Disclaimer : This story was written purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of other fans. In no way do I make a profit off of it. I recognize that the copyrights to the various characters belong to Paramount and Pet Fly Productions.Rating & Warnings : [NC-17] For language and sexual content. This story contains graphic depiction's of violence .
Author Notes : A special thank you to Lisa and Diana for betaing this story through Chapter 7, Mary for betaing the final chapter, and to Aayesha for coming to my rescue and agreeing to beta the rest. However, since I didn't always listen to their advice, I readily accept credit for any remaining mistakes. My sincerest appreciation to Danny for creating the lovely introductory photo.
Dedication: This story is lovingly dedicated to my friend, Aayesha. I couldn't have done it without you.
ASPHALT JUNGLE
Montage
Stepping out of the diner, James Ellison zipped up his jacket and hitched its collar higher against the cold and driving rain. He hated working on nights like this and, once again, considered quitting. The thought however was fleeting. He had tried a succession of normal jobs before, only to lose each one in turn.
Diagnosed as suffering from a Post Traumatic Stress disorder, William Ellison had been appointed as Jim's legal guardian and granted his Power Of Attorney. This meant that the elder Ellison not only had control over his son's medical treatment, but his bank accounts as well. Accounts that included eighteen months of back pay from the time he was missing, and presumed dead, in Peru.
Remanded to a VA hospital, the combined treatment of counseling and drug therapy had done little to alleviate Jim's debilitating symptoms. Over time, more and more drugs were introduced to his system, some of which he'd had an adverse reaction to. Afraid that he would end up a drugged-out vegetable for the rest of his life, Jim decided that he had to get out of there.
More than once, he had pleaded with his father to be allowed to come home but, as usual, the stern and imposing William Ellison had turned a deaf ear to his son's desperate requests.
So, after several weeks of pretending to take his medication, when in actuality he was flushing it down the toilet, Jim snuck out of the hospital and disappeared off the face of the Earth.
Odd jobs, those that didn't require any identification, were few and far between. As a result, Jim resorted to selling the only asset he had left: his body. A blow job here, a quick fuck there, and he could earn enough money in one night to last him a couple of days. Not to say that it wasn't without its risks. More than once, he would awaken from one of the mysterious fugue spells he was subject to only to discover that the john had ripped him off.
Inexplicably drawn towards his hometown, Jim eventually worked his way up the coast from Los Angeles to Cascade, Washington. And while contacting his father or younger brother, Stephen was out of the question, 'something' prevented him from moving on. So, taking up residence in the red light district of town, a place the great William Ellison wouldn't be seen dead in, Jim began to ply his trade.
It hadn't been easy carving out a niche for himself. The local pimps hadn't appreciated his independent attitude and refusal to become part of their stables. But his covert training had come in handy and, after a few initial run-ins, the pimps pretty much left him alone.
For once the strange fugue episodes that had plagued him since Peru had actually become an asset, earning him a reputation on the streets as being crazy. After that became common knowledge, people were prone to giving him a wide berth. Except, of course, for the johns. One look at Ellison's rugged features and impressive physique, and they were lining up in droves.
For the most part, Jim kept to himself. However, people came to realize that, contrary to rumors and the tough facade he presented to the world, Ellison was in fact a gentle and caring individual who would go out of his way to help anyone in need without expecting anything in return.
Respect for the loner grew, but despite his new found family, of sorts, Jim continued to feel a restlessness, an ache deep within that could not, would not be assuaged. It was this 'need' that had driven him out of the diner's warmth and into the cold rain-swept night.
Oh well, at least he should be able to make some quick cash. Inclement weather usually drove all but the most hardy, or desperate, indoors. All except for the johns that is. Nameless, faceless strangers seeking sex, nothing seemed to deter the endless parade of cars that cruised the strip. Where any fantasy could be fulfilled, any need be met, as long you had the money to pay for it.
Descending the steps, he jogged across the parking lot, heedless of the puddles disturbed in his wake. Eager to escape the pelting drops, he cut through a vacant lot, used much to his disgust, as a dumping ground by the neighborhood's residents. Making good time despite the slippery ground and piles of debris, he'd almost reached the other side when a strange prickling sensation caused him to stop. Turning, he scrubbed a hand over his rain-drenched face and peered, with confusion, into the darkness.
What had alerted him? Whatever it was certainly didn't feel threatening. Quite the contrary. Inexplicably drawn towards the source, Jim started back the way he'd come.
Skirting the various piles of discarded refuse, he allowed the feeling to guide him, adjusting his course when necessary. Several minutes later his search came to an end.
Discarded, like so much garbage, a man laid huddled on his side. Clothes askew, jeans and shorts bunched around his ankles, he appeared dead. Hoping that wasn't the case, Ellison moved in for a closer look.
Kneeling beside the battered figure, Jim checked for a pulse and was relieved to feel a light, though irregular, throbbing beneath his fingertips.
Trained as a medic during his stint in the service, Ellison began a quick, but efficient examination of the mud-coated individual. He mentally cataloged the various injuries, multiple facial contusions and a split lip. A large gash was located just behind a torn and bloody earlobe where it appeared as if several earrings had been brutally ripped out. Grimacing, Jim then painstakingly probed the man's neck, chest and abdominal areas before adding two possible cracked ribs and a myriad of bruises to the rapidly growing list of injuries.
Taking into account the individual's state of undress, Ellison knew that the possibility of sexual assault had to be considered. Afraid of what he might find, he carefully maneuvered the unconscious man over onto his stomach. With a strangled gasp, Jim plopped backwards onto the wet ground.
"Those sick - perverted sons of bitches!" he ground out between teeth clenched in anger. Not only had the man been raped, but the instrument of his assault, the handle of a toilet bowl plunger, still protruded from between the bloody buttocks.
Reigning in his emotions, Ellison leaned forward with trembling hands and, grasping the offensive object, carefully began extracting it. However, despite his gentle ministrations, fresh blood began to seep from the abused opening and a pitiful moan erupted from the inert form.
Startled by the sound, Jim hesitated. "I'm sorry," he murmured softly. "I know it hurts but if I'm going to help you, this needs to come out." Uncertain if the young man had even heard him, Ellison continued. Thankfully, there were no additional cries of pain as the cruel implement was removed and tossed aside.
The wet and muddy conditions made an in-depth examination of the vulnerable area virtually impossible. So, sliding the shorts and jeans back up over pale legs and slender hips, Ellison gathered the unconscious man into his arms. Then, praying he wasn't making a mistake, Jim adjusted the weight of his burden and headed towards the solitary motel room he called home.
Shifting the weight in his arms, Jim toed the door closed. The austere room was illuminated only by the motel's flashing vacancy sign and his eyes narrowed as he briefly considered his options. Quickly dismissing the bed, he carefully lowered the unconscious man onto a ratty looking, over-stuffed chair.
Kneeling in front of it, Ellison eyed its occupant with concern. Between exposure to the elements and shock, the man's skin felt like ice. A warm bath seemed the most practical solution. It would gradually increase the man's body temperature and give Jim an opportunity to wash away the accumulated blood and dirt.
Rising, he discarded his jacket and, rolling up his sleeves, strode into the gaudy pink-tiled bathroom. Flicking on the overhead light, he began filling the tub. Pausing only long enough to adjust the water's temperature, he returned to the other room, drew the drapes closed, and began the arduous task of undressing the stranger. Muddy and wet, the clothes clung tenaciously. With a frustrated growl, Ellison pulled out his pocketknife and began slicing through the garments. At the sight of cigarette burns around the younger man's groin, Jim felt physically sick, but forced himself to continue until the other was stripped. Not once during the entire procedure had the man moved or uttered a sound.
Lifting the dead weight, Ellison carried him into the bathroom and cautiously lowered him into the tub. Then, holding him upright with one arm wrapped around sturdy shoulders, he shut off the water. Starting with the hair and working his way down, Jim methodically cleaned away the blood and grime. The water, which had grown progressively darker as each cut and bruise was revealed, now lapped against the sides of the bathtub in a ruddy shade of brown. Draining the tub, he refilled it and rinsed his charge one final time. At least now the younger man was clean and his body temperature was approaching normal. Satisfied, Jim pulled the stopper.
Used to his own precision cut, Ellison eyed the long straggly hair of his unexpected guest with dismay. Irrationally annoyed with himself, he wrung the strands out by hand and, mindful of the scalp laceration and torn earlobe, wrapped a towel around the damp locks.
It wasn't easy lifting the one hundred and fifty pound, unconscious individual from the tub, but eventually, Jim had hauled him upright, snagged the remaining towel and wrapped it around his hips. Once again hefting the man into his arms, Ellison returned to the other room. Then, setting him down only long enough to pull the covers back, Jim laid him on the bed and eased him over onto his side.
Disappearing into the bathroom, he returned a moment later with a first-aid kit. Sometimes subjected to rough trade, an inevitability in his profession, experience had taught him that it paid to keep ample medical supplies on hand. Setting the kit on the nightstand, he turned on the bedside lamp and adjusted its shade to cast more light on his patient.
'Shit! Where do I start?' He silently wondered.
Unhooking the towel, he eased it from beneath the slender hips. Pleased to discover that the rectal bleeding had slowed considerably, Ellison packed the area temporarily with gauze. Draping the towel over the man's lower region, he turned his attention to the scalp laceration. Fortunately, it wasn't as bad as it had first appeared. Deftly removing the surrounding patch of hair, Ellison cleaned the wound and applied a butterfly bandage.
The torn earlobe proved a problem. It, like the rectal tear, would require stitches. Cleaning and sterilizing the area, as well as the required implements, Jim began. Several minutes later he snipped the last suture. Granted, his needlework wouldn't win any prizes, but at least now the torn flesh had a chance to heal with a minimum of scaring. Realizing his hands were shaking, Jim decided to treat the rest of the man's minor injuries before attending to the other tear that required his attention.
Moving to the other side of the bed, he paused to study the immobile features. Despite the split lip and rapidly darkening black-eye, there was no denying the man's innate attractiveness. Unconsciously, Jim reached out and, running a thumb over the slightly parted bottom lip, wondered what that gorgeous mouth would feel like wrapped around his cock.
Alarmed by the direction his thoughts had taken, Ellison snatched his hand back as if burned. Disgusted by his actions, he turned away, breathing heavily. 'Nice going, Slick', he silently berated himself. 'The kid's been beaten and raped, and you're having fantasies about him sucking you off. Christ! You're no better than the animals that did this to him.'
His pale, blue gaze fell on the row of bottles lined up neatly on the mirrored dresser. Stalking towards it, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey, removed the cap and took a healthy swig. Slowly, his eyes rose and Jim realized he didn't like the man staring back at him. When had he become so callous?
A soft moan drew his attention to the other figure reflected in the mirror. He should have just taken him to the hospital and been done with it. But even as the thought surfaced, Jim dismissed it with uncharacteristic ferocity. No one was going to touch the kid ever again. "NO ONE!" He roared slamming the bottle down on the dresser. Stunned, he watched as its shattered fragments dropped from nerveless fingers.
Where the hell had that come from?
Once again, his eyes rose to study the mirror's reflection. What was it about this man? Jim was certain he'd never seen him before. A face like that you didn't forget. Why did he he feel so protective -- so territorial towards the stranger, and at the same time, want him so badly that he ached with the need? Ellison shook his head. It made no sense.
It was a nearly inaudible whimper that drew him back to the bed. Dropping to his knees, Jim tenderly brushed the tangled locks aside. "It's all right," he murmured softly. "You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you ever again."
'I'll make sure of it!' He silently vowed. One way or another, the bastards that did this were going to pay.
For a long time, he simply sat there stroking the other man's hair. The effect was strangely erotic, yet soothing at the same time. 'I've been bewitched. 'He snorted with silent amazement. Shaking off the fanciful notion, he rose. It was time to deal with the remaining injury.
Removing the gauze, Jim carefully cleaned and examined the area. With the proper rest and care, some of the irritated tissue would heal quite nicely on its own. It was the remaining damage that Ellison needed to address.
As he had done before with the earlobe, Jim meticulously sterilized the necessary implements, then pausing long enough to gauge his patient's vitals, he began mending the torn flesh. More than once, he cursed the size of his hands, wishing they were smaller and more suited to the delicate task. Suture after minute suture, he worked, his intense concentration broken only long enough to wipe away the sweat stinging his eyes. He worked steadily, methodically, until the last stitch was tied off and the thread was cut.
'Thank God that's over with.' He breathed with a sigh of relief. Sinking back on his haunches, Jim used the back of his shirt sleeve to swiped at the perspiration dotting his forehead. Christ! He felt like a worn out dishrag. But at least the hard part was over. Or was it? Slowly, his eyes rose to the young man lying on the bed. For him, the nightmare had just begun. Frowning as he noted the slight tremors still racking the man's body, Ellison staggered to his feet. Pulling up the bedclothes, he tucked them in snugly around the unconscious individual.
Adjusting the thermostat, Jim began cleaning up the medical supplies and broken shards of glass. The kid's clothes, now thoroughly ruined, were relegated to the trash. Too tired to worry about the damage to the overstuffed chair, he threw a towel over it, lowered himself into its familiar comfort, and wondered about the strange turn of events. One thing was certain, after tonight, Ellison knew his life was never going to be the same.
Dark and ominous, the figures blocked his path, and an innate sense of self-preservation warned him to flee. Turning, the fear grew as he discovered himself surrounded. Like a cat with a toy, they batted him about. Utilizing his greatest gift, he tried to talk his way out of the situation. His tormentors, refusing to listen, merely jeered at his efforts, and the pushes and shoves became viscous kicks and blows. In desperation, he struck out, landing a few punches of his own. Enraged, they retaliated. Spewing vile comments, they beat and tortured him. His desperate pleas and cries of pain provided them entertainment until, barely conscious, they committed the most demoralizing act of all. Pants and shorts around his ankles, amidst laughter and shouts of encouragement, he was brutally violated.
An urgent knock at the door startled Ellison awake. Immediately his eyes sought out the young man lying on the bed. The knock came again, and Jim's focus shifted to the nightstand drawer where he kept a gun.
"Come on, Slick, open up. I know you're in there."
Recognizing the voice, Ellison felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders.
Again, the rapid staccato bursts sounded. Becoming irritated, he rose and stalked to the door, yanking it open. "What do you want?" he demanded, blinking against the harsh sunlight.
"Hey, man. It's about time," his visitor admonished.
Not in the mood to fuck around, Ellison growled, "Just cut the crap, Arnie and tell me what you want."
