Blair was nearly frantic. He was pacing the loft, running his hands through his hair and exhorting Jim to "hurry up, damn it! We have to figure out where he's taking her!" Blair stalked into his room and returned carrying his gun and a spare clip of ammunition. "What the hell are you doing, anyway?" he demanded, standing in the middle of the dining area and glaring at his still-seated partner's back. "We're wasting time!"

"Trying to figure out where he's taking her," Jim explained patiently, echoing his partner's words. He peered at the map, homing in his sight to read the text beneath the tip of the only point of the pentagram not already marked as a crime scene.

Blair took a deep breath and tried to find his emotional center. "I'm sorry," he apologized, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I'm not helping things here by panicking, am I?"

"She's your mother," Jim said, as if that explained everything. After another moment, he stood and refolded the map. He handed it to Blair, saying only, "Let's go get your mom, Chief."

"Oh, Darien," Naomi breathed, standing in the clearing with her head flung back and staring rapturously into the clear, starlit night sky. "It's lovely! What a marvelous spot! How did you ever find it?"

"In a business like mine, it pays to know your geography. I often wander the woods around Cascade in search of wild roots and herbs. I frequently discover little gems such as this." Darien gently took the blanket Naomi had been carrying and set about spreading it across the ground. Naomi admired the stars for another moment then settled to her knees and busied herself organizing the picnic items that Darien had toted. He paused in his work to watch her, a distant look on his face and only seeming to come back to the real world when she touched his arm and inquired softly, "Darien? Is something wrong?"

"Just the opposite," he assured her with a cryptic smile, "I was simply thinking that tonight is going to be a very special night."

Naomi felt herself blush and was glad the bright moonlight painted everything with the same pale blue light.

"Wine?" Darien offered brightly, pulling a wine bottle and two glasses from the hamper he had provided.

The blue and white pickup truck skidded to a stop in the gravel parking lot, throwing rocks and dust in its wake.

Blair's head literally swiveled on his shoulders as his eyes darted about, peering into the darkness, seeking confirmation that they had found the right area. "I don't see anything, Jim. Are you sure this is the right spot?"

"I'm a sentinel, Blair, not Superman," Jim admonished gently. "The last point on the pentagram ended in this general area. Given his previous choices, this seemed the most likely region for Cantwell to choose. I won't pretend it's not like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack, Chief, but I think this is our best chance. Now we've got to get out there and find him."

"Right. Right. Sorry, Jim. I'm just really scared, you know?" Blair turned wide, frightened eyes on his partner and raked a hand nervously through his hair.

"I know, Chief." Jim opened his door and stepped from the truck, reaching to ensure that his gun still rested snugly in its holster at the small of his back. "I am, too. You ready?"

Blair straightened and slid from the passenger side with a soft, but audible self-admonition. "Cop mode," he instructed himself harshly. The face he turned toward his partner now reflected the strength of will and purpose that Jim had seen so many times before and never doubted he could depend upon. The guide moved to stand beside his sentinel and touched his arm in spiritual and physical support. "Ready."

Jim inhaled deeply then released the breath in a long, cleansing exhalation and closed his eyes. Starting slowly, he extended his hearing slightly, cataloging and dismissing the undesired sounds he encountered; pushing farther and farther into the forest. He filtered out the sound of the traffic on the freeway located less than a mile off the road they had just traveled. He mentally muted the nocturnal creatures that proclaimed their availability to perspective mates with loud chirps, whistles, hoots and songs. Also discounted were the multitude of heartbeats, life giving, but too sharp and rapid to sustain human life.

His eyes still closed, Jim frowned, cocked his head and murmured, "Human heartbeats, a couple of miles northeast." Blair was too worried to be amazed at the range Jim was demonstrating. He was getting ready to demand that they start moving when Jim's frown deepened and he stated, "Two more heartbeats a little over two miles due north. And five to the northwest." He paused and pursed his lips. "Nobody's talking. I can't pick up any voices."

"Damn!" Blair thought quickly, and then instructed, "Okay, Jim. Piggyback your sense of smell onto your hearing. Try to find the hazelnut scent you say identifies Darien. And you know Naomi's scent. She likes to wear patchouli oil. Hunt for that, too. You can do this, man," he assured his friend.

