Friday night had started to edge its way into Saturday morning by the time Jim Ellison turned the corner into familiar territory. A few more blocks and they'd be home. Looking over the day's events, he couldn't help but feel an odd mixture of frustration and optimism. Major Crimes had wasted so much time pursuing what they thought was their killer's pattern. All totalled, hundreds of man-hours had been invested checking into the background of the first three victims. Rainier University had been turned upside down. Dozens of staff and students had been questioned. Every alibi had to be traced and verified before anyone could be removed from an impossibly large list of potential suspects.

Frustration levels had started to climb as investigators and civilian aides alike began to suspect their efforts were futile. The growing body count hadn't helped, and the frustration soon became laced with fear when it seemed that any woman was being randomly selected as the next victim. Ellison had heard rumors of police personnel encouraging their children, spouses, whoever to avoid classes until the killer was caught.

But now they had a lead.

Or so it seemed.

John Proctor. Until early Friday evening he had been someone's father, another's friend. Now he had become the pivotal point in a manhunt. Stealing a glance at his partner, who slept soundly in the passenger seat next to him, Ellison could only shake his head in wonderment. It never ceased to amaze him, the amount of information Sandburg kept stored away in his head. Although the sentinel sometimes suspected that his young friend would drag out the most trivial of it to see how much it would take to drive him over the edge. Somewhere in their friendship "getting a rise out of Ellison" had become Sandburg's favourite sport. Grinning to himself, he had to admit that "1001 ways to drive Sandburg insane" was one of his favorite ways to liven up a dull day.

Proctor. The name had meant nothing to him, but when he had announced it back at the murder scene he had thought that Blair was going to burst. His usually exuberant partner had almost gone into hyperdrive as his mind put the pieces of the puzzle together. Nothing had come out in complete sentences, only fragments. Connor and Brown were given the very rare privilege of visiting the Sandburg zone. Luckily, they had had the benefit of an experienced guide. Both detectives had turned to him, looking perplexed.

"Don't worry, he'll get to where he's going with this," he had assured them.

And so his partner had. He had looked at the three of them as if they had missed something so incredibly obvious. "The clothes, the names. Don't you get it?" He had fixed Ellison with a triumphant grin. "It's Salem, man."

Stifling a yawn, Ellison turned on his signal light and made the left turn onto Prospect. If Sandburg was right, and he had no reason to doubt that he wasn't, they now had the "why". Blair was confident that a few hours of research in the Americana Collections area of the university library would provide them with all the proof they would need. If they were lucky it would also give them a list of possible victims. The name of every man and woman involved in the witchcraft trials of early New England would be compared against the list of citizens who lived in Cascade. It would be a painstaking job to identify everyone who appeared on both lists, but the police would now be able to offer some protection to those at risk.

The detective deftly maneuvered the pickup into its narrow space. With a weary sigh he switched off the key in the ignition and leaned his forearms against the steering wheel. "Well that's half the battle, Sandburg." He turned bleary eyes on his sleeping partner. "You wouldn't happen to have the answer to "who" tucked away in that brain of yours, would you?"

Oh man, I don't want to do this again. Blair looked all around him, trying to make shapes out of the darkness. He, or it, was there with him again. He could sense his being there. But where? He cautiously put out his hands, trying to feel what was around him. It took all his courage to do only that, with the too fresh memory of the searing pains from his last dream. Visit? Were these the lucid dreams of shamans and other spiritualists that he had read about? He didn't quite repress a shudder. I hope not. That would be one trip I wouldn't want to make alone.

"I know you're there." Blair tried to keep the quiver from his voice. "Why don't you show yourself? What do you want?" The faint scrape of footsteps seemed to come from behind him and he turned towards the noise. The sound moved with him. Oh God, oh God. What the hell is this place? With shaking fingers he wiped away the salty sweat that stung his eyes. Spinning around again, he tried to listen for the footsteps, but the roar of blood in his ears and the painful thudding of his heart against his ribcage drowned the sound out. Fighting back against the fear that held him rooted to the spot, he took a step forward. His foot had barely touched the ground when he felt a breath of warm air caress his cheek. He thought his heart would stop when the icy cold fingers wrapped around his arms. "What do you want?!"

Devil's Night: on the eve of Halloween

The aroma of coffee brewing and the clatter of dishes dragged a reluctant sentinel out from a sound sleep. Rolling over onto his back, he contemplated which form of execution his partner deserved. Death by heated glare or death by yelling? He had just crawled into bed. It couldn't possibly be morning. With a supreme human effort he lifted one eyelid and squinted into the brightness of the room. Checking the clock, all thoughts of killing his guide melted away. The kid had let him sleep in. Flinging back the sheet, he swung his legs out of bed and sat perched on the edge of the mattress. At any moment now, he knew that the rest of his body would catch up and he would be able to make the long trek down the stairs to a hot shower. With a groan that would have done any man twice his age proud, he pushed himself upright and headed downstairs.

"Morning, Sandburg. Going to grab a shower." His greeting had been muffled by a wide yawn but he assumed his friend had understood him. Blair's "sure, Jim" reached his ears as he closed the bathroom door.

Flinging his boxers into a corner of the room, he leaned into the shower stall and turned the showerhead to its pulsating setting. With a tired sigh Ellison stood under the stream of hot water, allowing his senses the full enjoyment of the soothing massage. The beating jets of water traced a path across his shoulders and the base of his neck, doing their best to drive away the beginnings of a tension headache. A few more minutes in the shower and he was sure he would be able to face the long day he knew lay ahead.

Feeling clean and definitely refreshed, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped into the cool air of the loft. That ten minutes under the shower had been able to work a near miracle. He felt human again. Taking a deep breath, he smiled. "Hey, that smells great, Chief. I'll be down in two."

He took the stairs three at a time. The delicious aroma of his waiting breakfast was all the incentive he needed. Pulling clothes from his dresser, it occurred to him that Blair had been unusually quiet, but then shrugged it off. Sandburg had never been a morning person. Deciding that a black tee shirt and jeans would be the uniform of the day, he quickly dressed and went down to breakfast.

"Get a good night's sleep, Sandburg?" He gave his partner's back a quick slap as he headed for the coffeepot. Pouring himself a cup, he turned with the pot in hand, ready to refill Blair's mug. "You..." Jim's mouth dropped open and he slowly returned the carafe to the heating plate. "...look like shit. Are you feeling all right?" He went to sit in the chair next to his guide, resisting the urge to reach out and feel his forehead.

