//Not the peanut butter again. I'm really starting to hate peanut butter. It doesn't taste so bad, but trying to swim through it is getting a little old. // He groaned and tried to turn his head. The movement was successful and he felt an increased pressure on his hand.

//Well, this is familiar, at least. // The string of sounds began repeating in the same deep, concerned voice as before. //He's calling my name again. I wonder if I can answer him this time. //

"J-j-j-im?" he mumbled.

"It's me, Chief."

He wondered briefly why he was overcome by an unexplainable urge to run away, far away from this familiar, comforting voice. Pushing the feeling as far back into his mind as possible, he opened his eyes. A bright flash of light made him clamp them shut again. He heard a chair scraping, feet shuffling, then the voice again.

"It's okay, I turned down the lights."

Experimentally cracking another eyelid, Blair saw that the lights were, indeed, dimmer. Opening both eyes, he looked into the somber face of Jim Ellison. Blair tried to smile, to reassure the older man that he was fine, when memories hit him like a lead pipe. His eyes grew wide with fright and he looked away, unable to meet his partner's eyes.

"Chief?"

"I'm so sorry, Jim," Blair said, blinking back frustrated tears. "I didn't mean for any of that to happen. Is everyone all right? I thought I shot you."

"You didn't shoot me, Blair. And none of this was your fault. You were under somebody else's control."

Glancing at his friend, Blair asked, "Is was McManus, wasn't it? What the hell did he do to us?"

Jim sighed, the worry lines around his eyes becoming more pronounced. "Don't worry about it right now. You need to rest."

Blair groaned. "Jim, just tell me. Quit trying to stall."

Taking a deep breath, Jim stared deep into his eyes. "During your disappearance, McManus...uh, injected the four of you with a nanoprobe of some sort."

//Huh? // "Nanoprobes? Like tiny little robots?"

"Why don't you wait for the doc--"

The door swung open and a man about Jim's age walked in, his eyes scanning a chart. He looked up and smiled at his patient. "Mr. Sandburg?"

Blair nodded.

"I'm Dr. Joseph."

Jim stood and extended his hand to the doctor. "Jim Ellison."

Joseph shook his hand and turned his attention back to Blair. "Do you remember anything that has happened in the last twelve hours or so?"

Blair felt his nervousness increase and fought to control his voice. "You mean before or after I started shooting at people?"

The doctor offered a sympathetic smile. "We found an anomaly in your brain."

//Anomaly? Is that the technical term for a tumor nowadays? // "A tumor," Blair supplied without emotion.

Joseph raised an eyebrow and glanced at Jim. "I see your friend beat me to the punch line."

"You could say that," Blair said, icily. "So can you remove this or what?"

"I'm afraid surgery would not successfully remove enough of the malignancy to warrant the risk. It started at the base of your skull and has buried very deeply into your cerebrum. Your body is extremely weak right now, so we're going to keep you under observation. We've synthesized the drug that we believe was initially used to inhibit the activity of the nanite. So far it has proved successful in preventing it from duplicating itself, but we don't know the effects of prolonged exposure. We also don't know if it will prevent whomever is controlling this thing from activating it again."

"Well, what do you know?" Blair asked, noticing that none of this seemed to be new news to Jim. "Do I go around like a ticking time bomb for the rest of my life?"

The doctor looked at a loss to give his patient any words of comfort. Clearing his throat, Jim took center stage.

"I'm going to find McManus, Chief. He started this; he's got to know how to turn it off. I won't let you guys down."

Blair could hear the unsaid "again" at the end of Jim's sentence. It hurt to know that Jim still blamed himself for everything that had happened. "Jim, man, you did not let anyone down in this case." //Wait a second. // "You guys? God, how are the others? Are they gonna be okay?"

"Daryl and Rafe will be fine. The surgeons were able to get all of the tumor."

"Megan?"

"She's--" There was a catch in Jim's voice as he finished the sentence. "Megan's in the same boat. They can't get it all."

Blair shut his eyes tight, fighting against the churning emotions in his gut. Anger, grief, hatred, despair, fear, even hope were all interwoven, combining and dividing as he fought desperately to comprehend everything at once. Something foreign was in his body, making him hurt his friends and act against his basic principles. And there was nothing he could do about it. He belatedly realized the doctor was speaking again.

"....Check on you later."

He grunted a reply, twisting the sheet around his hands in frustration. When the door had shut behind Dr. Joseph, Blair looked at his Sentinel. "What happens now, Jim?"

"You are going to stay here and rest," Jim replied gently. "I am going to find McManus."

"How? Do you have a lead?"

"More like a hunch."

Blair raised an eyebrow. The telephone chose that particular moment to ring. Blair reached for it, but fumbled the receiver, sending it clattering back into the cradle, effectively silencing the sound. //Damn. //

Less than five seconds passed before the ringing started again. This time Jim snatched up the receiver. "Hello?"

Blair watched all the color drain from the older man's face.

"Jim?" he hissed. "What?"

Jim held a silencing finger to his lips, then mouthed a word: McManus.

"What do you want now?" Jim asked, his tone neutral.

Seeing the detective was making no attempt to move, Blair looked around for something to throw. Grabbing the nearest large item, he chunked a small bedpan straight at the door. It hit hard, them crashed to the ground. Jim winced, but didn't break his concentration. The door swung open and an uniformed officer stepped in, weapon drawn.

Blair waved at him and whispered, "Get a trace on this call."

The uniform nodded and left. Blair studied Jim's face, McManus obviously doing all the talking. The detective looked like he was going to explode.

Jim snorted. "I don't know what you're--" Silence. "How did you--?" Another pause. "Listen, you--hello? Hello?" Jim covered the mouthpiece. "He didn't hang up."

"Can you hear anything?"

The Sentinel's eyes unfocused slightly as he listened, desperate to hear something, anything. His eyebrows shot up slightly as he recognized something. "Yeah, I do. All those moans and screams. He's calling from Keaton."

As if to verify that, the uniform came barreling back into the hospital room. "Traced the call to Keaton Hospital," he offered, slightly out of breath.

Jim's eyes hardened. "Page Captain Banks," he ordered. The officer left immediately. Jim turned his attention back to Blair. "We're going to get him."

Blair tried to summon up some optimism, but something was holding him back. He had a brief flash of a wolf fighting against a chain, his angry howls muffled by a leather muzzle. The image was gone in an instant, but Blair did a double take. Goose bumps crept up his spine, punctuated by another image, this of an injured jaguar. Blair shivered as he remembered the nightmare, suddenly fearful for his partner.

"Don't go," he said.

"What?" Jim looked confused. "Why not?"

Blair faltered. "I'm, uh, not sure, but I just have this feeling. I think I just saw parts of that nightmare I keep having. Something's gonna happen."

"Chief, I have to go. The bastard's challenging me." Jim paused. "He knows about my senses."

"He what!" Blair reddened at his outburst, then lowered his voice. "How?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know, but I do intend to find out." Jim stood and moved towards the door.

"Take me with you," Blair begged.

The older man almost laughed. "No way. You are in no shape to be leaving this hospital and there will be no arguments on the subject."

"Jim, if this guy knows about your senses, there's no telling what could happen--"

"Simon will be there," Jim said, as if that was the last word on the subject.

"But that's not--"

"Sandburg, I will handcuff you to this bed if you don't let it go. You're not coming and I'll be fine. I'll be back soon."

Giving Blair an encouraging smile, Jim left the room. Blair stared at the empty door, trying to control his frustration. //Damn Sentinels and their stubborn streaks. // Something was going to go wrong, he could feel it. He had to get out of the hospital and back up his partner. No matter what.

~*~

She was sleeping so peacefully that Jim didn't want to disturb her. God knew she needed the rest. Megan's fair skin was almost as white as the pillow she rested on, the dark curls framing her face a stark contrast. Her only movement was the steady rise and fall of her chest, punctuated by the constant bleep of a heart monitor. He'd never seen her so vulnerable as she was at that moment.

"You're not going to die," Jim whispered, taking her left hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. "We're married, remember? You gonna make me a widower?"

Jim smiled, thinking back to their first real case together, undercover as newlyweds. And they had certainly fought like a married couple. Simon had been at his wits end to make the two of them get along. Then she'd gone and saved his life when Alex tried to pancake him in an elevator shaft. He also trusted her with his Sentinel secret. In some ways it was nice having one less person to give him strange looks when he used his senses.

"I have to go. Time to catch the bad guys and figure out how to help you."

He gave her hand one more reassuring squeeze and left, his attention now completely on the task at hand.

~*~

~Briiiiiing~

Jim was jerked back to reality by the ringing of his cell phone. He jerked the wheel in his surprise, lucky to keep the truck from veering off the road. //What in hell was that, a mini zone out? // Snatching up the phone, he flipped it open and positioned it between his shoulder and left ear, careful to watch the road to Keaton.

"Ellison."

<"Jim, it's Taggart. I got some new information for you. A couple of my old favors finally came in."

"What'd you got, Joel?"

<"Martha Lansing, former coroner for the Sheriff Johnson. We finally found her.">

"Where?"

<"Fallwood Cemetery. Seems that in 1997, she was part of a malpractice suit brought against Keaton Hospital. The plaintiff accused the hospital of being directly responsible for his brother's death. All the hospital records were immaculate, but Lansing was set to testify to some anomalies that made it into her official death report. Three days before the trial, Lansing refuses to testify and before the lawyers can get a subpoena, she disappears.">

"Of course she does," Jim grumbled. "When did she die?"

<"Last spring. She died of natural causes.">

"Which means the hospital either paid her to keep quiet or she ran away on her own."

<"That's what I figured, too.">

"All right, thanks Joel."

Without waiting for a response, Jim ended the connection and tossed the phone onto the empty passenger seat. Refusing the acknowledge the absence in the truck, he kept his eyes firmly planted on the road ahead, consciously remembering not to break the speed limit...too much.

~*~

"This will help you sleep," the nurse said, handing Blair a small cup.

Flashing the aging woman a mega-watt smile, he accepted the cup and emptied the pill onto his tongue. Taking the offered water, Blair sipped it and swallowed. The nurse returned the smile, though rather lopsidedly, and took the cups back.

"Someone will come for your tray later." With a final glance at his chart, she slipped out the half-opened door.

Positive that "Nurse Ratchet" was gone, Blair spit the small capsule into his hand. He did not want to sleep right now. In fact, he very much wanted to get out of here. His only option seemed to be resorting to something he'd seen in a movie once.

Blair took the slice of chocolate cake from his lunch tray and set it on his lap. With a fork, he separated the two layers, revealing a thin film of white icing. He carefully pulled the capsule apart and sprinkled the pale powder over the icing. That done, Blair stuck the pill pieces under his pillow and replaced the top layer of cake. Now all he had to do was get the uniformed officer staking out his door to come inside.

Voices from outside the room made him re-negotiate that plan.

"You can go on down to the cafeteria. I'm gonna visit Hairboy for a while."

There was a grunt that Blair could only assume was the uniform's agreement, then Henri Brown poked his head inside.

"Hey, man," Blair greeted, quickly revising his escape. "Have a seat."

"How you doin'?" Henri asked as he entered the room.

//I'll be better when I'm out there backing Jim up. // "Fine," Blair said, trying to muster up some cheer. He saw the sling carefully suspending H's left arm and the stained bandage on the same shoulder. //How did that happen? // he wondered, even as a familiar feeling of regret settled in his stomach.

"What's that?" Henri asked, pointing to the plate on Blair's lap as he sat in Jim's vacated chair.

Blair held up the cake. "The rest of my lunch. You want it? I just don't have the stomach for it right now and there's no need for it to go to waste."

"You know me and chocolate cake, man." Henri accepted the plate and fork, setting to work on demolishing the treat.

"How's your arm?" Blair asked, watching the detective fairly inhale the dessert.

"Doesn't hurt too much," he replied between bites. "Of course, it coulda been worse if you were a better shot."

Blair's stomach fell to his feet, his heart doing accelerated flip-flops. //I shot Henri? Jesus. // "I shot you?" The younger man was unable to keep the pain out of his voice.

Henri's eyes bulged, realizing what he'd just said. "You didn't remember? Aw, man, I didn't mean it to come out like that."

"Why didn't Jim tell me?" Blair felt his anger build, directed at himself and his Sentinel for keeping the secret.

"He probably didn't want anything else on your plate right now."

"He still should have told me!" Blair screamed, immediately regretting it. "I didn't mean to snap, H. I am so sorry, man. You have no idea."

"It wasn't your fault--"

"Will people stop saying that? Nothing's been my fault, lately. I get kidnapped and it's not my fault. I get a tumor and it's not my fault. I hold people at gunpoint and it's not my fault. I freaking shoot a friend and it's not my fault. When in hell is something going to be my fault again?"

Henri sat stock-still, unsure how to respond to the outburst.

"I'm sorry, Henri. I just don't know how to deal with any of this right now."

"Forgiven, man. We're gonna beat this thing." Henri stifled a brief yawn. "You know Jim won't rest until this guy is behind bars or in pieces."

Blair nodded. //I know. It's just the "in pieces" part that I'm afraid of. // He glanced at the clock on the far wall. //Sedative should really kick in any minute now. // Blair watched his friend, silently begging forgiveness for what he was about to do.

~*~

Jim was fairly jumping out of his skin. Feet firmly planted on the hood of the old Ford, he stood like a watchman, all of his senses focused on the hospital half a mile away. Simon hadn't arrived yet with the warrant and Jim didn't want to alarm anyone at Keaton as to their intentions.

He watched the guard's hut. The same men were there, playing cards in a bored fashion. No one had gone in or out in the twenty minutes Jim had played sentry. In fact, in all his past visits he couldn't remember ever seeing anyone come in or out beyond the occasional nurse or orderly.

//No delivery trucks? Nah, you're just paranoid, Ellison. Just because you don't see them doesn't mean they don't come. //

<"Gin.">

Jim's eyes wandered back to the guard hut. The taller guard, who always met their car at the gate, threw down his cards in disgust.

<"You gotta be cheatin'.">

The second guard grinned. <"Maybe you just suck at this game.">

<"Bite me, Louis.">

The telephone rang, cutting off the pair's chatter. Louis snatched the receiver from the wall. <"Main gate.">

Jim tried to focus in, but a strange background noise prevented him from eavesdropping. It wasn't the familiar, albeit annoying, buzzing from before. It sounded more like a white noise generator. But why would he be hearing one way out here? Jim mentally filed that question away with the two hundred others he wanted answered once they were finally inside.

A shadow moved in the corner of Jim's eye, like a leaping cat. He turned sharply, but saw nothing. He heard nothing unusual. Whatever it had been, it was gone.

//Great time for your senses to go haywire, Ellison. Just focus like Blair taught you. //

The thought of his Guide made Jim's blood boil anew. Guilt, anger and fear compounded inside him, and he found it harder and harder to push it away. One way or another, McManus was going to pay for what he'd done his friends...to all of them. And if Blair died, he would make damn sure that if the death penalty didn't get him, McManus' life wouldn't be worth shit.

The familiar rumble of a car engine caught Jim's attention. He scanned the road and waited. Thirty seconds later, Simon's Sedan crested the hill and came into view followed closely by three marked and one unmarked police cruisers. The Cavalry had arrived with the warrant. He climbed down from his perch and waited.

Simon pulled up next to the Ford, signaling for the caravan to wait. The captain poked his head out of the window, a cloud of cigar smoke coming out with it.

"You certainly know how to pick them, Jim. No one was very fond of us going into that hospital again, but I got Judge Keelan to sign this one. She owed me some favors, anyway."

Jim nodded and climbed into the truck.

"Stay behind me," Simon yelled.

Starting the engine, Jim pulled in behind the Sedan and they approached the hospital.

~*~

Blair watched the road carefully. He'd only been out here twice before and Jim had driven each time. He was pretty sure he knew the directions, but he also knew he wouldn't get lost. Something was pulling him in the right direction. Blair didn't know if it was his animal spirit, the nanite or mental delusions. He was inclined to believe it was the latter, but snippets of his nightmare kept that belief at bay.

A tremor ran the course of his body. Blair gripped the wheel, fighting back a sudden surge of nausea. That's all he needed right now--to get sick. Then Jim would really chew him out. Not that he wouldn't get a good tongue lashing for drugging Henri, sneaking out of the hospital and stealing a car. Of course, he could blame the car on H. Who really left a spare key taped above the tires, anyway? Wrecking Henri's Jeep would just be the icing on a very bitter cake—so to speak.

"Get a grip, Sandburg." He breathed deeply, relaxing his death-grip on the wheel. "You're here to help Jim, not give him another ulcer."

He couldn't be farther than twenty minutes from the hospital now. Of course, he had no idea what he was going to do once he actually got to Keaton. Knock down the front door and demand to know who was trying to hurt his Sentinel? That would probably get him a room of his own. No, he'd follow his instincts. Certainly someone was guiding him now by sending the dream as a warning. Right?

~*~

One officer stayed behind at the guard hut. The other six officers, two detectives and one captain continued on to the hospital. Jim slammed his truck to a stop behind Simon's car and hopped out. The captain was issuing orders, unfolding the freshly signed warrant. Jim followed him up the steps and onto the porch.

Simon paused at the front door when his cell phone rang. He yanked it out of his coat pocket and snapped, "Banks."

Jim watched the black man's expression change from shock to anger to dogged determination.

"How in hell did he manage to do that?" Simon barked. "Oh, he did? In who's car?" He swore softly, colorful curses that only Sentinel ears could hear. "All right, put out an APB and keep me informed." The phone snapped shut.

"What's up?" Jim asked, dread settling in him like an iceberg.

Simon entered the hospital, flashing the warrant to the woman at the front desk. Detective Dills led three officers into the west wing. Jim shadowed Simon and the rest of the uniforms down the east corridor.

"Sandburg escaped Cascade General," Simon finally admitted.

"He what?" Jim exploded. How could a 5'8" man with a deadly brain tumor just walk out of a guarded hospital? "How did he--?"

"He drugged Brown with his own medication, then used the service elevators. The guard at his door was gone for ten minutes. Blair stole Henri's Jeep."

"Dammit, where does he think he's going?" Even as he said it, Jim knew where his Guide was headed: right here. //He just couldn't stay away. Him and that damn dream. //

Simon shook his head. "There's an APB out on the Jeep and the Highway Patrol has been notified. If anyone spots him, we'll know. There's Keaton's office."

Jim saw the heavy oak doors looming at the end of the hallway, growing larger with each step. His anger compounded towards the man who was as equally guilty of Blair's illness as the bastard that had infected him.

~*~

One road turned left, the other right. Blair knew that the right turn-off was the road he was supposed to take. There was even one of those blue information signs that said "Keaton Hospital." Yet something made him want to go left.

"Why left?" he asked no one. There was no one to ask. No one could save Jim but him. But what if he was wrong and Jim needed him to go right? He remembered something Robert Frost wrote. "I took the one less traveled by and that has made all the difference." He knew what was right. He didn't know what was left.

No time to second-guess himself. The fork was right there.

Blair turned left.

~*~

Mr. Keaton leapt to his feet when Jim and Simon barged into his office, a red-faced secretary on their heels. "What's this all about?" he sneered. "You can't just bust in here and expect--"

"We have a search warrant, Mr. Keaton," Simon said icily. "You are required by law to give us your full cooperation." The captain tossed the paper onto Keaton's desk, letting the angry man read it. "I'm sure you'll find everything in order."

Keaton turned furious brown eyes on the two men. "What do you want?"

Jim caught the hitch in the man's voice--he was afraid. Good. "All of your files pertaining to Edward McManus and his use of your facilities as a means to conduct unlawful genetic experiments."

"Excuse me?" Keaton said incredulously. "Mr. McManus died--"

"Sheriff Johnson never found his body. He was presumed dead and we know for a fact that he is alive. He's been conducting experiments on these premises and I intend to know why."

Keaton paled. "He can't be alive. Johnson assured me he was dead."

Jim focused tighter on the man's vitals. He was terrified, sure, but he seemed to have no idea what Jim was talking about. Jim glanced at Simon; the captain was having the same thoughts.

"Tell us what you know," Simon ordered.

Falling into his chair in a defeated heap, Keaton leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk. "As far as I know, McManus is dead. He was insane." Keaton motioned for the officers to sit.

They complied, pinning matching glares on the man.

"Explain that," Jim said.

"When Mr. McManus first came to us in 1993, he befriended Dr. Wayne, our chief psychiatrist. I monitored a few of their early sessions and the two seemed more pals than doctor/patient. It disturbed me and I asked Dr. Wayne to keep his relationships with his patients professional."

Simon blinked. "What are you saying? Wayne has unprofessional relations with his patients? In what way?"

"What way do you think?" Keaton sneered.

"You suspected an employee of this and yet did nothing about it?" Simon asked incredulously.

"I had no proof and no grounds for dismissal. Besides, he's a top psychiatrist, except for these few indiscretions. I confronted him and the sessions became much more professional, but I was never able to access the doctor's files on McManus. What they had discussed often seemed...sanitized. Then there was the accident and McManus was pronounced dead, so I never thought about it again."

"Nearly two years of odd behavior and you never did anything about it?" Jim asked.

"This hospital has fifty-four residents and a staff of thirty. There is no way I could have kept track of every little detail and dealt with it myself. Their relationship became more professional and I let it drop. I swear I thought the man was dead."

"Mr. Keaton," Simon began. "We are going to need to do a complete search of the hospital and grounds. Will we have your total cooperation?"

"Of course, gentlemen."

~*~

"We have a warrant, Dr. Wayne!" Simon shouted at the wooden door.

Jim and Simon had reached Wayne's office only minutes earlier and were unable to get a response from the man. His secretary assured them that he was inside and an elevated heartbeat confirmed that. The sound Jim didn't like was the rapid rustling of papers. Seconds later, the rustling stopped and the door opened.

Dr. Wayne glared at them. "What the hell do you want? How dare you pound on my door like that?"

Jim pushed past the angry doctor and entered the office. "We have a warrant to search this building. Its power does not stop at your door."

"Explain your relationship with Edward McManus," Simon demanded, following Jim inside.

Wayne groaned, shutting the door behind them. "This again? Haven't you Cascade boys got anything better to do mess with an old man?"

Jim arched an eyebrow, his annoyance making him speak before he thought. "Is that what you say to your boyfriends?"

"Excuse me?" Wayne had gone a shade of purple. "How dare you insinuate--"

"We're not insinuating anything," Simon said, attempting to smooth his ruffled feathers. "Mr. Keaton said he had reason to believe your relationship with Mr. McManus was less than professional. Would you care to respond to that?"

"No, I would not. That sort of accusation is totally beneath me."

"Then why did you get so defensive?" Jim asked nonchalantly.

"Because it's a damn lie! I have never been unfaithful to my wife and would certainly never be with another man!"

"Then explain your relationship with McManus."

Wayne blanched. "He was my patient. You know that already."

"I want to see your files, Dr. Wayne," Simon said.

"You don't have the right--"

"This warrant gives me the right," the captain spat.

Wayne didn't move. He stood sentry-still near the edge of his desk. Jim sighed and strode over to a long line of filing cabinets. Yanking open the M's, he flipped through the various folders. Martin, Mazzey, McFarley, McTieg, Mellinger. No McManus. Furrowing his brow, Jim opened the P's. The Palmieri file wasn't there, either. He turned icy blue eyes onto the psychiatrist.

"Where's McManus' file?"

Wayne stood as still as stone.

Jim took a step closer. "Tell me or you'll be arrested for interfering in a police investigation."

Still nothing.

Jim stalked towards the man, passing a set of bookshelves. Wayne's heart rate spiked when Jim's hand brushed against a shelf. Jim stopped, analyzing the man's reaction. He took two steps backward, running his hand along the shelf. When Wayne reacted the same way, Jim turned to look at the shelves.