Jim nodded slightly and followed Blair's instructions, mentally sliding his sense of smell along the path his hearing had just followed. After a moment, he rejected the northeastern path and traced the northwestern one. No hint of hazelnut or the slightly minty fragrance of patchouli oil greeted his olfactory inquiry. "North," he pronounced, after detecting both scents. Locking his senses on that location, Jim burst into action, taking off into the woods at a run, Blair reacting only a fraction later to follow his partner. The moonlight may as well have been streetlights as far as the sentinel was concerned, enabling him to see and avoid many of the forest pitfalls. He heard Blair's labored breathing as he strove to keep up with his partner who sported an unfair advantage and also heard him swear occasionally when he would trip or stumble. Ellison momentarily debated slowing the pace to better enable his partner to keep up. At this pace, the flashlight Blair carried would be of little value. But he recognized that time was of the essence and knew that Blair would manage, so he maintained his breakneck speed, certain that Naomi's life hung in the balance.

Lying on her back, gazing into the sky, Naomi frowned and disclosed in a distressed tone of voice, "I think I must be drunk."

"Why is that, my dear?" Darien asked, propping himself on an elbow and lightly brushing his fingers across Naomi's cheek.

"I suddenly feel so strange. Things are blurry and my body feels like it weighs a ton." Naomi's eyes closed briefly and she dragged them open with an effort, protesting, "But I can't be drunk, I've only had two small glasses of wine." Her voice was slightly slurred.

"Perhaps we should go, then," Darien said solicitously, pushing himself to his knees and leaning over to examine Naomi closely. "Can you get up?"

After what was obviously a Herculean, but unsuccessful effort, Naomi turned terrified eyes to the man beside her. "No!" she exclaimed in terror. Her voice was rough and tinged with panic. "Oh, my God, Darien, what's happening to me?"

Without answering, Darien rose to his feet and began gathering the remains of their meal, packing them neatly back into the baskets and hampers scattered across the clearing. "Well actually," he finally responded, turning to regard her seriously, "God has nothing to do with this. Nothing at all. You see I drugged your wine with an extremely powerful sedative. Being an herbalist comes in very handy, doesn't it? I have something else for you to drink a little later, but I've been told it has a very unpleasant taste and I don't believe you would have drunk it willingly. So I employed a little medicinal subterfuge to ensure your cooperation. In your current condition, you'll be quite unable to refuse the libation."

"Dar'n..." As hard as she fought, the syllables of his name came out garbled and indistinct. Her body seemed to grow heavier and heavier.

As if he hadn't heard her, Darien continued, "You see, Naomi, God isn't my higher power. I serve a much more powerful master than your pitiful little God." His eyes took on a slightly manic look as he spread his arms and declared, "Satan guides my steps! And through him, I will be Master of the world!"

He dropped to the blanket beside her, grabbed her chin in a bruising grip and wrenched her head to face him. "But your little boy, my dear Naomi, your precious little Blair publicly mocked me! He called me a 'wannabe' and said I was 'playing' at being a Satanist. He said I didn't know what I was doing! He tried to humiliate me, to turn the world against me! So he thinks I'm playing, does he? Well, I think he'll realize I'm not playing when they find your body, sweet Naomi."

Cantwell rose to his feet and disappeared from Naomi's narrowing view, but he continued his monologue. "It's a shame, really. I quite like you, Naomi-- you're bright, vibrant and open- minded. A little too compassionate, but I was confident that would change once you came to know our Master's plan." Cantwell's voice hardened and Naomi willed her body to move. It steadfastly refused to obey. "This is the second time my chosen Priestess has been denied me. But I must punish your self-righteous son for his crimes against me. And when his grief has begun to fade, when he least expects it, I will appear again to exact my ultimate punishment. I will sacrifice him upon the altar to my Master, just as I am about to sacrifice you." He came to tower above her and made a show of checking his watch. "It's almost time, sweet Naomi."

Unable to move or speak and barely able to keep her eyes open, Naomi could only pray as tears streamed from her eyes.

Cantwell donned his black robe and pulled the hood low over his face. Naomi's terror grew, recalling the grisly story Blair had told her earlier. She knew he had edited the details, but it had sounded terrifying enough in its abbreviated form. The realization that she was about to experience it first hand was almost overwhelming. Oh, please let me die of heart failure before the pain starts, she prayed silently.