"I didn't get much sleep last night." Blair's eyes were rimmed with dark circles, making their blues appear almost transparent. Even the spring of his naturally wavy hair was lacking. "I'm just a little tired. I'll be okay." He started to get up from the table. "Your breakfast is in the oven."

Jim grabbed his friend's elbow, pulling him back down into his chair. "It's fine where it is. I'm serious, Blair, you look ready to fall down." Going with his earlier impulse, he felt the younger man's forehead. It was cool to his touch. Maybe a little too cool. "I've seen you pull strings of all nighters, Sandburg. This is more than losing a little sleep."

"If you pour me that coffee you started to offer, I'll fill you in on chapter three of Blair Sandburg's walk through the twilight zone."

"You had another one?" Ellison picked up the chipped and cracked mug that his friend refused to part with and carefully filled it, never taking his eyes off Sandburg's face. "I didn't hear you."

Blair's eyebrows went up as he gratefully accepted the coffee. "You didn't? That's good. I was pretty sure I had yelled out at the top of my lungs. I think that's what finally woke me up. Maybe I only yelled in my head." He rubbed at his temples. "I wouldn't be surprised, the way my head is pounding this morning."

"Was it the same as the last one?"

"No." Blair shook his head and looked down into the steaming cup. "If it had been, I don't think it would have affected me as much. This one was different. This time I think I got to where it's been leading me." He took a sip of the coffee.

"Where you've been led? What do you mean?"

"I was thinking about it last night. The dreams have sort of the same theme, but they progress. You know?"

"I think so." Jim waited silently for his friend to continue. It was hard for him to imagine that anything could have been more frightening than the last nightmare Sandburg had had. But this one must have been. As Blair traced the edge of his cup with a finger, Ellison could detect slight tremors. They could have been the result of fatigue. He didn't think they were. That same look of fear was back. Every instinct was urging him to become what he and Blair had once jokingly referred to as a Blessed Protector. He would have gladly, without hesitation. But how could he protect his best friend from his subconscious? "Why don't you tell me what you mean?"

"The first one was really vague. The second one added a little more to it. This one didn't leave much to the imagination." Blair considered the person sitting next to him. Never overly verbose, Jim Ellison displayed everything he was thinking or feeling through expression and body language. You just had to care enough to look for it. Right now he could see the concern and underneath that a certain determination. He had seen it often enough. It was the patented sentinel look of "Trust me. I can fix this." Trust wasn't a question. Whether or not this was something to be fixed, he wasn't so sure about. A pressure on his arm startled him.

"Hey, Earth to Sandburg." Ellison's tone was gently teasing. His face was not. "You going to be okay, kid?"

"Sorry, man, didn't mean to keep you in suspense there." Taking another long sip of coffee, Sandburg steeled himself to tell his partner about the nightmare. "This one started out the same as the first two. Really dark. Feeling like I'm in the dream, but watching it too. It feels like I'm there forever, but I don't think they last very long." His laugh was short and mirthless. "Long enough, I guess." He took another sip. "Coffee's cold. I'm gonna nuke it. Yours okay, Jim?"

You're stalling, Sandburg. Just how bad was this? "Mine's fine."

Blair pushed down the oval button to open the microwave door. "This time that guy shows up sooner. I've decided it's a guy anyways. I never really see him. He talks to me this time. Tells me that I'm almost there. I just have to look straight ahead." He shook his head and smiled sadly. "What a joke. I never know where straight ahead is when I'm there. It's like every time I turn around I'm facing in the same direction. Very weird." The high pitched timer sounded on the microwave and he popped open the door to grab his cup.

"Whoa! Wait a minute Sandburg, that's going to be..." The warning came too late as Blair quickly extracted his hand and blew on his fingers. "...hot."

"Uh yeah, thanks for the warning." Sighing, he reached for a dishtowel to rap around the hot ceramic. "Not my morning."

At any other time, Ellison might have gotten a chuckle from his friend's minor mishap. "The day's still early, Chief. It's bound to improve," he offered sincerely.

Giving his partner a strange look, Blair groaned, "If you break out into strains of "Tomorrow" I'm going to slate you for drug testing, Jim." He returned to his seat at the table. "Nothing like a little comic relief." Blowing on the steaming mug, he continued. "I guess you want to hear the rest of it. A lot of it is pretty much the same as the second one. The iron grip on my arms, being pushed forward, the heat. This time though, he stops pushing me. Just leaves me standing there. That's when he tells me to look ahead. And when I do, I can see someone standing in front of me. It's far off so I start walking towards it." Chewing at the inside of his cheek, he tried to block the images that were starting to form in his mind. He needed to put some distance between himself and the dream if he was going to be able to talk about it. "I was almost there when this wall of flame shot up in front of me. It blinded me for a couple of minutes. But through the yellow glare I could see that I was closer to the person. Maybe only a few feet away. He, ah, he looked familiar. I think I must have known who it was because I started to panic. I didn't want to get any closer. He had his head bowed and my vision was still a little blurred, so I wasn't sure. All I knew was that I didn't want him to look up. But he did. It was me, Jim," he sighed.

Not knowing what to say, the sentinel could only offer the comfort of a touch and laid his hand on his guide's arm. Perhaps the gesture was enough since it earned him a smile of gratitude. "What happened next, Blair?"

Shuddering, Sandburg seemed to huddle in on himself. "Soon as our eyes met it was like we became one again. But instead of him being drawn into me, I was drawn into him. It's so hard to explain. All I know is that I was suddenly tied to this wooden post. I couldn't move. Then I knew what the other dreams had been telling me. The fire. The heat. I knew what was going to happen. There were small piles of wood all around me. He was going to burn me to death." He took a deep breath. "When the fire started I could see him standing just beyond it. I begged him to tell me why, but he wouldn't say anything. He just watched. Then the flames started to get higher and the air was too hot to breathe. It was burning my throat. I felt like I was breathing in the flames. I knew I needed to call for help while I still could. And that's when I yelled."

"And then you woke up."

