did. Alfred Johnson followed Paul, then David Smith. Rafe was the last to stick his cock in Jim’s bleeding ass and pound away until he came spilling his seed into the condom. When they were done, they kicked him some more, laughed. Dunnagan pissed on Jim, laughing drunkingly. Edmund told Jim he was a tight little whore, then they left leaving Jim bleeding and broken in the alley.

When the sentinel regained his senses and his mind, he knew he couldn’t call Blair or Simon. He couldn’t call an ambulance because it would be reported. Slowly, Jim pulled out his cell phone finding it relatively unscathed. He dialed a number he knew by heart. One he never though he’d need.

“Jameson.” A deep masculine voice said.

“Dog.” Jim said weakly.

“Captain is that you?” The voice asked.

“Yeah, Dog. I need your help.”

“You know it, Cap. Where you at?”

Jim told him, and Jameson said he would be over quickly.

At some point Jim must have lost consciousness because he came to with a six foot eight black man kneeling over him. Jim smiled when he say his face.

“My God, Captain. Who did this to you?” Mad Dog Jameson asked his voice reflecting his horror.

“Fellow cops.” Jim said with a sneer.

Jameson’s eyes narrowed, then his face softened, and he easily picked up Jim cradling the sentinel in his arms. He carried Jim to his Dodge Durango and placed him in the back seat. Covering the captain with a blanket, he got into the driver’s seat.

“I need you to take me to Doc.” Jim said.

Mad Dog only nodded, and drove away.

Doc had been in the Army before he had had discharged, gone to med school and became a doctor. Though he worked at St. Mary’s, Doc had a hidden clinic at his home. He worked closely with several mercenary groups who needed medical care on the sly. Mad Dog had called Doc as he drove, and Thomas White Cloud had told Mad Dog he would meet him at his clinic.

Mad Dog carried the unconscious Ellison into the Doc’s house, and down the secret staircase to the clinic following the Doc. He laid Jim on one of the hospital beds, and Doc got to work.

Jim spent the entire week at Doc’s, calling in to Simon using his cell phone. He had to have stitches inside his rectum from where he had been torn, along with stitches for a few of his cuts from the beating.

When he was healed enough, Jim asked Mad Dog for an untraceable sniper rifle, and Dog had handed one over in its silver briefcase without question. He ran a few errands for his old Captain, taking care of Ellison’s final business with a lawyer and an accountant. The debt Mad dog owed to Ellison was repaid in Jim’s mind, but would never be settled in Mad Dog’s mind. It was a large debt.

Jim acted normal when he returned to work with Blair back at his side. The seven cops did not think Jim knew who they were. They discovered their mistake when Jim picked them off one by one in the order in which they had raped him.

Now he sat in the bullpen feeling satisfaction from smelling Rafe’s fear. When Jim left the precinct with Blair to get lunch, he never suspected that Rafe would grow some balls.

Beverly Sanchez sat in shock as she listened to the tape recorder Sheila Irwin had brought her of Rafe, David, and Alfred’s confessions.

“My God,” She breathed, tears in her eyes. She respected Ellison even after that Tommy Juno incident. He was a good cop.

“What do you want to do?” Sheila asked afraid of the answer.

“If the media get a hold of this it will be chaos.” Beverly said. Gay rights activists and Hate groups would run amok using this as fuel for their fires. Beverly looked at Sheila. “I am gonna to charge those three officers for Aggravated Assault and Aggravated Sexual Assault. I want them in a damn cell.”

Sheila nodded, “They were arrested, read their rights, and have been placed in a cell. What do you want to do about Ellison?”

“He’s cracked. I want you to have him brought in, read his rights. Then I want you to get him to plead guilty. I’ll make damn sure he won’t see prison. Conover will be the best place for him. He’ll be protected, and given treatment.”

Sheila nodded, numb from shock. She was finding it hard to imagine Jim Ellison locked inside a Mental Institution for the rest of his life. She reached up and wiped away tears, and noticed Beverly doing the same. Ellison was a good cop, and a good man, and had not deserved what happened to him. She wished she could make it right for him, but this was the best she could do.