The sound of footsteps broke into her thoughts and her heart leapt. Someone was there! Someone had found her! Her elation turned to despair when Darien's voice proclaimed, "You're all here right on time. I am pleased. Come, let us prepare the altar." Gray-robed figures drifted in and out of Naomi's view. Two disappeared into the trees and reappeared carrying a long, wooden bench. They placed the bench in the middle of the clearing and stepped back, bowing their heads. Darien draped a large, black cloth across its surface and Naomi realized with horror that it was the sacrificial altar he had so casually mentioned sacrificing Blair and herself on earlier.

Preparations continued with some of the figures placing black votive candles in a large circle around the clearing and others placing tall, wooden candlesticks on the ground at either end of the altar. Darien fit black candles into the holders and positioned a small bowl and a glass of amber liquid at one end of the altar. Two other acolytes built a large bonfire behind the altar. Soon the clearing was bathed in the flickering light of a raging bonfire.

He motioned to two of his followers and they moved to stand at Naomi's head and feet. So far, no one other than Darien had spoken a word. Mechanically, they knelt and stripped her of her clothing, quickly leaving her naked-- physically and emotionally, unable to even shiver in the cool night air.

Naomi tried to struggle as they bent and lifted her into the air, but her muscles refused to respond. She tried to focus her continually blurring vision on the face of the robed figure holding her feet, but they kept their head carefully bowed. She couldn't lift her chin to try to see the figure at her head. She tried to force words between her lax lips, to beg them to stop, to plead with them to understand what it was they were about to do, but no sound emerged. As they stretched her lengthwise on the altar, she could do nothing more than weep her silent tears and pray that Blair wouldn't be the one to find her mutilated body.

Jim skidded to a halt and caught his partner as he stumbled into him. "What's the matter, Jim?" Blair panted, placing his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. "Why did you stop?"

Holding up his hand for silence, Jim tuned into the conversation now taking place only a few hundred yards distant. "I can hear Cantwell talking," Jim explained in a low voice. Then he smiled slightly and informed Blair, "She's still alive, Chief."

"Thank God," Blair breathed, his knees momentarily weakening in relief.

"We need to move quickly, but quietly," Jim continued softly, "They're only a couple of hundred yards ahead, but it sounds like things are getting ready to come to a head." Jim suddenly cocked his head, "They're not alone anymore." Realization hit him. "Those other heartbeats I detected. They were heading to the same place!"

"He's going to perform a ritual!" Blair exclaimed softly, "Jim, we've got to stop him!"

"We will, Chief. But we've got to be careful. We're talking 10 against 2 now and us with no backup." Seeing Blair's distress, he reached out to tap his shoulder and winked. "However, at least 2 of us have guns and I seem to recall that one of us is a crack shot."

Blair's smile was shaky, but slightly more confident. "Let's do it."

Motioning his partner forward, Jim again took the lead, moving cautiously and quietly.

Darien pulled several more bottles of wine from one of the hampers and poured wooden goblets full for each of his followers. They quickly and enthusiastically drained them of their contents and tossed the goblets haphazardly about the ceremonial area.

Darien moved to the center of the clearing, stood beside the altar, raised his arms and began to chant in a language totally unknown to Naomi and terrifying in its unfamiliarity. As Darien chanted, his followers formed a circle around the altar and began dancing, spinning randomly in circles, fast and then slow, chanting their own strange litany. The volume grew, as did the intensity of their dancing. Dimly, Naomi was reminded of dervishes, members of some of the more extreme Muslim orders who performed whirling dances and vigorous chanting as acts of ecstatic devotion.

Darien's face filled her vision and she realized he was holding the glass of amber liquid. "The time has come, sweet Naomi," he whispered and Naomi wanted to scream her defiance. The dancers continued to whirl as Darien raised Naomi's head with one hand and brought the glass close to her lips. "This is a combination of Hemlock, Cherry Laurel, Valerian Root, Calabar Bean and a host of other substances equally as lethal when mixed. I'd love to say you won't feel a thing, but I'm afraid that's not true. Both the elixir and the punishment you must endure on behalf of your son cause excruciating pain. I'm not sure which is worse." Madness shown in Cantwell's eyes. "Drink to us, sweet Naomi." He brought the glass closer to her lips and tipped it slightly. Naomi watched helplessly as the amber liquid slipped toward the rim.

"Freeze! Cascade Police!"

Naomi thought she'd never been so glad to hear Jim Ellison's voice and wished she could move her eyes to look at him, to let him know how very glad she was to 'see' him.

Darien's hand stilled and he raised his head to calmly regard the intruders. Ellison and Sandburg stood just inside the edge of the clearing, determination etched on their faces and their guns trained steadily on Cantwell. The ecstatic dancers continued to whirl and chant behind them, seemingly oblivious to the drama playing out nearby. "Ah, Detective Sandburg, so nice of you to drop in. You being able to observe your punishment for my public humiliation is more of a gift than I could ever have expected."

"You move a muscle and I'll kill you," Blair vowed, his gaze never wavering. Naomi heard the steel in her son's voice and knew for a certainty that Blair would kill Cantwell, if it meant saving her life. On the one hand, the thought filled her with dread. On the other, she was extremely proud of his courage.

Cantwell smiled at Blair. "But, the question is, can you shoot me before I manage to pour some of the elixir into her mouth? Even a small amount is quite lethal, I assure you. And the mixture is so complex, there's certainly no antidote for it. Even if there were, we're much too far away from civilization for you to obtain it in time."

"Give it up, Cantwell," Jim instructed. "Killing Naomi now gains you nothing."

"Ah, but I gain my revenge on your partner, Detective Ellison. That will be my final satisfaction."

Suddenly a gray-robed figure broke from the circle of dancers behind Cantwell, dashed across the clearing, grabbed a goblet from the ground and swung it at the cult leader, screaming. "No more killing!" The wooden vessel struck Cantwell's right shoulder and the cup flew from fingers suddenly gone numb to drop harmlessly to the ground. The momentum of the blow threw Cantwell forward, causing him to drop Naomi roughly back to the altar and to sprawl across her naked, immobile body. The attacker's hood fell away, revealing the enraged features of Cody Atkins, who threw himself at the fallen leader. He wrapped his hands around Cantwell's neck, trying to choke him, but his grief-driven rage rendered his efforts largely ineffective.

Cantwell reacted quickly, reaching just beyond Naomi's head to grasp the previously unseen sacrificial knife with his left hand. With a supreme effort, he twisted his body to the right, swinging his left arm in a wide arc that ended sickeningly with the knife embedded in the base of Cody Atkins' skull. Cody's eyes widened in fleeting shock, then closed and his lifeless body slipped to the ground.

The partners, shaking off the momentary shock that had kept them rooted to the spot, leapt toward the altar-- Ellison to grab for Cantwell, Sandburg to pull his mother to safety.

"NO!" Cantwell screamed, twisting away from Ellison's grip and slashing out with the knife. Ellison gasped in pain as the razor-sharp knife opened a deep gash on his right forearm and he involuntarily dropped his gun.

The followers, hearing the Master's cry, stopped their frenzied dancing and chanting and stared in astonishment at the bizarre tableau laid before them. Silence bathed the forest, broken only by the crackle and hiss of the bonfire. Then Cantwell's voice rang clearly through the night, "I come to join thee, Satan!" Before anyone could react, he raised the knife and plunged it deep into his heart. Falling to his knees, blood streaming from the fatal wound in his chest, Darien Cantwell stared directly at Blair and Naomi Sandburg. The light from the fire cast deep shadows across his demented face, accentuating his aura of evil. A ragged cough tore from his throat and blood poured over his chin as he vowed, "You will be punished!"

Then he pitched forward to sprawl lifelessly in the dirt.

Bedlam ensued. The previously stunned followers threw off the euphoric effects of their drugged wine and scattered into the forest, shedding their encumbering robes and ignoring the Cascade detectives' commands to stop. One of the acolytes had stumbled into the altar, knocking the wooden bowl into the blazing fire, igniting the contents. Overcome by the resulting cloud of hazelnut incense that enveloped the clearing, Jim fell to his knees, coughing deeply, unable to catch his breath and pursue the fleeing witnesses. Blair had draped his jacket over his mother's naked body and was trying to revive his largely unresponsive parent, fighting to keep his panic at her condition at bay.

Seconds after it started, the melee was over. The only living occupants of the clearing were the two Cascade detectives and Naomi Sandburg.