"And then I woke up." Swallowing, Blair nodded. "So the dreams have been about the killer all along. I think deep down I must have made the connection." He rubbed at his face. "Witches. Salem. Hangings. Burnings. But I as far as I know no one was ever burned to death. Don't know where that one came from. Guess all the folklore got mixed in with the truth."

"Blair?" Jim waited until his friend looked at him. "The last time you had those burns. Were there any this time?"

"No burns. Not this time. Just these." Sandburg pushed the cuffs of his sweater up to reveal welts that circled his wrists. The skin had been rubbed raw. "He had my wrists tied together above my head. It looks worse than it is, Jim." Reliving the dream had worn him out and he closed his eyes for a moment. "I keep wondering, though. What happens next time?"

The doors to the university's Humanities library were just opening when Ellison parked the truck under the "No Parking/No Stopping" sign at the base of the library steps. Pulling the leather folder that held his badge from his pocket, he angrily flipped it open and pressed it to the driver's side window of the truck. He had spotted a security guard making his way towards it. The campus security officer took one look at the man seated in the truck and decided that it probably wouldn't be wise for him to challenge the driver. With a brisk nod he proceeded down the walk.

"All I'm saying, Sandburg, is that I think that we should stick together on this investigation." The entire morning, following breakfast, had been a seesaw battle of wills with Ellison gaining one small victory. Blair had insisted that he would take his own car that morning and make his first stop the university. It had taken some convincing, but putting the safety of unsuspecting motorists and pedestrians first had ended the argument. Jim had done his best to paint a disturbing picture of what would happen when Blair fell asleep behind the wheel.

"Why?" Sandburg threw his hands up in the air in disgust. "I know you want to take another look at Proctor's place before things get too trampled on. And I want to get started on researching those names." He reached for the door handle. "Besides, you'll go stir crazy sitting around the library and only one of us is going to be able to work on the books at a time. So you go do what you're good at and let me do what I'm good at."

"I don't like it," Ellison gritted out between clenched teeth. He sat ramrod straight, facing forward. His fingers were wrapped tightly around the steering wheel.

"You keep saying that, but I don't understand why?" Blair had sunk back against the truck's bench, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

Realizing that he was going to have to admit that he didn't have a real reason, the detective turned in his seat to face his partner. "I just have a bad feeling about this, okay?"

"A bad feeling?" Sandburg's anger seemed to visibly deflate. "What kind of bad feeling? Is it something specific? Does this have something to do with your senses?" His voice rose along with his excitement. A heightened sixth sense was always a possibility.

Blair's string of questions had caught him off guard. Jim hadn't even considered how he felt to be sentinel related. "No, I don't think so. I just feel like, I don't know, like we shouldn't split up."

"Oh." Sandburg's disappointment was obvious. "I think I know what's causing this. It's what I told you this morning. Hey, I'm not feeling great about it either." He smiled, trying to lighten the atmosphere in the cab of the truck. "Everything's okay. I'll see you in a couple of hours. Are you going to come in or do you want me to meet you out here?"

Knowing he wasn't going to win, the sentinel gave up. "I'll come in and meet you. You've got your phone with you?" He rolled his eyes in exasperation when Sandburg pulled it from his pocket and waved it in the air in front of him. "Just make sure it's turned on. I want you to keep in touch."

"I'll keep it turned on." Blair couldn't keep the annoyance from his voice as he got out of the truck. He started to close the door, but stopped. "You know, Jim, I did manage to pass at the academy. They thought I could do this job." He threw the door closed and started up the steps to the library.

Nice. Now you've managed to insult him. Waiting until Blair went into the building, Ellison attempted to find the reason behind his mood. No matter which angle he attacked it from, the cause of his bad feeling eluded him. It was only that, a bad feeling. When the large door closed behind his partner, he threw the truck into gear and pulled away from the curb. As he drove by the university fountain his eyes were drawn to a particular patch of grass. It reminded him of another time when he had completely misread a feeling. It had cost him everything, but he had been given another chance. It was one he couldn't afford to waste. "I know you can do the job, Chief," he said into the silence. It had come out as a sigh. "But that doesn't mean I'm not going to worry about you."

The house was quiet. Forensic teams and coroner personnel had long since packed up and gone. Without an audience, the sentinel could really dig for clues to the killer's identity. His first circuit around Proctor's home had been a quick and hardly satisfactory one the night before. Ellison really would have preferred to have Blair there with him this time, but his partner had been right when he argued that they didn't have time to waste. No one had been able to discover the timetable the murderer was working from. Still Sandburg had taken the time to lecture him about not focusing on one sense and risking a zone out. Jim hadn't suffered from zoning in a long while, but he suspected that was as much due to his guide being there to anchor him as it was from learning to control his senses. A slow smile crossed his lips as he thought about Blair being his guide. Lee Brackett had tossed the term out years ago; a vague reference to something that Jim and Blair had still been trying to work through. The word hadn't made an impression on the sentinel, but the same couldn't be said for his partner. Sandburg had latched onto the term. The first time he had used it, it had rankled and Jim remembered demanding an explanation. If he was to be honest with himself, he hadn't demanded anything, he had exploded. To him it sounded like giving up control of his life and being led around by the nose. By some kid, no less! And rather than turning tail and running like any sane individual should have done in the face of his anger, Blair had stood his ground and explained what being a guide had meant to him. It had been the ultimate extending of a hand in friendship, an offer to watch his back and a promise to help one stubborn cop learn how to deal with and accept the frightening gift of heightened senses. And that was a promise Sandburg had managed to keep in spite of the hurdles life had thrown at them. Perhaps only Ellison realized how correct the title of guide really was. Sandburg was the one who had shown up, out of nowhere, to lead him through a labyrinth of senses gone mad where other so-called professionals had failed. So maybe guide only told half the story. The kid had saved him. The detective's smile faded as his thoughts turned again to his partner's strange nightmares. His gut feeling was that Blair was in danger, but from what? Pulling in a deep breath, he started his investigation of the crime scene. He wanted to be done quickly and get back to the university.

Deciding to start at the rear of the house, the detective walked the holly-bordered path to a large wrought iron gate. It opened with a piercing squeal, making him wince. There was no way anyone would have been able to enter the backyard without being heard. This time Ellison took his time and carefully checked the grounds surrounding the sprawling house. He knew that other officers would have already scoured the house for signs of a forced entry, but he wouldn't be happy until he had done so himself. After a disappointing hour, he could find none. No ground floor windows had been left unlocked. He couldn't find any damage done to doorjambs or windowpanes. The house seemed secure. Had Proctor known his killer? Had he been somehow persuaded into inviting the man into his home? It seemed the only likely scenario. The idea that he had known his killer appeared to be the most logical. When he had looked over the body the night before he hadn't been able to see any evidence that the lawyer had struggled with his killer. Of course a medical examiner's findings could indicate otherwise. The only thing the sentinel could be sure of was that there were no obvious bruises or cuts anywhere visible. If it was the same killer, Dan Wolf wasn't likely to find any. None of the previous victims had carried any marks of physical abuse. Satisfied that he had literally left no stone unturned, he turned his attention to the inside of the house.

Ellison ducked under the yellow crime scene tape that barred the entrance to Proctor's home. He could still feel the tackiness of the powder that had been dusted on the handle. Fingerprints of friends and neighbors were still being collected to run against the ones found in the house. He was hoping for one particular match. It would be incredible luck if one of those prints matched the one found in the field. Was it possible that these four people shared one friend or acquaintance? It seemed unlikely, but years as a detective had taught him that nothing was ever impossible.

These thoughts were rolling around in the detective's mind as he entered the front foyer. These thoughts, and the one that had been bothering him for the last half an hour. He hadn't heard from Sandburg yet. He debated whether or not to call. His friend had been fairly angry with him already for seeming overly protective. He would give it another half an hour and then call.

Propping an elbow on each side of the worn, leather bound journal that he had been reading, Blair took off his glasses, laying them on the desktop. Giving his temples a quick kneading, he tried to focus his tired eyes on the print. As he stretched his arms out in front of him, hearing joints pop and groan, he looked at his watch and realized that he had been at it for a little over an hour. The closed stacks of the Americana Collection had proven to contain a wealth of information. It was more than he had hoped for. What had really surprised him, though, was that his cell phone had not rung. He had even checked it to make sure he hadn't inadvertently turned it off. Grinning, he pulled it out of his pocket and dialed his partner's number. The second ring had barely sounded when his friend answered.

"Hey, Jim," Blair kept his voice hushed. Even though he and the reference desk staff person were the only two in the reading room that morning, he couldn't break ingrained habits. "Just checking in and checking up on you. How are things going over there? Found anything promising?"

"Checking up on me?" Ellison's warm laughter filled the small carrel. "What did you think, Sandburg? I'd be just another statue in Proctor's garden, zoned on the smell of the flora and fauna?"

Blair couldn't help grinning at the picture that came to mind. "Well, not exactly, but I suppose it could have happened." He switched the phone to the other ear and stifled a yawn.

"I heard that, Chief. Nothing's really turned up here. How are things going with your search? Found that list you're looking for?"

"No." He carefully turned another page of the journal. "I know I've seen it somewhere. Right now I'm going through a diary. It's a first hand account of the Salem proceedings. It has some names and dates, but at this rate I'll be retiring before I can find them all. And I don't think we have that much time. I think what I'm going to do is run downstairs, grab a cup of coffee, and then try Drake's account." He yawned again. "If I don't find it there, then maybe I can find it on the net somewhere. When do you think you'll be done, Jim?"

"Nother hour, hour and a half. I'll probably find you asleep under a pile of books when I get there, from the sounds of it. Blair..." There was a long pause. "I didn't mean to say this morning that..."

"Don't worry, Jim, you didn't. I was tired. I lost my cool." He laughed softly. "You're off the hook this time, big guy. I'll see you in an hour or so."

"Okay, kid. See you in an hour."

Ending the call, Blair stacked the journals to return them to the desk. As he signed the copy of the request slip to prove he had returned the materials a thought occurred to him. "Dan? Do you keep a record of these slips?"

The man looked surprised at the question. "Yes, we do. We have to track usage to prove to our less than learned board that we actually deserve the meager funding we get. Why?"

Quickly explaining what he was looking for, Blair waited in eager anticipation as Dan went to retrieve his records. If the killer didn't have his own reference sources, he would have probably come to the university for his information. Matching names and dates might give him a new list of suspects.

"Okay, Blair," the man grunted as he dropped a large file box onto the counter. "I brought everything out that covered the last month. But you said that you were only interested in the New England witch trials, right? That should help to narrow it down some." He grinned at Sandburg and raised both eyebrows. "Do you mind if I help? It gets really boring here on Saturdays."

Eyeing the bundled papers that filled the box to the top, Sandburg gratefully accepted the offer. "Sure, that'd be great, Dan. So, how do you sort this stuff?"

The elevator doors opened to the sub-basement level of the library where the books about the plague of witches was kept. Samuel Parris walked with his usual determination to the reading room. The university made him nervous. He didn't like being there since he had discovered that three of its students had been on his list. The newspapers and radio had told him that. Reaching the end of the long aisle and turning the corner of the last row of stacks, he stopped dead in his tracks. Through the large glass windows of the reading room he could see two people standing at the front desk. One he immediately recognized as Dan, the graduate student who always worked on Saturdays. The other he was almost certain was the cop. The one he had been shown was his enemy. Was he there looking for him? Stepping back behind the shelves of books, he watched through the gap between the rows. He knew what he had to do. His mission was nowhere near to being completed. This evil one would have to be stopped first before he could continue. Maybe this one was the key? If he was stopped, the others might be released from his corrupting influence.

The front bell to the Proctor home rang just as Ellison had finished checking the remaining room of the main floor. Surprised by the sound, it took him a moment to realize what it was. Zeroing his sight down the hallway, he saw Peter Collins through the frosted window of the door.

When he opened the door Collins looked both relieved and nervous. "Detective Ellison. I saw your truck parked out front. I hope it's all right that I've come over. I was about to call you." He paused to take a deep breath.

Lifting the yellow tape, Jim motioned for the man to come in. "No, no, it's fine. Is something wrong?"

"I've remembered something that I should have mentioned last night. It occurred to me this morning that the house seemed terribly neat. I thought that maybe John knew the man." Collins suddenly blushed a deep red. "I... I'm a bit of a mystery buff," he stammered.

"And a good one," Jim smiled. "I've been thinking about the same thing. What's your theory?"

"It's not a theory really. It's a name. John was having some work done in the backyard. The deck needed some planks replaced."

Ellison waited patiently as Collins related the story of how a young man named Samuel Parris had appeared on Proctor's doorstep three weeks ago seeking work. The retired lawyer had offered the handyman the job of repairing his warping deck.

"At first I thought it was quite amusing," Collins finished.

"Amusing? I don't think I understand."

"That Samuel Parris and John Proctor would meet again." He looked down and shook his head. "But perhaps the meeting wasn't as random as I had thought? After what has happened."

The sentinel knew that if Sandburg had been there Collins' remarks wouldn't have seemed as cryptic to him, but he was lost. "I'm sorry, sir, but you're going to have to explain what you mean."

"Samuel Parris and John Proctor met in Salem in the 1690's. Samuel Parris was one of the men responsible for having Proctor executed by hanging for witchcraft. If this is mere coincidence, Detective, it's a chilling one."

Ellison had just closed the door behind Collins when his cell phone rang. Flipping it open, the excited voice of his partner was on the other end.

"Jim! I think I've got the name of our killer!"

"Samuel Parris," they said in unison.

He couldn't help laughing at Blair's puzzled "huh?" The detective quickly filled the younger man in about the conversation he had just had with Peter Collins. "But how did you figure it out, Chief?"

Blair Sandburg stood at the reference desk, a large wad of papers clutched in his hand. "When I was signing some materials back in, it occurred to me that if our killer had come here to do some research he would have to do the same. So I've been sifting through the files here. All I was hoping for was a name that might show up a few times, taking out books on the witch trials. When I saw Samuel Parris' name I nearly choked!" He gulped down a breath. "And what's even better, Jim, is that you have to record your status when you want to look at something! He put down university staff. So he does work here. Or did. Dan, the guy that works at the library who helped me out with this, thinks he either quit or was let go."

"Sounds like we have to make another trip to Human Resources, Sandburg." Ellison let out a frustrated groan. "That warrant's expired. I'm pretty sure of it. I'm going to have to get Simon to throw his weight around to find a judge to swear out a new one. And on a Saturday too."

With a groan of his own, Blair sank into a nearby chair. "And while he's at it, you better get Simon to have someone contact university administration. The dean's gonna love that." He rubbed at an eyebrow with his finger. "I don't get it. I know that I would have remembered seeing that name when we made the Salem connection. I wonder how I missed it last night?"

"I know the answer to that one, Chief. Our warrant released the personnel files of people currently employed at the university. This one will have to include terminated positions. Okay, I'm going to get on it. I'll call you when I'm on my way over to the administration building. It shouldn't take too long."

Blair ended the call and with a happy sigh turned to Dan. "Guard those little slips with your life, Dan. I have a feeling they're going to be very important very soon." He got up to leave. "I was wondering. Do you know what this Parris guy looks like?"

"Oh yeah," Dan answered with a crooked grin. "He's one of those guys that strike you as being a little left of centre. You know the kind. They look normal enough until you talk to them. He's tall, taller than I am. Kinda on the lanky side. He's got blond hair. Cut short. Real prim and proper looking. Or make that grim and proper. I don't think I've ever seen the guy smile." He shrugged. "Other than that, there's not much else to tell you about him."

"That was pretty good," Blair grinned. "I'm just going to go to the cafeteria and get a cup of coffee. Can I get you anything? I'm coming back here. I still need to find that list I'm looking for."

Dan waved him off. "Nah, nothing for me. Thanks anyway, Blair."

Feeling more optimistic than he had since the case had begun, Sandburg thought he had the energy to take the stairs the two floors up. He knew he didn't have the patience to wait for the elevator. Humming to himself, he pushed through the swinging door and started to jog up the steps. He didn't realize that anyone had followed him into the stairwell until a voice called to him from behind.

"Hey, mister! Wait up a minute. You dropped something."

Fairly certain that he hadn't, Blair started to turn to say so. He caught a blur of movement in the corner of his eye and a blinding pain at the back of his head followed a whoosh of air. He was unconscious before he hit the concrete floor at the bottom of the stairs.

The sentinel burst through the elevator doors and hurried into Major Crimes. Simon had promised to meet him there. Pausing long enough to throw his jacket on his desk, he made a beeline for his captain's office. He could hear Banks' voice alternately arguing with and then cajoling someone on the phone. Not waiting for an answer to his knock, he pushed the door open and poked his head inside.

"Yes, your honor." Simon looked over to the door and waved his detective in. "You did swear out a release allowing us access to personnel files. That has expired and only allowed us to view current employees. We have good reason to believe the man we're looking for no longer works there." He frowned at Ellison, rolling his eyes. "It's for the serial killer case we've been working on." There was a pause. "Yes, I agree. The sooner the better. I'll have Detective Ellison pick it up within the hour. Thank you, your honor." He slammed down the phone in disgust. "You'd think they had to pay for every one of those we requested."

"But we've got it, sir?"

"We do." Whatever else he had to say was lost when the door swung open and admitted someone resembling Daryl Banks.

"Hey Dad," the younger Banks laughed as he grabbed the ends of a black cape and drew it around him. "So what do you think? Oh hi, Detective Ellison! Is Blair with you? This was kind of his idea."

Grinning, Jim walked slowly around the costumed teen. "This definitely looks like something that could qualify as one of Blair's ideas. And this would be?" He raised his eyebrows in question.

"Darth Maul!" Daryl gasped, pushing his hood back. He sounded astonished that anyone could even ask the question. The blood red makeup scored with black, and the horns, couldn't have left any doubt. He turned to his father. "Didn't I get the makeup right, Dad?"

"You certainly did, son," Simon grinned. "I think Jim was pulling your leg."

Ellison couldn't help but laugh when Simon's son fixed him with an accusing glare. "Busted," he smiled, holding a hand up. "You look great, Daryl. Blair told me what you were going to be wearing to that party tonight. He's going to be sorry he missed seeing it." The smile left his face as he focused on the case once more. "Speaking of Sandburg. Did you manage to find someone to let us in to see those records today?"

"The dean himself. Campus security would only give me his name because of the sensitivity of the warrant. I guess I can't blame them. No one wants a lawsuit. He's going to meet you there in a couple of hours. He lives on the outskirts of town and has to drive in. I'll warn you now, Jim. He did not sound like a happy man."

Daryl had listened to the conversation with some interest, but he still had places he needed his father to chauffeur him to. The day he had money enough to buy his own car couldn't come fast enough. "I'm gonna go and wash this stuff off, Dad. And then can we get going?" His gym bag and shoes sat on the table behind the sentinel. Reaching over to grab them, he noticed that the detective had an odd expression on his face. "Are you okay?"

Ellison nodded, but addressed Simon. "It's that smell again, sir. The one that I couldn't identify. It was there again at Proctor's." He spun on Daryl. "Do you have more of that red goop with you?"

"Sure," he said, opening his bag. "Here."

Opening the jar, Jim smiled triumphantly. "This is it." He handed it back to the teenager. "Thanks Daryl. That smell and what it was, it was starting to bother me." Not really sure where the smell of theatrical makeup fit into the puzzle, Ellison filed it away.

Tossing the makeup back into his bag and pulling the zipper closed, he shrugged. "Glad I could help. I'll be back, Dad."

Sandburg's world had taken a crazy tilt. He was lying down on something hard and gritty. Enough awareness had returned for him to realize that he was gagged and bound. A rough cloth had been tied tightly across his eyes. And he was moving. He could hear the crunch of tires over stone and the sound of a car's motor. Van or truck, he corrected himself, since he was lying full length. He had no idea of how long he had been unconscious or how long they had been travelling. All he knew was that his throat ached from the dryness and his head throbbed. He could only hope that wherever Jim was, he had discovered that his partner was missing and most likely in the hands of Samuel Parris. His last thought, before his head bounced off the floor as the tires dipped into a pothole, was either a sign that he had been hit hard enough for a concussion or that his sense of humor was still in working order. Don't let him cut my hair, man. Not again. Then he saw stars and nothing else.

Across town a worried Jim Ellison tried dialing his friend's cell phone a fourth time. He knew that Blair had been anxious to get word about the warrant and wouldn't have turned it off. A dead battery was a possibility and the only thing that kept him from riding up on the sidewalk to get around slow Saturday traffic. The bad feeling that had plagued him for most of the day came back with a vengeance. Retrieving the warrant had been a quick job, leaving him enough time to meet Blair at the library before the dean was scheduled to arrive. Now if Sandburg would only answer his phone. He beat his palm against the steering wheel, debating what to do. The panic that he had been fighting finally won out and he grabbed the police flasher, sticking it to his dashboard. Sounding the siren, he moved into the empty lane for oncoming traffic and detoured around the jam that blocked his way. He was only a few short miles from the university.

Within minutes he was once again parking in front of the university library entrance. Racing through the front entrance, he spotted an elevator headed down, its doors just beginning to close. Slipping inside, he punched the button for the sub-basement.

This floor of the library seemed almost deserted compared to the high activity of the main floor. The lights were dimmed and the stacks deeply shadowed. Blair had always referred to it as the catacombs and had favored it as one of his spots to disappear to when he needed some absolute quiet for study. "Disappear to, Sandburg," Jim growled to himself. "Not disappear from. Just be there." His heart sank as the reading room came into view. Save for the man working behind the desk, the room was empty. Stopping in between two rows of stacks, the sentinel listened for his partner's voice. Maybe he was elsewhere on the floor, looking up a fact. He swore he could hear the bugs in the walls, but not an echo of the sound he was searching for.

Dan looked up as Ellison entered the glassed in area. The detective had already fished his badge out of his pocket. "I'm looking for Blair Sandburg. He was supposed to be working here."

"Right. The other detective. He was here. He went to get a coffee." Jim started to relax when he heard the man's answer. "Come to think of it, that was probably an hour ago. He said he was coming back. He gave me the impression that he was coming right back because he offered to get me one too."

"You think it was about an hour ago?" That would have meant that Blair had left soon after he and Jim had finished talking. "He didn't mention stopping anywhere else?"

The man shook his head. "No. He told me to guard the request slips with my life and then he left. I'm sorry, I can't help you."

"That's all right. Can you give me your number here? If he comes back, tell him to stay put." Jim jotted down the number and headed back to the elevators. Before allowing complete panic to set in, he thought he would try Blair's cell phone one more time. He waited for the first ring, hoping that his friend would pick up. He nearly dropped the phone when he heard the echo of the shrill ring of Sandburg's phone. He slowly turned on his heel, trying to determine where it was coming from. The stairwell. Heart pounding, he made for the door. He could only hear the ringing of the phone. No heartbeat. If Blair was there...

Moaning, Sandburg came slowly awake. This time he was standing upright and as far as he could tell he had stopped moving. He throat still ached and the throbbing at the back of his head seemed to have doubled. Instinctively he went to massage the spot, but found he couldn't. His wrists were bound together and pulled up above his head. A sudden flashback to the nightmare he had had the night before made him want to vomit. He tried to pull his arms down from where they were tied, but they were held fast. Another moan escaped him as he realized that he was trapped as he had been in his dream. His fear that the nightmares had been more prophecy than dreams had been realized. The remembered agony of the burns and the suffocating heat made him yank even harder on the ropes that were wrapped around his wrists. And then he froze. The scrape of a footstep sounded from behind him and the soft caress of a breath touched his cheek.

Tucking Blair's cell phone into his pocket, Jim ran the two flights up to the main floor. A sick feeling had lodged in the pit of his stomach. Parris had his guide. And all of Parris' victims turned up dead. This time was different. He had a name. He would get the address. He would find his partner. Bursting through the front doors of the library, he raced down the concrete steps and headed off across the treed lane. The administration building and the library faced each other. An island of green separated them. At the centre of which stood a fountain. He wouldn't let himself look at it or hear the rippling of its water. Instead he focused his vision on the building that loomed up ahead. The university's dean was waiting, pacing impatiently in front.

"It's about time, Detective. I don't appreciate being dragged out here just to be kept waiting."

The adrenaline that was now pumping through Ellison's system nearly sent him at the dean's throat. Keeping his anger in check, he shoved the warrant into the man's hands. "The sooner you let me in to see the files the sooner you can get out of here." He followed the dean down through the quiet halls.

"You're that detective that was involved in the Sandburg mess, aren't you?" The haughtiness of the man's tone was almost too much for the sentinel to ignore. "He's not involved in this too, is he?"