"What are you hiding?" Jim asked. "Whatever files you didn't get to burn in your fireplace?"

Wayne flinched.

Simon approached his detective. "What did you find, Jim?"

"Not sure," Jim replied. "But Wayne certainly doesn't want me to be over here."

Jim scanned the bookshelf. Several books at eye-level appeared to be recently disturbed. //More Shakespeare. Doesn't this guy ever read Freud? // Jim took another Shakespeare anthology off the shelf. The book was enormous--at least fourteen inches tall--but wasn't heavy at all. Jim weighed the underweight volume in his hands, feeling Simon's questioning gaze on him. He opened the front cover.

Instead of written pages, the book was hollow. Inside were several thick file folders, stacked hastily on top of one another. The name on the first one was "Palmieri."

"Paydirt," Simon whispered.

Jim nodded. The second file was McManus'. Digging deeper, Jim saw a name that made him stop: Liam Wright. His jaw went slack as the implications hit him.

"Dammit!" Simon growled.

Jim looked up--Wayne was gone. How had he managed to slip out of the office unnoticed? Jim never got the chance to figure that out.

~Ka-Boom!~

An explosion rocked the office, shaking the walls and sending windows shattering. Jim clamped both hands over his ears, quickly dialing back his hearing to accommodate for the assault. Seconds later, a fire alarm went off. Jim glanced out a nearby window, giving him a direct view to the blazing remains of the west wing.

"Come on!" Jim yelled. He dropped the files and sprinted out of the office, Simon hot on his heels.

~*~

Blair had slammed on the brakes when he heard the explosion, staring in the direction he knew the hospital to be. A thick forest of pine blocked his ground view, but smoke from the explosion had darkened a large section of the sky. He had an urgent desire to turn around and head for the other road, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he shifted his foot from the brake to the gas, trying to ignore the fear in his heart.

//Please be okay, Jim. //

A piercing pain at the base of his skull caused Blair to clamp his eyes shut. He unknowingly yanked the wheel, sending the Jeep onto the narrow shoulder. Forcing the pain back, he took control of the wheel and eased the vehicle back onto the road. Blair took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The sharp stabs had lessened, but hadn't disappeared.

//I can't keep doing this. That's the second time I've almost crashed this thing. //

A dirt road came out of nowhere a dozen yards away. Without even thinking, Blair guided the Jeep onto the road, careful to miss as many potholes as possible. The cloud of smoke loomed ever closer. After several miles of bumpy road--path was more like it--and bone-jarring drops, a chain link fence blocked his way.

Blair stopped just in front of a tall gate. The fence stretched off on either side, disappearing into the woods. Slate-gray barbed wire looped across the top. It gave him the creeps. A small box on a post was situated next to the driver's side window--a keypad. Blair rolled the window down and stared at the keys. Each letter of the alphabet was there.

//Now what? //

If he typed in the wrong word, all sorts of alarms could go off. Opening the Jeep door, Blair climbed out and walked over to the fence. He vaguely wished that Jim were there to tell him if it was wired or not. Well, he'd just have to be inventive. He trotted over to nearby tree, yanked a green branch off, then returned to the fence.

"I hope this works."

Blair threw the branch against the fence. It vibrated for several seconds, emitting a strange hum. It had electricity running through it.

"Damn."

Swallowing hard against the dryness in his throat, Blair walked back to the keypad. He probably only had one shot at this, so it had better be a good one. Thinking hard, he trailed his fingers over the keys. Nothing was coming.

"Come on, Sandburg. Jim needs you and you are not screwing this up, too."

With those words, something in the dream hit him again. A part he hadn't clearly remembered before. That damn laughing statue. That had to be it. Taking a deep breath, Blair typed in the six letters.

~Bzzzt~

The gate slid to the right, opening up to allow entrance. Blair let out the breath he'd been holding and hopped back into the Jeep. He threw the gear into drive and sped through the gate.

~*~

"That way! Get them out over there!"

"Is that room empty?"

"Speed it up, it could blow again!"

"I need help over here!"

Jim followed the woman's plea. A young nurse was desperately trying to disengage a hysterical old man from a burning pillar. He had two muscular arms wrapped around it, crying hard about not wanting to leave again.

"I'm not going back down there!" the man sobbed.

Coughing out a lung full of smoke, Jim approached the man. "Sir, we have to go outside for a little while," he coaxed. "If we stay here, the fire could hurt you. Nothing's going to hurt you outside."

The old man stared at Jim with distrust shining in his weepy eyes. "I'm not going down there."

"Mr. Hanson," the nurse pleaded. "That place doesn't exist. You have to go outside. Please!"

"Okay," Mr. Hanson acquiesced. "But not downstairs?"

"Not downstairs," Jim replied. "Let's go."

Mr. Hanson released the pillar and allowed the nurse to guide him out of the burning west wing. Jim glanced around, checking for anyone else who may need a hand. He let his hearing extend, pushing past the crackling of flames and shouts of the patients already safe. There--another heartbeat. It couldn't be more than ten feet away.

Jim plunged into the flaming corridor, following the sound of the heartbeat. He sidestepped a body--probably killed during the blast--and ducked into a room. Jim glanced around, but saw no one.

A whimper.

He bent down and looked under the bed. A small girl was huddled far back near the wall, frail arms wrapped tight around her thin legs. Her forehead was streaked with ash and she trembled as if cold. Jim reached out a hand to her, coughing slightly.

"Give me your hand, sweetheart. We've got to get out of here."

The child shook her head. "Nurse May always comes and gets me."

Jim tried to control his impatience. The place was coming down around his ears, but there was no need to frighten the girl…yet. "Nurse May sent me instead. My name's Jim."

Still, the girl refused to move. A new scent rose to meet Jim's nostrils. Gas.

//Shit. //

There was no time to be nice. Jim crouched down and reached under the bed, grabbing the girl's arms. She screamed, but he hauled her out. The child twisted in his grasp and managed to bite his hand.

"Ow!"

Jim shifted her in his arms. Ignoring the bleeding bite, he ran back out of the room, towards open air. He left the fire behind and took deep breaths of fresher air. The girl was still screaming and kicked backwards, connecting with Jim's kneecap. Thrown off balance, his grip loosened and the girl yanked herself free. She ran straight into the arms of a waiting nurse.

Wiping the blood off his hand, Jim turned to survey the damage around him. A line of orderlies was desperately trying to pass buckets of water to keep the fire from spreading to the rest of the wings. For whatever reason, the sprinkler system had failed to turn on. A pile of spent fire extinguishers lay near the front doors. Considering the distance they were from the nearest city, Fire and Rescue may be too late to save the building.

"Jim!"

He turned toward the voice. Simon ran up to him, his dark face streaked with ash and sweat.

"Is everyone out, Simon?" Jim asked, feeling a headache forming from the smoke he'd inhaled for the last few minutes.

"I think so. Everyone who wasn't killed in the blast, anyhow." The captain paused. "We lost Officer Rudnick."

"Damn." Jim knew the young patrol officer. He was intelligent, forthright and on the fast track to becoming a detective within a year. It was a terrible loss. "Simon, I smelled gas before. I don't know what else is going to blow."

"They're working on evacuating the rest of the wards. The nurses and orderlies just don't know what to do with everyone."

Jim heard it. A snarl so low he though he had imagined it. Then he heard it again. He turned to face the fire-engulfed ward, his eyes going wide. The black Jaguar was staring at him from the entrance to the ward. It blinked at him with questioning eyes. Jim wrinkled his nose. That chemical smell was back, low and barely distinguishable, but there. The Jaguar nodded at him and Jim shook his head. Was he really seeing this?

With another low snarl, the Jaguar leapt into the burning west wing.

His legs moved involuntarily and Jim found himself running towards the ward. He barely heard Simon's shouts over the pounding in his heart. Had he left someone in there to burn to death? Or did the Jaguar want something else? Heedless to the heat and smoke, Jim plunged headlong into the flames.

~*~

//Well, this is something new. //

Blair eased the Jeep to a stop and got out, examining his surroundings. Directly in front of him was a hill with one side flattened--scraped was probably a better word. Three large docking doors were built into the side of the hill, all the perfect size for a tractor-trailer. At the far right of the last dock was a metal door. There was one other car in the dirt lot. A red Nissan was parked a dozen yards away, close to the door.

He walked over to the Nissan and peeked inside. Way out here and the stupid thing was locked. Blair would have laughed if he weren't so worried. The car was immaculately clean, no signs of identification.

//Smoke. //

Blair could smell smoke from the earlier explosion. It was nearer and much stronger.

//Maybe this is some sort of back way into Keaton. //

Screwing up his courage, Blair walked to the metal door--unlocked. He let himself in carefully, listening hard for any sort of sound. Blair found himself in an office, or what once passed for an office. Rusty filing cabinets leaned against each other, molded into one entity by layers of cobwebs and grime. An ancient wooded desk was covered with dust and chipped holes. A mouse squealed in the corner, making Blair jump.

"Just a mouse, Sandburg."

He shook his head and moved toward the door at the other end of the office. It hung ajar. Fingerprints marred the dust on both the knob and the surrounding wood. Blair nudged it open, cringing when is creaked. A set of steps led upward half a flight, to the docking bay, he guessed from the high ceiling he could see. Amber light filtered down the steps. To his right was a long corridor. It was pitch black.

//I don't have a flashlight and I'm not going to wander around in the dark. Guess that means going up. //

He took the steps carefully, noticing that the old wood had been reinforced. Someone came through here on a regular basis. When he entered the docking bay, he was struck by how clean it was compared to the office. That didn't make much sense. The dock doors were rusted shut. No one could still make deliveries this way.

There was another door at the far end of the bay, about fifty yards away. He stared towards the door, wishing not for the first time that he had his cell phone and Jim by his side--not necessarily in that order.

~*~

His lungs were burning and his eyes stung, but he pressed on. Jim no longer saw the Jaguar, but knew he was going the right way. The chemical odor was becoming harder to track in the smoke and flame, but it was there. He dodged a falling section of the ceiling, slamming himself against the wall. It was hot and he jumped back. The section he'd touched was metal, hanging off-center on a broken hinge.

Jim pushed it aside with his foot, gaining a stronger whiff of the chemical. That's where he needed to go. He poked his head inside the space--an elevator shaft. Probably from an old service elevator. The lift itself was gone, but the cable remained. He stared into the depths of the shaft. It went down about two stories, then stopped. Jim looked over his shoulder as another large section of the ceiling caved in, blocking his escape route. Seeing no other option, he grabbed onto the cable and lowered himself down slowly, glad the metal coil wasn't hot enough to burn his hands.

He reached bottom and let go of the cable, rubbing rough palms on his pants. Directly in front of him, facing away from the hospital ward, was another door. There was some sort of padding on it; it reminded him of soundproofing material, but he wasn't sure. Jim could see a thin line of light fighting to get through the crack in the doors. Digging his fingers deep into the crack, he pulled. Jim strained against the old metal and managed to open the doors a few inches. A stronger whiff of the chemical greeted his nostrils, and he sneezed. The sound echoed through the room in front of him.

//So much for the element of surprise. Not that the squealing doors weren't a dead giveaway or anything. //

Taking a breath, Jim pulled once again, rewarded with several more inches. The space was almost large enough to slide through sideways. Working his shoulder in between them, he let loose another burst of strength, opening the rusted metal just enough. He slipped into a small crux of sorts. Corridors branched off in three different directions, illuminated by amber lights along the wall.

The Sentinel opened his hearing. The aboveground sounds of the fire were much quieter down here. In fact, the only avenue to hear them was through the elevator shaft.

//Must be soundproofed or something. //

Heartbeats filled his ears, from all directions. Twenty distinct beats, at least; some nearby and some very far away. There were no voices, but there was something else. The hum of electrical machinery and footsteps. Two sets of footsteps, in fact: one several hundred yards away, the other within ten yards.

Memorizing the passages as he walked, Jim set off down the hallway directly in front of him.

~*~

"Ellison!"

He was gone.

Simon stared into the flames, taking a step forward to chase after his friend. He was instantly cut off when a chunk of burning ceiling crashed down in front of him, blocking access to the west wing. He backed away from the inferno, stopping a safe distance away.

"Captain Banks?"

He turned to face Detective Dills. The man was soot-streaked and shaking a bit.

"What is it, Detective?" Simon asked, amazed at the calm in his voice.

"Sir, the Highway Patrol radioed in. The spotted Brown's Jeep heading in this direction about fifteen minutes ago, but were in pursuit of a suspect and couldn't keep track of him."

Simon was incredulous. "Fifteen minutes ago and we're getting this now?" he fumed.

"Well...." Dills hesitated. "We were fighting that fire. We just got the message from someone who was at the front desk when it came in."

"Right. Look, find Dr. Wayne and have him detained for questioning."

"Is he involved with the explosion?"

"Possibly, but it's for another matter. Then take some men and get a stack of manila folders from the window ledge in Wayne's office. We need them for evidence."

"Will do, Captain." Dills headed off, intent on him mission.

Simon looked back at the fire. It hadn't spread, but was still burning hot.

"Dammit, Jim, where are you?" he muttered, sending a silent prayer for protection over headstrong Sentinels and their wayward Guides. Then he settled in to wait for the fire department.

~*~

~Achoo!~

Blair tried to stifle the sneeze to no avail. The sound reverberated off the walls and through the air. //Not musty air// he noted. If this place wasn't often used, shouldn't it smell a lot more? There was a faint hum all around that he chalked up to the ventilation system. But who would be down here?

He turned another corner, growing very tired of the constantly interweaving passages and corridors. Every door he had come to so far was locked, it's tiny glass window dusted over with years of grime. As he went farther into the labyrinth of corridors, the atmosphere changed. These doors were different. It took a moment for his conscious brain to realize what his unconscious mind had discovered; they looked almost new, with clean windows and new locks. Blair peeked inside one, but couldn't make out anything in the dim light.

The more he looked, the more the place reminded him of Conover. He got chills from the memories of Chapel chasing him through those corridors, wondering if he really was going crazy. Maybe he was going crazy now; maybe the nanites in his brain were making him hallucinate all of this.

//Get a grip, man. Chapel is gone and you are trying to find Jim. Concentrate on that. Everything is peripheral right now. //

Blair turned another corner and found himself in a kind of waiting area. Old, vinyl chairs lined two walls, a style reminiscent of the forties. An ancient vending machine with petrified food packages sat in one corner. A small stack of disintegrating magazines lay on a wooden end table. Everything was covered in dust. He picked up a copy of "Time."

"August, 1942," he read aloud.

A plaque on the wall above his head caught his eye. Blair reached out a hand and wiped off a layer of dust, revealing a tarnished brass surface. The words on the plaque made his pulse quicken: "Dedicated to Joshua McManus for 27 years of faithful service. You will be missed."

"My God," Blair muttered.

His eyes wandered to a framed photograph on the wall next to the plaque, pieces slowly dropping into places they hadn't been before. A young boy, maybe four years old, was beaming up at an older gentleman who was holding the plaque on the wall. A tiny caption at the bottom of the photo read: Joshua and Edward McManus, 1958.

~*~

Jim was glad that the door was locked. He really didn't want to find out what all that strange-looking equipment was used for. The entire room looked like a medieval torture chamber of some sort. Tables with straps, electrodes and wires, rusted surgical equipment, definitely fell into the range of too much information.

He moved on, looking into the next window to no avail--it had been painted over with grime long ago. Jim shook his head at the condition of the entire area; nothing but dirt and filth greeted him in every direction. Yet he'd followed the nearest heartbeat into this area where it had promptly disappeared.

//Curiouser and curiouser. //

Almost smiling at the little joke, he continued on, feeling not unlike Alice after going down the rabbit hole.

~Tha-thump~ ~Tha-thump~

There was the heartbeat again. Tracking it quickly to the next door down, Jim tested the knob--unlocked. Pushing it open slowly, he went in gun first.

The room was completely empty except for several holes along the ceiling, their purpose unknown. A two-way mirror was set up to the left of the door, probably for observation of some kind. He stopped near the center of the room, amazed at the cleanliness it exhibited, a far cry from the rest of the halls he had seen so far. But the heartbeat remained, though a bit tinnier this time.

"What in hell--?"

~Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!~

The intense sound brought Jim to his knees, hands firmly clamped over his ringing ears. As he groped for the dials, darkness invaded the room followed by a slamming sound. The squeal ceased and Jim looked up...and couldn't see anything. The door had been shut and not an iota of light was coming into the room. He dilated his pupils, desperate for some grain of light, but nothing presented itself. The heartbeat had also stopped, leaving dead silence in its place. Jim tried, but try as he might, there was nothing to hear. No heartbeats, no footsteps, just heavy silence.

He hesitated to move, his sense of direction affected by the lack of sight or hearing. It was as if someone had put him in a sense-deprivation chamber.

//Uh oh. // What if that was what he was in? He shivered, tiny hairs standing up on the back of his neck. Something was about to happen.

~Briiiiiiiing~

The extreme loudness of the telephone ringer felled the Sentinel once again, going to town on his stretched-out senses.

~Screeeeeee~

Nails on a chalkboard combined with the previous sound.

Jim grasped for the dials; he almost had them when a set of strobe lights began sweeping the room, doing their best to shine directly in his eyes.

The ringer and nails were instantly replaced by the wail of an ambulance siren, the strobe lights by camera flashes.

The Sentinel felt his senses slipping away one by one. He tugged against them, trying to keep a hold. As valiant as his struggle was, he was losing the fight. The lights and sounds were too much for his wide-open nerves. Unable to fight the impulse any longer, Jim threw back his head and screamed.

~*~

Blair had moved past the dilapidated waiting room and into a new, much cleaner hallway. The air smelled fresher and the doors didn't have the prerequisite grime coating on them. He turned a corner and stopped. A square of light was shining out of one of the door windows. Trotting over to the door, Blair peeked inside.

A man in his mid-forties was squatting in the far-left corner of the room, facing the wall. Blair glanced at the walls, his jaw going slack. Every surface of the four white walls was covered in tiny, precise writing and it seemed the man was still going at it. Blair strained to read the lettering closest to the door.

"In my distress I cried unto the Lord, and he delivered me. Deliver my soul, O Lord, from lying lips, and from a deceitful tongue."

He recognized that. It was a Psalm. Reading lower, Blair realized what the strange man was doing: copying the entire Bible, from memory, onto those four walls. He must have been at it for weeks. What would make a man do something like that?

A terrifying scream echoed through the passageway, tinny and far away. It raised goose bumps on Blair's neck. He knew that scream, he was sure of it. The sound came again, the feral scream of a Sentinel in agony.

Blair set off at a dead run, unsure of his direction, but spurred on by fear and a need to help his friend. He cut through corridor after corridor, moving slowly away from the clean area and into a much murkier one. The filth was almost overpowering. What in hell was Jim doing poking around down here anyhow?

Instead of answering his own question, Blair suddenly found himself in a spotless hallway and skidded to a stop in front of a window. Inside, curled into himself on the tiled floor of an empty room was Jim. Lights of all sizes and intensities flashed around in the room; strange and familiar sounds drifted out of the room. The combinations were killing Jim's senses. He yanked on the doorknob, but it refused to budge.

"Jim!" Blair screamed, not caring who heard him. He banged hard on the window, but Jim gave no notice. Instead, the agonized man let loose another scream as the lights grew in intensity and frequency.

Blair dashed into the room next door, searching desperately for something to break the glass. His eyes landed on a metal stool. He scooped it up and ran back to the window, taking aim with the stool. Swinging hard, the glass shattered, pricking his skin with tiny shards. The sound and light show immediately ceased. He dropped the stool, cleared some of the random glass bits and vaulted into the room, barely noticing when he sliced his left hand on a piece of the broken window.

"Jim," he whispered, wincing when the older man cringed and tried to inch away from his voice. Lowering his voice to just below a whisper, he tried again. "Jim, it's Blair. Find the dials, man. You can do this."

Blair stretched out a hand and grasped the Sentinel by a shoulder, trying to uncurl the man. Jim relaxed under his touch, but his eyes remained firmly closed, his hands pressed hard over his ears.

"See the hearing dial in your head, Jim. Right now it's on ten. Watch it go down to nine. Is it on nine? Now take it to eight."

They continued like this for several minutes until Jim removed his hands from over his ears. He uncurled his body and his breathing began to return to normal levels.

"Okay, man, same thing for your sight dials. Start at ten...."

When they reached five, Jim cracked his left eyelid experimentally. "Chief?" He opened both eyes, blinking up at his Guide.

"It's me, Jim. How do you feel?"

Jim groaned. "I'm gonna have a migraine later. What are you doing here?"

Quirking an eyebrow, Blair replied dryly, "What, no thank you?"

"You're supposed to be in the hospital," Jim groused, trying to sit up.

Blair helped steady him, leaving a bloody print on Jim's already soot-streaked shirt. Jim noticed and grabbed the wounded hand.

"What happened?" Jim demanded.

Pulling away, Blair said, "I cut it breaking in here." He indicated the broken window. "It's fine."

Jim blinked. "You couldn't use the door?"

Blair sighed. "Don't you think I would have. It was locked, probably from the inside, 'cause I couldn't open it."

"Inside? I didn't lock it. I didn't even close it."

"Then who did?"

"I did."

Both men jumped at the addition of the new voice. The door to the room had swung open and a man was standing in the frame, a .45 aimed at the pair. He was large, bigger than Jim...and very familiar. Blair had flashes of being tied up in a basement and a big man coming and getting him. He searched his memory, trying to come up with a name…Darren. That was it.

"Jim, he whispered. "He's one of the guys that kidnapped us. I recognize him."

Jim's only response was a quiet grunt. His eyes hadn't left the gunman.

"On your feet," Darren ordered.

Blair helped Jim to his feet, the older man still swaying a bit from his sensory overload.

Stepping out of the doorway, the large man waved them through. "March."

The partners allowed themselves to be ushered into the hallway. Jim was fully alert now, every muscle tensed for trouble. The trio hadn't gone ten feet down the hall when the guard ordered them to stop.

"In there," Darren said, pointing to an open door on their right.

Jim stepped in first, raking his eyes over their captor once more. Blair followed, his gaze wandering around the new room. It was larger than the previous one, with white cabinets and counters covering all four walls. A metal desk sat across from the door, pushed against the wall. The place was sterile, not a speck of grime anywhere.

The pair moved to stand in the center of the room, still watching the larger man nearby.

As Jim opened his mouth to speak, another figure walked in. He was average looking, with black hair and dancing eyes. The man was Blair's height, with a swimmer's build. He smiled, showing rows of perfect teeth. He was a perfect match for the mug shot, albeit several years older.

"Welcome," the man said.

Blair felt his stomach fall. "McManus," he croaked.

"Not what you expected, huh?" Edward McManus asked, clasping both hands behind his back and circling the room. He looked at Jim. "Detective, I must apologize for that little…test, but I was curious as to your abilities."

"What do you want?" Jim asked, subconsciously moving to keep himself between Blair and McManus.

"Direct. I like that." McManus smiled, as if he were asking for a date. "I want you, Detective."

Jim blinked.

McManus cleared his throat. "I will trade your life for the lives of Mr. Sandburg and Inspector Connor."

"I don't deal with sociopaths," Jim countered.

"Sociopath?" McManus blanched. "You're going to hurt my feelings. I prefer to think of myself as a morally-liberal entrepreneur." He walked to the desk and opened a drawer, drawing out two syringes and two bottles. "I offer a simple choice, Detective. Life or death."

With those words, McManus filled each syringe, one with a dusty red colored liquid, the other a light blue. He held one needle in each hand and turned to face his captives.

"I want to know your secrets, Ellison," he continued. "Mr. Sandburg's revelations last week were stimulating to say the least. He told me some intriguing secrets about your abilities."