Blair sat on the edge of his mother's hospital bed, her hand clasped tightly in his. Although pleased at her swift rebound from the effects of the sedative, the doctors had decided to keep her overnight for observation. Blair hadn't moved from her side from the moment she'd been settled into her room. Jim's forearm had been cleaned and stitched and he and Blair were now wrapping up the details of the case with their superior officer while Naomi napped yet again. The paperwork would have to wait until tomorrow, as far as the detectives were concerned.

"I'll admit I was stunned when I realized it was Cody who knocked the glass out of Cantwell's hand," Jim confessed from his chair next to the window. He turned to his captain, who stood leaned against the bathroom doorframe. "Last I knew he was in custody as a material witness, Simon. What happened?"

"He demanded to be released, Jim, and there wasn't much we could do about it. It's not like he was under arrest, you know. We couldn't keep him if he didn't want to be kept. I tried to call you to tell you, but no one was answering at the loft or on either of your cell phones." He glared at his detectives. "Do I need to tell you how foolhardy it was to go tearing off on your own like that with no warning and no backup?"

"There wasn't time, Simon!" Blair protested quietly, glancing down to make sure he hadn't awakened his mother. She had naturally been terrified by the experience, but appeared to be quickly recovering her emotional equilibrium. Blair was amazed at her resiliency and, knowing that she would soon be off to some other retreat or sabbatical, was determined to provide all the love and support he could.

"I understand, Blair, but that doesn't mean I approve," Banks pointed out. "The two of you were alone out there, with a madman and ten of his followers, out of cell phone range, and nobody knew where you were! Yes, everything turned out okay, but that, gentlemen, could have been a disaster."

Although he wouldn't have changed a thing they had done, Blair had to agree with their captain. It could have been a disaster. Neither of them had realized they had gone out of cellular range until Jim had regained his senses and tried to call for backup after the departure of Cantwell's followers. With Jim still laboring to breathe after his hazelnut incense overdose and bleeding profusely from his knife wound, Blair had been forced to make the trek back to the truck to make the call on the more powerful radio while his partner watched over his mother. The entire way back to the truck, all Blair could think about was how close he had come to losing his mother as a result of his police work. He realized how Jim had felt whenever Blair had been endangered during his days as a police observer.

Instead of voicing his opinion, however, he posed a question that had been plaguing him. "We still don't know who leaked that report to the press, do we?"

"Yes, we do," Banks replied, wincing in remembrance of his accusation against Sandburg. "Donna in Records was dating the reporter in question. Apparently a little pillow talk led to her handing him the report. When she saw it appear in the paper, she came clean. She swears she didn't know he was going to publish it. Needless to say, she's been terminated."

Blair wished he could feel sorry for the clerk, but her mistake had almost led to his mother's death.

"Well," Simon Banks sighed, breaking into Blair's thoughts, "you two have certainly had your fair share of bizarre cases lately. A maniacal Satanic leader, the ghost of Lash... what's next? Don't answer that!" he quickly amended. "I don't want to know."

"I think I know what this is, Simon," Jim said, regarding his partner seriously.

"What's that, Jim?"

"It's a Sandburg thing. I mean, look at it. Every time one of them comes to town, something happens." He studiously ignored his partner's snort of amused derision. "Sandburg's first day in the station, it's taken over by the Sunrise Patriots; his mom comes to town and gets wrapped up in a car theft ring; his Uncle Obie arrives unknowingly toting a stolen gem; and now Naomi gets involved with a Satanic cult leader." He grinned at his partner to make sure he knew he was kidding and repeated, "It's a Sandburg thing."

"No, it's not!" Blair shot back with an evil smile, "It's an Ellison thing!"

"Oh?" Ellison crossed his arms across his chest. "And, tell me, Shaman of the Great City, how it can be an Ellison thing when it always happens with a Sandburg around."

"Payback, man, for all that covert crap you were involved in before I came along. You know, kinda like..."

"Karma backlash!" supplied a sleepy voice from the bed.

Ellison threw up his hands in surrender and laughed. He knew when he was defeated.

Like this episode? Email the writer: collartr@sprintmail.com
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Stay tuned next week when uncertain about his role as a shaman, Blair seeks enlightenment from an unusual source in "Determining The Right Path" an all new The Sentinel.

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