"Yeah, well, see it's like this." The youth shifted nervously. "My little sister's sick. I was hoping you could spot me some cash so I can get her some medicine."
'Little sister, my ass,' Jim thought, not fooled for a second by the pathetic lie. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that the kid was strung out and in need of a fix.
Ready to slam the door in his face, Ellison hesitated. Normally he wouldn't even consider giving money to a known junkie, but, unable to leave his injured guest alone, he needed someone to run some errands.
"All right," he agreed to the redhead's obvious surprise. "But first I need you to do something for me."
"Sure man, anything," Arnie readily agreed.
Carefully spelling out his instructions, Jim handed over some money. "There'll be more of this when you get back," he told the junkie.
Nodding eagerly, Arnie stuffed the bills in his pocket and started to turn away.
Ellison snagged him by the collar. "And don't even think about taking a powder," he warned. "Because I 'will' come looking for you."
Swallowing nervously, the kid tried to feign indignation. "Come on, Slick. You know I wouldn't do that to you."
"Just see that you don't," Ellison retorted, releasing him.
Arnie fled.
Hoping he hadn't just made a mistake, Jim closed the door and went to check on his unexpected guest.
Even from a few feet away, Ellison could feel the heat radiating off the younger man. With a muttered curse, he hastily drew back the covers and began examining his patient.
The sutured areas looked good with no obvious signs of infection. Stumped as to the source of the fever, Jim studied the unconscious individual. It was then he heard the congestion in the kid's lungs. Ignoring the fact that it was technically impossible for him to have heard such a thing, Ellison silently berated his medical skills. 'Damn it! I should have anticipated something like this happening.'
Gathering a glass of water and bottle of Tylenol from the bathroom, he set them on the nightstand. Now all he had to do was figure out how to get the tablets down the kid's throat. Lowering himself onto the bed, he carefully maneuvered the man into an upright position.
Stirring, the feverish individual groaned in protest.
"I'm sorry. I know it hurts," Jim gently commiserated as he eased the smaller man back to rest against his chest, "but you're burning up, and I need you to take some aspirin."
Placing the Tylenol in the man's mouth, he retrieved the glass of water, tipped it forward and allowed the liquid to flow between the partially parted lips. Almost immediately, the younger man began to choke. Quickly setting the glass down, Jim tilted the kid's head backwards and began stroking his throat. "Come on, buddy. You've got to swallow. That's it," he encouraged, pleased when he felt the Adam's apple bob beneath his touch. "There, that wasn't so hard," he commented, smiling at the small victory. But as quickly as it appeared, the smile faded as another soft moan reminded Jim of the man's rising temperature.
Brow pleated with concern, Ellison lowered him back down onto the bed. Grabbing the ice bucket, he took it into the bathroom and, filling it with water, added a washcloth. Pausing only periodically to force more liquids past the parched lips, he repeatedly bathed the fevered skin, washing away the seemingly ceaseless sheen of perspiration.
Intent on his task, the knock on the door surprised him. Jim's head shot up, nostrils flaring.
"Come on, Slick. You want this stuff or not?"
'Arnie.' Ellison acknowledged with a sigh of relief. That emotion was replaced by anger as Jim realized just how long the junkie had been gone.
Throwing open the door, he snarled, "Where the hell have you been? It's been over two hours."
"Hey man, chill." Arnie fidgeted beneath the accusing glare. "There was some pretty weird shit on the list, and it took me a while to find it all."
Grabbing the kid by the front of his jacket, Ellison jerked him forward, crushing the bag of supplies between them. "Don't lie to me, puke. You think I can't tell when somebody's riding a high?"
"You got it all wrong, I swear!" Arnie sputtered in protest.
Abruptly releasing him, Jim snatched the bag out of his hands. "You'd better hope everything is in here," he warned, peering at the contents inside, "otherwise I'm gonna have to pound your ass."
"Come on, you know I wouldn't dick you around like that."
Steely blue eyes rose threateningly, flashing a warning. A warning that went unheeded by the junkie.
"Look, I don't wanna sound pushy here, but I really need to get that medicine for my little sister."
"Sure you do," Ellison replied contemptuously. "Wait here."
Retreating into the room and shutting the door behind him, Jim set the bag on the table by the window. Pulling out his wallet, he counted out the promised sum and grimaced at the small amount still remaining. He was going to have to hit the streets sooner than expected.
With a worried glance towards the motionless figure on the bed, he returned to the door and opened it. "Here's the rest of your money." His distaste obvious, Jim shoved the cash at the junkie.
Pleased, Arnie counted the bills one by one. "Thanks, Slick. Always heard you were a man of your word."
Having been paid, the younger man gave way to his curiosity. "So, who have you got in there anyway?" he asked, trying to peer around Ellison into the darkened room.
The response was immediate. Slamming the door behind him, Jim grabbed the junkie and, swinging him around, shoved Arnie against the wall. Voice low and dangerous, Ellison warned, "If you know what's good for you, you'll forget all about this. Capiche?"
"Sure, man. Whatever you say," Arnie babbled against the crushing chokehold.
Releasing him, Ellison patted the junkie's cheek. "Good boy." The accompanying smile was strangely reminiscent of a shark.
"Now, I believe you said something about buying medicine for your sister..."
"Yeah man," the junkie replied, scooting sideways. "I gotta go. See you around, Slick." And with that, Arnie was off like a shot.
Closing his eyes, Jim let out a pent up breath. God, he hated dealing with scum like that.
Letting himself back into the room, Jim quickly checked on his patient and then began unloading the supplies. Item by item, Ellison's anger grew. Rather than purchasing the specified brands, Arnie had bought generic whenever possible. 'No wonder he had money left over for smack,' he thought angrily, shoving aside the beer in the efficiency size refrigerator to make room for the orange juice.
"No...please!"
Ravaged by nightmares and the fever coursing through his body, the younger man tossed restlessly.
His anger at Arnie immediately forgotten, Ellison hurried to the bedside. "Shhh, it's all right," Jim soothed, brushing the damp locks away from the flushed face. "You're safe here."
Surprisingly, the kid settled down at his touch and Ellison found himself strangely comforted by the knowledge. 'Angel or sorcerer?' He silently wondered as his eyes roamed over the immobile figure.
Brightly burning flames condensed, taking on a vaguely humanoid shape. Forming a circle, they surrounded him, preventing escape. Slowly, they closed in and the heat became unbearable as their flickering tendrils snarled out, searing his skin. His cries of anguish merely acted as fuel for the nightmarish apparitions, and they grew hotter, their flames -- brighter.
Periodically, a gentle breeze would waft across his skin, dousing the fire and healing his burnt flesh. But the respite was short lived as the living flames rekindled to continue their torment.
The alcohol rubdowns had little, if any, effect and by the time dusk had fallen, Ellison conceded failure. Wearily, he rose from the edge of the bed. Stretching to relieve cramped muscles, he crossed to the phone, picked it up, and dialed.
"Simon, it's Jim. I need your help."
An intense gaze bored into Dan Wolf's back as he completed his examination of the battered youth. Shaking his head at the nature of the injuries, Dan replaced the sweat soaked covers and, rising, turned to deliver his verdict. "This man should be in a hospital."
"No! No hospital!" Ellison roared stepping forward. "The kid stays here!"
Unconsciously stepping back a pace, Wolf exchanged bewildered glances with Simon Banks, head of the Major Crimes division of the Cascade Police Department.
"Jim, maybe you should hear him out," Banks interceded. "After all, you did ask for his help."
His body language broadcasting barely contained restraint, Ellison nodded curtly.
Releasing a pent up breath, Dan shot Simon a quick look of gratitude, then returned his attention to the tense individual standing before him. "Given the materials you had to work with, you've done an admirable job of treating his injuries. However, he appears to have a mild concussion which someone needs to keep an eye on, and, without x-rays, it's impossible to tell whether or not those ribs sustained any substantial breaks --"
"There's a hairline fracture on two of his ribs on the left side," Ellison reported, interrupting Wolf mid-sentence. There was no need to add that the kid obviously had Jim's undivided attention and would be well looked after.
Sill disturbed, Dan insisted, "There's still the matter of the congestion in his lungs. Left untreated it could turn into pneumonia."
"Then write a prescription for some antibiotics, and I'll make sure that he takes them." Ellison's tone offered no compromises.
Uncertain, Wolf looked to his long time friend. "Simon?"
Banks glanced at the rigid individual who was literally responsible for saving his son's life. Ellison could be a hard ass at times, but he usually had a good reason. "Do it," he told Dan. "I'll take full responsibility."
Wolf was still uneasy about the situation but trusted Simon's judgment. Writing out the required prescription, he started to hand it to Jim, only to withhold it at the last second. "You're to make sure he takes the entire prescription and the refill if necessary," Dan instructed. "And I 'will' be back in a few days to check on him."
Jim recognized an ultimatum when he heard one. With a quick nod of agreement, he took the slip of paper and stuffed it into his back pocket.
Gathering his things, Wolf headed for the door. "You coming?" he asked Simon.
Banks shook his head, "You go ahead. Jim and I have some unfinished business to discuss."
Dan knew that tone of voice. Smiling inwardly, he was half tempted to stay and see who would win the battle of the wills. Instead, he just shook his head and let himself out of the motel room.
"All right," Simon rounded on Ellison as soon as the door closed. "You want to tell me what that was all about?"
"The kid stays here!" Jim responded brusquely, crossing the room to check on the man in question.
"Damn it, Jim," Banks sputtered. "You and I both know he was more than likely a victim of the same group that's been targeting male prostitutes and gay individuals."
Tucking the blankets in tighter around the unconscious man, Ellison looked up, his vibrant blue eyes, cold and menacing, "And your point is?"
"Aside from the fact that the man should be in a hospital, so far he's the only one who has survived an attack. I'd like him to live long enough to give us more than the vague description we already have of the assailants."
"That's why he's staying here," Jim retorted, retrieving his jacket from the chair. "If word gets out that he's still alive, they'll try to finish what they started." Shrugging on the coat, he pinned Banks with a deadly glare, "I won't have you using the kid as bait."
Truth to be told, Simon wasn't crazy about the idea either. But four people had died, with the fifth barely surviving the attack. "So far, this kid is the best chance we've had to nail these bastards," the captain pointed out. "And when it happens again, because you know it will, are you going to be able to live with that?"
"I'll have to, Simon," Jim replied softly, pain at the thought clearly evident as his gaze shifted to the man on the bed. "Because I won't jeopardize his life. Not for anything."
Moved by the quiet intensity of the proclamation, Banks' gaze strayed to the injured young man. "I'm curious," he said, remembering Ellison's earlier comment. "How do you know his ribs only sustained hairline fractures?"
'Shit!' There was no way he could explain to Simon that he'd been able to feel the minute fissures. The older man would think he was crazy. "I was trained as a medic in the army," he supplied, hoping the hasty explanation would suffice as he quickly changed the subject.
"I've got to get this prescription filled," he said zipping up his jacket. "Could you stay with him while I'm gone?"
"I could pick it up for you," Banks suggested.
"Thanks, but no," Jim declined the offer. "I have some other business that I need to take care."
Simon didn't have to ask what kind of business. "All right," he agreed. "I'll sit with the kid until you get back."
"I appreciate it," Ellison replied, already halfway out the door.
"Jim!" Banks called, halting his progress. "What happens to the kid the next time you need to take care of some business?"
Sighing, haunted blue eyes rose to meet Simon's inquiring gaze. "I'll have to worry about that when the time comes."
"Go on," Banks told him gently. "We'll both be here when you get back."
Staring at the closed door, Simon wondered, not for the first time, why a man like Ellison had resorted to selling himself on the streets. According to the background check he'd run, Jim came from a wealthy family, was well educated and a bona fide hero, all of which were earmarks for an illustrious career in any chosen profession. So why prostitution? The black man shook his head in confusion. Maybe it had something to do with why Ellison had left the VA hospital. His investigation had turned up that little tidbit of knowledge as well. He also knew that William Ellison, Jim's father and legal guardian, had instituted a search for his son upon his disappearance. Not that Simon would ever bring Jim in. He owed the man too much to even consider it, despite his legal obligation as an officer of the law to do so.
"No...don't!" The delirious, gut-wrenching cry broke into Simon's musings.
Disturbed by the man's suddenly agitated state, Banks threw open the door with the intention of calling Ellison back. Unfortunately, Jim had already disappeared into the night. Shutting the door, Simon turned to face the unconscious man tossing restlessly on the bed.
"Looks like it's just you and me, kid," he commented, taking off his coat and throwing it over the back of the chair.
"No...please, don't-- "
Concerned, Banks swiftly crossed the room and, sitting on the edge of the bed, laid his palm against the man's forehead, gauging his temperature.
"No!" Came the panic-filled cry as the unconscious individual physically recoiled from the contact.
"Whoa! Take it easy," Simon chuckled nervously, surprised by the unexpected maneuver. "I'm here to help."
Spotting the ice bucket, Banks retrieved the washcloth, wrung it out, and carefully placed it on the man's feverish brow. It was then that Simon took his first good look at the injured man Ellison had been so protective of.
Despite the evidence of a slight five-o-clock shadow, the kid didn't appear to be older than sixteen. And if that were the case, the captain knew he had a legal obligation to notify the juvenile authorities. "Damn it!" Banks muttered. "Now what do I do?"
Ever since he'd left the motel, Jim couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that something was wrong. It wasn't that he didn't trust Banks; the cop had proven himself on more than one occasion. But, regardless, every instinct was crying out for him to return to his solitary room and the young man who had so abruptly entered his life. However, the kid needed antibiotics and, without insurance, the prescription was expensive. He needed to score to score and score big. Enough to pay for the medicine and tide him over for the next few days. So, after dropping off the prescription, Ellison headed over to the strip and began to ply his trade.
Giving a john the once over, Jim shook his head and moved on. He didn't have time to fuck around with pansy--assed blowjobs. He was looking for a certain type of john, one that liked to play rough and was willing to pay for the privilege. Having learned his lesson the hard way, the prostitute usually avoided such individuals. Unfortunately, this time the situation necessitated taking the risk.
It took longer than expected, but eventually Jim found his mark. The weasely looking little man fairly reeked of it. Pussy whipped at home by a domineering wife, or maybe browbeaten by an overbearing boss, his type would cruise the strip picking up the butchest prostitute they could find. Their money assuring them, at least for a little while, of someone they could subjugate instead.
"Two-fifty up front," he told the man, his tone allowing no negotiations. "I choose the place and no bare backing."
The john started visibly at the price, but the need to possess, to control the man leaning in his car window was too great. Mutely, he nodded and the prostitute climbed into the car.
Renoldo's, a predominately gay club, was known to rent out their upstairs rooms to a select few. For a fee, one was guaranteed clean sheets and intervention by one of the establishment's bouncers if the situation required it. Jim, preferring to rent a cheaper room and pocket the extra cash, only resorted to using Renoldo's when circumstances warranted the extra protection. And while the situation merited taking the risk that didn't mean he couldn't take precautions.
Letting himself and the john into the club's rear entrance, Ellison nodded in greeting to the man stationed there. He'd met Ben before and trusted the bouncer explicitly. Turning to the john, Jim reminded him, "Two-fifty up front."
Obviously displeased, the john hesitated briefly before forking over the required amount. Taking time to count it first, Ellison then handed the entire sum to the bouncer.
"Number three is available," Ben said, peeling off the clubs cut and stuffing it into his pocket.
Knowing the remaining cash would be returned when they were through with the room, Ellison started up the stairs, leaving the john to follow in his wake.
"We've got an hour," Jim said, closing the door behind them. The backhanded blow caught him off guard and sent him reeling.
"Then I guess we'd better get started," the john sneered.
"Get undressed," he ordered, turning to set the briefcase he was carrying on top of the dresser.
Swiftly discarding his clothes, Jim heard the dual click as the clasps were opened to reveal the briefcase's contents. Handcuffs, along with several other toys and types of restraints lay nestled within the wound coils of a bullwhip.
Closing his eyes, Ellison cursed himself for not having the foresight to state a higher fee. He'd expected the little prick to play rough; he just didn't expect him to be quite so sadistic about his methods. Still, a deal was a deal, and if things got too bad, he could always yell for one of Renoldo's boys.
Once totally naked, Jim was ordered to stand facing the end of the bed while his wrists were fastened to the knewl post. Firmly secured, he tried to steel himself against the pain that was sure to follow.
The first stroke took his breath away. The blows that followed were equally intense in their brutality and Ellison bit his lip to keep from crying out. Soon, blood trickled from the various cuts, and by focusing on that sensation instead of the pain, Jim could track their distinct routes down his back and over his bare ass. The entire time, the john ranted and raved, taking out his frustration and anger at those in his everyday life on the smooth planes of Ellison's back.
Finally, the beating stopped, and behind him, Jim could hear the john breathing heavily. Half dazed from the pain, he hung limply in the restraints until, freed, he collapsed, face down, on the end of the bed.
"On your hands and knees, bitch," the john ordered. "I'm not through with you yet."
Suppressing an agonized groan, Ellison slowly positioned himself as instructed.
"Spread 'em." Came the demand as the hilt of the whip was tapped against the inside of Jim's thighs.
Again, Ellison complied. Head hanging low, his breath coming in harsh pants, Jim felt his ass cheeks parted and the john's latex covered cock rammed home. Involuntarily stiffening at the intrusion, he forced himself to relax and ride out the brutal thrusts.
Behind him, the john shuddered and came with a shout. Gritting his teeth as the man's cock was withdrawn, Ellison gingerly lowered himself onto the bed.
A soft knock sounded at the door, and a voice he recognized as Ben's called that their time was almost up. Relieved, eyes closed, Jim was only vaguely aware of the john getting dressed and gathering up his belongings. A few minutes later he heard the door open and close, the john having left without so much as a comment.
Teetering on the periphery of consciousness, it was some time before Ellison became aware of another presence. Wearily, he opened his eyes.
"Are you all right?" Ben asked, the gentle inquiry quite a contrast to the man's size and appearance.
"Yeah," Jim replied despite the pain clearly evident in that singularly uttered word. "Just give me a minute."
"No offense, Slick," the bouncer commented, "but I think you got the raw end of the deal."
Ellison snorted at the play on words.
"I left your money on the table," Ben told him. "Just come on down when you're ready."
"Thanks," Ellison hissed through clenched teeth.
Bathed in agony, the mere thought of moving torture, Jim didn't even hear the bouncer leave.
Yet, even as he lay there, the uneasy feeling that had been nagging at him all night, returned. It was the urgency that lay beneath that feeling that propelled him to move. Ignoring the screaming protest from his flayed back and the deep ache in his ass, Jim staggered to his feet.Under normal circumstances, he would have taken time to make use of the facilities. Instead, he painstakingly pulled on his clothes and, gathering up his money, left.
Stopping only long enough to pick up the kid's prescription, Ellison hurried towards home. Two blocks away, his head shot up in alarm as terror filled screams reached his ears. His pain, forgotten in the face of such heart wrenching sounds, Jim broke into a run. Not once did he stop to consider just how he had managed to hear them from so faraway or how he was certain they were issuing from the battered individual he'd left behind.
Bursting through the door, he was enraged by the image of Banks leaning over the bed trying to restrain the figure struggling beneath him. "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!" Ellison roared, forcibly plucking Simon away and tossing him aside.
Caught within a nightmarish reality created by his own mind, eyes open, still lamenting his distress, the kid seemed unaware of his immediate surroundings.
His sole attention focused on the man before him, brow creased in concern, Jim sat down on the side of the bed and, avoiding the flailing arms, carefully gathered the thrashing body close.
"It's all right. Easy now," he spoke in hushed tones as the kid continued to struggle. "No one's going to hurt you. You're safe."
On and on he droned, quietly reassuring, gently petting and stroking the terror-stricken individual now pleading for his assailants to stop.
Picking himself up off the floor, Banks had been stunned by the volatility of Ellison's attack. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the rage had vanished and Simon watched with amazement the gentle, almost reverent way Jim handled the kid.
Despite Ellison's intimidating demeanor, Simon always knew the ex-army Ranger turned prostitute had a soft spot. Hell, he'd lost count of all the homeless and under-aged runaways Jim had helped. His own son, Daryl, was among them. But never had Ellison respond with such intensity to a particular individual. Perhaps it was due to the circumstances, the brutality of the crime. It was hard to look at the battered youth and not be affected in some manner. At least Jim had gotten the kid to settle down, something that Simon hadn't been able to accomplish. Passively, the young man lay in Ellisonís arms, eyes wide and unseeing. The rapid rise and fall of his chest, the only sign of movement.
Lost in thought, it took Simon a few minutes to realize that Jim was gazing at him, his remorse clearly evident. "I'm sorry," Jim said. "I wasn't thinking. I just reacted."
Banks waved aside the apology, "I'm just glad that you showed up when you did. Another few minutes and I would have called 911."
Anger flashed across Ellison's face, "I TOLD YOU, NO HOSPITAL!"
Simon held up his hands in acquiescence, "I know, but you saw how he was, and nothing I did seemed to help."
"Well, he's all right now," Jim took satisfaction in pointing out. "I think his reaction was brought on by a combination of the fever and flash backs to the assault. Once I get some antibiotics into him and get the fever down, it should help."
"Is there anything I can do?" Banks inquired.
"Yeah, get me a glass of water so he has something to wash these things down with," Ellison replied, pulling the prescription bag out of his pocket.
When Simon returned with the water, Jim held two of the capsules in his hand. "Here we go, Chief, I just need you to swallow these," he crooned softly, carefully inserting the pills into the younger man's mouth. Without looking up, he accepted the proffered glass of water and, holding it up, let the cool liquid trickle through the parted lips. Automatically, the kid swallowed.
"Hey, you're getting good at this," Ellison beamed, delighted.
Handing the glass back to Simon, Jim lowered the smaller man back down onto the bed. "Everything's going to be all right," he promised, stroking the sweat-matted curls. "You just rest."
Slowly, the dark lashes fluttered as eyelids closed over glossy orbs of blue. "That's it," Ellison encouraged when he sensed the younger man had drifted back to sleep.
After the way he'd reacted earlier, Jim hated to impose on the captain, but now that the crisis had passed, his own injuries were reasserting their presence. Suppressing a grimace, he rose from the bed, unable to look the older man in the eyes and asked, "Would you mind sticking around for a little while longer? I need to take a shower, and I don't want to leave him alone."
Not eager for a repeat performance of the past few hours, Banks bit back his initial response and agreed. After all, what could a few minutes more hurt? Besides, Ellison really did look beat and Simon couldn't help noting the careful way the prostitute moved as he gathered up clean clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. Wondering what could have effected the change, Banks briefly considered the possibilities. Various images played across his mind's eye. Deciding he really didn't want to go there, Simon picked up the washcloth and, wringing it out, returned to bathing the feverish individual.
Setting the clean clothes on the vanity, Ellison allowed his tough, stoic facade to crumble. The pain, which had abated in the face of his concern for the kid, was back with a vengeance. Cursing beneath his breath, Jim began to undress, a task more easily said than done. Each movement sent streaks of pain flaring across his back. His shirt, totally ruined by the still-weeping wounds, went directly into the trash, while the remainder of his clothing was crammed into a laundry bag. Now came the hard part.
He'd known from the outset that it would sting like a son of a bitch, but the actual reality of the water hitting the flayed skin nearly took his breath away.
"SHIT!" Ellison yelled, latching onto the shower curtain and taking it down with him as the pain drove him to his knees. It wasn't until Banks burst into the bathroom that Jim realized he must have issued the cry out loud.
"Jesus, Jim, what the hell happened?" Simon asked, shocked by the sight of Ellison's back.
"Nothing I wasn't well paid for," Jim ground out between clenched teeth as he shut off the water and staggered to his feet. "Now, if you don't mind," he added, not even bothering to try to cover his attributes, "I'd appreciate a little privacy."
Annoyed by the sarcasm, one dark brow defiantly rose as Simon crossed his arms against his chest. After all, it wasn't as if he hadn't knocked or called out Ellison's name for that matter. It wasn't until the prostitute had failed to answer that he had stormed into the bathroom.
"And how, exactly, do you plan on taking care of those cuts on your back?"
"I'll manage," Ellison retorted, his tone daring the captain to refute the statement.
Banks shook his head at the younger man's misplaced pride, "Get dressed, Jim, and bring the first-aid kit out with you when you're through." Not bothering to wait for a reply, Simon returned to the bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind him.
Ellison stared, mouth agape, at the bathroom door. 'Damn it!' It was bad enough that Banks knew what he did for a living without the man being confronted by physical evidence. 'To hell with it!' Jim thought, suddenly angry. He did what he had to do, and he didn't need Banks, or anyone else for that matter, judging him for it.
Snagging a towel off the rack, Ellison began drying himself with short, brisk strokes. Pulling on clean underwear and a pair of dark denim jeans, Jim eyed the first-aid kit. Simon had been right about one thing though, there was no way he'd be able to treat the cuts on his back by himself. With a pique-filled rumble, Ellison grabbed the kit and headed into the bedroom.
Pausing beside the bed, Jim checked on the sleeping man. The kid's temperature was still up, but at least he seemed to be resting comfortably. Smiling tenderly, he brushed aside a lock of hair clinging tenaciously to the glistening skin. Then, sensing Banks' penetrating gaze, Jim squared his shoulders and turned to face the older man.
Pulling a chair out from beneath the table by the window, Simon motioned for Ellison to sit.
His lips pressed in a grim line, Jim set the first-aid kit on the table and, wordlessly straddled the chair.
His brow furrowed in a concerned frown, Banks carefully examined the prostitute's back. While no expert, he was fairly certain that at least some of the lacerations would result in scarring.
"Why?" He asked, softly. Gently, he began cleaning the cuts.
Hissing as the antiseptic came into contact with his torn flesh, Jim failed to detect the concern in Simon's voice.
"The kid's medicine wasn't covered by my HMO," he sarcastically retorted. "So I earned the money to pay for it the only way I know how."
"By letting some low-life whip you to a pulp?" Banks heatedly replied. "Damn it, Jim, I would have given you the money."
"NO!" Ellison roared. Rising, he turned to the cop. "He's my responsibility."
"Sit down." Although softly delivered, Simon clearly meant business. "That wasn't a request, mister!" Banks barked when Jim didn't comply.
Sullenly, Ellison sat back down.
Banks sighed, "I thought I was your friend, but apparently you'd rather let some SOB beat the shit out of you than ask me for help. Fine, it's your choice, but let me ask you this, is your pride really worth risking your life or jeopardizing the kid's well-being?"
Ellison's piercing blue eyes flashed with anger, "It was because of him that I did it!"
"And what if the john had killed you?" Banks challenged. "Who would have taken care of him then?"
Briefly, Simon debated mentioning his suspicion that the kid might be underage, but patting the laminated card in his breast pocket, onto which he had lifted a set of the young man's prints, Banks decided to wait. After all, looks could be deceiving and there was no use in needlessly upsetting Ellison unless it became an issue.
"You were here," Jim perversely pointed out a moment later, drawing Simon's attention back to the conversation at hand.
"Exactly," the cop replied, satisfied that he had made his point. "You can't do this alone, Jim and you don't have to. I want to help if you'll let me," he added earnestly.
Although he trusted Banks, Ellison felt torn. How could he explain the overwhelming, almost obsessive need he had to protect and care for a complete stranger when he didn't even understand it himself? But, Simon was right, he couldn't do this alone. At least not until the kid was better.
"I'm sorry, you're right," he admitted shamefaced. "It's just that I'm not used to relying on others."
'James Ellison, lone wolf.' Simon silently snorted. Slowly, his gaze traveled to the figure asleep on the bed. 'At least until now.'
"You can always count on me, Jim," he solemnly promised. Yet, even as he made the vow, Banks prayed it was true. Because, if the kid was underage, then Simon would have no choice but to turn him over to the juvenile authorities, and any trust that might have been established between the two men would be irrevocably destroyed.
Angrily, he shook off the morose thoughts. "Now that we have that settled," he said briskly, "lets see what we can do about your back."
Over the next few days, Banks, true to his word, was a frequent visitor to Ellison's motel room. Rarely arriving empty handed, the captain would appear bearing food or some other necessary item. Jim, of course, insisted on reimbursing the older man for his expenditures, but, more often than not, Simon would hold his ground until, Ellison simply gave up with a good natured scowl.
Like a mother hen, an image that always made Jim smile, Simon would cluck over the prostitute, admonishing him for not taking better care of himself.
"You can't be on call 24/7," he would tell Ellison. "Get some rest, I'll sit with the kid for a while."
At first, Jim would use these short breaks to run errands or do laundry; however, it quickly became apparent that the longer Ellison was gone, the more agitated the kid would become. Banks had witnessed the strange phenomenon occur time and time again until, finally, he offered to take care of the errands himself.
Dan Wolf, as promised, had returned to check on his patient. And although he was pleased with how well the physical injuries were healing, he expressed concern about the young man's psychological state. Nightmares, from which he would awaken in an almost catatonic state, continued to haunt the battered individual. Since they could be due partly to the fever ravaging his body, there was no way for Dan to accurately assess the kid's emotional makeup until it abated. Thankfully, it broke late the next afternoon.
Exhaustion tugged at Ellison's eyelids. Weary from constant worry and relatively little sleep, Jim allowed the leaden lids to close. Within seconds, he fell asleep sitting upright in the overstuffed chair. It seemed, however, as if he had just closed his eyes, when sounds of distress brought him instantly awake. Automatically, his gaze focused on the beds inhabitant. Awake now, the kid's features were etched with pain as he struggled to sit up. Ellison was out of the chair and beside the bed within seconds.
"Just take it easy," he advised, sitting on the side of the bed and gently pushing the smaller man back down. "You're hurt."
Slapping Jim's hands away, the kid ground out, "No shit... Sherlock," as he gritted his teeth and continued to lever himself into a sitting position. With a groan, he leaned back against the headboard, eyes closed, breathing heavily.
"It's not a good idea for you to be moving around like that," Ellison commented, eying him with concern.
The blue eyes flew open, blazing with anger. "JUST BACK OFF, MAN!" The kid snapped. "Who the hell are you anyway, and what the fuck did you do to me?"
"Me?" Jim bristled, his eyebrow arching indignantly upwards. "I didn't do anything. I'm just the poor schmuck that found your sorry ass."
"Yeah, well, just give me my clothes, and I'll get out of your hair, man," the kid retorted heatedly.
"In case you haven't realized it, you're in no shape to go anywhere," Ellison took perverse pleasure in pointing out, before immediately feeling ashamed.
"Watch me." Defiantly, the kid pushed aside the covers and tried to get up. "Shit! Fuck! Damn!" he hissed as pain lanced through his body. His eyes clamped shut, and he collapsed back onto the bed.
As quickly as it had appeared, Jim's anger fled. "Maybe now you'll be willing to listen to reason," he said gently, while straightening the displaced covers. Noting the tiny lines of pain around the younger man's eyes and mouth, he continued, "I've got some Tylenol for the pain if you want it," he offered. "It's also time for your antibiotics."
Slowly, the pain clouded eyes opened and focused on Ellison. "Look," he said, breathing heavily, "I don't know who you are, but you can't keep me here against my will."
A pungent odor of fear, mingled with distrust, poured off the kid in waves.
Jim held up his hands in acquiescence. "Hey, you're free to leave anytime you want," he replied nonchalantly. "But, since you can't even get out of bed on your own, don't you think it might be a good idea to stick around for a while?"
Anxiously, the younger man's gaze darted around the room before again settling on Ellison. "It looks as if I don't have much of a choice," he reluctantly admitted. "But you even think about trying anything, and I'll rip you a new one."
Jim had to admire the kid's spunk. Hurt and scared shitless, he still had enough chutzpah left to issue threats. "Warning duly noted," he replied, suppressing a smile. "Now, you want that Tylenol or not?"
Embarrassment added a flush of color to the pale complexion. "Yeah, but first, I 'really' need to take a piss, man."
Reaching beneath the bed, Ellison produced a urinal.
Eyes dulled by fatigue and pain widened in surprise. "You've got to be kidding me!" He exclaimed.
One of Jim's brows rose challengingly. "You'd rather I haul your skinny ass into the john and hold your dick while you take a leak? Face it, Chief, until you're stronger 'this'," he said, holding up the bottle, "is your only other option."
"Fine!" The kid snarled, snatching it out of Ellison's hand. "What? You wanna watch?" He added sarcastically as the larger man remained seated on the bed.
"I'll get the Tylenol," Jim said, rising and disappearing into the bathroom.
Snagging the bottle from the shelf, Ellison closed the medicine cabinet door and studied his reflection in the mirror. 'Nice going sport', he silently chastised the man staring back at him.
Hurt, frightened and confused, the kid had understandably lashed out at the only available target. But instead of realizing this, Jim had gotten defensive and fielded the accusations with a barb of his own. Obviously, the younger man didn't remember the attack, which wasn't surprising considering his injuries and subsequent illness. Perhaps it was even a blessing in disguise; no one should have to live with those kind of memories. Of course, Banks wouldn't be too pleased. He was counting on the kid being able to identify his assailants. However, remembering the injured man's frequent nightmares, Ellison was convinced that the memory wasn't totally gone but merely buried deep within his subconscious. Dreading what might happen when the kid did finally remember, Jim headed back into the bedroom.
"I'll take that," he said, setting the Tylenol beside the bottle of antibiotics on the nightstand. Taking the urinal, he disposed of its contents, washed his hands and returned to the bedroom.
Dark smudges beneath pain-filled eyes testified to the younger man's recent illness and current level of pain. Uncapping the bottle, Jim shook out two of the tablets. "Here, these should help."
His mouth set in a grim line, the kid accepted them. Pausing to confirm their identity, he popped them into his mouth, took the glass of water Ellison held out, and washed them down.
"And now this," Jim said handing him the antibiotic.
"What is it?" the smaller man asked, warily eying the tan capsule.
"It's Amoxicillin, an antibiotic that the doctor prescribed for you."
"I think I'll pass," the kid replied, trying to hand it back.
"I've been shoving these things down your throat for the past couple of days, so once more won't make a difference to me," Ellison said, his tone brooking no argument. "Now, we can either do this easy way or the hard way. It's your choice."
Seconds ticked by as a battle of wills was silently waged. Growing tired of the standoff, Jim reached for the pill, "Fine, the hard way it is."
"Whoa! Just chill out, man," the injured man replied hastily before swallowing the capsule and washing it down with the rest of the water. "Satisfied?" he demanded, scowling.
"I'd be a lot happier without all the attitude, Chief," Ellison retorted.
"Look, Jack, I don't know you from dick, so where the hell do you get off telling me what to do?" the younger man angrily exclaimed. "And while we're at it," he added, his voice taking on a hysterical note, "why don't you explain just what the fuck happened to me in the first place!"
"Just settle down," Jim said soothingly, "and I’ll tell you."
His nostrils flaring with each inhalation, the smaller man tried to calm his ragged breath. Finally, he nodded. "I'm listening."
Sighing, Ellison scrubbed a hand through his short-cropped hair and sat on the edge of the bed.
"First of all, my name is Jim," he began, introducing himself. "And you are?" His brow rose questioningly.
Indecision played across the pale features. "Blair," he replied hesitantly.
'Blair' The prostitute thought, smiling. An unusual name for a man and yet strangely appropriate. Ellison noted that the kid hadn't offered a last name but, then again, he hadn't exactly been forthcoming with his own. 'Apparently we both have our secrets', Ellison silently acknowledged before returning his attention to the smaller man staring apprehensively up at him.
"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked softly.
Scowling, Blair angrily demanded, "What the fuck's going on, man? You said you'd tell me what happened..."
"And I will," Jim hastily interrupted. "But first I need you to tell me what you remember. Please," he added. "It's important."
Looking inward, Blair searched his memory.
It was late, and he had just finished washing dishes at Chen's Chinese Restaurant in exchange for the meal Mrs. Chen had given him earlier. He was taking out the trash when... Drawing a blank, sweat beaded Blair's upper lip as he tried to force the memory. Suddenly, a sharp pain exploded throughout his head. The unexpected assault elicited a groan, and his hands came up to grasp his skull.
"Are you all right?" Ellison asked, alarmed by the sudden outcry. "Blair?" he tried again when the younger man did not respond.
"I'm fine." The reply came out sounding strained. Letting his hand fall away, squinting, Blair tried to focus on the concerned features of the other man. "What was the question?" He seemed disoriented.
"I wanted to know the last thing you remembered," Jim repeated, wondering if this was such a good idea after all.
The troubled gaze darted away, and somehow, Ellison knew a lie was forthcoming.
"I'd just had dinner with friends," Blair began, "and I was on my way home when--"
Crimson streaked across his line of vision as pain once again sliced through his skull. With a sharp cry, his hands flew to his head. "I can't," he ground out through clenched teeth. "It hurts."
While the kid might be lying, the pain he was experiencing was undoubtedly real. Jim ached to wrap his arms around the smaller man and protect him from the onslaught. Uncertain that his touch would be welcomed, he settled for trying to comfort Blair with words. "Shhh, it's all right," he gently intoned. "We'll do this some other time. Now, why don't you lie back down and try to get some rest," he suggested, starting to rise.
"NO!" Blair exclaimed, clamping his hand on Ellison's arm. "I need..." he gasped, breathing heavily, "to know what happened."
Unable to deny the desperate gaze, Jim sank back down onto the bed.
"I was taking a short cut through the vacant lot when I found you," he quietly explained. "You'd been beaten and-- sexually assaulted," he added after a moment's hesitation. "I brought you back here and have been looking after you ever since."
His forehead pinched in a frown, "I don't... remember," Blair stammered, shaking his head. "I don't..." The rest of the sentence was choked off by an abrupt cry. "Oh God, it hurts!" he gasped, cradling his head. "Jim? Make it stop, please!" he begged.
Mindful of his injuries, Ellison gathered Blair into his arms.
"It's all right. I've got you," he whispered, gently rocking the distraught individual. "Just close your eyes and let the pain go." Unconsciously, Jim began stroking the head nestled against his shoulder. "You're safe now, and I'm not going to let anyone hurt you ever again."
Perhaps it was the conviction in the larger man's voice, or maybe the tender way Ellison was holding him, but, gradually, Blair felt himself relax and the pain start to recede.
"That's it," Jim encouraged as he noted the change. Yet, even as the younger man drifted off to sleep, Ellison frowned thoughtfully. Were the painful episodes a result of Blair's attempts to remember or an indication of something more serious? Assailed by doubts, Jim wondered if perhaps he shouldn't have taken the kid to the hospital after all.
With a final splash of color the sun slipped beneath the horizon, its disappearance heralding the coming of night. And with the coming of night, activity along 'the strip' increased. Inhabited by the desperate and depraved alike, its primal pulse increased as lost souls strove to survive among the predators of humanity. Within the spartan motel room, Ellison sensed the change and woke.
A feeling of contentment stole over the prostitute. Automatically, his gaze sought its source, the young man lying nestled beside him. Surprisingly, the nightmares which had plagued Blair over the past few days had failed to materialize, and as a result, both men had slept undisturbed for several hours. Thankfully, no trace of pain lingered on his immobile features. Still, the incident earlier had scared Ellison more than he wanted to admit.
His bladder was demanding attention. Careful not to disturb its remaining inhabitant, Jim eased himself off the bed. Sensing the loss, Blair issued a murmur of protest and frowned in his sleep. His fingers flexed, searching.
"It's all right," Ellison whispered, strangely touched by the display. "I'm not going far." Jim's eyes crinkled with amusement at the soft snort he received in reply.
Straightening, he winced at the tenderness remaining from his own injuries and headed into the bathroom.
Reappearing a couple minutes later he headed for the phone, changing direction midstream when the familiar odor of Simon's cigars announced the man's arrival. With a quick glance at the sleeping man, Ellison slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him.
"Jim," Banks acknowledged with a nod. Startled by the prostitute's sudden appearance, his gaze darted to the closed door and back. "Is everything all right?"
"The kid's asleep and I don't want to wake him," Ellison hedged.
Sensing there was more, "What's going on, Jim?" Simon demanded.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Ellison reluctantly explained. "His fever finally broke--"
"That's great!" Banks exclaimed, smiling. "Is he lucid? Has he been able to tell you anything about the attack--"
Jim held up a hand to halt the barrage of questions. "He's been awake and coherent, but there's a problem."
The older man frowned.
"He doesn't remember what happened," Ellison continued.
"Wait a minute," Simon interjected. "Are you saying the kid has amnesia?"
"No. No, nothing like that," Jim replied, shaking his head. "He knows who he is but every time he tries to remember, it...hurts him," Ellison finished lamely for want of a better description.
"I can't say I'm not surprised," Banks said, unable to hide his disappointment. "I've heard of this sort of thing happening before, where the victim is so traumatized that they block out the entire incident. It's the brain's way of coping with what's happened, a sort of self defense mechanism if you will."
"I figured as much," the prostitute sighed. "But he did take a pretty severe blow to the head so I'd like Wolf to stop by and check him out just in case."
"I'll give him a call," Simon agreed. "Dan said something about needing to remove the kid's stitches anyway. Here, hold this," he said, thrusting the takeout bag he'd been holding into Ellison's hands.
As Banks placed the call on his cell phone, Jim took the opportunity to confirm what had been tantalizing his sense of smell since Simon's arrival. Peering into the bag he discovered a couple of Wonder Burgers and some fries. Smiling appreciatively, he snatched one of the fries and popped it into his mouth.
"There's a container of soup in there for the kid, too," Simon told him, having completed his call. "I figured he could do with something more than the juice you've been giving him."
"I'm sure he'll appreciate it," Ellison replied.
"What is it?" Banks asked, noting the other man's preoccupied frown.
"He's hiding something," Jim remarked, distractedly. "Not about the attack. I know he's not lying about that, but..." Frustrated, Ellison sighed. "I just wish I knew more about him."
"Maybe I can help you out there," Simon confessed after a brief internal debate.
"Oh?" Jim's eyebrows rose in question.
"I was concerned that the kid might be underaged," Banks hastily admitted, "so I lifted a set of his prints and ran a background check."
Ellisonís expression turned to granite. "And you were going to tell me this, when?"
"Damn it, Jim," Simon sputtered. "You know yourself the kid doesn't look a day over sixteen. I had to make sure--"
"Is he?" Ellison snapped, interrupting Banks' explanation.
The older man's expression grew somber. "Blair," he said softly, using the young man's name for the first time, "turned eighteen the day he was attacked. Hell of a birthday present, huh?"
Stung by the revelation, Jim winced. An event that should have been a major milestone in Blair's life had been forever marred by hatred and cruelty, leaving him with permanent physical and emotional scars.
Overcome by an irrational need to fix the situation, to erase past wrongs, Ellison asked, "What else can you tell me about him?"
A troubled frown marred Banks' forehead. "It's not a pretty picture, Jim," he solemnly replied. "The kid's had a rough life."
"Tell me," Ellison insisted.
"When Blair was only thirteen his mother, Naomi Sandburg, was murdered by a jealous lover. There was no known father so he was packed off to an uncle living here in Cascade. Unfortunately, the uncle was an abusive alcoholic who would beat the shit out of the kid on a regular basis just for the hell of it. Over the next two and a half years, there are extensive records of numerous emergency room visits until, finally, one day he simply took off. Apparently he's been living on the streets ever since. He was picked up a few times for misdemeanor offenses and placed in juvie, but somehow, the kid never managed to stick around long enough to be placed in foster care. There's nothing on file for the last eight months, so either he's been keeping his nose clean, or he's just gotten better at not getting caught."
Ellison was appalled by the hardships Blair had been forced to endure. And now this. "Who the hell was watching out for the kid?" he angrily exclaimed. "It sure as hell wasn't the system!"
"I'll be the first to admit that the system's not perfect, Jim," Banks retorted. "People fall through the cracks all the time..."
"And this is the same system you wanted to entrust Blair's safety to." Ellison's disgust was clearly evident. "Well, thanks, but no thanks."
"Damn it, Jim," the taller man swore, "the kid's our sole chance of nailing these bastards--"
"He's been through enough," Ellison snapped. "I won't have you pressuring him. If that's your intention, you can just leave now."
Their emotions at a fevered pitch, the two men stood glaring, each expecting the other to be the first to back down. It soon became apparent that Ellison wasn't going to budge, and Simon had the distinct impression that if he tried to force the issue, the former Army Ranger wouldn't hesitate to tear him limb from limb.
"I'll let it go for now," he finally conceded. "But I can't drop it entirely, Jim, the kid's too important to the investigation. Dan said he'd stop by tomorrow to check on Blair, so why don't we wait to see what he has to say and then decide where to go from there."
"Just as long as you remember that you've got to go through me to get to him."
"I'll keep that in mind," Banks acknowledged.
"See that you do," the prostitute issued a final warning. "In the meantime, I think it would be best if you left."
"All right," the older man agreed, more than a little annoyed by the abrupt dismissal. "I'll see you tomorrow." Turning, he headed for his vehicle.
"Simon," Ellison called after him, halting the cop in his tracks. "Thanks for the food."
Waving aside the thanks, Simon proceeded to his car.
Ellison eyed the departing man with a combination of sadness and relief. He hadn't meant to be so brusque with Banks, but there was no mistaking the fact that the further away Simon got, the more Jim's sense of impending danger diminished. Not that he was afraid for himself. It was his concern for Blair which had set off his internal alarms and evoked such a protective response.
From the sound of it, Sandburg, Ellison mused, now having a last name to go with the first, had not had an easy life. Jim shuddered to think about the things Blair must have seen and done in the past two-and-a-half years he'd been living on the streets. Had he resorted to prostitution as so many young runaways did... as he, himself had in order to survive? Or had he become a thief, a con artist? Banks had mentioned misdemeanors, yet even as the thought crossed his mind, Jim realized he didn't care. Considering some of the choices he'd made in his life, the prostitute knew he was in no position to judge. On the streets, one did what one had to in order to survive. Unfortunately, Blair's luck had run out, and as a result, the young man had nearly lost his life.
Anger swelled from deep within. 'Well no more!' Ellison silently vowed. Never again would Sandburg have to suffer the abuse of others, wonder where his next meal was coming from, or worry about having a roof over his head. No longer would he be easy prey for the predators of the world, not when Jim Ellison was around.
"Who was that?" Blair asked, as Jim began unloading the contents from the takeout bag.
Ellison had known for some time that Sandburg was awake and wondered just how much of his conversation with Banks the kid had overheard. Picking up the container of soup and a spoon, he went over and sat on the side of the bed. "A friend," he replied simply, prying off the plastic lid and inserting the spoon. "You must be hungry," Jim commented. "Think you can handle some of this?"
The aroma caused the young man's stomach to growl with anticipation. "Yeah," he said, wincing as he reached for the cup. No stranger to the ravages of hunger, Blair had learned to savor even the smallest morsel of food. "Thanks," he added belatedly before lifting a wobbly spoonful to his lips. The soup was still hot, and although his split lip made eating difficult, it took the edge off his hunger.
Ellison watched, mesmerized, as the younger man consumed spoonful after spoonful. Watched as the still slightly swollen lips parted. Watched as the kid's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Even battered and bruised, there was some innate appeal about Sandburg that drew Jim's attention.
"If he's a friend, then why were the two of you arguing?"
Sandburg's question drew Jim from his silent scrutiny. "What did you hear?" he asked, already debating how much to tell the kid.
Blair's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Nothing I could make out," he cautiously replied. "Just muffled voices raised in anger." He shrugged. "That sort of thing."
Ellison sensed the fear and mistrust. "Simon's a cop," he began, deciding to go with the truth. He was unprepared for Sandburg's reaction.
Tossing the remaining soup in Ellison's face, Blair threw back the covers, and ignoring his body as it screamed in protest, rolled off the bed. Dropping like a stone, he lay on the floor, panting in agony.
Stunned by the kid's response, it took Jim a moment to react. Swiping at his face with the back of his sleeve, he raced around to the other side of the bed.
Ellison's anxious gaze roamed over the figure huddled on its side. "Blair? Are you all right? Talk to me," he demanded, kneeling.
Sandburg's eyes were clamped tightly shut as beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. "I won't go back there." The declaration, issued between clenched teeth, held a note of fear.
"The only place you're going," Jim said softly, "is back to bed. But first, I need to make sure you didn't damage anything during your swan dive."
The jibe, gently delivered, held no malice. Keeping his touch as impersonal as possible, Ellison began checking for injuries. Blair, stoic beneath his ministrations, remained silent, stiffening only slightly when Jim's explorations traveled below the waist.
"Everything looks okay," he said, quickly completing his examination. "Although I wouldn't recommend trying that again any time soon. At least not until you're stronger."
Again there was no response. Gritting his teeth as the strain of lifting Sandburg caused his battered back to object, Ellison returned him to the bed. "You want to tell me what that was all about?" he asked, tucking the last of the covers in around Blair.
Unwilling to even look at Jim, Sandburg remained stubbornly silent.
"All right, have it your way," the older man replied.
Disheartened by the kid's lack of response, Jim decided to try the direct approach: total, brutal honesty. "Simon did run a background check on you, but that's not why he was here. You're not the only one these men have attacked, Blair, but you are the first to survive the assault."
Sandburg's head shot up, his expressive blue eyes wide with shock.
"Simon was hoping you might be able to identify them."
"But I don't remember anything!" Blair protested, his heart rate skyrocketing.
"I know, I know," Jim quickly soothed, "and I told him that. I also said that in order to get to you, he'd have to go through me first."
His brow furrowed in a frown, Blair anxiously searched Ellison's face.
"I'm not going to let him, or anyone else hurt you, Chief," Jim added softly. "I promise."
Although the frown remained, Ellison was relieved to see some of the tension drain from the younger man's face. Snagging the bottle of Tylenol from the nightstand, he shook out two of the tablets. "Here, why don't you take these and then try to get some more rest."
Blair took the tablets and washed them down, handing the glass back to Ellison. Satisfied, Jim set the glass back on the table and rose.
"Jim?" Blair called and the prostitute stopped.
"Thanks, man."
The softly uttered words brought a smile to Ellison's lips. "You're welcome, Chief," he replied simply and went to eat his own, now cold, supper.
Grasping the bag tighter, Ellison stepped out of the diner, a thoughtful frown belying his confident stride as he began the short trek back to the motel. Paying next week's rent had put a serious dent in his funds. A couple more meals, and he'd be tapped out altogether. He needed to get back out onto the streets, and soon. Unfortunately, that left him with a dilemma. What to do about Sandburg? Still weak and hurting from his ordeal, the kid was in no shape to take care of himself. Briefly, he thought about asking Simon for help, then dismissed the idea almost as soon as it occurred. Banks had done enough already, and the thought of being further indebted to the cop rankled the prostitute. Jim knew he should be grateful. Simon's help had been invaluable over the past few days, but the fact that Banks had gone behind his back to check on Sandburg made Ellison wonder if perhaps he hadn't misplaced his trust in the older man after all. No, when it came to Blair's safety and well-being, there was only one person Jim knew he could rely on. Himself.
Lost in thought, Ellison was unprepared for the sight that greeted him as he entered the motel room. Blair, the bedspread wrapped around his slender frame, was exiting the bathroom. Grimacing in pain, he was leaning against the doorjamb and breathing heavily.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jim bellowed, depositing the bag on the table and rushing to the younger man's side.
"I had to go, man," Blair groused, as Ellison's arm slid around his waist offering support.
"You couldn't wait until I got back?" Jim barked, his anger evident.
"Well, it's not as if you left a note, man," Blair countered. "How the hell was I supposed to when you'd return?"
As quickly as it surfaced, Ellison's anger ebbed. Shit, Sandburg was right. Lord only knew what the kid thought, waking up to find himself alone, with no indication of when, or even if, Jim would be back.
"Come on, let's get you back to bed," he said gruffly.
"No, not the bed," Blair protested. "I'm tired of laying down."
"All right," Ellison agreed, helping the shorter man to the overstuffed chair. "I need to change the sheets anyway."
With a relieved sigh, Blair sank onto the ratty looking upholstery.
"Are you all right?" Jim asked. Kneeling, he eyed Sandburg with concern.
Blue eyes opened to meet the worried gaze. "Yeah," Blair replied. "Yeah, man, I'm fine."
Apologizing was never easy for Ellison, but he felt that this was something that needed to be said. "I'm sorry for biting your head off, Chief. You were right, I should have left you a note."
Sandburg shrugged. "It's no big deal."
Despite the nonchalant delivery, the prostitute could tell Blair was still upset.
"Since I ended up wearing most of your supper, I thought you might be hungry this morning." Turning, he retrieved the take out bag and, setting it on the floor, began unloading it contents. "We've got scrambled eggs, toast and home fries," he announced, placing the first Styrofoam container on the table. "Or pancakes with maple syrup and a side order of home fries," he continued, producing a second one. "It's your choice."
"Why are you doing this?"
Looking up, he found Blair eying him seriously.
"Because I thought you might be hungry," Ellison replied, feigning ignorance. He really didn't want to get into this right now.
"Don't be obtuse, Jim," Sandburg snapped. "I'm talking about all this," his gesture encompassed the room. "Why did you bring me here in the first place? What is it you want from me?"
A number of flippant replies immediately came to mind, therefore Jim was surprised to hear himself whisper instead, "I don't know."
Confusion swept across the younger man's face. Unable to bear the turmoil he saw reflected in the battered features, Ellison picked up one of the Styrofoam containers and thrust it into Blair's hands with an order to "Eat before it gets cold."
Keenly aware of Sandburg's continued scrutiny, he rose and, stalking over to the bed, began stripping it. Retrieving the laundry bag from the bathroom, he stuffed the dirty sheets inside. Briefly, he debated whether to include the bedspread still wrapped around Blair, then deciding against it. Hefting the laundry bag over his shoulder, he headed for the door.
"I'm going to do some laundry," he announced brusquely, before striding out the door and closing it firmly behind him.
Angrily, he strode towards the motel's excuse for a laundry room, and stuffed the sheets into the washer. He wondered who he was angrier at, the world at large for distilling such distrust in Sandburg, or himself for admitting that someone, that Blair, had effortlessly slipped beneath the barriers he'd kept heavily fortified for so long.
Damn it! He'd been on his own for years and had managed just fine. He didn't need anyone, and certainly not some kid who was more fucked up than he was. But even as he vehemently denied it, Jim knew he was only lying to himself. From the very start, he'd felt inexplicably drawn to Sandburg. It made no sense, and yet the sensation was as tangible as the air he needed to breathe. With Blair had he felt... complete, and if he were to be totally honest with himself, that knowledge scared the hell out of him. However, that didn't give him the right to take it out on the kid. To do so made him no better than the bastards who had abused Sandburg in the past. Suddenly ashamed, Jim knew he owed the younger man an explanation. Instead, he watched the wet clothes tumble around and around, and cursed himself for the coward he was.
An hour later, Ellison quietly let himself back into the room to discover Sandburg sound asleep in the overstuffed chair. Blair had chosen the eggs, but they sat barely touched, as if he had tried to eat, only to abandon the effort and set the food aside. Guilt washed over the older man. Maybe if he had stayed, he could have enticed the kid to eat more. With a grimace, the leftover food, now cold and decidedly unappealing, was relegated to the trash.
Deciding to let Sandburg rest a little longer, Jim quietly set about putting the laundry away and remaking the bed. That done, he snagged the bottle of antibiotics and some juice from the tiny refrigerator and knelt beside the sleeping man's side.
"Blair," he prodded gently.
With a jerk, the dark lashes flew open.
"Sorry," Ellison smiled apologetically, "but it's time for your antibiotics."
Grimacing with distaste, Blair accepted the tablets and washed then down. Draining the glass completely, he handed it back.
"Do you want some more?" Jim asked, indicating the empty glass.
Sandburg shook his head. "No, I'm good, thanks."
"Okay, let's get you back into bed then," Ellison said, setting the glass on the table.
"Any chance I could have a shower first?" Blair asked hopefully.
"Sorry, Chief, not until the stitches come out. The best I can offer you until then is a sponge bath."
The color drained from Sandburg's face. "I don't think..."
"I'm...sorry," Jim stammered, immediately realizing his mistake. "I wasn't thinking, but it's not as if I haven't seen it all before."
If anything, Blair's complexion grew paler.
"In a strictly clinical way, of course," Ellison quickly clarified, mortified by his own stupidity in compounding the error. "I mean, somebody had to look after you while you were sick, and since I was a medic in the army..." His voice trailed off. Shit! Sandburg couldn't even bear to look at him.
Rising, Jim headed into the bathroom. ''Nice going, Slick,' he silently berated himself as he filled a basin with warm water. 'Talk about putting your foot in your mouth...' Grabbing a washcloth, he tossed it in the basin and returned to the bedroom.
"Here you go, Chief." Striving for sounding nonchalant, Ellison set it on the table. "Why don't you go ahead and wash up, and then when I get back, I'll help you back into bed."
Sandburg's head shot up. "You're leaving?"
Jim nodded. "I thought I'd pick us up some lunch. Got any requests?" He wasn't really hungry, but it was as good an excuse as any to give Sandburg some privacy.
Blair shrugged, noncommittal.
Ellison sighed. "You've got to start eating," he admonished gently. "It's the only way you're going to get your strength back. Okay?"
This time Sandburg nodded and was rewarded with a patented Ellison smile. Striding to the door, Jim paused, turning back. "Are you sure there's nothing special you want? Maybe a burger or pizza?" He offered a few suggestions. "Just name it."
A faraway look came into Sandburg's eyes. "A hot fudge sundae," he murmured softly. Blinking, his gaze settled on Ellison. "I'd like a hot fudge sundae," he repeated more forcefully.
Well, it wasn't exactly what he had in mind, but if that's what the kid wanted, that's what he was going to get. "One hot fudge sundae coming up," Jim acknowledged, and with a parting grin, was out the door.
By the time Ellison returned twenty minutes later, decadence in hand, Blair had finished washing up and was eagerly anticipating his treat. He hadn't had a sundae in years, not since before Naomi... Emotions he thought long buried rose to the surface.
"Are you all right?" Jim asked, noting the sad expression.
Shaking off the memories, Blair replied "Yeah, I'm fine", and accepted the proffered container.
Handing Sandburg his ice cream and a spoon, with a look of relish, Jim pulled his own treat out of the bag. A ghost of a smile tugged at the younger man's lips. Ellisonís eyebrows rose. "What?" He questioned guiltily, looking very much like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar.
Blair's smile grew, and shaking his head, a chuckle escaped. "Nothing, man. I just never figured you for a banana split kind of guy."
"I'll have you know that banana splits are considered to be one of the four major food groups," Jim retorted with feigned indignation.
"What's the other three," Sandburg quipped, watching as the larger man defiantly shoved a spoonful of the rich concoction into his mouth, "grease, salt and beer?"
"Watch it, Junior," Ellison growled playfully. "Any more blasphemy like that and it's no more sundaes for you. Now eat before it melts."
Chuckling, Blair dove in, his eyes half-closing in something akin to bliss with the first taste.
Surreptitiously watching him, Jim was pleased by the kid's obvious enjoyment. Gone was the horror and pain, replaced at least for the moment by current pleasures.
Sensing Ellison's gaze, Sandburg looked up, and as the two sets of blue eyes interlocked, just for a second, time ceased to exist. Shaken by the depth of the emotion he saw there, Blair quickly looked back down at his ice cream. No stranger to carnal desire, he'd easily recognized the other man's desire. But something else had been lurking within those fathomless blue depths. He had felt its tendrils reaching out to him, enveloping him...binding him. Frightened, he'd immediately pulled back and was surprised to experience a pang of loss. Confused, he turned to Ellison seeking answers. What he found instead was a man contentedly engrossed in eating his ice cream, seemingly oblivious to whatever it was that had just transpired between them. Maybe he'd only imagined it. After all, drugs, prescription or not, were known to have side effects, right? Frowning, Blair resumed eating his sundae, his enjoyment in it now dampened by the tumultuous thoughts coursing through his mind.
With a satisfied sigh, Jim tossed the empty container into the trash. His expression of contentment changed to one of concern again, when he realized that Sandburg had only consumed about three quarters of his sundae, and was slowing down.
"Don't try to force it, Chief. If you're full, you're full."
"Sorry," Blair murmured, setting the ice cream aside.
"It's okay," Ellison shrugged off the apology. "Now, what do you say we get you back into bed," he suggested, observing the drooping eyelids and fine lines of pain around Sandburg's mouth.
"I am feeling a little tired," Blair admitted. "Must be the antibiotics."
With Jim's help, he made it over to the bed and slipped beneath the covers.
"Do you want some Motrin for the pain?" Jim asked, acutely aware of the smaller man's careful movements and soft gasps as he tried to find a comfortable position.
"No, I'm good," Blair immediately declined, shaking his head.
"You're sure?" Ellison hovered uncertainly.
"I don't believe in ingesting chemicals..." The last few words were barely distinguishable as Sandburg's eyelids slid closed.
Silently watching the gentle rise and fall of Blair's chest, Jim found himself wondering about the strange incident that had occurred earlier. Just for an instant, it seemed as if he and Sandburg had somehow merged. No longer two separate entities, but one sharing the same heart, body and soul. Was he so desperate for human contact, for love, that he'd merely imagined it? Or was it some sort of new manifestation of his illness? And yet, Blair had seemed to sense it too. He'd felt the younger man's confusion and fear. Felt him withdraw. Of course, they both pretended that nothing had happened, but it had, hadn’t it? Disturbed by where his thoughts were taking him, Jim sank down onto the overstuffed chair only to find himself immediately overwhelmed by Sandburg's scent and the residual traces of his body's warmth. Losing himself in the sensations, Ellison's eyes took on a dazed appearance.
"Your kind is an abomination and should be driven from the face of the Earth!"
"Please, you don't want to do this!" Blair pleaded, as he desperately tried to break free from the men restraining him.
"Homosexuality is a blight on mankind, an aberration of God's will. It cannot be allowed to flourish! Denounce your unclean ways and live a life of righteousness, or I will be forced to drive Satan from your body!"
"You people are insane!" Blair proclaimed with rising hysteria. "What you're doing is wrong!"
"You dare to speak out against God's will?" the man bellowed, his face suffused with anger. "So be it," he declared. "Feel God's wrath. Be an example to others who would follow in your footsteps." Delivering his pronouncement, the man turned and walked away, leaving Blair to the mercy of the men restraining him.
"So you like to take it up the ass, huh pretty boy?" With rancid breath, he whispered in Sandburg's ear. "Well have we got a treat for you. Show him," the man instructed.
Blair's eyes widened at the sight of the abhorrent implement, and like a man possessed, he tried to wrench free. His cries soliciting help were abruptly cut off as a fist slammed into his stomach. Blow after blow rained down, each sapping his strength, his ability to fight back. Something struck him just behind the ear, and he went down, dazed. The hoops in his ears were brutally ripped out to be kept as souvenirs, and as the ringing is his ears grew deafening, hands tore at his clothing. Unable to physically escape, Blair took the only available refuge available and allowed the encroaching darkness to overtake him.
With a start, Sandburg's eyes flew open, his breath coming in quick harsh pants. The room, illuminated only by the motel's flashing neon light, stood in shadows. Gazing into the darkness, Blair sought the origin of his fear, uncertain if it was caused by the last vestiges of his quickly fading dream, or some external source. His eyes, having grown accustomed to the dark, settled on the form sitting in the overstuffed chair.
"Jim?" he questioned with trepidation. "Jim!" he tried again, only louder. Why wasn't Ellison answering?
Pushing aside the blankets, Blair eased himself off the bed. Tucking the bedspread around him, he slowly made his way towards the unresponsive figure. With each shuffling step, Sandburg's apprehension grew.
"Jim?" he called in a tremulous whisper, before suddenly bumping into the table. Feeling around, he located the lamp and turned it on. "FUCK!" With a startled yelp, Blair stumbled backwards, and as his feet became entangled in the bedspread, went down hard. Choking back gasps of pain, Sandburg's incredulous gaze settled on the motionless man. Ellison’s eyes were open and unblinking, he looked... "Oh, shit," Sandburg murmured, thinking Jim was dead.
Oh man, how in the hell was he going to explain this one to the cops? Suddenly, Blair remembered Ellison saying his friend was a cop. "I've got to get out of here!" Struggling to his feet, Sandburg's frantic gaze darted around the room. "What the fuck did he do with my clothes?" Staggering over to the dresser, he yanked open a drawer and began riffling through its contents.
Never before had he felt so at peace, so content. Jim languished in the sensation, allowing it to consume him. But now something hovered at the periphery of his consciousness, calling to him with an urgency that could not be denied. Concerned, he sought its source and the familiar odor of fear filled his nostrils. Fear that was connected to an even more pertinent scent, Sandburg.
"Come on," Blair urged, with a growing sense of panic. "There has to be something in here I can wear."
"Looking for something?"
Ellison’s softly spoken inquiry produced spectacular results. With a startled yelp, Blair whirled, his eyes wide with fright.
"Whoa, it's only me," Jim soothed. Smiling gently, he stepped forward only to have the smaller man abruptly back away into the dresser, rattling its contents.
Coming to a halt, Ellison held up his hands in a non-threatening manner. "It's all right, I'm not going to hurt you." His mouth slightly agape, Sandburg merely stared. "You want to tell me what's going on here, Chief? Because I've got to admit I'm kind of confused."
Blair swallowed past the lump of fear which seemed to have manifested itself in his throat. "You were dead!" he accused.
Confusion marred Ellison's brow. "You must have been dreaming," he suggested.
"No," Blair denied, shaking his head. "I know what I saw. I called your name several times, and when you didn't answer I turned on the light and you were sitting there, man, with your eyes open...I know what dead looks like, Jim, and you were dead."
'Damn it' Ellison groaned mentally. During the course of Sandburg's explanation, it had finally dawned on Jim what must have happened. Blair had apparently witnessed one of his mysterious fugue episodes. "Well you were wrong," Ellison snapped. He didn't want to discuss this, not now, not ever. Turning, he stalked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Sandburg winced. Okay, so he'd obviously been mistaken about the Jim being dead part, but something had happened. He hadn't imagined the older man's zombie-like appearance. Maybe it was an adverse drug reaction, Blair speculated. Jim didn't seem like a user, but then what did he really know about the man?
The flushing of a toilet and the sound of running water heralded Ellison's return. "Simon's here," he announced as he strode towards the door. Opening it before Banks even had a chance to knock, he stepped aside so the two men could enter. "You might as well come in," he sighed, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
Perturbed by Ellison's attitude, Simon brushed past the man and into the room. Surprised to see Blair standing by the dresser, he stopped short. "Sandburg," he acknowledged with a nod. "It's good to see you up and about."
Closing the door behind Wolf, Jim turned to find Blair's anxious gaze darting between Simon's intimidating figure and the doctor's silent presence. Ellison scrubbed a hand over his face. Damn, he'd forgotten to warn the kid they were coming. Quickly inserting himself between Sandburg and the newcomers, Jim made the introductions. "This is Simon Banks, the friend I told you about and Dan Wolf, the doctor who's been coming by to check on you. I asked them to stop by tonight."
The frighten gazed turned suspicious. "Why?"
Smiling gently, Wolf stepped forward to explain. "Mr. Ellison expressed some concerns about your head injury. He said you were having headaches?"
"I had one when I woke up," Blair replied shrugging. "But that's to be expected, right? Besides, I'm fine now."
"I'd still feel better if you let the doctor check you out, Chief," Jim urged.
"It shouldn't take long," Dan assured the younger man. "And while we're at it, those stitches should be about ready to come out. So, what do you say?"
Getting the stitches out meant he would finally be able to take the shower he so desperately wanted. About to agree, images of exactly what removing the stitches would entail flashed in his mind's eye. Silently, he groaned, 'Oh, man, talk about embarrassing.'
"Chief?" Ellison questioned, noting the slight increase in Sandburg's respiration.
"What?" Blair looked up. "Oh, yeah, right," he stammered. "Sure," he said, addressing Wolf. "I mean they gotta come out sometime."
'It's no big deal,' Blair assured himself. Then why was he suddenly having trouble breathing?
Hands tore at his clothing, tugging and pulling until, finally, his pants and boxers were entwined around his ankles. Contact with the cold, wet ground chilled his bare skin, increasing his tremors. Despite his continued protest, his asscheeks were forced apart and he felt something hard and unyielding probing at his hole.
Jim watched as the color drained from Sandburg's face and his eyes glazed over with remembered horror. Moaning, Blair's eyes slid closed and his forehead crinkled with pain, a sure sign the headache was back.
"Blair?" he called, grasping the smaller man's shoulders. "Come on, buddy, snap out of it."
"What's going on?" Simon asked, instantly alert. "Is he remembering?"
"Just back off!" Jim snarled, angered by Banks eager tone.
Wisely, Simon retreated, positioning himself near the door.
Clutching the front of Ellison's shirt, Blair buried his face against Jim's chest. "Oh, God, make it stop," he groaned.
"It's going to be all right," Jim assured him, despite his obvious concern. "Doc?" he questioned, looking helplessly at Wolf.
"Why don't you get him settled on the bed and we'll take a look," the doctor instructed.
Since Sandburg seemed unwilling to relinquish his grip, Ellison hitched the spread around the smaller man and guided him over to the bed. Sinking onto its soft surface, he leaned back against the headboard taking Blair with him.
Dan took a small penlight from his pocket and asked, "Blair, can you look at me?"
Jim heard the soft murmur of protest.
"Come on, Chief," he cajoled. "The doc just wants to see what's going on in that noggin of yours."
Turning his head slightly, Blair forced his eyelids open.
"That's it," Wolf encouraged before gently explaining, "I'm just going to shine this light into your eyes."
Quickly and efficiently, Dan ran several more tests, all the while softly questioning Sandburg as to the nature of his headache. The monosyllabic answers he received in reply were a testament to the extent of his patient's pain. Checking Blair's heart and blood pressure, displeased with the results, he produced a syringe and small colorless vile of liquid.
"What is that?" Ellison demanded, instantly alert as Wolf filled the syringe.
"Just a little something to help Blair relax while I complete the rest of the examination," the Native American replied.
"NO! NO DRUGS!" Blair cried out and immediately began struggling.
Surprised by the outburst, Jim tightened his grip. "It's all right," he crooned. "The doctor's just trying to help."
"No, Jim, please..."
Swabbing Sandburg's arm with an antiseptic pad, Dan quickly injected the mild sedative. "All done," he announced, dabbing the area once more.
"Didn't want..." Blair growled angrily against Ellison's chest.
"I know, Chief and I'm sorry." Unconsciously, Jim began stroking the younger man's hair. "But when it comes to your welfare, I trust the doc's judgment."
"Besides," Wolf interjected, "it should help alleviate your headache."
"That's what you wanted, right?" Jim asked.
Reluctantly, Blair nodded.
"Okay, then just settle back, relax and give it a chance to work."
Continuing to monitor Sandburg's condition, Ellison felt the tension slowly ease from the taut body he held. "That's it, just let it all go," he softly encouraged. "You're safe here." The prostitute glared pointedly at Banks, silently daring him to dispute the statement.
"I'll wait outside," Simon said before quietly slipping out the door.
Some twenty minutes later, Blair drifted off to sleep.
"He should be all right now if you want to proceed," Jim informed Wolf, who had been waiting patiently.
Silently assessing Ellison, Dan decided against asking him to leave. Not that he could have convinced the man to do otherwise anyway. He'd seen how protective the ex-Army Ranger was of Sandburg.
"Very well," Wolf said gathering the necessary supplies. "If you'll just hold him steady, I'll take care of his ear first and then we'll deal with the other matter."
Under Ellison's watchful gaze, Dan proceeded, nodding with approval at both Jim's handiwork and how well Blair's injuries were healing. There had been a few precarious moments when he had begun the rectal examination in preparation for removing the sutures. Sandburg, even in his drugged state, had sensed the intrusion and become agitated. However, a few comforting words and touches from Ellison and the younger man had settled down, allowing Dan to complete his task. "That should do it," he said stripping off the latex gloves.
"How is he?" Jim asked.
"Physically, he's healing exceptionally well," Wolf replied. "Although I do want him to continue with the antibiotics until the entire prescription is gone."
"And the headaches?" Concern creased Ellison's brow.
"Without a CT scan it's impossible to be one hundred percent certain, but I tend to agree with your assessment. I firmly believe that Blair's headaches are a result of repressed trauma."
"So, what do we do about it?"
While stowing his equipment, Wolf listed the possibilities. "My first choice would be to get him into counseling with a qualified therapist, but somehow I can't see Blair agreeing to that. I could prescribe a mild sedative which should help relieve both the anxiety attacks and headaches. Unfortunately, that would only mask his symptoms, the underlying cause would still exist."
"And we've both seen how he feels about taking drugs," Jim added with a hopeless sigh. "Isn't there anything we can do?"
Dan knew he was about to tread on dangerous ground. "I realize you've been opposed to forcing Blair memories," he began hesitantly, and was immediately cut off by Ellison.
"NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Jim exploded. "He's suffered enough. I won't put him through that hell again."
Unsettled by Ellison's outburst, Blair moaned and began to stir.
"Shhh, it's all right," Jim assured him. "I didn't mean to upset you."
Almost immediately, Sandburg began to quiet down and Wolf shook his head in amazement.
"Look, I realize you're just trying to protect Blair, but don't you think it's his decision to make?" Dan pressed.
"He's not able..." Ellison began, only to be cut off by the doctor.
"Blair's capable of more than you're giving him credit for. He wasn't given a choice when those men attacked him." Dan paused then added, significantly, "Are you going to take away his right to chose as well?"
Picking up his medical bag, Wolf went to the door, and pausing with his hand on the knob, turned. "I'll stop by in a few days to check on him. In the meantime, you might want to think about what I said."
Lost in thought, Ellison failed to acknowledge the doctor's departure. Was Wolf right? In his desire to protect Sandburg, was he in fact doing more harm than good? 'No!' he vehemently denied. Hurt and traumatized, Blair was in no condition to make such decisions, let alone look after himself. And until he was, Jim would be damned if he'd let Banks, Wolf or anyone else cause the kid harm. Feeling vindicated, Ellison tightened his arms around the sleeping form. "Don't worry, Chief," he murmured softly, "I'll protect you."
Between his injuries, his ensuing illness, and the sedative the doctor had given him, Sandburg slept late into the next morning. Jim had awakened earlier, aware that his charge still slept, and feeling surprisingly well rested considering the uncomfortable position in which he had drifted off. Actually, it had been nice waking up with someone in his arms, someone who wasn't expecting something or paying him for services rendered.
Blair had fit into his arms so naturally, as if he belonged there. Ellison shook his head at the notion. It wasn't like him to be so fanciful, and yet, he'd felt some sort of connection to Sandburg right from the start. Firmly convincing himself that what he'd felt was merely sympathy, Jim showered and changed. Then, spooning the last of the grounds into the small coffee maker he kept on the dresser, he flicked the switch.
The next order of business was food, a problem rectified by a quick trip to the diner. Provided he was careful, his dwindling funds would just about cover lunch and some dinner for Blair. For himself, coffee would just have to suffice until he could earn some more cash. Of course that meant he would have to leave the kid alone for a couple of hours, but Sandburg was healing and would be relatively safe provided he stayed put. The idea of Blair leaving bothered Jim more than he wanted to admit. Angrily pushing the thought aside, he set the take-out bag onto the table and went to wake Sandburg.
"Come on, Chief," he called, shaking the sleeping individual gently. "It's time to get up."
Blinking fuzzily, disoriented orbs of blue appeared. "Huh?" Blair muttered still half asleep.
"Your food's getting cold," Jim told him.
"Food?"
Carefully levering himself into an upright position, Blair's confused gaze slid lethargically about the room. When had it gotten light? The last thing he remembered...
"You let him drug me!" he accused, with an angry glare at Ellison.
"It was for your own good!"
"FUCK YOU, MAN!" Blair spat, pushing the covers aside. "I am so out of here!"
Clutching the bedspread around him, he stumbled from the bed and started towards the door.
"Chief, Blair, wait!" Jim cried out. Moving swiftly, he planted himself between Sandburg and the door. "You can't go outside dressed like that."
"Watch me." Determinedly, Blair pushed past the larger man.
"Okay, look, I'm sorry," Jim called after him, desperately wondering how he was going to keep the kid from leaving.
Blair whirled, his face suffused with anger. "You're sorry?" he croaked incredulously. "You let him fucking drug me, man and then you have the balls to say it was for my own good!" Eyes blazing, he advanced on Ellison. "Well let me tell you something, Jack," he yelled, poking Jim in the chest to emphasize his point. "It's my life and my body, and not you or anyone else has got a fucking thing to say about it!"
"All right, you're right," Jim said holding up his hands in capitulation. "I just hated seeing you in pain like that," he admitted in his own defense.
The softly uttered words threw Blair. Ellison seemed sincere enough, but he'd been fooled before and had paid dearly for his mistake. Still, Jim was right about one thing; at present, he was in no condition to be out on the streets.
"Don't do it again," he warned.
"You got it," the older man promised, then waited anxiously as Sandburg hesitated, his indecision clearly evident.
Unable to bear the suspense, Jim asked solicitously, "Are you hungry?"
"I could eat," Blair replied after a moments thought.
Ellison smiled with relief. Hurrying over to the table, he began dishing out the food. "I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I just got you a burger and fries…" Concerned that perhaps he hadn't made the wisest choice after all, Jim's voice trailed off.
"Sounds good," Blair said, noting the other man's uncertainty. "Just let me wash up first."
Now that his anger had fled, Blair's aches and pains were once again making themselves known. Grimacing, he shuffled into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Ellison sighed. 'Nice going, Slick,' he thought. 'How many more times are you going to screw up before the kid's finally had enough and leaves you?'
Shit! Where the hell had that come from? Sooner or later Sandburg was going to leave.
'And where's that going to leave you?' his mind taunted. 'Alone.' The answer was one Jim didn't like, and angrily he pushed the thought away. He'd lived a solitary existence before and he could do it again. Sandburg meant nothing to him. He was just an injured stray that Ellison had picked up on the streets.
'LIAR!' His mind screamed. It was only when his heart echoed the sentiment that Ellison knew he was well and truly fucked. He'd done something he swore he would never do. He had fallen in love.
Shoving the bedspread aside, Blair relieved himself, flushed the toilet, and washed his hands. Studiously scrubbing away, he tried to avoid looking into the mirror, but curiosity got the better of him. Turning off the water, his gaze traveled upward.
Silently, he stared at his reflection, taking in the various cuts and bruises. While they weren't pretty, he'd had worse. His uncle, while in a drunken rage, had often used Blair's face, not to mention the rest of him, as a punching bag.
It was the rest of his injuries, the ones carefully concealed by the bedspread, that Blair refused to contemplate. Ellison had told him what had happened. He didn't want or need to know more. Yet, as hard as he tried to fight it, the memory of what happened that night, was slowly returning. Like a cat toying with a mouse the memories were lying in wait, pouncing when Blair least suspected it, and with each attack, more and more details were revealed.
Pain lanced through his skull. Stifling a gasp that would no doubt have alerted Jim to his plight, Blair clutched the sides of the sink and willed the encroaching memories away. Afraid that if he examined them to closely, what little remained of Blair Sandburg would be irrevocably destroyed. Wrenching open the faucet, he splashed his face with the cold water until both the memories and the pain subsided.
The acknowledgement of his feelings for Sandburg had stunned him. For most people, the realization that you had fallen in love was a joyous experience, but for Jim Ellison, the mere thought scared the shit out of him. Love meant betrayal by those to whom you entrusted your heart. More than once he'd trusted in love and had been burnt in the process until finally he had sworn 'No more'. A promise which, thus far, had remained intact.
What was it about Sandburg? How had he managed to slip beneath Ellison's tightly controlled barriers when so many others had failed?
"Are you okay?"
Lost in thought, Jim hadn't heard Sandburg approach.
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." Brushing off the younger man's concern, Ellison rose and indicated the chair. "Why don't you sit down and eat before it gets cold."
Noting the solitary meal, Blair slid into the vacated seat. "Aren't you going to eat?" he asked.
Busying himself with pouring a cup of coffee, the lie fell easily from Ellison's lips. "I had something earlier."
Assuming Jim's unease was due to their earlier confrontation, Sandburg shrugged and began to eat. While not normally a burger and fries person, Blair had gone without food too many times not to appreciate the free fare. Suddenly, he stopped chewing. Or was it free? One of the lessons he had learned early in life was that everything came affixed with a price tag. He'd seen the lust in Ellison's eyes. No doubt the older man was just waiting until Blair healed before extracting his payment. It wouldn't be the first time he had been forced to sell his services in order to survive, but that was before... Blair set the burger down, his appetite having fled.
"Something wrong with your food, Chief?"
"No, it's fine," Blair replied pushing the burger aside. "I guess I just wasn't as hungry as I thought I was."
"You really should try to eat something," Jim began.
"I can't, all right?" the younger man snapped. Pursing his lips, Blair reigned in his emotions. "If you'll just tell me where my clothes are, I'd like to take a shower," he said changing the subject.
"Um...yeah, about your clothes," Ellison stammered. "I'm afraid they weren't salvageable."
"What?" Blair squeaked. "Oh man, now what am I supposed to wear?"
"If you tell me where you live, I'll go by and pick you up some clothes." Jim offered. "In the meantime, I can loan you something of mine."
"Chief?" he questioned, when Sandburg failed to respond.
"My backpack should still be at Chen's," Blair replied, unable to meet Ellison's questioning gaze.
"All right," Jim acknowledged when his suspicions about Sandburg were confirmed. The kid had been living on the streets. "Why don't you go ahead and grab your shower and then while you're resting, I'll run by Chen's and pick up your stuff."
With a small nod of thanks, Blair rose and headed towards the bathroom.
Worried about Sandburg trying to shower on his own with his injuries, Ellison asked, "Do you need any help?"
Blair paused looking back. "Thanks, but I think I can manage."
"Right," Jim reluctantly agreed as doubts still lingered. "Let me find you something to wear." Going over to the dresser, he produced a t-shirt and pair of boxers. "They'll probably be a little big," he commented with an apologetic shrug as he handed the garments to the shorter man.
"I'm sure they'll be fine," Blair replied, grateful at the thought of having something to wear besides a bedspread. Still, it would be nice to have his backpack again.
"You don't have to stick around you know," he told Jim, then realizing how it must have sounded, clarified, "I mean I'm sure there are things you'd rather be doing."
"Humor me, Chief," Ellison said dismissing the suggestion. "With your luck you'd take a header in the shower and then we'd both be back to square one."
For some strange reason, Blair felt deflated. It was irrational. No doubt, Jim just wanted his privacy back. After all, he had imposed on the man's hospitality for days now.
"I won't be long," he quietly promised, and continuing into the bathroom, shut the door behind him.
Disturbed by the abrupt change in Sandburg's demeanor, Ellison plopped down into the empty chair. Had he said something to upset the kid? Mulling over the possibilities, he pulled the discarded food in front of him and began to eat. There was no sense in letting the food go to waste.
Reveling in the sensation, Blair lost all track of time as the hot water work its magic, easing the various aches in his torso and limbs. It wasn't until the water grew cold that he turned off the tap and stepped out of the shower to dry himself off.
As expected, the t-shirt and boxers were a little large, but would easily suffice until his own belongings were returned. Now if he could only figure out what to do about his hair. Obviously, Ellison's military style didn't necessitate a conditioner. If only the same could be said for his own hair. It would take forever to get all the knots out. Still scrubbing a towel over the wet strands, he returned to the bedroom.
"Feeling better?" Jim asked, as Sandburg carefully lowered himself onto the bed.
"Yeah, man, thanks." Discarding the towel, Blair began combing his fingers through the tangled mass of curls.
"You want some help with that?"
Blair looked up at the softly spoken inquiry to find Ellison standing beside the bed. The desire he saw in the larger man's eyes unnerved him, so it was with great surprise that he heard himself say, "Sure, that'd be great." Confused by his response, Blair frowned as he scooted sideways to make room for Jim.
Settling himself behind Sandburg, Ellison gently began carding his finger through the long, dark locks. "Guess I'd better pick up some conditioner the next time I'm at the store," he commented distractedly while trying to unsnarl a particularly nasty knot.
"That's not necessary," Blair quickly inserted. "I mean you've already done so much."
"It's no problem, Chief," Ellison stalled the protest. "I need to pick up a few things anyway."
Having kept his own hair short for most of his life, Jim relished in the texture of the strands beneath his touch. But then, now that he thought about it, he'd always had something of a hair fetish. He remember being devastated when Carolyn, his high school sweetheart, had shorn her long locks for what she called a 'no nonsense' style. Of course, he couldn't remember the touch of Carolyn's hair making him this hard either. Ellison shook his head. This had to stop, and stop now. "I think you can handle the rest," he stated rising abruptly.
Retrieving his keys from the table, Jim headed for the door. "I'm going to pick up your stuff at Chen's. Why don't you try to get some more rest while I’m gone." Opening the door, he paused in the threshold. "Don't forget to take your antibiotic," he instructed. "There's some juice left in the refrigerator if you want it. And don't open the door to anyone while I'm gone. You got it?"
Blair blinked against the harsh light streaming into the room. "Sure, man, whatever you say," he replied uncertainly.
"I mean it, Chief," Ellison warned. "Whoever attacked you is still out there, and if they were to somehow find out that you're still alive, they might try to finish what they started."
Oh shit! He hadn't thought about that. Probably because he'd been too busy denying that anything had happened at all.
"Blair?" Jim questioned worriedly, as the color drained from Sandburg's face. Closing the door, Ellison hurried back to the younger man's side. "Christ, Chief, I'm sorry," he said, sitting on the side of the bed. "I should have found a better way of breaking it to you."