Blair paled. He hadn't told McManus anything. What was he talking about? Blair could feel Jim's questioning gaze, but refused to meet it. He couldn't stop staring at the needles.

McManus laughed. "Don't look so worried, Sandburg. You fought valiantly to keep Ellison's secret. Took several days to convince you to open up and even then I don't think I got everything. You're a hard shell to crack when you want to protect something. Of course, this helped fill in some blanks."

He reached into the desk drawer and brought out a brown book with a familiar leather cover.

Blair gasped. It was "The Sentinel's of Paraguay." His book. "How did you get that?"

McManus grinned devilishly, his feline eyes closing to slits. "I relieved you of it when you were delivered back to your partner. I'm rather amazed you didn't miss it until now, valuable book that it is."

A tremor shot through Blair's body. McManus knew Jim was a Sentinel. It was his fault he knew. It was his fault Jim was in danger now, that McManus wanted to…what? Cut Jim up into little pieces and figure out how he worked? The thought sent another tremor coursing up his spine. Blair felt a warm hand on his shoulder and looked up, meeting Jim's determined eyes.

Jim looked back at McManus, thunder in his gaze. "What do you want?"

"Is your needle stuck, Ellison?" McManus shook his head. "I told you what I want. You agree to go along with me peacefully and I will administer this antigen—" He held up the red needle. "—To both Mr. Sandburg and Inspector Connor, ridding them of the nanoprobe for good."

"How do I know it'll help them?" Jim inquired, his voice betraying no emotion.

"I'm a man of my word, whatever you think of me. They've served their purpose and proved to be lovely guinea pigs. There's no gain in them dying."

Guinea pigs. The words echoed through Blair's mind. That's what they had been, all four of them. McManus had used them for his purposes, now he was using them again. He felt like a marionette, his strings being jerked around by an evil puppeteer. Blair looked at Jim. The older man was eyeing the room, as if calculating the chances of overpowering their captors.

"McManus!"

Four pairs of eyes swiveled towards the door. Dr. Wayne came bustling in, a skinny man hot on his heels. The doctor stopped short when he saw their guests.

"What in the holy hell is this?" Wayne asked, indicating Jim and Blair with a wild sweep of his arm. "We have to get out of here. The cops will be swarming this place any minute."

McManus sighed, his tone changing to that of a parent explaining shoe tying to a toddler. "The police are too busy fighting fires and rescuing your inmates to come snooping down an old elevator shaft."

"They found us," Wayne sneered.

"Detective Ellison found us as he was supposed to." McManus gave Blair a curious glance. "Although Mr. Sandburg's appearance was a bit of a surprise."

Wayne stalked over to McManus, getting into the shorter man's face. "I am not getting caught, do you hear me?"

"Lover's quarrel?" Jim asked sardonically.

With pure fire in his eyes, Wayne turned to face Jim. "Keaton is a homophobic ass with nothing better to do than accuse people of doing things that only he sees. He's probably a closet case himself, just won't admit it."

Blair glanced over Wayne's shoulder, watching McManus. The latter gave a curt nod to the skinny man, who promptly took the blue-filled syringe from McManus. In two short strides, Skinny had his left arm across Wayne's throat. With his right hand, the skinny man jammed the syringe deep into the back of Wayne's neck and emptied its contents.

Wayne's eyes widened, his face going slack in a silent scream. He dropped to the floor like his own strings had been cut, his skin pale as parchment. In an instant, he was convulsing on the floor, white spittle flying from his open mouth. His eyes glazed over, no longer seeing and the convulsions stopped.

Less than fifteen seconds after the injection, Wayne lay still, his only movements the minute rise and fall of his breathing.

Jim and Blair stared at the body in shock, their collective anger growing. They looked up at McManus, disbelief etching identical masks on their faces.

McManus shrugged his shoulders. "He was getting greedy on me. Thought that the continued use of his facilities meant that we could be equal partners. Couldn't have that."

"So you killed him?" Blair asked hollowly.

"No, my friend there just sent him on a journey, deep into his own mind." McManus picked up the blue bottle, gazing at its cerulean depths as if in a trance. "Direct injection of liquid meth and my own little spices has a unique effect on the human mind."

Blair couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd just witnessed a man being turned into a living vegetable and the man responsible was bragging about it. Blair chided himself for his naiveté. Nothing McManus said or did should surprise him now.

"So what's your choice, Ellison?" McManus asked, putting the blue bottle back into the drawer.

"I'll go with you," Jim stated quietly.

Blair started. He knew it would be Jim's response, but couldn't help being unsettled by it. If it had just been his life on the line, Blair would have fought Jim's choice. But he had to think of Megan, too. Jim wouldn't make that choice for the inspector. Blair tried to catch Jim's gaze, but the older man's eyes never left McManus.

"I expected nothing less," McManus said.

The skinny man handed McManus a cell phone. He took the device and punched in a line of numbers. He waited several seconds, listening before typing in another line of numbers. Pausing a moment to listen, McManus turned off the cell phone and tossed it back to Skinny.

"The inspector should be receiving her antigen any minute." McManus grinned at Jim's disbelieving expression. "I'm a man of my word, Detective."

Before either captive could react, Darren moved faster than they would have thought possible. He pulled a needle from his pocket and had it buried in Jim's neck before he or Blair could move. Jim dropped like a sack of potatoes, caught by Darren before he could hit the ground. Blair jerked forward to help Jim, only to be grabbed by the collar and pushed across the room. He skidded to a stop against a cabinet, looking up to see a gun in his face. Skinny stared at him from behind the sight.

"Where ya think yer goin'?" he asked, stale breath puffing into Blair's face.

Blair looked past the man, watching the large guard hoist Jim over his broad shoulders and walk out of the room. McManus followed, pausing in the doorway to look back at Blair.

"Cooperate," was all McManus said. He turned and left the room.

Skinny waved the gun. "On yer feet."

Seeing no available alternative, Blair pulled himself to his feet, his gaze never straying from the cocked pistol.

~*~

Rafe shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair, giving the hand he was holding a squeeze. Tracey returned the squeeze, smiling at him from her seat. His eyes roamed across her blonde hair, her pear-shaped face. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten so lucky as to meet such a wonderful woman. Tearing his gaze away, Rafe looked over at the sleeping figure on the hospital bed next to him.

Fast asleep, Megan Connor's chest rose and fell in time with the heart monitor. Oxygen tubes ran from her nose, behind her ears and trailed off the bed. She looked impossibly pale next to the white linens surrounding her.

A young nurse strode in the door with a small tray in one hand. She stopped short when she saw Rafe and Tracey watching her.

"Meds," she said simply.

Rafe nodded, but made no move to go. The nurse sighed, then proceeded to Megan's IV stand. She filled a syringe with a rusty red liquid and shot it into the IV line. The liquid swirled pink as it crept its way into Megan's veins. The nurse tapped the line once and walked back out.

"Hope it helps," Rafe whispered, watching the pink liquid disappear into the young Aussie's body.

"I'm going to get some coffee," Tracey announced after several quiet minutes. "Want anything?"

"I'm fine," he replied.

Tracey stood up, stretching her long limbs. Rafe watched her go, his eyes still on the empty doorframe when he heard the heart monitor blip faster. Alarmed, he looked over at the bed, his jaw dropping.

Megan's body was twitching, as if in middle of a mild seizure. The right side of her neck, just under her ear, had gone slightly purple. Rafe's nose wrinkled from a sour scent whose origin he couldn't readily identify. Leaning forward, he hit the call button.

"Somebody get in here quick!" he screamed out the door.

~*~

Blair watched the skinny man from his position by the cabinet. He hadn't moved from where he'd been thrown. Instead, he watched and waited. Skinny had walked over to the desk and picked up the red-filled syringe and bottle. Blair took a step back as the skinny man approached him, hands going to his pockets. His intention was his Swiss Army knife, but he remembered too late that he was still in Brown's clothes. His hand hit something hard. Letting his fingers close over the object, Blair realized it was a pen.

//C'mon, MacGyver, // he chided himself. //What are you gonna do with a pen? //

Skinny glared at him. "Stick out yer arm."

Blair withdrew his hand from his pocket, pen concealed by his fingers and sleeve. He was torn. Jim was getting farther away from him, but what if this stuff worked? And if it did work, how long would the effects last? His protective instincts won out over self-preservation…again.

With a long-suffering sigh, the skinny man said, "Roll up yer damn sleeve."

Tensing, Blair swung his arm out, the pen catching the man in the side of the neck. He went down with a scream, clutching at his throat. The needle and bottle went crashing to the floor, their contents splattering on the linoleum. Blair brought his knee up, hitting Skinny square in the chin and knocking the man out.

Without thinking, he yanked the cell phone out of the unconscious man's pocket and took off at a dead run. He ran blindly, unsure at all of which direction McManus had taken Jim. Stopping in a corridor, Blair turned on the cell phone and dialed Simon's number.

<"Banks.">

"Simon? It's Blair."

<"Sandburg!">

Blair pulled the phone a few inches from his ear, jogging down the basement corridors. "Captain—"

<"Where have you been? Your ass is supposed to be in a hospital bed, not wandering all over the State of Washington. Where are you?">

Taking the opening, Blair launched into a one-breath account of his afternoon. "I'm sorry I left the hospital, but I had to follow Jim, I just knew I had to. I found a back entrance to Keaton Hospital and then all these underground hallways, like sub basements or something and found Jim in one of them. I don't know how he got down here, but McManus was here, too, and he took Jim with him and I just stabbed a guy with a pen from Henri's jacket." Blair knew he was babbling, but couldn't make himself slow down. His thoughts were jumbled by the throbbing headache that was forming behind his eyes.

<"Blair, slow down. You said you were on Keaton grounds?">

"Sort of." He turned down another corridor, starting to feel like a rat in a maze. "We're in what was probably once a bunch of rooms and hallways used by the hospital. There's even some people down here."

<"What sort of people?">

"I don't know, patients or something. They look like prisoners."

<"Look, we're going to send someone to find you, just stay still.">

"I'm not sure—"

Oof!

As he rounded another corner, Blair crashed into a warm, solid object. The force sent both of them sprawling onto their backsides, the cell phone skittering down the hall. Blair looked into a pair of startled green eyes.

"Sorry am I," a deep voice said. A man of about forty, with thinning brown hair and kind eyes stared back at Blair. "Accident an was it."

Blair gazed at the man, trying to understand his jumbled words. It was as if he was speaking backwards. "Who are you?"

The stranger regarded him oddly, as if trying to comprehend his words.

Thinking fast, Blair rephrased his question. "You are who?"

He smiled, showing off crooked teeth. "Flip."

"Flip?" Blair eyed the phone nearby. He could hear Simon's worried voice crackling over the speaker. "Blair," he said, pointing to his chest.

"Hi." Flip grinned from ear to ear, then reached for the phone.

Blair tensed, unsure of what to expect. Belaying his fears, Flip handed the cell over to Blair.

"Thank you," Blair said. He turned his attention back to the phone, keeping one eye on his new companion. "Simon?"

<"Sandburg, what in the hell just happened? Are you all right?">

"Yeah. I just met one of the inmates, is all." Blair pulled himself to his feet, trying to clear his aching head. Flip was standing by his side almost immediately.

<"You met—">

"Look, Simon, call the hospital and find out about Megan. McManus beeped someone and told them to give her some sort of antigen. Find out if she's all right."

<"I'll take care of it, Blair.">

"I really need to figure out how to get out of here. There's no telling where McManus is taking Jim or how far ahead he's gotten."

"Out way the know I," Flip announced, tapping Blair on the shoulder.

Ignoring Simon's voice on the phone, Blair gave the older man his full attention. "What?"

"Out way the is this." Flip took off at a fast pace, easily out-distancing Blair with his longer legs.

As he jogged to catch up, Blair said into the phone, "This guy knows the way out, Simon. I think I'm going to follow him."

<"You be careful.">

In less than a minute, Flip had led them through many more corridors, depositing the pair into an intersection that Blair found amazingly familiar. He led the way, Flip hot on his heels, until they reached the door to the docking bay Blair had found earlier. Blair skidded to a stop, staring at the newest additions to the door.

A stack of C-4, at least two feet square, sat by the door. Protruding wires trailed out of the clay-like substance, their ends stuck into a large gray box. In red letters, a clock was counting down from 1 minute, 34 seconds.

"Holy shit," Blair muttered. Into the phone, he said, "Captain, we've got a problem. There's a bomb down here, set to go off in a minute and a half."

<"Can you get out?">

Blair scanned the door. It didn't seem to be wired. "I think so, but I have to disarm it. There are other people down here."

<"Sandburg, you take that man and you get the hell out of there before that thing blows.">

"Can't do that, Simon. There are others down here besides us. I can't just let them die!"

<"You don't know how to disarm--">

"I did it on the oil rig," he protested weakly, feeling a tremor shoot through his body.

<"Yeah, and you were damn lucky you didn't kill yourself.">

"I'm doing this, sir," Blair stated, crouching in front of the bomb. "Any good advice?"

<"Run.">

Blair grinned at his friend's protectiveness. "Noted." He put down the phone, not wanting the distraction.

Flip knelt next to him. "Doing are you what know you do?"

Taking a guess at the backward question, he replied, "Cake of piece."

Ignoring the quaking in his stomach, Blair stared at the clock. Forty-five seconds. He tried to remember everything Joel had ever told him about defusing a bomb. Picking through the colorful wires, he settled on the red or the blue. But which one?

"Blue," Flip suggested.

Sending a silent prayer just in case, Blair yanked out the blue wire.

The timer stopped at twenty-one seconds.

Letting out his breath, Blair snatched up the phone. "It stopped."

Simon sighed heavily. <"Sandburg, you never cease to amaze me.">

Blair opened the door and entered the docking bay. "Look, we're almost out. I'm going after Jim."

<"Going where? Do you know where they are?">

"No, but--" Flip yanked on his arm and shoved something under his nose. Blair read the scrap of paper. It looked like an old brochure for Falcon Airfield. It was as if a light bulb popped on. "Yes, I do. An airfield somewhere nearby."

<"Sandburg--">

"I'll meet you at the fork in the road, just before you turn onto the road for Keaton."

Without waiting for a reply, Blair severed the connection. He was about to take off, but realized Flip still had a grip on his arm. The older man looked like an over-eager child, his eyes shining.

"You with coming am I," Flip stated, firmly.

Blair shook his head emphatically. "No, uh, not are you. Alone."

Flip frowned. "Life my saved you. Debt you in am I."

He understood the gist of what Flip was saying, but didn't want him to come. It could be dangerous. And he didn't know anything about Flip. What if he was dangerous. Blair looked into the man's green eyes, trying to discern his intentions. Sincerity reflected in the deep pools and nothing else. Besides, he didn't have the time to stand here and figure out how to talk Flip out of it backwards.

"Right all," Blair said, extricating himself from Flip's grip. "Go us let."

Flip grinned proudly and followed Blair across the docking bay. Blair found the steps leading to the run-down office. The outside door was closed, letting little light into the small room. Blair pushed against the door; it didn't budge. Bracing his shoulder against it, he pushed harder. It moved slightly, but not enough. He looked at Flip, squinting to see him through the gloom. Flip was standing a foot away, his head tilted to one side.

"Flip!"

The older man blinked and looked at him. "What?"

"Um, open door the push me help."

Flip nodded and joined Blair at the door.

Blair looked at him. "Three on. One. Two."

"Outside not are they."

"What?" He shook his head. "Three!"

The men pushed with all their might. The door came loose, spilling them outside in a tangled heap. Blair crashed to the ground with Flip sprawled on his legs. He lay still for a moment, then coughed against the dirt he was breathing in. Flip rolled over and stood up, offering a hand to Blair.

"Thanks," Blair said, letting himself be hauled up.

Blair's headache was substantially worse now. He rubbed at his temples, glancing around at the parking area. The van he's seen earlier was gone. Only the Jeep was left. Flip had been right; no one was outside. Blair stared at the man, who was watching him with intense curiosity.

"How did you know?" Blair realized his mistake and rephrased the question. "Know you did how?"

"Outside anyone hear not did I."

It was an ambiguous answer and Blair filed it away under 'need to ask later.' He took off for the Jeep, pulling the keys from his pocket as he went. Flip was right on his heels.

~*~

Simon hung up his cell, sure he had just gained another ulcer. Worrying about Ellison and Sandburg was making him old before his time. He silently thanked God for allowing the kid to defuse the bomb, then dialed another number. It took several long rings for someone to pick up.

<"ICU, Nurse's Station.">

"Yes, this is Captain Banks. I need an update on the condition of Megan Connor, please."

<"One moment, Captain.">

Banks clenched a cigar between his teeth, watching the firemen's efforts to save the rest of the hospital. The entire west wing had been incinerated. Part of the central lobby had burned, but most of the building had been left standing. Patients and staff milled around the lawn, no one sure what to do now.

<"Captain Banks?">

He turned his attention back to the phone. "Yes?"

<"She's been taken back up to X-ray. Ms. Connor had a seizure earlier and we're trying to determine exactly what happened.">

Jesus. "What caused it?"

<"We're trying to ascertain that as we speak--">

<"Who is that?"> A familiar voice joined the nurse's. <"Is that Captain Banks?">

"Is that Detective Rafe?" he asked. "Put him on the phone."

There were sounds of a telephone switching hands, and then Rafe came on the line.

<"Captain?">

"Rafe, what in hell's going on?"

<"I'm not certain, sir. About ten minutes ago, a nurse came in and gave Megan some sort of medicine. She was fine for a while, then started to convulse and her neck looked bruised. One of the doctors said it might be the tumor reacting to whatever the meds were.">

"Did anyone know what that medication was?"

<"The doc said she wasn't scheduled to receive any at that time. It was a rusty red color, but no one recognized it, or the nurse. Apparently, she doesn't work this floor.">

Simon's gut twisted. Had McManus kept his word and rid Connor of the nanite? It was possible. But that meant they needed to find more for Blair.

"All right. You find that nurse. Keep me posted on Connor's condition."

<"Will do. What's going on at Keaton?">

Simon hesitated. They deserved the truth, but didn't want any more people worrying. So he replied, "We're chasing McManus. Sandburg thinks he knows where he's headed."

Before Rafe could respond, Simon hung up. Taking a breath, he began barking orders to his men, preparing them to move out.

~*~

Blair didn't have to wait long for Banks to show up at the rendezvous. The Sedan squealed to a stop next to the Jeep and Simon piled out. Flip immediately climbed into the cramped back seat, allowing Banks to jump into the passenger seat. He threw Flip a funny look, but didn't say anything until he was buckled in and the Jeep was back on the road. The rest of the cars following Simon continued down the road Blair had just left.

"Are you sure you know where you're going, Sandburg?" Banks asked.

"Yes," Blair replied confidently. He cleared his throat. "For the most part."

Simon groaned. "Wonderful. And who's that?" he asked, jacking a thumb at Flip.

"Simon Banks, meet Flip. Flip, Captain Banks."

Flip extended his hand. "You meet to pleased am I."

"Uh, yeah," Simon said, arching an eyebrow at Sandburg.

Blair laughed nervously. "He talks backwards, Simon. You get used to it." He turned the Jeep onto a well-traveled road.

"Wonderful."

Blair pulled the scrap of paper from his coat pocket and shoved it under Banks' nose. "This is where he's taking Jim, I'm sure of it."

Banks studied the scrap. "How can you be so sure? This could have been left there months ago."

Biting his lip, Sandburg flushed a bit. "It was in a dream," he mumbled.

"In a what?"

Blair released a long-suffering sigh. "A dream. I had this dream that Jim's spir--" He spared a glance at Flip, who was watching the scenery intently. "Jim was hurt and I saw all of these corridors like the hospital. Then there was a falcon statue and the password for the gate was falcon. It can't just be another coincidence." Hoping to forestall any more questions, he asked one of his own. "Did you find out about Megan?"

Simon nodded. "Rafe called me back while I was driving to meet you. The tumor's gone. The x-rays were all negative."

"That's great!" Blair whooped. "How'd that happen?"

Banks described the mysterious nurse and the rusty red fluid in the needle. "I've got Rafe trying to track her down. She may have more," he finished with emphasis.

"Let's hope so," Blair said wearily. "I broke the bottle McManus had."

"You look like hell, Sandburg," Simon commented, his voice touched with concern as he looked over the pale man beside him.

"I feel like death warmed over," he replied, with a slight grin.

"That's not funny." Simon rubbed a hand across his face. "You sure you're up to this?"

Blair looked over, as if he couldn't believe the question had been asked. "Jim tried to find me. I'm not leaving him with that madman." Blair snorted. "Can you believe McManus tried to convince us that he wasn't some sort of evil person, that he was just a scientist with unusual methods?"

Simon sighed. "That's probably what he believes. No one is going to be able to tell him otherwise."

The Jeep was climbing a mountain road now. The pavement wound its way up with only the occasional turn-off. This road was much less traveled and they could only guess where it ended.

"Does McManus know he's being followed?" Simon asked, after a long pause.

"I don't think so. He probably assumed I was buried when his bomb supposedly went off."

"Horses," Flip spoke up. He pointed out the window at a sign advertising horse trails and guided tours of the mountains. "Horses like I."

"Too me," Blair replied, concentrating on the road. "Too me."

~*~

He tried to push the darkness away, but it wouldn't budge. It wasn't tangible enough to force from him. He tried to move his arms, legs, anything, but it was as if a wet blanket had settled across his entire body. Except he wasn't flat out on his back. His arms and legs were at angles, his wrists and ankles surrounded by something scratchy. Try as he might, the man couldn't make anything move.

He listened. Muffled voices spoke, saying words in gibberish. He should know this language, but nothing was coherent. As if earplugs were in. A name. He heard a name. It was so familiar. He knew he should know it.

There was the strange sensation of motion stopping for a time, then starting again, this time bumpy and more confused. As if he was being carried or something. But that couldn't be right, could it?"

More sounds, this time a whirring. What was that? A plane or a helicopter of some sort? He wasn't certain. There wasn't time to analyze it. The darkness finally won.

~*~

The Jeep arrived at Falcon Airfield just as a helicopter was taking off. The vehicle skidded to a stop near the ramshackle hangar. Blair tumbled out, watching the chopper lift up and skim the tops of the trees as it headed to the north.

"Sandburg!"

Blair turned towards Simon's shout, running into the half-opened doors of the tiny cabin near the hangar. Flip and the captain were untying two men, both scared to death.

The scrawnier of the two had his gag off first and began shouting, "Them sons of bitches stole our chopper. They tied us up and stole our chopper."

"Did they have a hostage or someone who looked drugged?" Blair asked, helping the man stand.

Scrawny nodded vigorously. "Yep, they did. They had a big feller, but the biggest man was carrying him over his shoulder like a sack a taters."

The second man confirmed the statement. "Yup. He was dirty, too, like he'd been through a coal chute 'er somethin'."

"Jim," Blair muttered. "We have to follow them."

The scrawny man started walking outside, waving for the rest to follow. "Got's another chopper all ready to go. I'll take ya."

"I really can't ask you to do that," Simon said.

"I's volunteering," Scrawny shot back. "Russell Nance at yer service. 'Sides, those boys looked like they was up to no good."

"All right," Simon acquiesced. He turned to the second man. "I need you to call the Cascade Police Department. Ask for Captain Taggart and tell him to send back up and air support out here ASAP. Can you do that?"

The second man nodded and took off for the office building. Simon and Blair followed Russell to the second helicopter resting across the yard. When they reached it, Blair realized Flip was still tagging along.

He turned to the older man. "Flip, I need you to stay here. Wait for back-up to come and then go with them, okay?" When Flip simply blinked at him, Blair tried again. "Us with come cannot you. Here stay must you."

Flip shook his head. "You with going am I. Life my saved you. You protect to have I."