Jim wasn’t expecting Rafe to confess. After all, a cop in prison didn’t survive long. So he was surprised when he walked into the bullpen of Major Crimes to find Sheila Irwin waiting in Simon’s office.

When she walked out with Simon behind her, and saw her face, Jim knew the gig was up. He thought about going for his gun, but he looked at Blair, and knew he wouldn’t. There was always that slim chance that his guide would be hurt by a stray bullet either from his gun or the other cops in the bullpen.

When Sheila told him to turn around and put his hands behind his back, Jim complied while avoiding to look his guide in the eyes. Blair demanded to know what was going on, and Simon grasped Blair’s shoulder to keep him calm while Sheila placed the cuffs around Jim’s wrists. She then said the damning words that had Blair gasping in shock, “Jim Ellison you are under arrest for the murders of…” And she named off the officers, the bastards who had hurt him, and Jim shuddered at each name as if he could hear their voices. Everyone in the bullpen stared in shock.

Simon gave Blair over to Taggert with a promise from him to explain later. It was Simon and Sheila who escorted Jim downstairs to be processed. Sheila had him placed at Simon’s insistence on suicide watch, which meant he was placed in a single cell with four walls and a solid steel door. There was no bunk, just a toilet, and one light, and a video camera. He wore nothing, and was given a suicide blanket to cover himself with. The blanket was strong and could not be torn into strips. An officers monitored the camera’s TV’s constantly, and another guard checked on him every fifteen minutes.

Jim wrapped himself up in the blanket and lay on the floor. He listened to the heartbeats around him until one he recognized came to the cell door.

Blair looked through the plexiglass window on the door at his lost sentinel. Simon had let him listen to the confessions, and his blood had boiled. What had been done to his friend was beyond any forgiveness, but what Jim had done was forgivable. Maybe not from the officer’s families, or even Jim’s fellow officers though he wasn’t too sure about that. But Blair forgave him, and he said so, and cried when he heard Jim begin to sob wishing he could be inside the cell to comfort his sentinel.

Jim took the deal Beverly offered and there was no trial. The judge agreed with Ms. Sanchez, and Jim was sent to Conovor.

Blair visited every chance he could, and Simon used his credentials and favors to allow Blair to be in the room with Jim. Granted, Ellison was restrained to his bed, but Blair was able to be in the room, to touch his sentinel, and allow Jim to ground his senses. They talked, or at least Blair talked. Jim said little. Blair never spoke about the gang rape, nor about the officers who had done it to him. He did not tell Jim that Rafe was dead. Stabbed in a prison shower after having been raped himself. Nor did he say what was happening to the others that were still alive. Instead he talked about the Jags, Naomi, Simon, and even mentioned Taggert a few times.

Three days into Jim’s confinement he confessed to Blair that he loved him, and Blair held him as they both cried for what might have been and what was. Blair kissed Jim on the lips taking the sentinel’s tongue into his mouth, then whispered his own confession of love when they broke for air. The sentinel’s blue eyes bored into Blair’s soul, and he could almost see the feral panther within them. They kissed again, but eventually the time was up and Blair had to say his goodbyes promising Jim he would be back the next day.

The next day, Jim Ellison forced a zone looking at the dew covering a leaf on a tree outside his small window. He never came out of it despite Blair’s attempts to bring him back, and eventually his body shut down, and after lingering for several weeks on machines and life support, Blair finally signed his name in an elegant script.

Jim Ellison was buried on a Tuesday afternoon in Cascade. Blair stood in the gentle misty rain, and accepted the flag that had draped Jim Ellison’s coffin. While the priest read the familiar words Blair smelled the sweet scent of the roses that covered the mahogany coffin, and his mind drifted to the beginning as he witnessed the end.

And though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil

“See if you can smell the roses.”

For thou art with me, they rod and thy staff they comfort me

“This should be a scent you should easily identify.”

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies

“This is stupid. I feel like an idiot.”

Thou anoint my head in oil, my cup runneth over

“Hey I think its working. I can smell them.”

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life

And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever