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*****
The definition of an asshole is a guy who doesn't believe what he's seeing. And you can quote me.
-Richard Ginelli, Thinner
*****
"I'll grant you this is not like him," Simon offered. "God knows he has his faults, but I doubt he would leave this way, without telling you, after three years of experience."
"He wouldn't." Simon had come down to Blair's office after an argument so weak that Jim wondered why he'd even bothered. Now they faced each other across Blair's desk, Simon clearly itching for a cigar and restraining himself in deference to Blair's "no smoking in my office ever; I don't care *who* you are" rule.
"You've gone over the office?"
"Yes, sir."
"Any point in my sending forensics in?"
"I don't think so." Simon nodded.
"I imagine you went over things pretty closely. All right."He leaned forward. "You don't seem too surprised by this. What are you not telling me?"
"Someone sprayed Nilodor in here to cover their tracks."
"Jesus. You think somebody *knows* about you?"
"I think that's pretty obvious." Simon frowned.
"Could it be Brackett?" Jim hadn't even considered that.
"Could be ... maybe ... but he would want me to know it was him."
"Besides which, you have another theory in mind."
"I -- yeah, I do. But it wouldn't hurt to check the phone record for the past few days."
"I'll have that done. Now, talk." Jim talked. He opened the bag and spilled everything, from the gun at the U of A to the powderfied vampire to his talk with the green-eyed man. To his credit, Simon said nothing until Jim was through. Then he simply said,
"Are you sure about this?" Jim shut his eyes and bowed his head.
"I've spent the past two weeks trying to convince myself that it was some kind of hallucination or dream."
"And?" He met Simon's eyes.
"I can't do it. I know what happened was real. I fell like I've known all my life. We haven't talked about it, but I can tell Blair's the same way." Simon began to root through his coat pockets, produced a bottle of Tylenol.
"I swear I never used to get headaches like this." Under better circumstances, Jim would have enjoyed that performance. Once the pills were down, Simon gave Jim a look which was both accusatory and peevish.
"What do you want me to say, Jim?" Jim didn't know. He hadn't known, himself, how certain he was of what he happened in Edmonton. Not until he heard himself admitting it to Simon.
"I find it hard to believe," Simon went on. "It's goddamned crazy. Vampires? If I'd heard this story three years ago, I would've had you committed. If I'd heard it three months ago, I would've suggested that you take a vacation. Now, I
--" He stopped, giving them both a few moments to consider the events which had changed his point of view. They had never discussed this, and they weren't about to start. Simon got to his feet.
"I'm going to treat this as a missing person's case, with the suspicion of foul play. Major Crimes will investigate in a conventional manner. You are going to be off following a lead on your own, and officially I don't know anything more about it." Jim nodded.
"Thanks, Simon." Simon sighed.
"This kid is no end of trouble."
"He's basically worth it."
"I know," Simon stopped in the doorway. "Where are you going? back to Canada?"
"Yeah."Something was screaming at Jim, telling him to go to Edmonton...and at this point, instinct was about all he had.
"Keep me informed." There was no question but that Simon was distracted-- he was nearly to the front doors before he remembered to light up a cigar.
*****
I stand alone and watch the clock. I only wait for it to stop. The doors are shut and all the windows lock. The only sound is from the clock. I sit and wait alone in my room. (deliver us from evil)
-Yaz, In My Room
*****
Jim had waited for a morning flight, on the wild hope that Blair would come home during the night and make the trip unnecessary. There had been a time in the recent past when Jim had thought he wanted silence, but he'd learned his lesson. He did not need to have it driven into him again and again.
[Okay, Sandburg? Deal? You come home and stay home and don't do this anymore.]
But Blair didn't come home, so Jim sat with grainy eyes and prickly skin in a viciously silent loft until morning.
*****
You wouldn't be lying to me would you, Agent Scully?
-Skinner, Tooms
*****
"I'm sorry. I can tell you're upset, but I think you're barking up the wrong tree." [I think you're lying.] "I mean, even if something did get a line on him while he was here, how would it follow him to Cascade?"
[You knew where he was from.]
"You're a cop; he's involved in dangerous stuff all the time...don't you think it's a little far-fetched to assume his disappearance has anything to do with one bad experience in Edmonton? Why don't you look around there, and if--"
"I'm not in Cascade."
"You're...where are you calling from?"
[You sound nervous, Professor X.]
"The psychology grad students' lounge." Jim had gone to Tom Maranchuk's office because it seemed like a reasonable place to start, and when he found it locked he'd decided to call Tom's house. It wasn't until he heard the quickening of Tom's pulse and tension in his voice at the mention of Blair's disappearance that Jim had even considered the possibility that Tom might be involved.
"You-you came back to Edmonton?"
"Apparently."
"Okay, look...just stay there, and I'll come meet you."
"Right."Jim hung up and headed for Tom Maranchuk's house.
*****
It is one thing to want somebody out of your life-- it is anther thing to serve them a wake-up cup full of liquid drainer.
-Veronica, Heathers
*****
One of Tom's roommates was pulling up to the house as Jim arrived.
"Here to see Tom?" Jim was surprised to be recognized so quickly...but then again, he probably didn't look anything like the people who tended to visit this house. Once inside, he didn't waste time on conversation. He figured Tom was either packing or making a phone call, and Jim had just a few minutes to catch him before he fled for parts unknown. The lack of sound coming from Tom's room was discouraging, and Jim widened the range of his hearing to detect anyone running or driving away from this house. He was so focused on his hearing that he nearly tripped over the body.
"Son of a bitch." He knelt down beside the late Tom Maranchuk and felt for a pulse, but there wasn't much point in it. Not many people had drain cleaner shot into their veins and lived. The roommate discovered the body as Jim tracked a syringe to the far side of the bed. He panicked, and Jim ignored him. Was it 911 in Canada? Well, no harm in trying. When the operator answered, Jim quickly gave the necessary information. While he waited on the line, as instructed, he turned his attention to the student who was poking at Tom in some bizarre attempt at CPR.
"Buddy. Hey...you can give that up. He's been shot full of drain cleaner. You can smell it in that syringe over there." The words had no effect, and Jim didn't bother to repeat them. He was frustrated beyond measure. Something very bad was going on here, and Jim didn't doubt for a second that the person who'd done this knew where Blair was. Broad daylight. And even if that sleeping during the day business was bullshit, that still didn't explain why something that strong would bother to poison someone. Maybe this wasn't a vampire thing after all... but if that was the case, Jim had no idea what was going on. Compared to not knowing, his vampire theory was beginning to seem comforting.
*****
I willfully withheld information vital to an ongoing investigation.
-Blair Sandburg, 3 Point Shot
*****
Jim gave the Edmonton police the whole story...more or less. He told them that he had accompanied Blair on an academic trip, but didn't say why. He told them that they had gone vampire hunting, but said that Blair was studying closed societies. He mentioned that Tom was a parapsychologist, but left out his interest in heightened senses. And when he told them about Blair's disappearance, he described the irresistible force which had driven him back to Edmonton as a "hunch". They asked a lot of questions about what happened at the club, and Jim answered fairly honestly. He'd seen something attack Blair, drinking his blood. That something had been awfully damned strong. Suddenly, it had crumbled to dust. Jim said that he had no idea how or why... and no, he hadn't been drinking.
"This," he told them, "is all in the incident report you people had me fill out at the hospital."
"Yeah," the cop who'd been questioning him said. "We plan to cross- reference. So, if you're investigating a kidnapping in this country--" Jim held up a hand
"He's a missing person, and I'm here as a private citizen."
"Not of this country."
"Yeah, that's understood. Can I go?" After taking Jim's hotel and cell phone numbers, the cop gestured for him to leave. Jim would've been happier about that if he could have thought of a single place to go.
*****
Burn all the letters -- government's on the phone. Soldiers are coming to plunder, but there are some things they will never know.
-the Indigo Girls, Burn all the Letters
*****
He's been just a little late getting to Tom's office-- the Edmonton police arrived as he was entering the Psychology building, which left him with nothing to do but listen in from the lounge and think about how arriving a little late was becoming a specialty of his. It didn't take the police very long to figure out what a parapsychologist was, and most of what Jim could hear was a long string of jokes on that topic. If they found anything interesting, they didn't say. He was considering just walking in there and pretending to belong, when someone walked into the lounge.
"What are you doing here?"The question was surprised but not unfriendly. Jim didn't have to open his eyes to recognize the voice of Blair's red-headed friend.
"Eavesdropping," he said. Tom's office was just down the hall
-- he figured it was plausible enough. He opened his eyes and saw her cock her head.
"There are people in Tom's office. You can make out what they're saying?"
"I have good hearing." She grinned at him and sat down.
"No kidding. You one of his test subjects?" Jim considered his options and decide on something resembling the truth.
"I did one of those card tests for him, but I guess I'm not a psychic. Just some guy with good ears." She reached under the couch and pulled out a small coffee maker, plugged it in.
"The stuff in the vending machine is battery acid." Jim was surprised enough to laugh. She looked at him oddly and he waved a hand.
"Nothing. You just reminded me of someone."
"You were here with that anthropologist, the one who did the sentinel paper."
"Yeah." She scooted back into the couch cushions, and folded her legs beneath her.
"I read his master's thesis. Tom gave it to me." Was there anything sweeter than catching a witness before they found out the murder victim was dead?
"Did you work with Tom?"
"I used to, last year." There was a harshness to her tone, and her temperature was up just a bit.
"Did something happen?"
She shrugged.
"Nothing special. I was replaced." She was trying to behave as if she didn't care. Jim wasn't buying it.
"By who?"
"Grad student from the U of T. I guess he's okay, but the thing that really burns me is, his undergrad work was all in criminology. Explain to me how that qualifies him for parapsychology." Jim allowed as how that was a little strange.
"No kidding, it's strange. I would love to know how he's been working out, but Tom's gotten really closed mouthed. I mean last year I would've bet that someone would eventually cut his tongue out, just to shut him up. But since last semester began...does he think I'm going to steal his research? Cream, sugar?" Jim took a moment to switch gears.
"Uh, black. Thanks."He sipped coffee and had to admit it was pretty good. He raised his cup in salute, and the redhead smiled.
"It's one thing I do right."
"So, is it credible that someone might want to steal from Tom's research?" She almost choked on her coffee.
"Yeah, right-- because Tom's career is on fire." There were footsteps coming toward the lounge from Tom's office, and Jim took that as his cue to leave.
"I can't explain right now," he said, "but you may want to talk to me later." He wrote his hotel phone number on the back of his Cascade PD business card and handed it to her. "Thanks for the coffee." She hadn't followed him for more than five feet when Jim heard the Edmonton cop stop her. He might be confused... he might be uninformed... and he might be too incompetent to find his own partner... but if nothing else, his timing was getting better.
*****
Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God.
-Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle
*****
The call came just after five p.m.
"Ellison."
"You had dinner yet? He smiled, wondering if this insistence on always seeming casual was a trait shared by all grad students.
"No. You asking me out?"
"My roommate and I will be having dinner at the university Earl's, around six. Do you need directions?"
"In this city?" It hadn't taken long to discover that Edmonton's layout was illogical at best. On their way from the airport to the U, Blair had suggested that the city planners liked to work while dropping acid and watching Dark City. He'd also made pointed comments about someone named Sarah Winchester, but Jim didn't know who that was, and hadn't bothered to ask. The redhead laughed, calling him back to the present.
"Okay, get a pen." After a page and a half of instructions which included, "Ignore the one way sign at the bottom of 112th, because it's pointing the wrong way," Jim was ready to go.
*****
I always enjoy finding out about people. It always relaxes me.
-Wallace Shawn, My Dinner With Andre
*****
"By the way, since it hasn't come up yet, I'm Laurie Mickoski."
Jim took the proffered hand while staring at the redhead's dinner companion.
"And," Laurie went on, noticing his stare, "this is my roommate, Kate."
"Oh, we've met," Jim informed her. Kate was grinning broadly, a surreal Cheshire Cat in black lipstick.
"He was at the club the other night. Hey, is your friend okay?"
"He's--" Jim started. Laurie cut him off.
"That's the guy who got stabbed?"
"Long curly hair, big blue eyes, absolutely fucking gorgeous?"
"Yeah, that's him! That's the anthropologist who was visiting Tom."
"Wild." They'd forgotten about Jim, which suited him fine. He hadn't decided yet what line he wanted to take with these women, and he preferred not to be asked any questions.
"I can't believe he got stabbed. Jesus. Poor guy. I bet he'll never come back to Edmonton."She turned to Jim. "Is he okay?"
"Yeah."If she thought Blair was dodging Edmonton, he was prepared to let that ride for now. "You," he said, turning to Kate, "put on quite a performance at that club."
"I hope so," she said cheerfully, reached for her margarita. "That's what I do."
"What?"
"I'm a performance artist. I'm working on a new show, kind of exploring the ways in which passion acts as a catalyst. If you--"
"Katie," Laurie said, "honey, not now." Kate shrugged and sipped her drink. Laurie was frowning at Jim.
"What were you doing at a goth club? Why would Tom take you there?" Jim didn't figure Tom had secrets worth keeping anymore...and even if he did, Jim wasn't inclined to keep them.
"We were looking for vampires."
"Oh, right," Kate said. "As if a real vampire would--"
"Because of the heightened senses thing? Like in the Anne Rice books?" Jim let distaste show on his face.
"I wouldn't know. But that *is* what he thought." The waiter dropped menus on their table and scurried away, clearly not liking the looks of this conversation. Jim didn't blame him.
"So Tom found some pseudo-vampire, and he wanted to make sure it wasn't a sentinel," Laurie said, opening her menu. "That makes some sense."She scanned the menu quickly, appeared to make up her mind, and set it down. "So," she said, looking Jim in the eye,
"explain to me why Tom is dead." She almost pulled it off, the unconcern. It was possible that only a sentinel would have noticed the way her hands were shaking. Jim sighed.
"I wish I could. Obviously he was involved in something dangerous, and I think we need to look at the criminologist."
"Uh-huh. I'm all for that." Kate set her menu down.
"Where is your friend, anyway?"
"Good question," Jim admitted. He told them the whole story, over dinner, and found that they could be silent when it suited them. He did not hesitate to correct Kate's belief that Blair had been stabbed.
"That's crazy," she countered, "It's just that you were in the vampire club, and that psycho was drinking your friend's blood, and-- "
"And when I tried to pull him off Blair, I was thrown against the side of the alley. He just backhanded me. He wasn't even trying very hard."
Kate considered that.
"The police haven't found him yet."
"They won't. He crumbled to dust just before everyone ran outside." Laurie shook her head.
"You sure you weren't on anything?" Jim glared at her.
"What do you think?"
"Okay, okay... but the thing is, that's impossible."
"If you have questions about it, you'll have to refer them to the green- eyed guy." Kate swallowed some of whatever she was eating. Jim couldn't identify it by sight, and didn't want to go for smell.
"What green-eyed guy?"
"Little guy with black hair and green eyes. He was standing at the end of the alley. He told me he was the one who killed the vampire, and I found him convincing." Kate's eyes were bright.
"Did he talk kind of funny? Sort of cryptic? And was he wearing one of those leather dusters?" Jim found himself wishing for Simon's Tylenol.
"Yes. Why?" Kate and Laurie exchanged looks.
"Sounds like Chancy," Laurie said. She didn't sound happy about it.
"Definitely. I wonder if the rumours--"
"Don't start."
"Hey!" They stopped and looked at Jim.
"Who the hell is 'Chancy'?"
"That's a nickname," Laurie said. "After Chance Harper, from Strange Luck." Jim gave her a blank look.
"It's a TV show. Never mind."
"Why do you call him that?"
"He has strange luck," Kate said. "Just... incredible timing. And he's a hell of a card player." Jim looked at the remains of his stir-fry. It hadn't been bad. Blair's stir-fries were better, but he didn't want to pursue that thought right now.
"How do you know this guy?"
"His boyfriend is in one of my classes," Kate said. "They were hanging around with me and Laurie one day and she gave them the Zener on a whim."
"Actually," Laurie corrected, "I only gave it to Chancy. Keiran left as soon as I brought the cards out. He has some *thing* about them."
"Weird."
"So," Jim said, trying for patience, "did he guess them all right?"
"Oh," Kate said, grinning again, "it was way stranger than that."
"No matter how many times I gave him the test," Laurie said, "and no matter how much I shuffled, the cards came up in order. All the stars, then all the circles, then all the squares..."
"So this guy definitely has something extra."
"Oh, yeah. Chancy's documented. But he's so strange, nobody will believe it. Tom ran a lot of tests on him, but none of the papers he wrote about it were published."
"Then this guy might know what Tom was involved in, right? If they worked together a lot?" Laurie looked uncertain.
"Well... I don't know. How much does a subject really know about the researcher?" It occurred to Jim that this girl might have hit upon his least favorite topic.
"I wouldn't mind talking to this guy," he said.
"What's his real name?"
"Joel-something," Kate said, glancing at Laurie.
"Yeah. I can't remember, but he lives with his boyfriend. I can show you where." As they left the restaurant, Jim thought to ask about the rumour Kate had mentioned earlier.
"Oh, it's really out there. Someone said that he was good at controlling cards 'cause he's really in touch with chaos. He talks about chaos all the time."
[I can corroborate that.]
"This guy said that he'd seen Chancy look at a glass of wine at a party one time and start talking about how the glass was crawling toward chaos, or something like that. Then he said something about how it was unbearable suspense sometimes... and then-- my friend swears this is true-- the glass just disintegrated. Just like you say the vampire did. Wine all over the table. Of course, my friend is the only one who saw it." Jim felt a kinship with Kate's unnamed friend.
"That doesn't mean," he told her, "that he was wrong."
*****
Everything that I believe is wrong with you is wrong with me.
-The Indigo Girls, Hand Me Downs
*****
The two women nattered comfortably for most of the short trip, bickering over Laurie's driving and Kate's choice of radio station and who had left the kitchen window wide open during last night's rain. Jim couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so lonely. Okay, scratch that. Yes, he could. As he'd guessed, the house wasn't far from where he'd had his talk with Joel "Chancy" Whatshisname. It was so large that Jim thought it must be subdivided into apartments, but he only saw one buzzer at the front door. What were a couple of university students doing in a place like that? Kate answered his unspoken question as the got out of the car.
"I think Keiran inherited this place. They run it as a boarding house, but I'm pretty sure it's non-profit. Keiran must come from money or something." The door opened as they went up the walk, and a handsome but thin blond stepped onto the porch. His hair was cropped close, his shirt was pressed, and the wire rims on his glasses were practically invisible. Jim was willing to bet he folded his underwear.
"Hi, Keiran," Kate chirped.
"Hey, Katie. Uh... this is not a good time."
"This guy wants to talk to Joel." Keiran met Jim's eyes.
"What about?" Jim recognized the stance, the way this man was blocking the doorway, the way his shoulders were set. He was pretty sure he looked much the same way when Blair was standing behind him. There was no point in trying to intimidate someone who would rather die than back down.
"I need him," Jim said gently, "to help me find my friend." Keiran took his time sizing Jim up, and Jim let him. Finally, the blond shifted his gaze to Kate and Laurie.
"You guys should go home," he told them, "I'll see you tomorrow."
"But--" Laurie took Kate's arm and led her back to the car.
"C'mon. I'll buy us ice cream." Once the car had rounded the end of the block, Keiran stepped aside.
"Come in." As he entered the house, Jim heard people fleeing the main floor, crowding the stairs. He had a suspicion he wasn't going to< enjoy this conversation.
"Joel...do you know this guy?" Joel was on the couch, sitting cross-legged at one end. The dark, stylish clothes of the other night had been replaced by jeans and a t-shirt which featured a tentacled monster looming over Canada's parliment buildings and the caption "Cthulhu '97-- Why settle for the lesser evil?"
"Yes," Joel answered, looking at Jim. "Better than he knows." Keiran took a deep breath and waved Jim into the living room. Jim chose a chair across the coffee table from Joel and noticed that Keiran remained on his feet. [Fighting]
he thought, not knowing why.
[They're fighting.]
"Joel... Laurie tells me you were a test subject for Tom Maranchuk."
"Joel, you don't have to talk to him." Joel kept his eyes on Jim.
"Yes."
"Do you know specifically what he was working on?" Joel shifted in his seat.
"It wasn't his work."
"Joel." Joel looked at his friend, unnaturally calm.
"I want him to know." Keiran threw up his hands.
"I'll be in the kitchen." Jim waited `til he was gone, then leaned forward and asked,
"What do you mean it wasn't his work?"
"He did what the other one asked." Jim had had more productive talks with five year olds.
"What other one?" Joel turned his head.
"Keiran!"
"What?"
"Tell him." Keiran returned from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel.
"You know I don't think--"
"Tell him." Keiran sat on an arm of the couch.
"You could learn to say please."He faced Jim. "Okay, look ... Joel did some tests for Tom, and Tom wrote some papers which he said weren't for publication. I asked him why he was going to so much trouble if didn't intend to publish, because a paper is a lot of work compared to just taking notes." Jim nodded. He understood that.
"What did he say?"
"He said he had a convention coming up, but I thought ... I didn't believe him. I'm not sure why."
"The gun." Joel's soft voice was a shiver on Jim's skin.
"What gun?"
"Yeah," Keiran said. "That was later. Joel was alone in the office with Tom's research assistant, and the guy had to take a call in the lounge, which left Joel alone with his backpack. And neither of us really trusted this guy."
"Why's that?"
[And what's that smell?]
"I don't know. I guess he didn't act much like a parapsychologist ... or any kind of student, to be honest with you. He was just too ... straight." There was an obvious dig to be made, but Jim left it alone. He had other things
[You know that smell from somewhere.]
on his mind.
"So, what was in the backpack?"<
"Well, a gun. And some very fancy looking cell phone, and a couple of things Joel didn't recognize ... and at the bottom, the guy's RCMP badge and ID."
"The criminologist was really a Mountie." Keiran laughed. It wasn't a happy sound.
"Think that if you want to, man."
"You think he wasn't a cop?"
"I think Tom was a parapsychologist. Did you know he's dead?"
"Yeah. I found the body." Keiran looked surprised.
"Really. Anyway, the RCMP doesn't care about psychics and the paranormal. But this country has a long history of ... have you ever heard of MK-ULTRA?" It had been a long time since Jim had had much to do with the CIA, but still he felt a strange urge to lie. Ridiculous.
"Yeah," he said. "That project is over. And it's hardly a secret anymore."
"No, it isn't. Most people even know that the CIA liked to conduct MK-ULTRA experiments on Canadian soil. The CBC did a mini- series on Ewen Cameron's hospital not too long ago."
"What has that got to do with the Mountie?" Keiran raised his eyebrow.
"I'll get there. I believe that MK-ULTRA never did shut down. It changed focus." Jim shook his head. He had little patience with conspiracy theorists, a fact which Blair seemed to find hilarious.
"MK-ULTRA is--"
"Save it. I've seen things you would not believe. I have good reason to think that our countries are actively working together to find, exploit, and eventually reproduce paranormal abilities. For now, they're tools in espionage... and don't ever think espionage is dead." Jim didn't. He said nothing.
"Ultimately, I think they want armies at their disposal. You have heightened senses, right? Joel, is this the guy you told me about?"
"Yes." Back in Covert Ops, Jim had known a guy who used to say, "When two people know something, it's not a secret anymore."And then he'd laugh, which raised the hair on the back of Jim's neck. He was dead now, suicide. Jim didn't know what secrets the guy had kept, but undoubtedly he'd taken them to his grave. Jim, on the other hand, felt like a goddamned open book.
[open dissertation, to be precise]
"So what if I have heightened senses?"
"What if a whole army had them? You can't miss the potential in that."
"Actually, I can. But this is a waste of time, because your pointless rambling--"
"My point," Keiran said, "is that when you meet a CSIS agent-- that's a Canadian spook, by the way--" Jim glared at him.
"I know that."
"When you meet a CSIS agent and ask him what he does for a living, nine times out of ten, he'll say he's with the RCMP."
"That's crazy. You have no reason to think he was a CSIS agent."
"Yes, I have. What do you make of the situation? You've got a dead parapsychologist, and something has happened to your friend. I assume this is the guy Joel saved from the vampire?" There was no point to keeping cards in his hand, not if he wanted to find out what had happened to Blair.
"Yeah. He disappeared from his office at Rainier University last night."
"Shortly after spending time with Tom Maranchuk. You don't see a pattern developing here?"
"Of course I do," Jim snapped. "That's why I'm talking to you."
"And I'm telling you, it's CSIS. I'm familiar with these people."
[That smell was in Blair's office.]
Jim shut his eyes.
[Nilodor.]
He stood, startling his hosts, and moved to the source of the smell. It wasn't hard to find. It was coming from a leather backpack, lying on the floor just inside the back entrance to the house. Jim stared at it, unable to take his eyes off the Canadian flag sticker on the back.
[Stop that, Ellison. Look at something else.]
He looked down at the dusty floor beneath the pack. Terrible housekeeping.
[Oh god...]
Unless...
[Oh Jesus...]
It really was an awful lot of dust.
[Oh, god.]
Keiran and Joel were standing beside the couch when Jim turned around, and he was glad he'd visited a washroom recently. Nothing more embarrassing than a tough, experienced detective soiling himself.
"He came for me," Joel said in that eerily mild tone. "The way he came for your friend."
Jim gawked at him, couldn't help it.
"You..."
"What would you do?" Keiran put in. "They steal people. They make people disappear."
"He killed that man!"
"Self-defense. That's what we'd say if you'd found a body in our house. But you didn't. You didn't find anything but a backpack and some powder, and maybe you could try to sell that to the Edmonton police, but don't you have better things to do?"
[Deal with this later. Find Blair.]
"Look, your friend here is a freak of nature..."
"You should know," Joel said softly, pre-empting Keiran's angry reply.
"Okay, so am I," Jim allowed, "but they didn't take me. They took Blair, and he is just an anthropologist."
[And shaman. Don't forget.]
"He defeated chaos," Joel said. Jim could swear he heard admiration.
"He got my senses in order, if that's what you mean," he said, "but otherwise he creates chaos. He's an official sponsor of chaos." Joel was smiling a little. Jim hated it.