"Here. Stay." Blair was firm. He couldn't waste time arguing with him. McManus was getting farther away each minute.

Nodding sadly, Flip backed away from the helicopter. Blair climbed into the back of the door-less chopper and strapped himself in. As it took off, he slipped a pair of headphones on, trying desperately not to look at the quickly receding ground below.

"They were heading north," Simon said over the mike.

Russell nodded and turned to the north. They could just see the other chopper over the mountains, shrinking by the second.

"Can you catch up to them?" Blair asked.

"Sure can," Russell said confidently. "I flew a Huey in 'Nam. Best damn pilot this part of Washington."

"Oh, good," Blair mumbled.

The other helicopter grew steadily larger as their chopper picked up speed. The mountains raced by below, dotted here and there with cabins and campsites. When they were within one hundred feet of other helicopter, Simon grabbed the microphone and flipped the loudspeaker on.

"This is the Cascade Police. Turn around and return to the airfield immediately!"

The chopper's response was to swerve slightly. A dark object appeared on the slightly exposed passenger side. It sprang to life, firing a spray of bullets at them.

"Damn," Simon said, drawing his own sidearm. He was torn. If he returned fire, the helicopter could go down and kill everyone. But if he didn't...."Oh, hell," he mumbled, aiming carefully at the other gun.

He fired three rounds. The fire ceased and the other gun withdrew, but not before leaving a trail of bullet holes along the chopper's engine.

"Oh, shit," Russell said, trying to control the now-bucking helicopter. It swerved, leaking fuel across the forest.

Blair clung wildly to the back of Russell's seat, watching the tops of the trees grow ever closer. The pilot pulled against the decline, but it was a losing battle.

They were going down.

//I'm sorry, Jim. //

Blair squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for impact.

~*~

Edward had seen the Jeep approaching as their helicopter lifted off. He also recognized the men that climbed out. He had been intrigued to see Mr. Wilson with his pursuers, but hadn't taken the time to analyze it. Instead, he had focused his energies on being annoyed at the observer who just wouldn't quit. There was no way the younger man could have received the antigen and made it out before the bomb went off. So what was it about Ellison that made Mr. Sandburg risk his own life to chase after him? Partner, he could buy to an extent. Unless there was more than that.

He almost laughed. That's what Wayne would have assumed, but not Edward. It must have something to do with Ellison's Sentinel senses. Yet, no dissertation seemed worth your life.

"Crap," Darren muttered from front passenger seat.

"What is it?" Edward asked from his seat next to a sleepy Ellison.

"They're in the other chopper."

Edward turned around. Sure enough, the second helicopter was now in the air and hot on their tail.

//The damn kid never quits. Well, I don't have time to be pleasant anymore. One longhaired hippie with an Indiana Jones complex is not going to ruin this for me. //

"Lose them," Edward ordered the pilot, then turned to his partner. "Darren."

The large man took his verbal cue. As their chopper swerved in a new direction, Darren reached into the black bag by his feet and withdrew a semi-automatic rifle. Checking the clip, he turned off the safety and leaned out of the helicopter. Darren aimed at the body of the pursuing helicopter and pulled the trigger. The helicopter bucked under his fire, turning this way and that. He left a line of bullet holes along the engine. He pulled back when someone from the other chopper returned fire.

Their helicopter swung wildly to the right.

"What happened?" Edward asked, leaning forward in his seat.

"They hit something," Stu, the pilot, replied. "I need to find a spot to land."

"Fine." Edward looked behind them, just in time to see their pursuers disappear into the dense mountain forest below.

The pilot kept the chopper steady as he flew on, searching for a clear place to land. Several miles to the north, he finally spotted a small meadow near a rushing stream. "There!" Stu shouted, pointing. "Strap in, fellas. It's gonna be a bumpy landing!"

Edward checked to make sure Ellison was firmly strapped in, then tightened his own belt. Wouldn't do for an unfortunate accident to take them out so early in the game.

~*~

Flip hadn't moved from his position near the helicopter launch site. He'd watched the chopper until it was a speck in the sky, keeping tabs on it with his hearing. The gunfire had startled him, then scared him. What if Blair was hurt now? How was he supposed to help him? Another, more terrifying sound met his ears.

Screams.

Then a crash.

Silence.

//God. //

He had to help, but was clueless as to how to proceed. They were miles away across the mountains. It would take hours to get there on foot.

<Neeeeiiiiiiiiggggggggghhhhhhh>

The sound triggered a memory from the drive to the airfield. He took a chance and ran over to the Jeep.

Pay dirt.

The keys were still in the ignition. Flip climbed inside. He vaguely remembered driving once, a long time ago. The basics flooded back into his muddled mind as he turned the key, bringing the engine roaring to life. Shifting the little needle onto the "D," he hit the gas and took off, back down the mountain road.

~*~

The first thing he became aware of was a stinging pain in his left arm. Something akin to a widespread burn, but not so localized. He then felt warmth, spreading across both his arm and forehead. The coppery smell identified it before he ever opened his eyes.

Blood. Lots of it, everywhere.

Blair hesitantly opened his eyes, alarmed that the darkness did not immediately give way to light. As he adjusted, he realized he was lying sideways in the body of a helicopter, facing down. His ribs protested when he shifted around, but he ignored the pain, turning so he faced the dying sunlight. Still trying to reconcile what had happened, Blair took stock of his injuries.

His left arm sported a long gash from elbow to wrist. It wasn't deep, the blood flow minimal. Locating the source of his headache in the middle of his forehead, Blair felt another gash there, dead center.

//Wonderful. Another head injury. //

A drop of crimson blood oozed into this right eye. Angrily, he wiped it away and felt along his stomach. The ribs were tender, probably bruised He took a deep breath, but there was no jolt of pain from broken bone digging into soft flesh. So where was all the other blood coming from?

A deep groan forced his attention towards the front of the helicopter. Then he remembered: the helicopter chase, the crash. The pilot screaming to hold on, we're going to crash. Simon muttering an unintelligible prayer as they rushed forward toward the trees below.

"Simon," Blair croaked, his voice echoing off the interior of the downed chopper. He grabbed the armrest of the seat in front of him and pulled himself up, so he could see into the pit. His eyes first beheld the pilot and Blair felt the sudden urge to vomit. He glanced away, covering his mouth with his hand.

Russell's head was gone. In its place was a tree branch that had smashed through the doorless side of the chopper and impaled the cushion behind the man's head. The seat and area where Blair now stood was littered with gore and bits of hair. That's where all the blood had come from.

"Mphhhhh."

Blair started at the sound. Keeping his eyes away from the horror and riveted directly on Banks, he leaned forward to assess the injuries of his friend. Simon was still strapped to his seat, his head lolling downward. An offshoot of the larger branch stretched across the cockpit, ending in Simon's left shoulder. The wound didn't bleed much, but would when the branch came out.

"Simon, are you awake?" Blair asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He tapped the older man lightly on the face. "Simon?"

"S-s-sandburg?" Banks mumbled, his eyelids fluttering.

"C'mon, man. Wake up for me."

Simon's eyelids fluttered again, this time opening fully to reveal dark brown orbs, tinged with pain and worry. He blinked several times, trying to focus.

"Morning, Sunshine," Blair said, lightly.

Banks peered hard at Blair's haggard appearance, then moaned. "Am I in hell?"

Blair shrugged, trying to keep the man calm. "Sending you there with me would be a fitting punishment, don't you think?"

Simon snorted, then sucked in a pained breath. "How's the other guy, Russell?"

"Dead. Try not to move," Blair warned, when Simon shifted to see into the seat next to him. Blair moved to block the older man's view of the dead body nearby. "I'm gonna have to pull this branch out so I can move you."

"Are you sure?" he asked, glancing doubtfully at his pinned shoulder.

"No, but I think I smell fuel leaking somewhere and I'm not leaving you in this damn machine in case it decides to blow."

Simon swallowed. "Good point." He relaxed his body and squeezed his eyes shut. "Get it over with."

Admiring Banks for his stoicism, Blair grabbed a hold of the smaller branch and counted down in his mind.

//Three...two...one…. //

The branch slid out with a sickening smack sound. Simon bit down hard on his lip, muffling his scream of agony. The exit of the wood let loose a flow of blood. Blair pulled off the jacket he'd stolen from Henri--years ago, it seemed now--and took off the T-shirt underneath. He placed that over the gushing wound and removed his belt. Looping it around Simon's shoulder, he pulled it tight, cinching the fabric over the wound.

"There," Blair said. He looked up, trying to figure the best way to get his captain out. The sun was setting, throwing shadows across everything. He would have to work fast. Simon was at least sixty pounds heavier than he was; there was no way he could lift the man out through the top doors. Breaking the glass of the windshield was out of the question--if it wasn't already shatterproof, it would probably cut the captain up pretty badly.

"Cell phone," Simon muttered, his eyes still clenched shut. "Left pocket."

Duh.

Blair reached for Simon's coat pocket, pausing to let a wave of dizziness pass. When the world stopped spinning, he felt along the coat. Nothing. Reaching around to the other side, he patted the other man down. There was no cell phone to speak of. Searching the chopper, Blair found nothing, except the busted radio, taken out by another errant tree branch.

"Dammit," Blair moaned in frustration. He peered around the cabin for anything that could help him. His blue eyes fell on an object sticking out from under his seat. Reaching for it, he almost smiled.

~*~

Edward paced in front of the helicopter, watching Darren and Stu fiddle with the engine. He felt less annoyed at the delay and more annoyed that they were losing daylight. They were still a good fifty miles from their intended location and it was almost dark. Ellison was still out cold in the back, but Edward was out of sedative, short of whacking the man over the head with a hammer.

Stu straightened and turned toward him. "Engine'll get you where yer goin', but no further 'n that," he said. "Can't fly no more t'nite, though. Head lamps 'er busted."

"Wonderful," Edward said. He glanced around the open valley they were in. A gentle breeze rustled the tops of the trees overhead, making their shadows across the ground dance like crazed demons. An owl hooted nearby, but no other sounds met his ears. This was as good a place to camp for the night as any. "We'll camp here, then. Darren, get the flashlights out. No fires. We don't want to be sending any damn smoke signals to the authorities."

"I wouldn't worry too much about search parties," Stu said, looking off toward the west.

"Why not?"

Stu pointed. "There's a bank of fog rolling in off the coast. I can see the clouds from 'ere. Won't be no searches 'til daylight, I'd bet."

"Good enough. Darren, go get some dry wood. Looks like we'll be having that campfire, after all."

Darren nodded and set off towards the woods. Stu closed the hood of the engine and picked up his tool kit. Walking over to the side of the chopper, he leaned in to put it away. He froze, then leaned back out and tapped Edward on the shoulder.

"Yer boy's awake," Stu said.

Edward turned, looking right into Ellison's glaring eyes. "Welcome back, Detective," he said, mildly. "You have a most interesting metabolism. That last dose should have kept you out for at least six more hours."

Ellison said nothing. He was staring right at Edward, but appeared to be seeing right through him. It was as if....

"What do you hear?" Edward asked, ignoring the questioning looks from Stu. "You're friends are a long ways away, Ellison. And you're in the middle of nowhere."

"So are you," Ellison said pointedly. His expression cleared and he now appeared to actually see what was in front of him. "What happened?"

Edward grinned. "Seems your friends got a bit overzealous in retrieving you and tried to shoot us down. Couldn't say what happened to them, though."

There was murder in Ellison's eyes. "What did you do?"

Cocking his head, Edward ignored the hate emanating from his prisoner. "How would you justify it? Self-defense?"

Horror and despair mixed with the rage, presenting a rather unique look from Ellison. The larger man seemed to crumple a bit, like a man who hears Death knocking, but is unwilling to answer the door.

~*~

"Are you ready, Simon?" Blair shouted from his position on the top/side of the helicopter.

"No, but go anyway," Banks retorted.

Blair sighed and readjusted the rope around his waist. Simon was too weak to climb out of the downed chopper and Blair wasn't strong enough to lift him. So the length of nylon rope he'd spied under his seat had been a godsend. After throwing one end over the branch of a large pine outside, he'd tied it around Banks' waist. The other end had gone around his own.

Since the rope wasn't very long, Blair had resorted to jumping off the top of the helicopter with a large rock, hoping his momentum would be enough to yank the captain out of his seat. It would be a jerky ride, but they didn't have a choice at the moment.

"On three," Blair shouted. "One...."

"Sandburg? Are you jumping on three or one, two, three, jump?"

Blair almost laughed at the routine. "Simon?"

"Yeah?"

"Three!" he bellowed, jumping from the chopper. He fell the seven feet to the soft earth below, the rock falling from his grasp. He heard Simon shout a colorful curse as he was yanked out of the wrecked machine and left dangling overhead.

"Sandburg! Get me down!" The cry was mixed with urgency and pain.

As carefully as he could, Blair eased on the rope, lowering Banks to the top of the chopper. He had to climb part way up the side to do so. Simon quickly freed himself of the rope. The larger man swallowed hard, then swayed a bit. Before Blair could reach him, Simon's eyes rolled back in his head and he pitched forward, sailing past Blair to land on the ground with a soft thud.

"Simon!" Blair shouted, dropping down beside the fallen man.

He turned the captain onto his back, feeling for a pulse. The beat came back to him, steady and strong. The makeshift bandage was soaked through. He needed another one. Blair automatically reached around for the Swiss Army knife, realizing once again that these weren't his pants.

Heaving a sigh, Blair climbed back up the side of the helicopter. It felt a bit like grave robbing, but it could get chilly during the night and they would need the rest of their clothes. Unfortunately, Russell had no more use for his.

//Wonderful thought, Sandburg, // he chided himself. //Why isn't this as easy as it is on TV? //

Steeling himself against the grisly sight, Blair dropped into the chopper. He breathed out of his mouth, trying to keep the coppery sickness of blood out of his nostrils. Blair eased off the dead man's jacket and tossed it out the open door, shivers creeping up his spine. He sucked in a shaky breath and was about to get the shirt next, when a billfold slipped to the floor.

With shaky fingers, Blair picked it up. For some unknown reason, he opened it. An accordion of photographs spilled open. Russell years ago, with a pretty young blonde, with children of all ages. They all looked so happy.

His stomach began to roil, like a choppy ocean. He knew shock was beginning to set in, from the accident and from everything that had happened in the last few hours. Tears stung the corners of his eyes, but he refused to release the torrent he knew was building. Instead, he bent over and emptied his stomach onto the bottom of the metal shell.

~*~

Jim shifted on the hard ground, trying to move away from a stone that wouldn't stop bothering him. The movement caught a sideways glance from McManus, who'd spent the last half-hour staring into the fire. The other two men were standing guard less than a dozen yards away. Jim was still bound at his wrists and ankles, but had been placed outside, leaning against the side of the helicopter. He listened to his surroundings occasionally, but heard nothing beyond normal wildlife sounds. They were in the middle of nowhere.

"What's on your mind, Detective?" McManus asked, not taking his eyes from the fire.

Jim started at the unexpected question. He had no desire to discuss anything with this man, but there were a lot of things that just didn't make sense. Better to ask when the man thought there was no chance of him escaping. He may be more open to the truth.

"I was wondering about you," Jim admitted. He waited until McManus turned his questioning gaze on him. "You say you're just about the research and 'doing good for humanity' or whatever. So what was the photograph thing all about?"

McManus blinked. "Photographs?" A light sparked in his eyes, as he understood what Jim was asking. "The ones I sent last week."

"What in hell were they all about?"

To Jim's surprise, McManus laughed. He was still laughing when he replied, "A moment of weakness, I'm afraid. All of my stupid mistakes were moments of weakness. The photographs were one. Your partner was another, although that paid itself off exquisitely."

"What's that mean, exactly?"

"Which part?" McManus sobered quickly. "I never intended to take Blair Sandburg, if that's what you're asking. I wanted Detective Taggart. He was older and fit the profile for a test subject. When I realized that Mr. Sandburg was your partner, that little undesirable part of me that thirsts for revenge decided to take him instead. Little did I know of the discovery I would find in you."

Jim flinched. It was his fault...again. Blair had been kidnapped and infected because of him. Blair rarely got mixed up in serious trouble on his own accord. Through his work with Jim, Blair had been kidnapped, beaten, shot, drugged, and nearly killed more times than he could count. And now this. Damn.

"Don't look so sober, Ellison," McManus said. "He cares about you, which is probably what will get him killed."

//Or has gotten him killed. // The thought danced through Jim's mind before he could stop it. //No! Blair is not dead. He's fine and you'll be fine. // But Jim knew he wouldn't be fine. McManus said he was no killer, but that didn't mean his henchman weren't. When McManus was done with him, he'd most likely have them do away with him.

McManus continued. "The photos were the same way. They were Darren's idea, actually. And they were another test of the nanites. We told them to be scared and they were. It was a rather successful test, if I must say."

Jim blanched, remembering the agony of opening that envelope and discovering the stack of terrifying photographs. //A successful test? That's what he thought of the whole thing? //

His captor read his expression. "It would be easier for you if I were evil, wouldn't it, Ellison? If I were some madman with wild hair and no respect for life or even for myself." He sighed. "Your cop world is so damn black and white. Every criminal is either reformable or a sociopath. Unfortunately for your feeble mind, I am neither. I'm a scientist."

"You're insane," was all Jim could think to say.

McManus laughed again. "No. I'm very sane at the moment. But if it makes you feel better, go on and believe it."

Jim knew the man was mocking him. Getting pissed off and twisted into a knot would not help, so he tempered his anger. "What about Verne Palmieri?"

"Who?" McManus looked genuinely confused for a few moments. His expression cleared and he grinned. "Ah, Verne. Yes, he was…something different. It's amazing what the human mind is willing to believe when it's taken to the breaking point."

"What did you do?" Jim demanded.

"I injected him with a predecessor of the nanotech I used on your friends." McManus watched him blankly. "Marital faithfulness was very important to Mr. Palmieri. The nanite simply played on preexisting emotions. I never expected him to break out of Keaton, I must say."

"You made him kill his wife." Jim's anger once again boiled close to the surface.

"No. That desire already existed within him." McManus shrugged. "I just brought it out into the open."

"Right." Jim muttered. "And how do you explain the charges we brought against you five years ago?"

McManus smiled. "Ever the detective, Ellison? Actually, I'm ashamed to admit it was another moment of weakness. I thought drugs would be a good investment for some of my money. But I was in no way responsible for the trafficking you tried to pin on me.

"Since I decided jail was completely unsuitable for my 'profession,' I decided to go the insanity route. My old pal Dr. Wayne needed some meds and I needed a defense, so my lawyer made the deal. My untimely death was a fortunate accident and I owe Darren my life. I'll tell you, Wayne was plenty shocked to see me alive and well."

Jim shook his head in disgust. "So one by one, you orchestrated the deaths of your defense team."

"Loose ends, Detective."

"I'll remember that at your execution." Ignoring the breathing of his captor, Jim closed his eyes and practiced a meditation Blair had taught him, pushing his feelings into the background. He'd need the energy later, he was sure.

Slowly, but surely, sleep found him on padded feet, easing Jim into a dreamless sleep.

~*~

Joel Taggart surveyed the busy area around him. What had once been a hole-in-the-wall helicopter repair shop was now the focus of a major rescue effort. Uniformed policemen, detectives and forensics all milled about, trying to help but unsure how. The remaining shop owner, Lewis Tillnay, had volunteered his office as a base of operations for the search parties. With Banks, Ellison and Sandburg all missing in the wilderness, no one was going to sleep that night.

Another floodlight sprang to life, illuminating the worry lines on Henri Brown's face. Joel knew the younger man felt responsible for allowing Sandburg to escape. No one blamed Henri but himself--Sandburg just had a knack for escaping police custody when he didn't want to be protected. Or when Jim's life was at stake.

There was also a bulletin out for the man Mr. Tillnay said was with Banks and Sandburg when they arrived. He'd left in a hurry, driving the Jeep back down the country road. No one had seen him since.

"Captain Taggart!"

Joel spun on his heel to face the summons. Officer Driscoll came bounding up, his breath puffing a cloud of vapor in the chilly night air.

"What is it, Driscoll?" Taggart asked.

"They found Brown's Jeep," Driscoll reported, looking pointedly at Henri. "A horse farmer down the road said he found it in his driveway, the keys still in the ignition. He never saw the man, but one of his horses is missing."

Joel frowned. "Why would some hospital patient want to steal a horse, unless...."

"He was going after them," Henri finished. "But how could anyone track them on the ground from here? They were out of sight before Tillnay heard the crashes."

"I'm not sure," Taggart admitted.

One of the PD's chopper pilots, McGuiness, walked over to the trio, a grim frown on his chiseled features. "We can't fly anymore tonight, Captain," he said. "Fog's rolling in thick off the water. There's no way to navigate in that. We'll have to sit it out until morning."

"By morning, Blair and Simon could be dead!" Joel fumed. When McGuiness took a visible step backwards, Joel sighed. "I don't mean to yell at you. It's not your fault." He scanned the operation going on around him, reluctant to tell everyone to pack it in, but they couldn't all stay.

Sensing his hesitation, Henri stepped forward. "Tell your guys to pull it in for the night. Have them back here at dawn tomorrow so we can be up as soon as the fog lifts."

McGuiness nodded and retreated from where hence he came. Henri laid a comforting hand on Joel's shoulder.

"They'll be fine," Brown said. "They're fighters."

Joel could only nod, sending a silent prayer not for the first time that day, to whatever gods watched over stubborn captains and trouble-prone anthropologists.

~*~

Blair finally emerged from the wrecked helicopter with his small store of treasures. Besides the extra jacket and flannel shirt, Blair had been able to scrounge together a large wrench, a pack of snack crackers, an operations manual and a lighter. After taking a few minutes to change the bandage on Simon's wound, he tied the rest of their holdings into the jacket lining and hooked it over one shoulder.

Grabbing the captain under the arms as gently as he could, Blair dragged him away from the wreck. He had no guarantee that it would explode, but leaking gas tended to make him nervous. Besides, he couldn't very well make a fire too close to it. Settling Simon between the grooves of some tree roots, Blair went about collecting some firewood. Much of the wood in the area was damp, but he was able to scrounge together a sizable pile without wandering out of eyesight of his injured charge.

He tore the operations manual into several large pieces, then piled some tinder on top of that. Using the same method he'd seen Jim employ on one of their infrequent camping trips, Blair lit the paper, watching gratefully as one level of wood after another began to burn. He covered Simon with the spare jacket and huddled close. With him on one side and the fire on the other, it was all he could do to keep the captain warm.

A breeze fluttered by, sending goose bumps up the young man's arms. He sank deeper into Henri's jacket, his eyes constantly moving around, taking in the area. They were vulnerable here, outside in the wild with no weapons to speak of. Simon's gun had been lost in the crash, along with his cell phone. So it was up to Blair to stay awake.

But no matter what he did, the harder he tried to stay awake, the faster sleep found him.

~*~

//When did I get a dog? //

That was the first question that came to mind when he registered the growl. Then he heard the scream. The desperate howl of a man in pure agony. He tried to sit up straight, but fell back against his restraints. Why didn't his arms and legs work? And who was screaming?

Blinking against the early morning sunlight, Jim managed to raise his head and take in the scene in front of him. Stu lay on the ground a dozen yards away with half of his chest gone; what remained was a mound of bloody flesh. Half that distance away was Darren, waving a flaming branch at a large brown bear. The beast was up on its haunches, towering above Darren by a good three feet of muscle and shaggy fur. Next to Jim, McManus was coming fully awake.

McManus snapped his gun from the waistband of his pants and aimed it at the bear. The animal took a swipe at Darren, knocking the large man to the ground. McManus fired three times. Jim wasn't sure where the animal was hit, but it swaggered off into the woods, reminding Jim of a drunken sailor.