One question too many. Jim grabbed the shorter man's arm and leaned into his face. "Yes, Detective Sandburg is involved in this case too. He's working to make sure that no more of your students end up the target of a killer." He released the man's arm. "I don't have time for this. I need to get into those files."

Visibly shrinking away from Ellison's anger, the dean opened the Records office. "The files of those terminated are over here. If you like I can..." He nearly jumped back when the detective stepped toward him.

Not giving the other man a second glance, Jim pulled the folder from the drawer. "Parris." Opening it, he laid it on the desk to read the address. "Warner House." He looked at the dean. "Warner House? That's a half-way home for the emotionally disturbed. According to this, Parris was still working here when it burned to the ground. You didn't get an updated address?"

"Well, Detective, I would hardly be responsible for..."

"Save it. A David Pettigrew signed these termination papers. Who is that and where can I get in touch with him?"

The dean went to the secretary's desk and sorted through a file basket. "Ah, here it is. The university directory. David Pettigrew is a professor here. Drama and American Literature." He wrote down a phone number and handed it to Ellison. "Would you like to call him?"

The sentinel had the number dialed before the dean finished speaking. If luck was with him, Pettigrew would be home. He said a silent prayer of thanks when he heard a man's "hello."

"David Pettigrew. My name is Detective James Ellison of Major Crimes. I'm trying to track down a Samuel Parris. I'm here at the university, looking at his termination papers. I noticed that your signature is at the bottom. I was wondering what you could tell me about him."

Pettigrew must have recognized the urgency in Ellison's voice, as he didn't question him at all about the call. "Samuel Parris. I'm not likely to ever forget him. We hired him to work on some sets for a production the Drama department was going to be putting on. I have to admit that we didn't do much checking into his background before hiring him. If we had, I don't know if we would have hired him. We wanted to do the right thing and not hold his disability against him." Pettigrew sighed. "To be honest, Detective, the man's name was also a factor. You see, we were doing a production of the Crucible. Salem and all that. My production crew and I thought it would be interesting to have a Parris working on the set. Big mistake. He became very involved with the character in the play. At one point I honestly believed that he was confusing himself with the Parris of the Crucible. He started spouting the Bible. He developed an obsession for the history of the witch trials. We were always relieved when he would disappear for hours to do his "research", as he called it. Lord only knows where he went for that. He even began harassing the actors who were playing the accused. It finally reached a point where we had to ask him to not be in the building when we were there."

"Do you have any idea where Parris moved to? His residence burned down while he was working for you." The detective mentally crossed his fingers.

"We let him move into the basement of the theatre. The old Alex on Denman. It's usually empty. We had it rented for the play and that was all. I don't think he moved out when the play ended. He may still be there."

The clothing, with the smell of theatrical makeup still on them, had been the only consistent clue at each murder. Parris had to be living at the theatre.

The Alexandria Theatre on Denman had been built in the tradition of the grand old theatres of decades ago. Even now, as it graced the entrance to Cascade's harbour district, it still managed to retain some of its elegance. The home of amateur theatre, the more highbrow patrons of the arts moving uptown, it often stood empty. Jim remembered the last time he had visited the old Alex. It had been two years ago that he and most of Major Crimes had been convinced by Sandburg to see the production of Before Midnight. Little had they known they were really there to witness the acting debut of one Henri Brown. Blair had been quite pleased with himself that night. He had pulled off a surprise for all involved. And it was his partner who had brought him here once again.

"I'm sitting outside the Alex now, Simon." The sentinel was in his truck across the street, arguing with the captain. "I don't have time to wait for backup. Not if he's got Blair in there." He clenched the phone more tightly, knowing that Banks wouldn't give up easily.

"Jim, listen to reason." Simon knew his pleas were falling on deaf ears. "We don't know how violent this guy is. Barging in there alone could get you and Sandburg killed. Give it a few minutes. Connor and Brown are on their way and a uniform unit has been dispatched."

"I can't wait," Jim sighed. "You're asking me for time I don't know I have. I don't know that Blair has. I'll be careful."

Cold fingers grabbed Sandburg's jaw from behind. "I'm going to take the gag off now. You can yell all you want. No one will hear you."

When the cloth was finally removed from his mouth, yell was exactly what Blair wanted to do. He knew he wouldn't be able to, though. His throat and mouth were so dry that just talking would be an effort. "Aren't you going to take off the blindfold?" The words were barely a hoarse whisper. "You're going to kill me. What would it matter?"

"I... I'm not sure." The voice had moved to the front now. "I don't know if you have to be able to see me to hurt me. Maybe letting you talk was wrong."

"Hurt you? I don't want to hurt you." Blair wondered how sincere that had sounded. At that very moment he knew that nothing would be beyond him if it meant escape. "I don't even know who you are or why you're doing this."

"You know who I am!" The man fairly screamed it. "That's why you were there at the library. You wanted to stop me. But you can't because I know who you are. I've seen who you really are."

Blair could hear noises all around him and tried to convince himself that is was only his overactive imagination that made it sound like wood being dropped on wood. "What do you mean who I really am? If you know I'm a policeman then you know it's my job to protect people, not hurt them." He gasped in surprise when strong fingers wrapped themselves into his sweater.

"You hide behind doing good," Parris snarled. "But I've seen you. You and the one that was with you. I saw the wolf. I saw the black cat. I know what they are. You command them."

He saw them? I haven't seen them! "I don't know what you're talking about. There isn't any wolf or cat." He heard the man grunt and another clatter of wood against the floor. "What... what are you doing?"

"I'm getting things ready. It's Devil's Night tonight," he panted. "Tonight I will send your black soul back to Hell. Maybe then the others will be freed." Another bang of wood. "You are the one. It's you that's corrupted their minds. Made them what they are."

"They?" Sandburg hadn't thought it possible but the throbbing in his head began to worsen. He wondered if he was going to black out again.

"The witches!" Parris shouted at him. "You created them. When you're dead they'll be set free!" Blair heard the man's sharp intake of breath. "Wait. Did you hear that?"

The last thing he needed was for the killer to panic. "No. No. I didn't hear anything." It was the truth.

"Someone's coming. It's too soon!" Parris ripped the cloth from Blair's eyes. "I want you to see the face of the man who is your executioner. I have been the only one strong enough to stand against what you've created."