"We all speed toward disintegration. There is a point where the balance between chaos and stasis is tipped, and it's impossible to hold together any longer. He passed that point and still he called his atoms home. He called his spirit from boundless space to one body. Do you understand?"
[He came back from the dead.]
Jim didn't speak. Didn't the whole world know he didn't want to talk about this?
"A will that strong commands magic." Jim began to move toward the back door. Nobody stopped him. As he opened the door, his eyes fell on the backpack again. If he was going to call the police, it was pretty important that he leave it there. Evidence. After a moment's hesitation, he took it with him.
*****
I am standing at the water's edge in my dream. I cannot make a single sound as you scream. It can't be that cold; the groundis still warm to the touch. (We touch)This place is so quiet, sensing that storm.
-Peter Gabriel, Red Rain
*****
Hearing started to go as he made it back to his car. Sight had the decency to wait until he was in his hotel room. Jim sat down on the bed and shut his useless eyes. It stood to reason that his senses were going-- he'd been using them hard, and his partner was nowhere to be found. He carefully went through the process Blair had taught him, trying to calm down, relax, regain control. He was trying very hard not to think about anything complicated. On the floor between his feet, the weight of the backpack reminded him that he was holding on to evidence of a murder. Exactly who had been murdered, a criminology student or a Mountie or a spook in a toque, that he didn't know. He pushed the pack away.
[Relax. Deep breaths. You can do this]
It was over an hour later when Jim finally sensed light on his eyelids. He was about to open his eyes when he heard a panther growl.
[That's all I need right now.]
There was no point in delaying it. Jim opened his eyes, expecting the jungle. Instead, he found himself in a dark room with an odd reddish glow and walls that seemed able to swallow him. A soft noise behind him caught his attention
[Hearing's back]
and he turned to find Blair standing a few feet away. He looked dead on his feet, with red rimmed eyes, and a disturbing pallor. His sheepish "Oops, sorry dragged us into something again" smile was playing around the corners of his mouth, but he couldn't quite seem to pull it off. Jim went to him without hesitation, took Blair into his arms. This wasn't real, Jim knew that, but Blair was solid and reasonably warm against him. Blair wrapped his arms around Jim's neck and laid his head on Jim's shoulder. Jim held him tight, resting his cheek against Blair's curls and breathing in the scent of chamomile shampoo. That particular shampoo was one of the many things Blair claimed to employ in the pursuit of women, but Jim didn't believe it. He suspected Blair just liked the smell.
"Is this," a muffled voice said, "my vision or yours? I can never tell." Jim moved back enough to see Blair's face.
"Are you all right, Chief?" Blair managed a weak smile.
"More or less, yeah."
[Liar.]
"Where are you?"
"I don't know." That was the truth, but there was something guarded about Blair's manner, and Jim didn't like it.
"What can you tell me?" Blair shook his head, and Jim saw tears in his eyes.
"Chief..."
"I can't. I don't want to lead you here." Jim grabbed his arms as Blair tried to pull away.
"What the hell are you talking about? What's going on?" There was a change in the room, a sudden coldness of the sort that usually presaged hail. Blair tensed in his grasp.
"Blair?" He fell forward, shaking, until his forehead was against Jim's chest.
"Hurts..." he said, sounding like a terrified child. Jim put a hand on the back of his head and stroked his soft hair.
"Ssh..." Rain was falling inside the room. It was rain from a blistering summer day, the kind that fell in huge drops, and felt warm against bare skin. Jim saw the drops and thought at first that the red glow of the room was playing tricks on his eyes. Then he smelled the rain, and realized that it looked red because it was blood. Blair raised his head. Jim couldn't tell if the red streaks on his face were rain or tears. Every part of him ached.
"Blair, what is this? What does it mean?" Blair leaned in close. Before Jim could react, Blair had pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.
"I love you, Jim," he said, "Go home." When Jim woke the next morning, his senses were back in place. They were also perfectly, relentlessly normal, and refused to be anything else.