Watching it go, McManus leapt to his feet and practically flew to where Darren lay. Jim maneuvered himself to a sitting position, watching his captor with rapt interest. McManus turned Darren gently onto his back, inspecting the oozing wounds razed across the bigger man's chest. He yanked off his own shirt and pressed the material over the blood flow. Jim knew the man was still alive, but he needed a doctor. Stu had not been so lucky.

"I'm fine," Darren mumbled, trying to sit up.

McManus pushed him back down. "You need to rest, buddy."

Darren snorted. "Rest my ass, the sun's coming up. We gotta get out of here before the cops show up. I can still fly." To prove this point, he moved McManus' hands off his chest and pulled himself to a sitting position.

"Are you sure?" McManus asked.

"It's just a flesh wound."

Jim knew that was a lie. Darren was sweating like a pig and his heartbeat was thready. The man needed a doctor.

"You need to get him to a doctor," Jim said.

Two pairs of eyes fixed on him.

"I am a doctor," McManus shot back. "And I'll have the necessary equipment to treat him once we get to our new lab. So let's go before it gets too light. The fog's already starting to lift."

~*~

Nothing wanted to move. Blair couldn't remember being this stiff in ages. He shivered, realizing the warm body he'd been huddled against all night was no longer there. Cracking open an eyelid, he found Simon gone. That jump-started his engines. Blair sat up like a shot, immediately feeling it in his lower back.

"Ow," he muttered. Looking around, he shouted, "Simon!"

"What?" came the agitated reply.

"Where are you?" Blair looked around, trying to locate the source of the response.

"I'm taking a damn piss, do you mind?"

That shut him up. Simon limped around from the other side of the wreck, cradling his injured shoulder like a child. He stopped when he saw Blair watching him.

"Jesus, Sandburg. You look like shit."

Blair had no idea what he looked like. Reaching a hand up, he felt the crusty scab covering his forehead cut. Blood had dried all over his face and hair from the wound. Well, if he looked as bad as he felt....

"How's the shoulder?" Blair asked, pulling himself to his feet. He had a sudden urge to answer the call of nature.

"Hurts like the dickens, but I guess that just means I'm still alive, right?"

Simon sat back down against the tree while Blair walked around the wreck to the makeshift "bathroom." Smiling at the little joke, he did his business, then returned to the captain. He sat down on the other side of the fire Simon had restoked, simultaneously hearing a loud grumble from his stomach. Blair realized he hadn't eaten anything since lunch the previous day.

"Wouldn't happen to know if there's a Wonder Burger around here anywhere?" Simon asked mildly.

Blair chuckled, then reached into this coat pocket. Smiling, he pulled out the prize. "Not quite so, uh, healthy, but I do have a pack of Cheese on Wheat crackers for your breakfast enjoyment."

Simon eyed the package hungrily. Blair divided them evenly and they ate in silence, belatedly wondering where they would get a "cup of coffee" to wash it down.

A branch snapped loudly nearby. Two head swiveled toward the sound, which was immediately followed by the distinct rustling of leaves. Motioning for the captain to stay put, Blair grabbed the wrench and stood up. He flattened himself against the tree, listening to the sounds moving closer. Peeking around, he saw nothing. Blair sprinted forward, hiding behind a closer pine.

Clutching the tool in a sweaty hand, Blair tensed when a branch snapped right by his tree. Wondering vaguely what good a wrench would do him against a bear, Blair jumped out from behind his cover, brandishing the weapon.

A horse snorted, rearing up and throwing its rider from the saddle. There was a surprised cry as the man tumbled to the ground. Blair caught the animal by the reigns, keeping it from backing up onto the man. When the beast calmed, Blair bolted over to the downed man. Turning him onto his back, Blair looked into a smiling face he'd forgotten about.

Flip grinned up at him, his lined face beaming with joy. "You found I! You found I!"

Blair almost laughed, then remembered the man's muddled speech patterns. "Did you yes," he returned, helping the man to his feet. "How did...uh, us find you did how?"

"Listened I."

"You listened?"

Taking the horse's reins, Blair led it and Flip to where Simon was still waiting. The captain was genuinely surprised to find the man there, with a horse no less.

"How did he get here?" Banks asked Blair.

Sandburg shrugged. "He said he listened, but I'm not sure what that means, exactly. We have to be at least twelve miles from where we took off. How could he have tracked us that far at night?"

Flip, who seemed to be translating their conversation on his own, replied, "You hear could I. Heartbeats your hear could I."

Blair's jaw dropped slightly. "How far? Uh, hear you can away far how?"

"Know not do I."

//Could it be? Could this man have extra-sensory hearing? //

The idea seemed a bit far-fetched to Blair, even though he of all people should not doubt the possibility. Pressing his luck a bit, he asked, "Nearby else anyone hear can you?"

Flip cocked his head in a stance Blair knew all too well, listening. His eyes lit up. "Yes."

"Me take," Blair ordered.

Nodding, Flip climbed onto the horse. Blair moved to jump on behind him.

"Sandburg, where are you going?"

"Captain, I'll bet dollars to donuts that Flip can hear where Jim and McManus are. It's worth a shot, don't you think?"

Nodding, Simon said, "Be careful."

"I always am," Blair said. He swung up behind Flip and gripped his waist as they set off down the mountain.

They made the trip in silence. Blair couldn't stop wondering about Flip's hearing ability. What if his other senses were enhanced, also? He had to wonder if McManus had known of this ability. There was a chance he didn't, but it wouldn't surprise him either way. Flip obviously didn't think of his hearing as anything extraordinary.

The bay mare stumbled on the soft earth and Blair grabbed tighter onto Flip to avoid falling off. Flip grunted, then pulled the reigns. The horse stopped. Blair surveyed the ground around them. They had come down the mountain and were now in a valley of trees, all reaching high into the morning sky. A canopy of green leaves blocked their view above, throwing the morning forest into shadows. In the distance, Blair heard the straining engine of a helicopter.

Flip dug his heels into the mare's side, sending the beast forward. The engine noise grew steadily louder, then seemed to be moving upward. At Flip's prodding, the horse set off at a gallop, entering into an open field. Not ten feet in the air was McManus' helicopter, rising steadily into the sky.

The horse neighed and stepped to the side. Blair looked down into the mangled corpse of a man he didn't know. Swallowing against the bile rising in his throat, Blair climbed off the horse, running after the helicopter in a hopeless attempt to catch it.

"Jiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim!" Blair screamed.

The helicopter continued to rise, moving to the north until it disappeared from sight.

Blair watched it go, anger and frustration building in torrents. "Dammit!" He whirled around, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. "Flip? Can you hear them? Uh, them hear?"

Flip nodded slowly, his eyes unfocusing as his hearing took over. He seemed to be in a trance, listening as hard as he could.

"Neiiiiiigh!"

The cry from the horse knocked Flip out of his trance and right off the animal's back. He landed with a thud, hands clamped over his ears in pain. Blair rushed over to the man.

"Flip, are you okay?" Blair asked, his voice automatically dropping low, into what Jim referred to once as his "guide voice." "Listen to my voice and only my voice. It's okay, just turn the dial down." He realized that Flip probably had no idea what he meant by a dial, so he took the next few minutes to reverse his words and explain to Flip how to turn his hearing down.

After another minute or so, Flip opened his eyes, smiling gratefully at Blair. "You thank."

Blair returned the smile, forced as it may have been. "Welcome." He helped the older man stand. "Simon find go us let."

Flip nodded, climbing back onto the horse. There was no way to track the chopper now.

~*~

Henri Brown was up in a chopper at first light. The fog had moved on before the first rays of sunshine began peeking over the horizon. He'd gone up with Officer Talbot; McGuiness had taken up Joel and Officer Driscoll. Henri vaguely knew their pilot, an older gentleman named Givens. They'd been circling an area about six miles north of the take-off site.

"See anything?" Henri asked for the seventh time in half as many minutes.

"Nothing yet, sir," Talbot replied.

Brown knew he was being annoying, but he couldn't help feeling guilty. He'd felt guilty ever since Sandburg had drugged him the previous day and escaped the hospital. No matter how many people said it wasn't his fault, that there were hundreds of workers he had gotten by also, he never felt any less responsible. And it wouldn't quit until Blair, Simon and Jim were safely out of the mountains.

He scanned the forested mountaintop below, hoping to see something--anything at all.

"Detective?"

Henri turned around to face Talbot, who was pointing out his window. "What do you see?" he asked, hopefully.

"I think I see smoke," Talbot replied. "At seven o'clock."

The pilot turned the chopper, heading back and slowing down. As his view of the area changed, Henri also saw the thin stream of smoke rising from the side of the mountain.

"Down there," Henri said.

The pilot nodded and hovered, letting the helicopter sink lower over the area. As they descended, Henri could make out the remains of a wrecked chopper and the golden glints of a campfire through the whirling leaves of the trees. He whipped out a pair of binoculars and held them to his eyes.

Waving up to him with his uninjured arm was Simon Banks, a relieved smile plastered across his tired face. Henri whooped and grabbed the mike.

"Base this is Eagle Four. We found them, eleven miles north by northwest of home base. Requesting emergency rescue units out here now. Repeat, we found them."

"Roger that," came the response from base.

Henri settled back in his seat and waited for the rescue units to arrive.

~*~

Blair opened his sluggish eyelids, looking up into the concerned face of Henri Brown. For a brief moment, he believed he was back in his hospital bed and the entire arc of events over the past twenty-four hours had just been a bad dream. Then Blair heard the sirens and realized he was in the back of an ambulance, no doubt heading right back to Cascade General.

His first thoughts were for the safety of Simon Banks. His second were how he'd gotten into the ambulance in the first place. He had no memories between arriving back at the crashed helicopter with Flip and being in the ambulance. Blair and Flip had returned to the wrecked helicopter at the same time as the rescuers. Simon went up first, followed by Blair and Flip. An officer had remained behind to lead the horse back to its owners. Then nothing.

"Hey, man," H said pleasantly.

Blair tried to move, but received a sharp pain to the back of his skull for his efforts. Opting to stay still, he asked, "Where's Simon?"

"He's in another ambulance," Henri replied. "He'll be fine. You did good out there."

Frowning, Blair tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "I lost Jim."

"It wasn't your fault." Henri spoke with such ferocity that Blair flinched. "You did what you could and no one expected more. You have got to stop blaming yourself for this. Shit happens, then we deal with it. And we'll deal with this, all of us together."

"I know." And he did, but it was hard not to blame himself. He was Jim's partner; he was supposed to watch his back. So he decided to change the subject. "How's Megan?"

"She's fine, now. Said the tumor hurt like hell, but doc's say she'll make a full recovery. No side effects so far."

"That's good news."

"Yeah. She and Rafe'll be released in a day or two. Daryl, too."

Blair flinched as a paramedic inflated the blood pressure band around his right forearm. "Where's Flip?"

"Flip?" Henri's brow furrowed, then smoothed. "That guy who was found with you? He's being taken to the Psych ward for evaluation."

"He's not crazy," Blair protested. "McManus did something to him. He just processes information differently than the rest of us."

"If he was kept a prisoner by McManus and had his mind messed with, the hospital is the safest place for him right now."

Blair nodded slightly. "And Dr. Wayne? Is he--?"

Henri frowned. "He's vegetating nicely in the chronic care ward. The man's brain is mush."

"My God," Blair muttered. He'd stood there and watched one human being do that to another human being. His brain began to feel fuzzy again, black dots dancing in his field of vision. "I think I'm going to pass out."

Once again, Blair found himself floating in blissful darkness.

~*~

Blair accepted the hot coffee with a grateful smile. Joel returned the gesture, settling into a chair next to the younger man. Blair watched the doors to the ER listlessly, his eyes as tired and dead as an eighty year-old's might be. He was still in Brown's clothes, having turned down offers for a ride back to the loft until he knew the captain was going to be all right. Not that anyone blamed him much. His friends were at the hospital; the loft was empty.

A pounding behind his temples made Blair's head drop into his hands, eliciting a slight groan. Joel was instantly alert.

"You okay, Blair?" he asked, placing a concerned hand on Blair's right arm.

"I'm fine," Blair replied in a muffled voice. "And no, I'm not re-admitting myself. Not until they figure out what that antigen was. Jim needs me out and looking for him."

"Jim needs you to take care of yourself. Period."

The firmness in Joel's voice made Blair peek up at the man through his fingers. Gentle brown eyes looked back at him, deep and caring. Blair knew the older man cared, was just looking after him, but he didn't need it. What he needed was to get out and look for Jim. And he couldn't do that with everyone coddling him and watching his every movement. Not that he was going anywhere until Simon was in the clear. Even then, he had no idea where to begin the search.

It was like looking for a needle in...well, a stack of needles.

Hopeless.

"Detectives?"

Dr. Rice had entered the waiting area and was staring straight at the small group in the corner of the room. Joel, Henri and Blair shot to their feet.

"How is he?" Blair asked, before anyone else could.

"He's fine," Rice replied. "The branch didn't lacerate any major arteries or nerves in his shoulder. Captain Banks is on his way up to surgery. The surgical team should be able to repair all the damage, so it will heal well. He'll be out of here in a few days."

"That's great news," Joel said. "Thanks, doc."

"You're welcome." Rice turned to leave, then stopped. He looked at the men with a teasing grin on his face. "And try to keep the rest of your fellow policemen out of my ER. You're not giving me time to miss you."

Blair wanted to laugh, but worry kept him from it. Now that he was sure Simon was clear, he had no idea how to go ahead with finding Jim. Detective Dills was checking the phone records on the cell phone Blair had taken from the skinny man he'd escaped from at Keaton. Dills had found it in Henri's Jeep and was trying to find out who in the hospital had been paged the day before.

Where McManus had gone was the million-dollar question. He'd mentioned a new location and a new employer, but that could be and mean anything.

A young nurse approached the group. "Detective Taggart?"

Joel stood up. "That's me."

"There's a call for you at the front desk."

"Thank you." He followed the nurse to the desk and picked up the phone.

Blair let his head fall back into his hands. He felt like shit. In fact, he couldn't ever remember feeling this bad. His head hurt, his arm hurt, he was sweating, and probably had a fever. Everything ached from the crash the evening before. Not to mention the fact that he was worrying more about more people than he ever had in his life. Blair heard Joel's excited, "We'll meet you there," and looked up.

The ex-bomb squad captain was hurrying back to Blair and Henri, a satisfied grin on his face. The expression took years off his worn features.

"They found the woman McManus beeped. She works here as a lab consultant, but isn't on today. Dills is taking a team over to her house and we're meeting them there."

Blair was on his feet like a shot. "Let's go."

Joel placed a warm hand on Blair's shoulder. "Not this time, Sandburg." He cut off Blair's sharp retort with, "You look like you're going to pass out. I'll call if--when we arrest her. Deal?"

"I want to be there when you interrogate here," Blair replied stonily.

"I wouldn't have you anywhere else. Let's go, Henri."

Blair watched the black men leave the hospital, wishing with every footstep that he was going with them. At the same time, he was grateful he was staying. Busting down someone's front door was not his idea of fun at the moment.

Settling back into the hard waiting room chair, he sat silent with his thoughts.

~*~

The first thing Jim was aware of was that he couldn't hear anything. Thinking himself deaf, he sat up suddenly and earned a wave of nausea. He definitely heard the inevitable groan that followed. He wasn't deaf after all. Opening his eyes, he was glad to find the room only semi-lit. The walls were white and devoid of any decoration. A mirror—two-way, he thought--sat on the wall opposite the cot he was sitting on. Next to the mirror was a door, flush with the wall and without a doorknob of any kind. A wooden table and chair sat against the wall to his left, a toilet and curtain against the right.

//At least I get privacy for that, // Jim thought blandly.

The room was sterile. He smelled the chemicals the room had been cleaned with, but nothing else. Funneling his hearing as best as he could, Jim could barely make out a muffled thumping noise. No, not thumping. It was more like voices speaking inside a safe. He couldn't make out anything that was being said.

Suddenly, a slot at the bottom of the door opened and a tray slid inside. The slot slammed shut immediately, but it had been just enough time. Jim heard two distinct heartbeats. No one else was nearby...wherever this was. There were a few other sounds, but nothing he could identify. He filed them away to study later.

Jim studied the plastic blue tray on the floor. On it was a tin cup of water and a tin plate. The smell hit him first, sending another wave of nausea and worry to his stomach. The plate contained a piece of baked beef and a baked potato.

"I'm sorry, Chief," he whispered to no one. He didn't know if McManus was listening. He really didn't care at this moment. Not knowing if Blair was alive or dead was hurting him worse than any torture anyone could possibly devise.

~*~

Taggart busted down the front door of Madeline Prager's small bungalow, cops flanking him on all sides. He heard Brown kicking down the back door. Stepping inside, Joel yelled, "Cascade Police! Come out with you hands in the air!"

Joel heard a woman's desperate squeal and ran toward it. He busted into a small bedroom in time to see a red-haired woman bring a .38 to her head.

"Oh, no, you don't," Taggart yelled, launching himself at the woman. He hit her hard from the side, knocking the gun out of her grasp and across the room.

Prager began to cry, her heavy eye makeup streaking down her pale cheeks.

"Madeline Prager?" Brown asked, yanking the woman to her feet.

She nodded, unable to speak.

Brown cleared his throat. "You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up the right...."

Joel tuned out Henri's speech and set his men to searching the house. Pulling out his cell phone, Taggart called the hospital, making good on his promise to Blair.

~*~

Sandburg had to shove his hands deep into his pants pockets to keep from chewing on his fingernails. It wasn't a common habit, but he needed something to do and for some reason, chewing his fingernails seemed like a good idea. He tried not to pace the small room, but mixed emotions were creating an over-abundance of nervous energy. Even as he watched the interrogation through the two-way glass, Blair couldn't help but want to be somewhere else--anywhere else--for any other reason.

Joel was sitting patiently across the table from a middle-aged woman. Prager had a pile of used and torn tissues in front of her. Brown was leaning on the wall with his good shoulder, watching the whole thing with an air of disinterest.

"Look, I don't know anything," Prager wailed. She'd been saying the same thing for ten minutes. Every question was answered the same and Blair could tell Henri was about to pop. Joel, on the other hand, kept a very cool exterior.

"Of course, you don't," Joel replied, changing his approach. "But you know that doesn't matter. With your phone records and the testimony of a witness, I can get you sent away on a conspiracy to kidnapping charge. You'd get a few years in Women's Correctional. They've got some mean bitches up there. A couple of dykes that might like to make your acquaintance, too."

It was mean, but it worked like a charm. Any reserve Prager had about ratting on McManus faded with Joel's words.

"I only met the man once, I swear," she said.

Joel sat forward. "Met whom?"

"Some man with black hair, I don't know."

Brown tossed a handful of mug shots onto her lap. "Can you identify him by these pictures?"

Prager sifted through the random photos and came up with the shot of McManus. "This is him. He gave me a bottle of red stuff and a picture of Inspector Connor. It was one dose and he said he would page me if I were supposed to administer it. He paged, so I went to her room yesterday. The guy promised me it wouldn't hurt her."

"Why'd you help him?" Joel asked.

She gulped. "He gave me two thousand dollars cash to do it. I'm a lab assistant, I can barely make my rent."

"What else?"

The woman blanched. "What else what? That was it. I gave her the medication and that's all. I haven't had any contact with him since them."

"Why'd you try to kill yourself when we arrived?" Henri inquired.

Prager flushed, looking at her hands. "I was afraid. I thought maybe the woman had died. I don't want to go to jail." The woman broke down again, sobbing desperately into her hands.

Giving the mirror a glance, Joel stood up. "If you cooperate, we'll see what kind of deal we can get for you. The medicine you gave Inspector Connor was actually beneficial, so you'll have that in your favor."

Taggart's words didn't seem to penetrate the haze of fear that had settled over the sobbing woman. Joel left the interrogation room, with Henri on his heels. Blair waited. Seconds later, they entered the viewing area. Both men wore somber expressions.

"What now?" Blair asked, fearing the response.

"Now," Joel said, deflated. "We're back at square one."

Henri grunted. "With no clear path to square two."

~*~

Jim was really getting tired of being drugged all the time. This time he awoke strapped to a padded table, much like one in an O.R. He pulled against the restraints holding down his wrists and ankles, but was unable to move. Not that he'd expected to move, but testing their strength was just common sense.

At least this room wasn't soundproofed. The hollow echoing in his cell was disturbing. Several voices were talking in different parts of what he gathered to be a very large building. The hum of electricity and tapping of keyboards mixed with the calls of birds from outside. Those minute noises were usually all he could make out beyond the white noise generators that seemed to be everywhere, overlapping each other and giving Jim a headache if he listened too hard.

The room he was in now was the same he'd been in twice before. Each time had been the same: touch testing. Cabinets and drawers around the room hid the horrors McManus had planned for each of these "sessions." The first time had been something akin to acupuncture, with lots of tiny needles pressed in here and there. Jim had kept his touch dials low so as not to give anyone the pleasure of seeing him grimace.

The second time had been a bit more creative. Open wounds--small, but cuts nonetheless--had been placed on various tender spots on his body, not even leaving his nether regions untouched. That had been followed by lemon juice. Again, Jim had shown little discomfort, although he dared not dial his senses down too far. Blair had warned him that if he ever completely shut down a sense, it could come back on-line without warning with no way to turn it off.

The door to the room opened and McManus entered with a small silver tray, covered with a white cloth. Jim could smell alcohol and tobacco.

"Darren not joining us today?" Jim asked, flatly. He craned his neck to see what his captor was doing behind him.

"He has other business," was the disinterested response.

From the corner of his eye, Jim could see McManus lift the cover off the tray. On it lay a package of cigarettes, a lighter, a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, and cotton balls. A fresh lump of ice settled in Jim's stomach when he realized what they were for. McManus caught the look of fear that flashed momentarily across Jim's face.

"Don't worry too much," McManus said. "It's all in the name of science. When I figure you out, think of the benefits toward mankind."

"Name of science, huh?" Jim was unable to keep the hoarse sarcasm from his voice. "Is that what Dr. Wayne was? Another experiment in the name of science?"

McManus snorted. "Not quite. He was a loose end. Wayne got greedy. Now, while I appreciated his financial support and the use of his facilities, I work alone. I don't have partners."

"So what's your friend Darren? An employee?"

McManus froze. He looked at Jim was an expression of deliberation. "Something like that, detective. Are we through with the questions for now?" He lit a cigarette and approached Jim.

"For now," Jim replied, mentally picturing the dial. He fixed his eyes on the ceiling, letting his mind travel to the edge of a zone out, but unwilling to let go completely. He wasn't sure if he could get back from something like this on his own...without his Guide.

~*~

"Aw, damn it, anyhow," Blair swore, shoving the papers away. He stared at the paper-strewn mess that was the kitchen table. For a brief moment, he had the urge to clean it up before Jim saw it and yelled. Blair laughed at the absurdity of idea. If only Jim would walk through the front door.

Amazingly, the knob turned and the door swung open.

Blair shot to his feet, knocking his chair over backwards. "Jim?"

He blushed dark red when Simon appeared in the doorway, a white sling keeping his left arm close to his body.

"You all right, Sandburg?" the captain asked, shutting the door.

"I'm fine," Blair muttered. He set his overturned chair back up. "You should have knocked. You startled me."

Simon blinked. "I did knock, Blair. Several times, but I thought you were, uh, sleeping or something."

Blair didn't miss the open concern in his friend's voice. "Sorry, man. I must have zoned out or something. I totally didn't hear you."

"You zoning?" Simon shook his head and walked over to the kitchen table, taking in the mess. "That would be something new and different."

"Yeah. Hey, is the armed escort outside really necessary?" Blair jacked his thumb towards the balcony doors. From there, he would be able to see two plainclothes cops sitting in their car.

"Hell, yes," Simon said. "I'm not taking any more chances with you."

"Coffee?" Blair offered.

"Decaf?"

"Already brewing. Have a seat."

The captain opted for the couch. Blair filled two mugs with the black brew and joined Simon in the living room.

Simon took a hesitant sip. "The patients from Keaton are being placed in new hospitals until the damaged parts of it can be fixed."

"Or we blow the lid on whatever crooked operations they're running over there," Blair added, knowing full well the thought had also been on Simon's mind.

"Four other men were found in the basement where Flip was kept. None of them are coherent enough to tell us anything."

"I figured as much." Blair blew air on his coffee, trying to cool it down a bit. "What about Wayne?"

"There's nothing on him. Those files Jim initially found are gone. There's nothing on the man's computer in his office either. The only dirty thing about the man that we found was about $3 million that's unaccounted for."

Blair whistled. "That's a lot of money to misplace."

"No kidding." Simon set his mug on the coffee table. "We've got people all over the place, but no one seems to know anything. McManus' mug shot and a drawing of his henchman have gone out over the wire. We just have to see what turns up."

"I hate waiting."

"I know you do. Everyone does." Simon groaned, remembering something. "I got a phone call this morning from a very pissed off William Ellison. Wanted to know what we were doing to find his son." The last part was slightly accusatory.

Blair put his hands up in surrender. "I didn't tell him. Jim's dad just knows people, I guess."

"I wasn't accusing you. Mr. Ellison has every right to know. I just hate having family members breathing down my neck. You're hard enough to deal with."

Smiling, Blair reached forward to place his coffee mug next to Simon's. Freezing with the mug still six inches from the table, Blair's eyes widened. In his surprise, Blair dropped the mug, not noticing when it cracked and spilled its contents on the rug.

"That's it!" he shrieked, bolting to his feet.

"What?" Simon asked, following the excited anthropologist to the kitchen table.

"William and Steven." Blair dug into the pile of papers on the table, searching intently for something. Simon watched, partly concerned and partly amused. "Here it is." Blair yanked a sheet of paper from a stack of similar looking forms.

"What is it?" Simon asked, taking the paper. It was a short printed article, written by Blair in 1998.

"It's an article I wrote about Sentinels and genetics last year. If McManus is doing research on Sentinels in order to use that knowledge, he may want Steven and William to see if they have enhanced senses."

"You're right. I think we need to talk to them. Now."

Blair nodded.

~*~

"Maybe this is a mistake," Blair said, his voice wavering ever so slightly as the large Ellison home came into view.

"What, are you scared?" Simon asked. He parked his Sedan behind William Ellison's bullet gray BMW and turned off the engine.

Blair said nothing.

Simon looked closely at the younger man. "What?"

"It's just that…." Blair trailed off, trying to collect his thoughts. "It's not my place to tell Steven about Jim's senses."

"Sandburg, I'd say that in this instance, you are more than entitled to share that information with Steven. Especially if it will help save his or Jim's life."

The front door of the Ellison home opened and Sally stepped onto the porch, watching the men in the car. Simon pocketed his keys and opened his door.

"Let's do this," Blair said, resolutely.

The two men climbed out of the car and walked up the steps to the front porch.

Sally held the door open for them. "Mr. Ellison is waiting for you in his study." She ushered the men inside, then led them down the hall. "If you'll follow me."

Blair had been inside this house once, after William's kidnapping. It was as immaculate as ever and still reminded Blair of those estate homes that were fun to look at but never seemed livable. The trio walked down the hall, stopping two doors from the end. Sally knocked once, then opened the door.

William was standing by a large window, a glass of alcohol in one hand and a cigar in the other. He turned to see the newcomers, his expression one of fear that is too deep to be concealed.

"Captain Banks, Mr. Sandburg," he greeted. "Thank you, Sally."

The woman nodded and left, closing the door behind her. William motioned for the men to sit, offering two leather chairs across from a matching leather sofa. A cherry desk sat near the far wall, creating a three-sided square with the other furniture. Blair took the chair nearest the door with Simon on his left. William settled on one end of the couch, across from the captain.

"Steven is a bit late, but he'll be here soon," William began. "I'll admit I was shocked by your call, Captain Banks. I always worried about Jimmy's abilities, but never thought they would present him with the kind of danger you've described."

"Our presence here today is not to worry you," Banks said. "But you and Steven could be in danger if McManus has seen these articles of Blair's."

"You mentioned something about genetics and his abilities being passed down?"

Blair nodded. "That's right. McManus' only interest seems to be in Jim's senses and if his powers can be duplicated artificially or naturally. To do that, he'll want to know if his other family members have heightened senses."

William digested this. "I've never been able to do what Jimmy can. Steven either, that I could tell."

Although he regretted bringing up what he was sure was a painful past, Blair knew he had to ask another question. "What about Jim's mother?"

"Grace?" William asked. "I-I'm not sure. We married out of high school and she left when the boys were young. In all honesty, I didn't take the time to get to know her very well."

"So you have no idea where she is?" Simon inquired.

"None. And I doubt you could find her if you tried. I lost contact with her in the early eighties."

They heard a sharp knock on the study door before it swung open to reveal Steven. He cocked an eyebrow at the visitors, but let himself in, closing the door gently. William stood up.

"Son," William said. "You remember Captain Banks and Blair Sandburg?"

"Of course," Steven replied amiably. He reached to shake the men's hands, then took a seat on the couch, next to his father. "So what's going on? You said it had something to do with Jim?"

Blair glanced at Simon. The captain nodded slowly. Taking a deep breath, Blair launched into his rehearsed speech, beginning with Jim's mission to Peru and ending with them meeting this afternoon. Steven listened with a mixture of disbelief and amazement, never uttering a word. Blair described Burton's monograph, Incacha, anything that seemed important to Steven's understanding of what his brother was.

"Again," Blair repeated. "It's all perfectly natural, which is what has McManus in a knot."

Steven let his gaze shift from Blair to Banks to William. "So Jim's a—what did you call it?"

"A Sentinel," Blair said.

"Right." Steven glared poisonously at his father. "And you knew about his?"

"I was trying to protect him, Steven," William said, defensively. "He was too young to realize how dangerous it was for him to be that different."

"What is wrong with being different?"

William blanched. "Ask your brother when the police finally find him."

Trying to defuse the argument, Blair asked, "Steven, have you ever experienced heightened senses of any kind?"

Steven returned his gaze to Blair, thinking. He snorted. "Light hurts my eyes when I have a migraine, but that's about it."

"But McManus doesn't know that," Blair said.

"Mr. Ellison," Simon began, addressing Steven. "McManus is a very real danger. He may or may not make you a target. We'd like your permission to keep you under surveillance until Jim is found…just as a precaution."

"All right," Steven agreed.

Nodding, Simon turned to William. "I'd also like to leave an unmarked car outside here, if you don't mind."

"Whatever you think is necessary," William acquiesced. "Just find that son of a bitch and bring my son home."

"We will," Blair said, standing up to leave.

"Good luck," Steven said, still a bit dazed from his information overload.

"Thanks," Simon said, ushering Sandburg out the door.

"We'll need it," Blair muttered.

~*~

Edward gulped down the last traces of his hazelnut coffee, blinking back fatigue. He was learning moderate amounts of information from his tests with Ellison, but there was still more out there. That more lay in the published articles of Blair Sandburg. Darren was due back any minute with the rest of Sandburg's articles, the ones that were only available through Rainier. Once he'd read through them and learned their hidden secrets, Edward would think about sleep.

There were more important things to do right now.

Darren blew into the small office, one hand clutching his side, the other clutching a folder. The large man handed them over without a word, his face betraying hidden pain. Edward wasn't fooled.

"You okay?" Edward asked, genuinely concerned.

"Fine," Darren puffed. "Bear scratch's givin' me some aches, but it's all fine."

Edward frowned, but accepted the reply. "Go get some rest. I'll wake you if I need you."

Darren nodded gratefully and left, casting his eyes toward the wall clock as he went. Edward didn't have to look. He already knew it was after two a.m.

Flipping open the folder, Edward sifted through the various photocopied articles, his animal-like eyes searching the titles. He stopped near the bottom of the stack, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

"Bingo."

The title read, "The Genetic Advantage of Heightened Senses."

Edward began to read the article, hoping the reading would shed some light on Ellison's unique physical makeup.

~*~

Simon jumped when his cell phone rang, jolting him out of deep thought. He gripped the steering wheel with his left hand and yanked his cell phone out of his pocket with the right. Snapping it open, barked, "Banks."

<"Captain Banks? This is Dr. Radley from Cascade General.">

"What is it, Doctor?" Simon asked, casting Sandburg a concerned look. As long as it wasn't bad news about the kid….

<"We got some blood work back on a Mr. James Frakes, a former patient at Keaton Hospital. We found something unusual that I thought you'd like to know about.">

"Certainly."

"What is it, Simon?" Blair asked impatiently.

Simon waved a shushing hand at the younger man.

<"It's a sedative of a sort that I'm unfamiliar with, as is the rest of the staff. From what we can tell, it produces effects similar to those of someone with narcolepsy.">

"Have you found it in any of the other patients from Keaton?"

<"We only have four here and they all tested negative. But that doesn't mean they were never exposed to it. We've called the other facilities that are housing the patients and those that were sent home, so those folks can be tested.">

"All right. When you find out anything, let me know."

<"Will do, Captain. Good-bye.">

Simon snapped his phone closed and placed it on the seat next to him. Blair watched him expectantly from the passenger seat.

"Well?" Sandburg asked.

Keeping one eye on the road, Simon repeated the conversation to Blair.

Blair cocked his head, thinking. "It sounds like something McManus could cook up. But why go to the trouble?"

"Add that to the list of unanswered questions we've already got," Simon muttered.

~*~

The five men gathered around the conference table in Simon's office collectively reflected the strain of the last few days. Joel and Henri were on their third respective cups of coffee. Simon was absently rubbing his left shoulder as he poured over a stack of papers. Rafe and Blair sat side by side, both pale and fatigued. Collectively, they had about thirty hours of sleep since the incident at Keaton and Jim's kidnapping.

No one spoke for several minutes, each man absorbed in the information in front of him.

In a haze of fury, Blair shoved his folder across the table to crash into Joel. He slammed a frustrated hand onto the table. "This is crazy," he fumed. "How can McManus have just not existed prior to his arrest five years ago? It's impossible, isn't it?"

"People like that know how to cover their back-trail," Banks said, trying to calm the ruffled anthropologist. "We just have to go over it piece by piece and hope something stands out."

"I know that," Blair snapped. He scrunched his eyes shut for several seconds, then opened them. "I'm sorry. I have no right to yell at you guys."

"We're all under strain, Blair," Rafe said. "You just have to direct it into energy to find Jim."

"I know." Blair forced a smile. "Thanks."

Henri picked up a sheet of paper. "So we know McManus has been located at Keaton and at the warehouse where he was arrested the first time, correct?"

"Exactly," Joel said. "For drug trafficking."

"Do we have anything new on NeuroDynamics?" Simon asked.

"Nada," Rafe replied.

"His mug's out on the wire," Joel ventured. "If he has a record somewhere else, under another name, hopefully someone will recognize him."

"And there's nothing out there on this Darren guy?" Blair asked.

Brown pulled a file off a pile and flipped through it. "Darren McGregor. He has a rap sheet a mile long in the state of California. Mostly petty theft, a couple of convenience store robberies. Hit the big time when he boosted an undercover cop's car. Then he spent two years in the Q, got paroled about five years ago. He disappeared after that."

"Quite a coincidence," Simon commented. "He disappears from the world at the same time McManus reappears."

Joel nodded. "We've got Dills and Monroe going over McGregor's file and contacting all of his known associates. They should be reporting in within the hour with their progress."

A sharp knock on the office door preceded Rhonda's entrance. She poked her blonde head in the door and looked straight at Sandburg.

"Blair?" she asked. "Phone call for you."

Blair shifted in his chair. "Who is it?"

"He didn't say. He said to tell you thanks for the shoes."

Sandburg was on his feet like a shot and out the door, not bothering to excuse himself.

"Line two," Rhonda shouted after him.

Blair bolted to Jim's desk and snatched up the receiver. As soon as he pressed down the button for the line, he said, "Sneaks?"

<"Hey, curly-top!"> the voice of the excitable snitch said. <"Same place in twenty minutes.">

"Do you have something for me?" Blair asked forcefully.

<"Oh, yeah. In twenty.">

The line went dead before Blair could respond. Scribbling a quick note for Simon, Blair shoved it at Rhonda, grabbed his coat and was out of Major Crime in less than thirty seconds.

~*~

Blair marched into the diner seconds before Sneaks, still feeling a bit lightheaded. He impatiently led the snitch to a table in the corner and sat down, wasting no time.

"What do you have for me?" Blair demanded, coming across harsher than he had intended.

"What?" Sneaks said. "No howdy-do?"

"I really don't have time for this, Sneaks." Blair pulled his billfold from the back pocket of his blue jeans and laid it next to an upside-down coffee mug.

Sneaks eyed the wallet. Blair could almost see the dollar signs appearing in his eyes.

"Guy named Tommy K. let the name NeuroDynamics slip in conversation," Sneaks reported. "Said something about special weed he got from the guy in charge."

Blair leaned forward. "Does this Tommy have a last name?"

"Prolly, but we just call him Tommy K. so we don't confuse him with Tommy G. from the docks."

"Where can I find him?"

"He's got a hole-up on Bunker Avenue, basement of an old tenement. Real shit hole, that place. There's a post box outside it is the only way I can ever find it. All those damn buildings look the same."

"All right," Blair said, scribbling the information onto a napkin. "Is that all?"

"You've drained my brain, man." Sneaks' fingers inched closer to Blair's wallet. "Are we done?"

Blair saw the waitress approaching. He pulled a couple of bills out, not bothering to count and hoping Simon would give it back out of the snitch fund.

"Buy yourself something," Blair said, standing up to leave. Black spots danced in front of his eyes for a split second, then dispersed. He shook his head lightly, trying to clear it.

Sneaks cheerfully grabbed a menu, but something occurred to him. "Go alone, Sandburg. If Tommy K. even smells a cop, he'll sick his Doberman on you in a second. And the guy is a Star Wars buff."

Blair sighed. "Drained your brain, huh?"

Sneaks shrugged. "So I forgot. At least I remembered again."

Shaking his head, Blair headed out, intent on finding Bunker Avenue.

~*~

"Where did he go?" Banks fumed.

Rhonda shook her head. "I don't know, sir. He just gave me this note to give to you. Blair didn't say anything else."

"And you have no idea who he was talking to?"

"I really wish I did, but…." Rhonda looked at her desk miserably.

Simon groaned. "I'm going to kill that kid. If he doesn't kill himself first."

~*~

Bunker Avenue was as rundown as the streets of Cascade got. Each corner sported a plethora of drunks, dealers and prostitutes, even in the early afternoon. The sidewalks were littered with trash from overflowing garbage cans; graffiti covered every available surface of the dilapidated buildings infested with rats and squatters. The few cars on the curb were missing various pieces, including tires, hoods and windshields. The CPD didn't come in here very often, it seemed.

Blair drove down the street once, seeing three different postal boxes. Two were in front of buildings that had been burned out; the third was next to the only tenement with an iron grill over the front door. That had to be it.

Parking two blocks away, Blair set off, trying to walk slowly and not bring attention to himself. He got several funny looks and a few propositions when he turned the corner, but made it to the iron door safely. Trudging up the steps, Blair knocked through the grillwork, hoping somebody was home.

It seemed like a lifetime before a tiny square of the inner door slid away, revealing a bloodshot blue eye.

"What was Chewbacca?" a slurred, slightly accented voice asked.

Blair was thrown for a minute. It was certainly not the greeting he was expecting. Clearing his head, he replied, "A Wookie."

The eye blinked slowly. "Finish this sentence: You stuck up, half-witted, scruffy-looking…." The accent was vaguely European.

"Nerf herder."

"Who did the Ewoks worship?"

//What is this, twenty questions? // "C3-PO."

The square slid shut abruptly. There was nothing for several minutes. Blair was inclined to leave when the inner door creaked open. A tall, blonde man glared at him, his lean body covered in artistic tattoos. Mostly of scenes from the Star Wars movies, Blair noted. Blondy unlocked the iron gate.

"Come on in," he said, moving so Blair could get by and walk inside.

Blair stepped in hesitantly. The hallway was dark and smelled of rot. He waited for further directions from Blondy. When the latter had re-secured the door, he led the way to another door, this one opening into a staircase that led down.

"So what can Tommy K. do for you?" Blondy asked, leading the way down the stairs.

"Are you Tommy K.?" Blair asked. He grasped a greasy rail for support as he descended.

The man laughed a high, desperate sound that sent chills up and down Blair's spine. "Who in hell do you think I am?"

Blair laughed nervously. "Welcome wagon?"

This made Tommy K. laugh even harder. They guy was stoned on something, that was plain to see.

"I came to ask about some weed," Blair ventured.

Tommy K. opened another door at the bottom of the stairs and walked through it. "I don't truck with that shit no more."

Blair followed him into a safari-theme room. Tiger-print rugs littered the floor. A deer head was mounted on the far wall. A stuffed duck sat unceremoniously on a coffee table in the center of the room. It was creepy, especially with the Star Wars action figures taking up the rest of the wall space. A model Death Star sat on the TV set.

"Wasn't looking to buy," Blair said. "Just wanted some info on an old supplier."

Tommy K. considered him, then nodded. "What the hell. I don't owe nothing to those rat bastards anymore. Whadda you wanna to know?"

Blair let out a pent-up breath. This was going to be easier than expected.

"Did you ever deal with a man named Edward McManus?"

His reply was instant. "No."

"You're sure?"

Tommy K.'s eyes flashed. "Calling me a liar?"

"No," Blair sputtered.

"Good." Tommy K. looked thoughtful. "I did business with an Edward Caine once. Bought some…special weed from him."

This perked Blair's interest. "Special?"

Tommy K.'s eyes got dreamy, as if he was caught in a memory much more pleasant than his present. "Laced with a sort of roofie. Kept my boys from lyin' to me."

"Rohypnol," Blair muttered. To Tommy K. he asked, "Did this Edward Caine deliver personally?"

Tommy K. flopped down on an overstuffed sofa, tracing circles in the air with his middle finger. "Naw, some big guy did. I never saw Caine."

"Was the big guy's name Darren?"

The other man's brow scrunched up in thought. "Maybe. It started with a D, I know that. Mostly he called himself a messenger for NeuroDynamics.

He finally mentioned the magic words.

"He also picked up the key."

"Key?" Blair's brow furrowed. "What key?"

"For the row house." Tommy K. sneezed violently, wiping snot on his left arm. "Part of the deal was I let him live in an old house I…uh, inherited from a former business associate."

Blair's mind was running at super-speed, trying to process all of the new information. He had to get the name Edward Caine back to Simon.

"Where was the row house?"

Tommy K. rolled his blood shot eyes. "Don't remember rightly. On the south side, I think. Why?"

"No reason. I appreciate the info, man," Blair said, pleasantly. He backed up towards the stairs.

"Uh huh." Tommy K. was fixated on a spot on the watermarked ceiling. He waved a listless hand at Blair. "Let y'self out. Sniper won't bother you."

Blair let out a nervous laugh, unsure if he meant a dog or a real sniper. Deciding to make a quick exit and not find out, Blair whipped around and took the stairs two at a time, desperately trying not to trip.

~*~

Simon snatched up the phone in the middle of its first ring.

"Banks!"

<"Simon, I've got some new information for you—">

"Sandburg," Simon fumed, cutting off the younger man. "Where are you and where in hell have you been?"

A snort. <"Apropos, Simon. Actually, I'm in the car. I went to meet Sneaks and he gave me the name of a guy who let the name NeuroDynamics slip, so I went over to talk to him and played Star Wars trivia to get in the door, then went into a really weird basement apartment on Bunker Avenue—">

He couldn't help it; he had to interrupt. How could someone talk so long without taking a breath? "You went to Bunker without back-up? Are you insane?"

<"Probably, sir, but I got some new information.">

"Need I remind you that you are not to interrogate witnesses—"

<"Captain, can we save the 'You're Not a Cop' speech for later? I was trying to help Jim.">

Simon sighed. If he was calling him Captain, it was serious. "What did you find out, Sandburg?"

<"McManus may have sold some specially engineered marijuana to the guy I spoke to, but under the name Caine. Can you run the name Edward Caine?">

Simon grabbed a notepad and wrote out the name. "What else?"

<"Now this is interesting. As part of the deal, To--the guy--had to provide housing for Caine.">

"That's good, Sandburg. Want to know what we've been doing while you were traipsing off into one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Cascade without backup?"

<"All ears.">

He picked a sheet of paper up off his desk. "News from Cascade General. Keaton doctors have admitted to using an experimental sedative on many of their 'problem patients.' All the names given to us were tested and came up positive for the mystery drug found earlier. They found different varieties of the same sedative mixed in with what was confiscated from the labs under Keaton."

<"The one that imitates narcolepsy?">

"That's the one." Blair didn't speak for a long while. "Sandburg, you there?"

<"I think I figured this out, Simon.">

Before the captain could reply, Blair was off in a rush, explaining his thoughts.

<"Tommy K. buys weed from McManus and gives him a place to work as part of the deal. McManus was using facilities on Keaton grounds. Keaton doctors were using a sedative created by McManus. McManus finishes work on his nanotechnology, sells it and moves to a new location, furnished by the buyer.">

Simon took a second to absorb it all. What the kid was saying made perfect sense. Whoever bought his latest experiment was responsible for providing McManus with a new lab. It was a good way to move around, keep from being found out.

"So we need to figure out who bought the nanotech."

<"Exactly.">

Simon sighed. A needle in a haystack. Great. His brown eyes wandered over his paper-strewn desk, raking over an older, yet familiar file. He picked it up, remembering the last person Jim interviewed before he disappeared.

"Sandburg, I think I know where to start."

<"Where?">

He grinned, even though Blair couldn't see it. "The family."

Simon hung up before Sandburg could respond, re-energized and ready to get back to work.

~*~

"Daily Plus Savings on baby peas, aisle five."

The intercom voice droned on about canned carrots and fabric softener for several more minutes, letting uninterested, last minute shoppers know about all the things they didn't want to buy.

Steven smiled. All he needed was a package of pork chops and frozen corn and it turned into a three-person affair. Not that he minded his shadows. In fact, he found them quite amusing. They were uptight, plainclothes men, watching his every move like scientists watching a rat. He cringed inwardly at the metaphor, realizing what he'd just said.

"An entire police force can't find one man," he muttered.

Just one man. The concept didn't seem to apply to his brother anymore. Every time he thought about what Blair and his father had said yesterday, the more he began to understand things. All those times Jim had seen things, heard things their parents had said. It made sense now. Most of the memories were fuzzy, of course; he'd been very young during all that.

He walked up to the check out and placed his few items on the conveyor belt. His shadows hovered nearby, both moving slowly towards the exit. Steven paid and walked out with his bag.

//But why didn't Jim tell me? // he wondered as he unlocked his car and got in. //Granted, we weren't on speaking terms until a year ago, but that's no…actually, that's a great excuse. There was no point in my knowing, nothing gained. Besides, he has Sandburg to help him out. //

Steven felt a strange pang of resentment. But what did he have to resent Blair Sandburg for? Because he was closer to his brother than he was? Oh, yeah. That was nothing to be upset about. Well, he'd just have to work harder to open the lines of communication, starting the minute Jim got home.

He was halfway home before Steven realized his shadow was gone. The familiar blue Ford was no longer behind him, replaced now by a dark, late model van. He made a turn onto a side street, unnerved that the van was still behind him. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Captain Banks' number. His phone beeped back at him—the signal was jammed.