Sandburg blinked into the lighted room. The face before him swam in dizzy waves. Whether it was from being hit on the head or the sudden brightness, Blair couldn't be sure. "Please, just untie me. You've got it all wrong. I'm not a devil." He watched the blur that was Parris move away from him. Blinking hard to clear his vision, he tried to see what the man was doing. He heard a splash of liquid and then the strong odor of gasoline reached his nose. "Wait! Samuel, stop!" He didn't know why he had used the killer's first name but it had the desired effect.

Parris stopped pouring the gasoline, setting the can down carefully. Three long strides brought him to the devil. He raised his hand and slapped Sandburg across the cheek with enough force that it left imprints of his fingers. "Don't ever speak my name!" He raised his hand once again, ready to deliver another blow. Blair saw him stop and cock his head to one side. "He's coming. He can't stop me now."

Dazed, Blair wasn't sure what it was Parris was talking about. He hadn't heard anything either time. He was having a hard time hearing past the pounding in his head. But he began to hope that the killer was right. It had to be Jim. Mustering the strength he had left and taking a breath, he shouted the sentinel's name as loud as he could. Jim had to have heard him. He didn't think he could do it again. The effort had almost sent him back into unconsciousness.

Samuel Parris threw the empty gasoline container onto the last pile of wood. "That's not going to help you. He'll never get here in time. Even if he does he'll probably burn along with you. It's sad. I had hoped that I could save him from you." He took a book of matches from his pocket, pulling one match from it. "I had wanted the chance to pray over you. I had wanted to properly dispatch your soul, in case there was some small chance for your salvation." He shook his head sadly. "I can't do that now. I can't risk being interrupted."

Jim Ellison had come to a skidding halt just outside the large double doors to the theatre's storage area. He had heard Blair's voice as soon as he had entered the building and had followed it to the lower levels of the Alex, to the deep cave-like nooks hidden under the stage. He now stood with his back to the door, listening to Parris. The man was still too close to Sandburg for him to make a move. He didn't know if Parris was armed and he couldn't take that risk with his friend's life. He tensed as he heard the killer's last words. They had a sound of finality to them. Taking a deep breath and a step towards the room that held the two men, Ellison hoped that backup arrived soon. He had put in a call to 911 as soon as he had smelled the gasoline and had heard Parris say that he was getting ready to send Blair's soul to Hell. He still hadn't heard any sirens.

Chancing another quick look into the room, he saw that Parris had moved away from Sandburg. The smell of the gasoline filled the area, stinging his eyes and throat. He had to choke back a cough. Hearing his friend cough and wheeze against the putrid air, Jim had to use every ounce of control to not rush in. He had to have a plan. Holstering his gun, he realized it would be useless. One shot would ignite the fumes. Stealth would be his only weapon. Just as he made the decision to rush Parris, he heard Blair's heart begin to race.

"I know you're there," Samuel Parris called to Ellison. He held the matchbook in his hand. His other hand held the match, ready to strike it. "I can hear you. But you're too late."

Time had now run out. All promises he made to Simon of being careful were forgotten as he stepped into the room. With no time to think about a course of action he let instinct take over. He charged the killer. They both went heavily to the ground, but the sentinel had managed to knock Parris away from the gasoline soaked wood, winding him. Ellison knew he hadn't stopped the man. What he had done was buy himself enough time to get to his partner. As he picked himself up from the concrete floor he checked on Sandburg.

Blair had used the diversion to topple the stand and pole his arms had been tied to. His wrists were still bound, but he was free to move and get himself away from the gasoline soaked pyre. Pushing himself to his knees, he tried to stand. His eyes watered and stung from the fumes and his lungs struggled as he tried to breathe. He frantically worked to clear his vision to see what had happened to his friend, sagging with relief when he saw Jim just beyond the low wooden barrier. Attempting to straighten up, he saw that the world had once again taken a dizzying tilt. He doubted that he'd be able to make it to the door on his own. It was further than he wanted to walk. His strength had all but deserted him when he had freed himself. A loud crash brought his eyes wide open, making him wonder when he had closed them. Sure that Parris had recovered, he gathered every ounce of energy he had left, ready to fight for his life.

"C'mon, Chief." Jim's arm reached around Sandburg's shoulders, pulling him to his feet. "Backup's arrived and we're outta here." He gave his partner an encouraging smile, not liking the slightly disoriented daze that clouded Blair's eyes. He half dragged, half carried his guide to the door and freedom.

Blair wanted to tell Jim how glad he was to see him but couldn't get his voice to work. So instead he let himself be led from the room. He knew he'd never understand what it was that made him look back. Perhaps the fear that Samuel Parris was behind them? Whatever it was, he would be forever thankful that he had. What he saw nearly paralyzed him. Parris had risen unsteadily to his feet, a look of pure hatred marring his features. Blair saw the quick blur of the killer's hands and the flash.

With no time to shout a warning, he shoved at Jim with all his might. They both landed in a heap as the blue-white flame of a fireball shot over their heads. Then Blair's world went black.

"I think he's coming around now."

"Sandburg? Chief?"

Blair heard the voices and tried his best to ignore them. There would always be the possibility that if he didn't answer they would go away. Wherever he was it was soft. He didn't want to leave it.

"Blair?"

Jim was using Blair? He referred to him by his given name, but rarely used it. That meant he was worried. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw Ellison leaning over him. "Hey." It was hardly more than a rasp, surprising him until he remembered what had happened.

The sentinel's face creased into an impossibly large grin. "How you doin' buddy? You ate a little smoke back there. Paramedics say you've a pretty good knock on the back of your head, too. No permanent damage."

"Thas' good." Blair felt what must have been the gurney start to move. "Parris?"

"He never made it out, Chief." Jim answered quietly. Turning, he spoke to someone walking next to him that was out of Sandburg's line of vision. "They want to take you in for a check, Blair. I'm going to ride in with you."

"Okay," he sighed. "You sure? About Parris?" Blair relaxed at his partner's nod. He had questions, but they could wait. "Jim?" He grabbed his friend's sleeve.

Ellison held up his hand, signaling for the medics to wait. "What is it, Chief? You all right?"

"Yeah." Sandburg licked at his dry lips. "Just next time? Next time you have a bad feeling? Don't let me brush you off. Okay, man?"

"You got it, kid." Jim's smile was rueful as he gave his guide an affectionate tap on the cheek. "Let's get you checked out and go home."