"Shit."

Steven didn't see the van speed up until it was on his bumper. Before he could react, it rammed into his rear end, pushing the smaller vehicle forward. He felt the wheel jerk out of his hand, the car swerving to the left. Unable to control it, Steven threw his hands in front of his face as a telephone pole ran up to meet him.

~*~

Blair blew into Banks' office just as Rhonda was heading out. The two collided, sending the secretary's stack of papers flying to the floor. Simon looked up from the fax he'd been going over, frowning at both people.

"Damn," Blair muttered, bending down to help Rhonda pick up the mess. "I'm really sorry about that."

"It's okay, Blair," she replied, kindly. She scooped up the last of the papers and left the office.

Blair turned his head toward the captain, surprised that Simon wasn't even looking at him. The older man was engrossed in what he was reading.

"What's that?" Blair asked.

Simon looked up, tossing the papers to Blair. He caught them in a bunch and tried to straighten out the wrinkles before he could read it.

"News from the Sacramento PD," Simon replied.

Blair skimmed over the first page. It was an arrest report for Edward Caine, dated March 17, 1989. The charge was smuggling hazardous materials, but he was never convicted. A fancy—and rather expensive—lawyer got him off. Flipping to the next page, he found what he needed—a mug shot of Caine. The face was thinner, the hair thicker, but it was Edward McManus. His eyes were unmistakable.

"That's him," Blair said breathlessly.

"Yes, it is. Seems he didn't come out of nowhere after all."

"Seems that way." Blair looked up. "Sacramento's the first one to identify him?"

Simon nodded. "So far." He looked past Blair at something in the bullpen.

Blair turned around in time to see Rafe open the office door, a new stack of papers to add to the ever-growing paperwork that seemed to permeate this case.

"Captain, we have the financial records for the Contino family," Rafe reported.

Simon walked around his desk to stand next to Rafe. The detective opened his folder as Blair moved so he could read over Rafe's shoulder.

Rafe continued. "The numbers don't match. There is at least $15 million that is unaccounted for."

"That's a lot of money," Blair said.

"Agreed," Simon breathed. "Where could money like that go?"

"It's hard to tell," Rafe replied. "Most of their money has been well laundered, so it's been impossible to trace. All but this amount."

"Was it invested?" Blair asked.

"It could have been," Rafe said. "But there's no way to find out unless we know what we're looking for."

Blair's eyes lit up. "I know someone who does."

Before either man could question Blair, the phone rang. Simon snatched up the receiver.

"Banks…what?" He listened. "Dammit all! Dare I ask how?"

The anger in Simon's tone settled over Blair like an icy chill. Suddenly, he knew exactly what the phone call was about. Blair ignored the questioning glance from Rafe, never taking his eyes off the captain.

"Put out a damn APB on the van and find him." With that, Simon slammed the phone down, causing his subordinates to flinch. "Sandburg, I hate it when you're right all the time."

That was enough conformation for Blair. "Steven's gone."

"Yeah." Simon sighed heavily. "His car was forced off the road. The tracking device was left inside."

Blair shook his head. "Son of a bitch. Simon?"

"What is it?" he asked, his voice reflecting the helplessness Blair was desperately trying to fight off.

"We need to go to jail."

Simon frowned.

~*~

Edward watched Ellison through the two-way mirror, marveling at the man's steadfastness. The ultra-bright florescent lights were way too bright for Edward's own eyes, but Ellison was still finding his way through the large room, trying to find the source of the dog whistle that was irritating him.

"Boss?"

He started, pivoting on one foot to face Darren. He hadn't heard the man come in. Edward removed his sunglasses.

"What is it, Darren?"

Darren grinned, like a rewarded child. "I got the brother."

Edward's face split with an enormous grin. "Very good, Darren. Did anyone see you?"

"Nope, they didn't," he announced proudly. "Van I used is gone, too. Won't be able to track it."

"Very good." Edward glanced back at Ellison.

The man's face was a twist of agony and sweat. His respiration was up, evidenced by the constant rise and fall of his chest. Ellison had been at it for over two hours under these conditions. Time for a break. Edward reached toward the computer screen, grabbing the mouse. After two clicks, the lights in the other room dimmed to a twilight setting and the dog whistle stopped.

Edward turned back to Darren. "Let's go see about our new guest, shall we?"

~*~

Blair and Simon were already waiting in the visitation room when Corey Contino was brought in. The young man took one look at his visitors and groaned.

"Don't you guys have nobody else to bother?" Corey asked, as he was led to his seat across the table.

"You mean you don't miss us?" Simon asked dryly.

"Like a canker sore. Sir."

Blair shoved a copy of the Contino's property holdings and account records at Corey. "You have $15 million dollars of missing money, Corey. Where is it?"

Corey's face blanked. "Huh?" He skimmed over the account sheets. "Man, all this shit is like German to me."

Simon leaned forward on his elbows. "In English, it means you're father was spending money that he wasn't recording. We want to know what it was spent on."

"Like I have a clue, man." He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Like I told Detective Ellison, I wasn't trusted with all the secrets. My dead brother knew everything." The last remark cut across the room like a barb.

"Look again," Blair suggested. "Just look and see if anything seems wrong."

Corey sighed, then read over the sheet on property holdings. His black eyes blinked hard, settling on one section of the page.

He looked across the table. "Something's missing."

"What's missing?" Simon asked.

"A piece of land up near the Canadian border," Corey answered. "Papa used to talk about building a cabin up there to 'get away from it all.'"

Simon stood up and strode over to the door. He pounded on it insistently until it opened.

To the guard, Simon said, "We need a map of Washington."

The map was brought in less than a minute and spread on the table in front of the young Italian.

"Where is it?" Simon asked.

Corey's eyes ran over the map, his brow scrunching in concentration. He seemed to hesitate in the southern half of the state, but shook his head and continued looking.

"There it is," Corey announced, pointing.

Blair followed his finger. The area was in the Cascade Mountains, less than a half-hour from the Canadian border, he judged. He looked up at Simon, their eyes meeting.

"We're there," Simon said, circling the spot with his pen and taking the map. He was out of the room in seconds.

"Thanks," Blair said to Corey.

The younger man nodded slowly, refusing to meet his eyes. Blair frowned, unable to keep himself from feeling sorry for the kid. Vowing to see if there was any way to help his sentence, Blair left the room, hoping to God that the map would lead them to Jim.

~*~

"Ugh."

The moan drifted from his mouth before he was even fully aware of being awake. His mouth felt full of cotton. He licked his lips experimentally, then tried to open his eyes. White light glared at him from all directions. His eyes clamped shut, then reopened slowly.

White walls stared back at him, marred only by a mirror and an inset door. He saw a table set against one wall, with a small toilet opposite. Struggling to sit, he realized he was lying on a small cot. The room was dead silent.

"Ow," Steven moaned again, his hand reaching up to massage his temples. His fingers found a patch of white gauze over his left temple. "What the hell…?"

It all came back in a rush. The van running him off the road. Hitting a telephone pole. Coming to and seeing a fist racing towards his head. Now this.

"Where am I?"

His question echoed off the bare walls, his own voice the only response.

~*~

Blair fidgeted in his seat, wishing the drive to northern Washington would go faster. Simon was already speeding down the highway with four unmarked cars and two SWAT vans in tow. Blair had the map spread out on his lap, doing his damnedest to keep them all from getting lost. He wasn't exactly great at following directions.

"Turn left at the next exit, onto Road Six," Blair said, following the thin red line with his left finger. Another turn in fifteen miles would put them on the road that wound straight up the mountain to the Contino property.

He turned to stare out the window, trying to calm his flip-flopping stomach and intermittent waves of dizziness. Jim had to be there; his mind was screaming that he was. His heart was screaming something else.

<FLASH>

Lying on its side was the black jaguar. Blood, thick and crimson, oozed from wounds too numerous to count.

<FLASH>

His long tail twitched listlessly.

<FLASH>

He exhaled a whine full of the pain and anguish of one sentenced to die alone, untouched.

<FLASH>

Blair inhaled sharply. Why was he seeing parts of his nightmare? Did it mean something?

"Sandburg?"

He started, looking across the car at Simon. "Yeah?"

"You okay?" The captain's voice was full of concern.

Blair had an urge to tell Simon, but Simon had never held much truck with visions and the mystical side of 'the Sentinel thing.' He decided to hold back for now.

~*~

Jim couldn't move. If he moved, the pain just got worse. He'd had migraines before, but nothing like this. He couldn't seem to find the dials anymore. The last few hours of tests had left him tired, hurting and just plain pissed.

//What gives you the right to do this to me? // he wondered angrily.

He rubbed his palms over tired eyes, eyes that would love to stay closed forever. It would be so easy to just let the pain take over and slip into a zone out. Tempting, but no. Nothing was more important to him than making McManus pay for Blair. He couldn't very well do that if he was a vegetable, now could he?

"Detective?"

Jim took his hands away from his eyes, glancing towards the two-way mirror. He knew McManus could see him, even if it wasn't mutual.

"Go to hell," Jim said. It was his standard reply to anything McManus said to him.

"We have a guest for you." A pause. "Say hi to baby brother."

"You're lying," Jim spat. He stared hard at his reflection in the mirror, as if by trying he could magically see through it.

"J-j-jim?"

A lump of ice fell hard into Jim's stomach. "Steven?"

"Jim, I'm so—"

His brother's voice was cut off. Jim could hear scuffling feet over the microphone, then McManus came back on.

"Believe me now?"

"You hurt him and you'll beg me to let you die," Jim vowed, his voice dripping with venom.

"An expected response. I have something else to tell you and I have no idea how you'll react."

Jim snorted. "You're letting me go?"

A short laugh. "I found you mother."

Jim's jaw dropped before he could stop it. He could feel the blood draining from his face.

"She'll be joining us in a few days."

He still couldn't speak. He didn't know what to say. McManus could easily be lying, but what if? What if he'd actually found the mother he hadn't seen in over twenty-five years?

"You're lying," Jim stammered, his voice less confident than he'd hoped.

"When will you learn to trust me, Jimmy?"

Jim sneered at the nickname. "When horses climb trees, Eddie."

Another short laugh. "That's the spirit."

The mike was turned off, the interview over. Jim leaned against the wall, his shoulders sagging. McManus had said she was joining them shortly. That could be hours, even days. He sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face, feeling a fresh sheen of sweat. Fear, nervousness, anger, fatigue; they collided inside him, bouncing around like magnetized pinballs. He wanted to run, to scream, to kick someone's head in. But he couldn't.

All he could do was wait.

And think.

~*~

It was early evening when the CPD finally reached Cougar Bluff, the location of the Contino's discrepancy. A large cabin loomed ahead, in the center of a clearing. It was two stories tall, made of weathered pine logs and recently boarded windows. Two smaller out buildings flanked the cabin. There were no cars to be seen.

Simon parked his Sedan twenty yards from the front of the cabin. The other cars in the caravan pulled up in a semi-circle around the cabin, their occupants spilling out. The SWAT team set up a perimeter around the building, scattering like a well-oiled machine.

"Stay in the car," Banks ordered, climbing out of the car to take charge.

Blair nodded. His stomach was threatening to empty its contents onto the floorboards. It all felt wrong somehow. He just couldn't explain it.

~*~

Edward met Darren in the hallway outside of the control room.

"Is Steven ready?" he asked the larger man.

Darren nodded. "Keeps denying it. Says he didn't even know Jim had powers until recently."

"We'll soon know for sure," Edward said.

He was in no way looking forward to this, but he had to be sure Steven didn't possess any heightened senses. It was imperative to his research. Just like Grace's appearance was imperative.

<REEREEREEREEREE!!>

Their heads snapped up at the alarm.

"Find out what set it off," Edward ordered.

Darren nodded, taking off down the hall.

~*~

"Three. Two. One!"

Twenty men rushed the cabin, guns ready. The front and back doors were kicked in, men pouring inside.

Blair watched from his seat in the car, knowing already what the men would find. He waited.

Less than five minutes later, a defeated Captain Banks led a group of discouraged detectives and officers out of the cabin. No one spoke; no one needed to.

The cabin was empty.

~*~

Darren was back in less than five minutes, puffing a bit from his jog. He looked pale.

"Damn alley cat tripped a motion sensor," Darren reported, one hand unconsciously clutching his side.

Edward nodded. "Is that bear wound okay? You look bad."

Darren shook his head. "I'm fine."

He narrowed his eyes, but if Darren said he was fine, Edward wouldn't be able to convince him otherwise. They'd traveled that road before, many times. Darren's hatred of admitting weakness often seemed to overshadow his unerring loyalty to a man he'd fished out of a river four years ago. The screech of metal as that van went through the guardrail of the bridge still kept Edward up at night. He would awaken in a sweat, positive he was once again drowning in sub-zero water. Darren had just been paroled from San Quentin and had seen the accident from the bank of the river. Edward had been injured; Darren needed guidance. It had been a perfect—albeit unusual—pairing.

"All right, then." Edward reached for the control room door, pushing the memories into the back of his mind. "Steven awaits us."

~*~

Blair jumped when Simon's cell phone began to ring. It was on the seat next to him, so he snatched it up.

"Captain Banks' phone," he said.

<"This is Warden Jacobs from the State Pen,"> a deep voice responded. <"Is the captain there?">

"No, this is Blair Sandburg. Can I take a message?"

<"The Sandburg who was at the jail today?">

Blair nodded, then realized it wouldn't do any good. "Yes, sir."

<"I gotta message from an inmate. Corey Contino.">

Eyes widening, Blair clutched the phone tighter. "What did he say?"

<"Said his father sold some old research facility to some guy named Wayne.">

"Doctor Wayne?"

<"He didn't specify. Also said something about the missing money being dues for NeuroDynamics. Said he just thought of it.">

Blair turned the information over in his mind. Wayne was too much of a coincidence not to be connected. But why would old man Contino sell a building to Dr. Wayne?

<"You there, son?">

He turned his attention back to the phone. "Did he say where the research building was?"

<"Naw, but he did say something else, the only clue he has. Said, 'The flowers are blooming in Stanton.'">

"And that's it?" Blair could see Simon walking back to the car.

<"Fraid so. I hope it was helpful.">

Blair smiled for the first time in ages. The ice was starting to lift from his stomach. "You have no idea. Thanks again."

He snapped the phone closed, whipping around when Simon opened the driver's side door. The captain opened his mouth, but Blair cut him off.

"Simon, Contino sold a building to Dr. Wayne and said something about flowers blooming in Stanton, then said all that missing money was dues for NeuroDynamics, which could mean the same thing as payment, which means that the Continos bought the nanotechnology and as soon as we figure out what the flowers mean, we'll know where Jim is."

Banks stared at Blair, open-mouthed. "What?"

"Warden Jacobs just called with more info from Corey Contino. He said that his dad sold a research facility to a man named Wayne. But none of this was on the holdings log, was it?"

Simon shook his head. "No, it wasn't. You're saying it was Dr. Wayne that bought that building?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it? Wayne had missing money, too. That's where it went."

"And the Contino's missing money?"

Blair's brow furrowed. Hadn't Simon been listening? "The Continos bought the nanotechnology from McManus. That's probably why the fifteen mil wasn't laundered. He thought that he would be protected from the police by what he bought."

Simon nodded. "Only he didn't count on his newest bodyguard being an undercover cop."

"Right."

"Okay. And what's this about flowers?"

Blair searched his memory for the exact words Jacobs had used. "Corey didn't know where the facility was. All he heard in regards to it was 'the flowers are blooming in Stanton.'"

"Stanton." Banks looked thoughtful. His eyes lit up. "Jesus."

"What?" Blair asked, a bit alarmed by Simon's expression.

"Stanton is—err, was a suburb of Cascade about ten years ago, before Franklin Heights expanded and gobbled it up." Simon racked his brain, searching for information that had never seemed important until now. "Right before that, there was a big scandal with measles research and kids getting sick."

Blair understood. "The flowers are blooming."

Simon nodded. "The old measles research facility is in East Franklin Heights."

The ice was gone. Blair knew it was right.

"We're out of here in thirty seconds," Simon said, ducking out of the car to gather the rest of the team.

~*~

When the screaming first began, Jim had launched himself at the cell door, pounding and shouting out his anger. He could feel bruises forming on his knuckles and palms, but rage fueled him on long after the screaming had died. Obscenities and epithets of all sorts, curses that would make a sailor blush, came spewing out of his mouth, each one directed at McManus. After a half an hour of silence, Jim quieted, falling to the floor and leaning heavily against the door. It was no longer McManus he was angry at.

It was himself.

Once again, a loved one's life was in danger because of him. Or more directly, because of his Sentinel abilities. The senses that had been as much of a curse to him as a blessing. Now, all he wanted was to be normal, just an average cop lounging around his apartment on a Friday night. At least he thought it was Friday. Time had become somewhat nonsensical lately.

Careful of his throbbing hands, Jim climbed to his feet and trudged a few feet to collapse on his cot. He leaned against the wall, staring up at the ceiling, unable to defend himself against the waves of guilt attacking his conscience.

The door to his cell opened. Jim looked over to see McManus watching him, a strange expression on his face. It was something akin to sadness…or regret?

"I guess he's not a Sentinel after all," McManus said, watching Jim closely with his feline eyes.

Jim bristled, every muscle in his body tensing like an animal sensing immediate danger. His captor didn't seem to notice.

"If it's any consolation," he continued. "I regret what I had to do."

Consolation? Fury spread through Jim like fire, radiating with the energy of the sun itself. Without thinking, he launched himself at McManus with a wild snarl that sounded inhuman. His hands wrapped around the shorter man's neck in a steel grip, squeezing for all he was worth. Jim heard a faint buzzing noise and a mechanical voice saying "perimeter alert."

Then blissful darkness.

~*~

Franklin Heights was a sore spot in Cascade, its eastern border stretching out to Bunker Avenue. The area once known as Stanton had been a thriving industrial center until the scandal with the McKellan Research Facility. Fifteen children from poor families had been given contaminated measles shots, twelve dying within forty-eight hours. The other three had severe side effects, including blindness. The facility had been abandoned and left to rot ever since.

The other buildings in the area were in no better shape. Old warehouses, factories, and business offices stood empty. The city had plans to demolish this section of Franklin Heights and build a shopping mall or two, but couldn't get any contractors to commit to the project. No one wanted to put a business in that area, much less shop there. So they stood empty, homes for squatters, drug dealers and various others whom no one wanted to bother with.

The McKellan building stood in the center of a parking lot, the asphalt cracked and dotted with grass and weeds. It was four stories tall, spreading over most of the block. Only two windows marred the yellowed concrete wall, both on the top floor. It was reminiscent of a prison. This is where the caravan of police parked their vehicles, just inside the main gate.

The same well-oiled machine spilled out of the vans and cars, assembling in formation. They all stood waiting, weapons at the ready, confident that this was, indeed, their target.

Banks joined them across from the main door that sat a hundred yards away. The building looked deserted, but they hadn't been inside yet. His brown eyes swept over his men, determining that they were ready. He opened his mouth to give the order.

Automatic gunfire rained down from the western upstairs window. Simon ducked behind a SWAT van, his men running for cover. Four men fell in the first sweep, their blood mingling with the wild grass.

"Keep your heads down!" Simon screamed.

The gunfire continued to raze the ground and vehicles they hid behind. Banks glanced over at his Sedan, grateful that it and Sandburg were behind the protection of a van. The gunfire paused momentarily.

"Return fire, now!" Simon ordered.

The SWAT team's semi-automatic shotguns exploded the window. Glass and cement went flying, scattering to the ground below.

Standing to his feet, Banks yelled, "Move out," leading the way towards the main entrance. In a few short seconds, he was inside with the remaining sixteen men.

The main corridor split left and right, its black and white tiled floor stained yellow with age and neglect. But dirty as it was, there was no dust. An alarm siren was going off somewhere in the building.

Simon waved his hands and the men spread out, some left and some right. Leading a half dozen, Brown and Rafe among them, Simon turned down the left hallway. They checked the first two doors on the floor and found nothing. The third door was a stairwell. Motioning the men to continue searching the floor, Simon paused by the stairs.

//McManus wouldn't want to be too obvious during the nighttime by having lights visible on the outside, would he? // Banks asked himself. The answer was decidedly no.

"Captain?" Rafe whispered at his elbow.

Banks looked up to see Rafe and Brown watching him. He jerked his head to the stairwell. The partners nodded. He led the way down the metal staircase, carefully watching his step. They met no resistance, clustering at the bottom in front of a metal door. Next to the door was a keypad.

"A password," Simon mumbled.

He remembered what Blair had said earlier about the falcon. Surely the man wasn't stupid enough to use the same password, was he? Figuring it was his only option at he moment, Simon began typing in letters.

~*~

Blair was getting extremely restless. It had been more than five minutes since they had stormed the facility. Five long minutes. Simon had told him to stay in the car. Jim told him that a lot too, but he didn't always listen. Why should he listen to Simon?

//Because if something goes wrong, Simon'll have me tarred 'n feathered. That's why. //

But his concern and anxiety won out over reason and he left the car. Blair glanced once at the destroyed fourth floor window and sprinted to the front entrance. Peeking inside, he found the lobby empty and walked in. He stared down either end of the hall, unsure of where to go. What had he been thinking, anyhow?

Blair looked to the left and felt a shiver creep up his spine. Taking a deep breath, he turned down the left corridor. Blair tiptoed down the hall and stopped in front of the door to the stairwell.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a jaguar screamed.

Taking it as a hint, he made his way carefully down the steps, cringing each time one creaked under his weight. A sudden white-hot pain through his skull made Blair lurch forward, grabbing onto the railing before he fell. It throbbed through his brain, like a serrated knife, making him woozy.

"Freeze!"

Simon's shout from below pushed Blair onward against the terrible pain. He bounded down the steps to the ground, catching the edge of a metal door just before it fell closed. Two gunshots resounded in the basement room. Blair carefully stuck his head in the door.

Relief spread through him when he saw Rafe standing over Darren's dead body. Simon and Henri were standing off to the side. All three men looked up when they heard Blair open the door farther, startled into aiming their guns at him. Blair's hands shot up in surrender.

"It's me," he said hurriedly.

Banks blanched. "Sandburg, what part of 'stay in the car' don't you understand?"

Blair shrugged, lowering his hands. "Jim would pay big money if I could answer that. Speaking of whom…."

"Just stay behind me," Simon ordered.

A fire alarm went off, echoing sharply in the underground rooms. Blair clamped hands over his ears, the noise adding intensity to his headache. The nausea had grown tenfold in the last thirty seconds.

Simon took off down a narrow corridor, the other three in tow. They ran past several closed doors, eyes on the one at the end of the hall with smoke trickling out. The policemen burst into the room ahead of Blair, guns drawn and ready.

"Drop it now!" Rafe ordered.

Blair peeked around Simon's shoulder, trying to see what was happening.

McManus was staring wide-eyed, frozen in place. He was bending over a burning wastebasket with a handful of papers in his fist. More piles of paperwork were stacked on the table behind him. He looked right at Blair, as if he couldn't believe he was actually there. In one swift motion, McManus swept a stack of papers into the wastebasket and raised his hands above his head. On the desk just behind him, perfectly still and no longer laughing, was the carved falcon statue.

Without realizing he was moving, Blair found himself at McManus' throat.

"Where's Jim?" he snarled.

McManus didn't speak. He stared at Blair with his cat eyes, mysterious orbs that revealed no emotion.

"Where in the hell is he?" Blair asked again, his grip on the other man's throat tightening.

Blair felt hands on his shoulder, pulling him away.

"Let him go, Blair," Simon said, yanking the smaller man's hands free.

A tiny, wordless voice in the back of his mind spurred Blair onward. He fled the room, taking off down a branch corridor at a dead run. Fueled by worry and pain, Blair yanked open the first door he came to.

Steven stared back at him, slumped into a chair next to a small wooden table. He looked pale and tired, but otherwise unhurt. Thanking God for small favors, Blair approached the younger Ellison.

"Steven, are you okay?" he asked, helping the man to his feet.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Where's Jim?"

Blair shook his head. "I haven't found him yet."

Steven wavered on his feet, one hand steadying him on the wall. "Go find him. I'm fine."

Nodding, Blair bolted out of the room. The next door down didn't open. The third door needed a little help. Blair threw all of his weight against it, taking the brunt of the force against his shoulder. The door popped open, spilling Blair into the room. He stumbled forward, tripping over a mass on the floor.

"Oh, God," he muttered.

Blair knelt next to the unconscious form, shaking off a wave of vertigo. Jim was sprawled on his back, a thin stream of blood staining his left temple. Cuts and small burns, about the size of cigarettes dotted the exposed skin of his arms and neck and there were bruises of various sizes on his swollen hands.

"What did he do to you?"

As if in response, Jim's eyes fluttered once, but remained closed. Taking it as a sign, Blair kept talking.

"Jim? Can you hear me? It's Blair. I'm fine and so are you, but I need you to come back to me, okay. You can sleep again, later, I just need you to open your eyes."

Jim groaned, his eyelids fluttering once more, this time opening in tiny slits.

"If the light's too bright, dial it back. Turn it down a little."

"Blair?" Jim asked hesitantly.

Blair smiled a genuine smile. "Yeah, man."

Footsteps behind him made Blair turn his head. Simon and Rafe were standing in the doorway, their faces masks of concern.

"How is he?" Banks asked, taking a step forward.

"He needs a doctor," Blair said. He blinked hard, trying to clear his head. Black dots were dancing in his vision once again, more insistent this time.

"Steven?" Jim asked, his voice low and raspy.

"Brown's with him," Rafe replied. "He's fine. Worried about you, but fine."

Blair looked back at his friend, all the anxiety from before gone, now replaced by dizziness and a sense of falling. The black dots multiplied.

Jim stared up at him, his cerulean eyes full of worry. "You okay?"

"We got the bad guys, Jim," fell from Blair's lips as the black dots morphed into one, plunging him into darkness.

~*~

//This staff is going to have us all on a first name basis, // Simon mused, trying to lift his own spirits with admittedly morbid jokes.

They were back at Cascade General, still waiting for any word on Sandburg's condition. The young man hadn't regained consciousness since his blackout back at the research facility. The doctors were afraid it was due to the nanoprobe, but weren't saying anything for sure. Blair had looked so pale when the paramedics had arrived to whisk him and his partner away. It was frightening to see the frenetic man so still.

Man. Simon furrowed his brow, trying to remember the last time he'd called Sandburg a man. He was usually just 'the kid,' never mind that he was almost thirty years old. Three years ago, his wide-eyed wonder toward the police world had forever branded him with that nickname, no matter how old he was or would be.

He rubbed his face, feeling a film of soot come off on his hands. A sense of futility swept over Simon. Minutes after Blair had passed out an explosion from the other end of the corridor had rocked the basement of the research facility. Every filing cabinet had burst into flames from the inside, incinerating the documents within in seconds. It had been a mess. Only a few dated notebooks and a collection of glass vials had survived.

A ruckus in one of the exam rooms brought Simon's attention back to the ER he was waiting in. And not waiting alone, either. Brown, Rafe, Joel, Steven and William, Megan, even Daryl were sitting in the hard plastic chairs, members of a silent vigil.

"I don't have a concussion, now get me off this damn table!" Ellison's voice thundered out from an examination room.

Simon flinched. If Jim was screaming like that, he was probably fine. He was at least coherent enough to know where he was. Simon thought they were going to lose him to a zone when Blair passed out. He hadn't zoned though, and both men were rushed to the hospital for treatment.

An extremely annoyed Jim Ellison pushed his way out of the exam room and moved to stand in the doorway to the room where Blair was being worked on. His arms and neck glistened with an antibiotic ointment for his burns. The knuckles of both hands were wrapped in gauze and a small bandage covered his left temple, still oozing pink.

Standing up, Simon felt his back pop. //They really need to get new chairs in here. // He strode over to Jim, ready to give him hell if the doctors weren't through yet. Simon glanced at the resident that had been with Jim; the young man nodded. Jim was free to go.

"Jim?" Simon asked, standing by his friend's shoulder.

"Hmm?" Jim responded without ever taking his eyes off what was happening in the next room.

Simon peeked in, but could see little of Sandburg through all of the doctors and nurses moving about. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," was the stony reply.

Jim took three steps backward. Before Simon could question it, Dr. Rice came out of the exam room, a medical chart in his hand. He stopped when he saw them already standing there.

"Detective, Captain," Rice said. His face was grim, almost sad.

"What is it?" Jim asked, fear creeping into his voice.

Rice cleared his throat. "I'm afraid complications from the tumor have caused Mr. Sandburg to slip into a coma."

Coma. The word bounced around the room, reverberating like some strange drumbeat before settling into Simon's heart like a spear.

Jim spoke, his voice amazingly steady. "Is there anything you can do?"

"We'll do what we can," Rice replied, shaking his head. "But unless our chemists find the antigen in the bottles you confiscated from that lab, there's little chance he'll ever come out of it."

Simon swallowed, trying to find his voice. "Thank you, Dr. Rice."

Rice nodded. "We're moving him up to ICU." He looked directly at Jim. "He'll be able to have visitors in about half an hour."

The doctor walked away, leaving them alone with the news. Simon looked at Jim. The younger man was standing ramrod straight, staring straight ahead, yet not really seeing anything in front of him. If it weren't for the occasional blink, Simon would swear the man was zoned out. He placed a hesitant hand on Jim's arm.

"Jim?"

Ellison pulled away from the touch, marching towards the elevator. Simon knew he was going straight up to Intensive Care to await permission to sit with Blair. Heaving a sigh, Simon turned to face the waiting room and the people that still needed to know.

~*~

After sitting at Blair's bedside for almost three hours, Jim still didn't know what to say. He'd never been a people-person. Hell, he usually hated to talk about himself, even to his dates. Maybe that was another reason Carolyn left him. The weird thing was the man he was trying to talk to couldn't even hear him and he still couldn't think of anything to say.

Hidden beneath a plethora of tubes, wires and electrodes, Blair looked like a child. His skin was sallow, his breathing ragged—at least to Jim's ears. The doctors thought it important that Blair was still breathing on his own, but Jim could hear the light gasps and hitches, even if they couldn't. Dark circles rested beneath his closed eyes, a stark contrast to his pale face. The overall effect was eerie.

No, not eerie. It was downright terrifying.

"I'm not giving up on you, Sandburg," he said, fighting to keep his voice normal. "You never gave up on finding me, so I'm doing the same. Just don't you give up on yourself, you hear?"

He paused, unsure of where to go next.

"Steven and I had a long talk earlier--about my senses and all--while the others were in here, saying hi. He really seems to understand why I didn't tell him. We're going to try to have dinner once a week, just to talk. I never realized how much I loved him until McManus hurt him. Did you know McManus said he found my mother?" He snorted. "We never found any evidence he did, so it's probably bullshit. I just can't help wondering if you guys hadn't shown up….

"But it doesn't matter, does it? Still, I don't think I'll ever stop wondering. Kinda like you'll never stop wondering whom your father is. Do you wonder? I know I would. It would bug the hell out of me. By the way, I finally tracked down Naomi. She flew down to Australia and will try to catch the first plane back to the states. She really wants to be here."

He didn't add the "in case." He didn't need to. Jim knew that Blair could die if the doctors didn't find the antigen. It wasn't something he was prepared for in his heart, although his head kept telling him it could happen. The idea was just too foreign to accept. His life before Blair moved in seemed like some sort of dream that didn't quite mesh with the rest of his life now.

"Come on, Sandburg. I need you to wake up. We didn't go through all this crap for you to go and die now. Don't let McManus win."

Jim leaned heavily against the back of his chair. He didn't know what else to do. Talking would only make him feel better, not Blair. There was no proof comatose patients could hear what was going on around them, but there was also no proof to the contrary.

He heard footsteps and twisted in his seat to see Dr. Rice, a young nurse named Rachel and Simon Banks walk in. All three were wearing bright smiles. Rachel carried a small tray holding a bottle and syringe. A bottle of rusty red liquid. Jim's heart leapt into his throat when he realized what it was.

"We found the antigen," Rice announced. "It matched the traces we found in Inspector Connor's bloodstream."

Jim felt as if a slab of concrete had been lifted from his heart. "Thank God."

Rice took the syringe and filled it from the bottle. "We'll just wait and see how he reacts to this."

Jim leaned forward. "Hear that, Chief? You're getting the good stuff, now."

He watched as Rice injected the antigen into Blair's IV tube. The liquid mixed with the clear IV fluid, turning a pale pink as it slid into Blair's veins.

"How long will this take?" Jim asked.

"It's hard to tell," Rice responded. "It took about five minutes with Inspector Connor."

So they waited.

Almost ten minutes later, a rank smell hit Jim's nostrils. It reminded him of a body left for a week to ripen. Wrinkling his nose, Jim looked up at the others. No one else seemed affected by the scent. Glancing back at Blair, he noticed minute tremors rippling through Blair's body. His neck began to take on a purplish tone.

"Dr. Rice?" Jim asked, looking from Sandburg to Rice.

Rice moved to Blair's bedside, pressing a stethoscope to Blair's chest. After about thirty seconds, the tremors stopped. Rice looked at Jim. "Heart rate's picking up, blood pressure's rising. We'll keep a close eye on him for now. Take him up to x-ray in a little while."

Jim nodded, his eyes firmly planted on Blair's face. He was sure the young man's color had improved already. "How long?"

"Until he wakes up?" Rice queried. "That depends on him, now."

"I'm staying with him," Jim said firmly, as if there was no question. "He won't be alone when he wakes up."

Rice almost protested, then thought better about it. "I'll let the nurses know."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Just help him heal," Rice said, leaving the room with Rachel.

Simon hung behind for a minute. "He'll be fine, Jim. Sandburg's a fighter."

"I know, Simon. And thanks." Jim smiled warmly at his friend.

"No problem." The captain turned to go. "There are some worried people waiting for me in the hall. I'll check in on you later."

Jim nodded, his attention back on Blair. He barely heard Simon's footsteps leave the room.

"Time to wake up, Blair," he whispered.

His only reply was the steady blip of the heart monitor.

~*~

Without a second thought, he closed his eyes and jumped.

~*~

Jim jerked awake, unsure of what had startled him. He remembered dozing off, but had no idea for how long. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was after three a.m. Jim stretched his neck muscles, then stopped. He could feel eyes on him. Jim glanced at the hospital bed.

Blair blinked back at him.

"Blair," Jim breathed, not quite believing he was awake.

"Hey, Jim," Blair croaked. He licked his lips. "Did we get the bad guy?"

Jim smiled. "Yeah, we got him." He reached out to grasp his friend's cool hand, warming it between his own.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." And he was—now. "Are you?"

Blair huffed. "No, but I'll heal."

Jim laughed for the first time in days.

"I'm really tired, Jim," Blair admitted, his eyelids drooping.

"Then go back to sleep. We have plenty of time to talk later."

Blair nodded, closing his eyes fully. Jim watched him for several minutes, noting that the younger man's color was darker, the circles under his eyes less pronounced. Reaching across the bed, he pressed the call button. There were people waiting to hear the good news.

~*~

//Damn my own sense of morality, // Edward thought bitterly. //So many mistakes and I didn't see them all piling up against me. //

He leaned heavily against the wooden table in the interrogation room, staring at his own reflection in the two-way mirror. Dead brown eyes stared back at him, eyes that no longer knew who they were looking at. His face had aged ten years in the last thirty-odd hours since his arrest. Since he'd heard of Darren's death.

A fresh pang of guilt stabbed at his heart. Darren had been his only friend for the last four or so years, the only constant in his life. Losing him was like losing a lifejacket in a stormy sea. Darren had been a little slow, but always a good man. A student eager to please his teacher.

"And look what I taught you," Edward muttered, not caring who heard. "Taught you how to die at the hands of cops. Congratulations."

The door swung open with a startling squeak. Edward looked over, barely seeing Captain Banks. He was looking for the man that wasn't there.

"Mr. McManus," Banks said gruffly.

Edward nodded, still watching the door as the captain closed it.

"Where's Ellison?" Edward asked.

"At the hospital," Banks replied, standing at attention in front of the two-way mirror. "I didn't tell him I was talking to you."

"Lucky for me."

Banks snorted. "Lucky for him. If he'd been here, he probably would have done something you'd regret and he'd get fired for. If you get my drift."

Edward sighed. He understood all to well. "Loud and clear."

"I understand you've waived your right to an attorney," Banks said, sounding puzzled.

"For now."

"Do you think that's wise?"

Edward almost laughed in the captain's face. Would he have done it if he hadn't thought it was wise? True, Edward made mistakes, too many mistakes. But this wasn't one; this was a calculated risk.

"How's your son?" Edward asked, enjoying the flustered look it brought to Banks' face.

"Up yours," Banks snarled, his deep voice barely above a whisper.

Edward didn't flinch. He was truly interested. In fact, he had been downright impressed that the Cascade General staff had been able to remove his creation from Rafe and Little Banks. It proved the technology needed a bit more tweaking.

"You should be thankful," Edward said calmly. "Your son is alive because I'm not quite the soulless bastard you want me to be."

"So what?" Banks leaned forward, his knuckles pressed against the table. "You think I'm going to thank you for that?"

"No," he admitted. "And nor should you. That was my mistake and as you can see—" he gestured around the interrogation room "—I'm paying for it now."

Banks looked ready to explode. He stood up straight and crossed large arms across his chest. "I want to know about that nanotechnology."

"What do you want to know?"

"Did you sell it to the Contino family?"

That was an easy one. "Yes."

"Where is it?"

Edward blinked. "What do you mean?"

Banks leveled a steady glare at him. "We didn't find anything at the research lab. We didn't find anything among the Contino's possessions. So where is it?"

A grin steadily crept across Edward's face. "I'm afraid that's privileged information."

In two long strides, Banks was in Edward's face. "Listen you son of a bit—"

"How are Jimmy's senses?" Edward asked blithely.

Banks froze, his face riddled with anger and indecision.

"Oh, I know, trust me," Edward said. His eyes narrowed as rage boiled to the surface. "I know I'm through, but you shouldn't have killed Darren. I have a lot to say about your Detective Ellison, Captain. And believe me, it'll all get said."

He watched Banks steadily as the latter grasped what Edward was saying. Slowly, but surely, Edward saw a fountain of fear blossom deep within Banks' eyes.

And Edward smiled.

~*~

"So," Jim continued. "Simon looks at the guy and says, 'Are all accountants this stupid or are you just special?'"

Blair laughed, spearing another broccoli stem with his fork. "He really said that?"

"No lie," Jim replied, crossing his hand over his heart.

"He's too much sometimes. I always told you he had a sense of humor."

Jim chuckled. "Just don't spread it around. It'll ruin his image."

Shaking his head, Blair continued to work at his lunch. Work at it was kind. The food was mostly unidentifiable, making Blair nauseous just to look at it. Only the steamed broccoli had been deemed edible. The doctor had kept him on a semi-liquid diet for the last two days and his recent return to solids was making Blair crave Jell-o in the worst way. He glanced around the room as he ate, taking stock of everything in it. The dresser, windowsill and a corner of the floor were covered with flower arrangements, cards and stuffed animals from various friends and co-workers, both from Rainier and the Department. He was planning on taking the toys to the children's ward before he was discharged. All except one. He was keeping a small stuffed wolf that Megan had given him. It even had blue eyes.

"I heard you guys got the DA to deal on Corey Contino," Blair said, remembering a conversation he'd had with Megan a few hours ago.

Jim nodded. "Simon talked to the judge on the case. He got Corey seven years, minimum security. He still hates my guts, but I think he's willing to make a clean start once he gets out."

"He can't hate you forever," Blair said softly.

"Maybe."

Blair looked up when someone knocked on his door. Rachel stuck her head in.

"Up for another visitor, Blair?" she asked.

"Sure," he responded, pushing the food tray away.

Rachel stepped inside, motioning for someone to follow her. A head moved hesitantly into view, followed by a body. Blair's face lit up.

"Flip," he said. "How are you?"

The man said, very slowly, "I am fine. And you?"

Blair blinked. He glanced first at Jim, then at Rachel.

She smiled at him. "Mr. Wilson has been making great progress."

"Mr. Wilson?" he asked.

Flip beamed. "That is I. Philip Wilson."

"That's great." Blair laughed. "That is so great. So what are you up to now?"

"I have job," Flip replied.

Jim nodded. "Simon got him a room at a halfway house and a job with the school district."

"I am janitor." Flip announced this with great pride.

"Congratulations," Blair said. "And thank you for your help. You saved our lives."

Flip blushed. "You are welcome. Go I must."

"Keep in touch, okay? And be careful with your ears."

Nodding, Flip left the room with Rachel. Blair settled back against his pillow, a look of wonder on his face.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" he asked no one in particular.

"Yes, it is," Jim said. "But at least he can make a clean start. Some of McManus' other patients weren't so lucky."

"I know. I guess we'll never really know what McManus did to him, huh?"

"I doubt it. Flip doesn't seem to remember much of anything."

Blair was thoughtful. "Do you think McManus had anything to do with his hearing? I mean, his range is amazing."

"I don't think so." Jim picked at a piece of blanket lint. "That's what McManus wanted me for, to try and duplicate my senses."

"Yeah." Blair couldn't stop the feeling of guilt washing over him. Whether he was in control of himself or not, he had told McManus about Jim's senses. Blair didn't care if he'd been brainwashed, coerced, tortured, or hypnotized. No matter what Jim or Simon said to the contrary, in his mind there was no excuse for what he'd done.

Jim glanced at his watch. "Look, I hate to run away, too, but McManus' arraignment is in half an hour. I need to get to the courthouse."

Blair nodded in agreement. "Are you sure I shouldn't—"

"We have so much evidence stacked up against him, we won't need your testimony at this one." Jim paused. "You may have to testify at the trial, though."

"That's fine." He looked up at Jim with determination in his eyes. "Just nail the bastard for me."

"I'll be back later," Jim said, reaching for his jacket. At the door, he looked back once and smiled a brilliant Ellison smile. Blair returned the gesture, then settled in to watch a PBS special on the Inuit Indians.

~*~

Jim had to fight through a crowd of reporters and cameramen to reach the courthouse steps. Everyone in Cascade wanted a piece of this story, it seemed. He and Blair had joked several times about selling their story to the highest bidder. That was impossible, though. They couldn't honestly do that without revealing Jim's abilities.

In fact, he was nervous about the coming trial. How was he supposed to explain McManus' kidnapping of him? McManus deluded himself into thinking I had heightened senses, but I really don't? He'd perjure himself by doing that. It was a bridge they'd cross when it came to that. Right now, D.A. Beverly Sanchez seemed satisfied with the original four kidnappings. Jim's was just frosting on McManus' bitter cake.

He paused halfway up the steps, looking around. A squad car had just arrived, bearing the star of the show. A uniformed officer opened the back car door and reached in to pull out McManus. Jim watched them ascend the steps, surrounded by a wall of policemen. Reporters swarmed to the group, each trying to get the evening sound byte.

Ignoring the presence of the man he hated more than anything, Jim's eyes fell on Sanchez. Their gazes met and she nodded. Jim made his way across the steps. Halfway there, a familiar voice filtered into his ear, repeating the same word over and over.

<"Thief. Thief. Thief.">

Jim funneled his hearing, piggybacking it with his sight. Then he heard a sound that alarmed him—the slide bolt of a .45 automatic. There he was, on the sidewalk. Jim tried to shout a warning, but it was too late.

Liam Wright, no longer the twitchy, nervous man Jim had interviewed only a week before, barreled through the wall of policemen like a man possessed. He tackled McManus and emptied the gun's clip into the man's stomach. The press scattered, screaming. Jim bolted down the steps, helping the uniforms pull Wright off the wounded man. They pressed Wright to the ground, the man chanting, "Thief," over and over.

Jim looked down at McManus. Six ragged holes dotted McManus' abdomen and lower chest. Thick, red blood oozed from the wounds, instantly turning his prison uniform from blue to black. Crimson bubbles foamed from the corners of McManus' mouth as he struggled helplessly to gulp in air. His dark eyes, once so fierce and animal-like, softened with pain and fear as he realized what was happening to him.

The puppeteer's own strings had been severed.

Edward McManus sputtered out his last bloody breath at exactly 1:45, Monday afternoon.

Glancing away from the bloody mess, Jim looked down at Wright. There was nothing left in the Irishman's green eyes. He didn't realize what was happening or where he was. All he seemed to know was that his job was done and the thief was gone. Jim knew now what had happened to Wright to turn a brilliant man into a homeless shell. Wright had been another victim, a guinea pig for one of McManus' early experiments.

Jim felt a wave of sadness wash over him. Not for McManus: he was dead and Jim would never mourn that. No, he was sad for Liam Wright. McManus was a thief that stole from the mind. He had stolen from Blair. He had stolen from Jim. But what they lost was not irreplaceable.

McManus had stolen more from Wright than anyone could ever imagine.

~*~

A full moon lit the ground, glowing silver on the lake's rippling surface. A gentle breeze swayed the tops of the trees surrounding the campsite, cooling the mountain air. A fire crackled around a ring of tents, its song a testimony to the peace of the night. Only the occasional hoot of an owl broke the stillness.

It was beautiful.

Beauty was what they all needed. The weekend was a treat, an order from the Chief, in fact. Major Crime was running on a skeleton crew, headed by Joel Taggart, while a large chunk of its force was taking some much needed R & R. Simon Banks was spending his time at home with Daryl, the two recuperating together, while the rest of the group headed out to the Cascade Mountains.

Blair watched the moonlight dance over the lake, listening to the light snores coming from the ring of tents. Megan, Rafe and Henri had fallen asleep hours ago after stuffing themselves with S'mores and beer. He knew Jim was awake, but didn't know where. Blair was doing his best not to think at all. He simply watched the moon as it made its silent journey across the sky, letting the peace of the night flood through his soul.

A branch snapped behind him and Blair jumped. A warm hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

"It's me, Chief," Jim said, settling onto the grass next to him.

Nothing was spoken for a long time. They had had several lengthy talks in the week since McManus' death. There didn't seem to be anything left to talk about. So they just sat and Blair finally let himself think.

He'd been glad when Jim told him McManus was dead. It hadn't been glee at the fact that a human being had died and a crazed homeless man had done it; he was glad because Jim's senses were still a secret. Dead men tell no tales. Liam Wright had been sent to a psychiatric facility in the eastern part of the state, declared incompetent and unable to stand trial. It was just as well in Blair's book.

He and Jim had gone through hell and back in the last month or so. They had more scars--emotional and physical--but they were working together to make both heal. They were a little stronger for what had happened.

//I even got a visit from Naomi out of it, // Blair thought with a wry grin.

Life was different now, but not everything had changed. One look at the contented expression on Jim's face was enough to tell him that.

Blair looked up to the heavens as he finally broke the silence. "Teach me your mood, O patient stars. Who climb each night the ancient sky, leaving on space no shade, no scars, no trace of age, no fear to die."

Jim watched his friend. "Who said that?"

"Emerson did in one of his poems."

"So what's it mean?"

Blair considered his friend. "I think it means that we have scars, but they don't rule us. We are affected, but each new day is presented with the chance to learn from our past. To climb the ancient sky and leave only good things behind."

"I like that idea."

They smiled peacefully, watching the moon cross the ageless sky.

THE END

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