"It's all right, Jim," Blair replied, his voice containing a breathless quality. "I should... have... realized." It was getting harder and harder for Blair to breathe.
Damn it! The kid was starting to hyperventilate.
Spotting the discarded takeout bag, Jim swiftly retrieved it from the trash, and dumping it's contents, handed it to Sandburg. "Here, breathe into this."
Clutching the bag like a lifeline, Blair breathed into the paper sack, its sides rapidly expanding and contracting with each frantic breath.
"That's it, you're doing fine," the older man encouraged, and by the time Blair's color returned, he was breathing normally.
Embarrassed, Blair studiously avoided looking at Ellison. "I guess you think I'm a wuss, huh?" he asked.
"Far from it," Jim surprised him by saying. "Ah hell, Chief, considering what you've been through, I'd be concerned if you didn't freak out occasionally."
Blair looked up, hopeful. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Ellison agreed, smiling gently.
"So, do you really think they might come after me again?" Blair wondered aloud, grateful when his voice didn't betray his nervousness.
"I think it's a possibility," Jim replied truthfully. "Simon's been keeping the lid on your attack, but if word were to somehow leak to the press..." Ellison's voice trailed off allowing the younger man to draw his own conclusions.
"But I don't remember!" Blair exclaimed becoming increasingly agitated. "I couldn't identify them even if I wanted to!"
"They don't know that," Jim pointed out. "And even if they did, they still couldn't take the chance that the memory would stay buried."
"Oh man!" As if seeking escape, Blair's gaze darted around the room. "What am I going to do?"
"Hey, it's all right," Ellison assured him. "You're safe here. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."
Drawn by the determination he heard in Jim's voice, Blair looked questioningly at the larger man.
"I mean it, Chief. In order to get to you, they're going to have to come through me first. Okay?"
"Why? Why would you do that?" Blair asked honestly confused. After all, Jim didn't owe him. If anything, it was the other way around.
But an answer was not forthcoming.
"I'd better get going," Ellison stated, rising abruptly. "Are you going to be all right while I'm gone?"
"Yeah, sure," Blair replied, disconcerted by Jim's obvious reluctance to answer the question.
"Just remember what I said, and don't open the door for anyone," Ellison issued the reminder before slipping out the door and locking it behind him.
Outside, Ellison sagged in relief. Once again, he was running away, avoiding the issue. But, how was he suppose to explain it to Sandburg when he didn’t even fully understand it himself? Okay, so like a fool he'd fallen in love with a man he barely knew. Yet, even before that realization had dawned, he'd felt inexplicably drawn towards Blair. Had felt an overwhelming need to protect and care for the battered man. Irritated by his inability to rationalize his feelings, Ellison headed to Chen's, his long angry stride swiftly covering the distance.
"Mr. Jim! Mr. Jim!" he heard his name called two blocks later, and turned to see five year old Suzie Miller running towards him.
"Hey, sweetheart," he smiled, scooping the little girl into his arms. "What are you doing out here all alone?"
"Chrissy says the baby's coming," she hurriedly explained.
Damn it! It was a month too soon.
"Are you still living under the bridge?"
Suzie nodded. "Uh-huh."
"Wait right here," he instructed, setting the child down on the pavement.
He stepped to the nearby phone and quickly punched in 911. "I need an ambulance dispatched to the First Street overpass," he told the operator. "There's a woman in premature labor."
Waiting only long enough to hear the acknowledgement, Jim hung up, and squatting down, urged Suzie to climb onto his back. "Up you go, sweetheart, time for a piggy-back ride."
Hurrying towards the bridge, Ellison recalled the first time he'd met seventeen year old Christine Miller and her little sister. They were orphaned when their parents were killed in a light plane crash, and social services had wanted to separate the siblings. Having already lost the rest of her family, Chrissy wouldn't hear of it she and absconded with her sister, disappeared from their temporary foster home. Unfortunately for the teen, she'd paired up with the wrong man. Her boyfriend, upon hearing that she was pregnant, kicked Chrissy and her sister out of his apartment. Jim had tried unsuccessfully to get the young woman to reconsider going to social services for help, but she had been adamant in her refusal. He'd helped when he could, providing them with food and clothing, but as her time grew near, Jim had feared for both Chrissy and her unborn child.
Ellison heard the shrill cries of pain and quickened his stride. Advising Suzie to hang on tight, he slid down the steep embankment and beneath the bridge.
Setting the child down, he knelt beside the struggling teen and smiling gently said, "Hey, kiddo, I see junior's finally decided to make an appearance."
"Oh God, Jim," Chrissy groaned, clutching his hand in a vice-like grip, "It hurts!"
"I know, sweetheart, but just hang in there, okay?"
He glanced at the onlookers, a rag-tag assemblage of individuals and families that had taken up residence beneath the overpass. "Does anyone know how far apart the contractions are?" he asked.
"The last one was several minutes ago," one woman replied as her own three little ones hovered close by.
Shit! The ambulance would never make it in time.
Schooling his features, Jim turned back to Chrissy. "Everything's going to be fine. I'm just going to take a look."
Chrissy cried out as another contraction hit. Reclaiming his hand, Ellison rolled up his sleeves, and lifting the shabby blanket which someone had draped over the young woman, quickly appraised the situation. The head was already crowning.
"Okay, Chrissy, I want you to listen to me. When I tell you, I want you to push, all right?"
Drenched in sweat, the teen nodded. A few minutes later, another contraction hit.
"Now!" Jim instructed.
With a loud cry, Chrissy pushed. "I can't" she protested a moment later before collapsing back onto the ground, breathing heavily.
"You can and you will!" Jim bellowed. "Someone support her shoulders."
An elderly man moved into position.
"Now push!" he ordered and was relieved to see the child's shoulders appear.
"I'm going to need a blanket," Jim called out, intent on his task.
A towel was thrust into his line of vision. "Will this do?" someone asked.
Snatching the towel, "We're in the home stretch," he told Chrissy. "One more good push should do it."
Screeching in pain, the young woman pushed, and the baby came out crying.
Smiling broadly, Ellison wrapped the child in the towel and announced, "Congratulations, you have a son."
Chrissy's tears of pain turned to tears of joy as Jim presented her with the screaming infant.
"He's so tiny," Suzie observed, awed by the miracle of childbirth.
It was then that Ellison heard the approaching sirens of the ambulance and sank back onto his haunches with a relieved sigh.
Hurrying towards his intended destination, Ellison found himself worrying about the future of the Millers. Mrs. Jankowski had offered to watch Suzie until Christine was out of the hospital, and although Jim could understand Chrissy's desire to keep her family together, he couldn't help but hope that social services would intervene. Living on the streets was hard enough for the most seasoned veterans, but for two young girls and a newborn… What kind of life could they possibly have? Ellison shuddered at the possibilities. Ignoring the nagging voice that reminded him that social services hadn't been much help in Sandburg's case, Jim crossed the street and enters the restaurant.
Stopping the first waiter that happened by, he asked to speak to the owner. A few minutes later the young man returned with an elderly, diminutive Chinese woman. Introducing herself, Mrs. Chen explained that her husband was not there and inquired if she could help.
"My name is Jim Ellison, I'm a friend of Blair Sandburg, " he told her. "He left his belongings here the other night, and he asked me to drop by to pick 'em up."
Immediately, Mrs. Chen launched into a barrage of questions. She had become worried when the likable young man had suddenly disappeared without a trace. Without going into detail, Jim explained that Blair had been mugged and was staying with him while he recuperated from his injuries.
The elderly woman was horrified by the news, and clucking her tongue at the senseless violence, urged Ellison to wait while she gathered Blair's things. Ten minutes later she returned, not only with Sandburg's duffel bag, but a carryout bag brimming with food.
"Some of Blair's favorites," she explained, waving aside Jim's protest that he couldn't afford to pay. "There's enough for two. You take, make sure he eat," she insisted.
With a smile of gratitude, Ellison assured her he would. He thanked her for the food and headed for home.
Expelling a pent up sigh, Blair thumbed the off switch on the TV's remote and plunged the room into darkness. As it had frequently over the past hour, his gaze strayed to the door. What the hell could be taking Jim so long he wondered, concerned by the man's prolonged absence. As much as Blair hated to admit it, he missed Ellison's presence, and the quiet strength and security the larger man radiated.
At the sound of a key in the lock, Blair involuntarily stiffened, then felt himself relax when Ellison's familiar frame filled the doorway.
"Hey, man, what took you so long?" he couldn't stop himself from asking.
Jim dumped the duffel bag onto the overstuffed chair and the takeout bag on the table. "Something unexpected came up," he explained, as he began unloading the contents of the bag. "I hope you're hungry. Mrs. Chen sent you a care package."
The younger man's nose twitched as a delicious aroma filled the room. His face lit up. "Oh man!" he exclaimed climbing out of bed and heading for the table. "Is that curried chicken?"
Ellison took a whiff. "Smells like it. We also have egg drop soup and fortune cookies."
"You've got to taste this Jim," Blair said opening one of the cartons. "Mrs. Chen makes the best curried chicken."
Pleased by his companion's enthusiasm, Ellison chuckled. "Well, considering there's enough here to feed an army, I don't think that'll be a problem. Go ahead and dive in, I'll get us something to drink."
Grabbing a couple of bottles of water from the refrigerator, Jim returned to hear murmurs of appreciation escaping the smaller man as, bite after bite, the curry swiftly disappeared.
Delighted to see the improvement in Sandburg's appetite, Jim bit back a retort to 'slow down' and instead, turned his attention to a container of the soup.
"Not bad," he commented a short time later. Setting the empty container aside, he opened the remaining carton. Adept at using chopsticks, Jim took a healthy bite and immediately began coughing.
As the coughing continued, Blair looked up, his alarm growing as Ellison, his face flush with color, swallowed, and grabbing a bottle of water, downed half its contents.
"Are you all right?" He asked as Jim set the bottle down, and clearing his throat, dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.
"What the hell is she trying to do, poison me?" Ellison gasped.
Picking up Jim's carton, Blair poked at its contents with the chopsticks. "I don't understand," he said. "Mine tasted fine." Popping a bite into his mouth, he chewed it thoroughly. "There's nothing wrong with this," he told Jim, more confused than ever by Ellison's reaction.
"Are you crazy?" The larger man bellowed. "It felt as if my throat was on fire."
"Maybe you're allergic to something in the dish," Blair suggested. "Do you have any known allergies?"
"Of course I don't have any..." Ellison began his tirade, but even as he sought to deny it, several incidence's flashed before his mind's eye... Of having to change laundry detergents because of a persistent rash... Of his inability to linger in smoke filled bars... Of the stray he had to give away because the cat made his eyes water. "I suppose it's possible," he grudgingly admitted.
"Allergies are nothing to fool around with Jim. Maybe we should get you to the hospital..."
Ellison shook his head forestalling the suggestion. "I'm fine now." Hoping to alleviate further concern, Jim smiled. "I guess that just means there's more for you. So eat up, Junior, your food's getting cold."
"What about the rice?" Blair asked. "I mean that shouldn't cause you any problems, right?"
"Right," Jim agreed, strangely touched by Sandburg's anxious gaze.
Blair pushed two containers across the table. "Then we'll swap," he said in a no nonsense tone of voice, "my rice and soup for your curry."
Unable to help himself, Ellison smiled. "You've got yourself a deal."
The rest of the meal followed without further incident as each man concentrated on eating.
Blair managed to consume his curry and part of Jim's before pushing away the rest with a soft groan that indicated he had eaten too much.
"Don't forget your fortune cookie," Jim said, pleased by the amount of food Sandburg had ingested. The kid was entirely too thin.
"Knock yourself out," Blair replied nudging the white paper sack towards the larger man.
Digging around in the bag, Jim snagged the elusive objects and set them on the table. "Come on, Chief, don't you want to know what the future holds?" he teased.
Haunted blue eyes rose to met Ellison's. "I already know," Blair replied softly.
Taken aback by the hopelessness, 'Not if I have anything to say about it,' Ellison silently promised. "You might be surprised." He heard himself say aloud. "Trust me."
Disconcerted by the ambiguous message, Blair found himself reaching for one of the fortune cookies. Cracking it open, he removed the tiny slip of paper. "Your destiny is within reach," he read with a grimace.
"You don't believe in destiny?" Jim queried.
Blair snorted. "You mean like in some preordained plan?" he shook his head. "No. There're too many unknown variables that can't be factored into the equation."
Ellison eyebrows rose in surprise.
"What?" Blair questioned.
"For a minute there you reminded me of one of my old college professors," Jim replied, smiling at the memory of the man they called old Ironsides.
"I wanted to go to college," Blair softly admitted on a wistful note. "Sometimes I even sneak into the library over at Rainier. You wouldn't believe some of the books they have there. I could, and have, spent hours on end just reading them."
"Any particular topic?" Ellison asked, surprised by Sandburg's apparent thirst for knowledge.
"Anthropology," he quietly replied, then elaborated. "I've always enjoyed reading about the origin and development of various races, their customs and beliefs..." Embarrassed by his admission, Blair took sudden interest in the table.
"I'm impressed," Ellison commented.
"Don't be," Blair retorted. Rising, he moved to stare out the window. "It's not like it's ever going to happen."
The longing in Sandburg's voice was nearly his undoing. Suddenly, more than anything, Jim wanted to help Blair fulfill his dreams. And yet, what could he really do about it? He had enough trouble making ends meet as it was. There was no way he could afford to send the kid to college, even if Blair was willing to accept help, which Jim severely doubted.
"So, what does yours say?"
Jim was lost in thought. "Huh?" he replied, looking up.
"Your fortune cookie," Blair repeated. "What does it say?"
Obviously, Sandburg wanted to change the subject. Opening the cookie, Ellison read, "Knowledge comes from an unlikely source."
Knowledge? Briefly Jim wondered what the cryptic message meant, then shrugged. Like Sandburg, he didn't believe in fortune cookies either.
"I guess you were right after all," he said sweeping the crumbs into the trash can.
"I'm going to get dressed," Blair announced, retrieving his backpack.
Ellison sighed. Now was as good a time as any.
"Hang on a second, Chief. There's something I need to talk to you about."
The seriousness of Ellison's tone stopped Blair in his tracks. Was the older man getting ready to throw him out? Considering how concerned Jim seemed earlier about leaving him alone Blair doubted it, but... Maybe Jim thought it was time for him to start earning his keep. Numb, Blair lowered himself into the chair.
"What is it?" he asked, dreading the answer.
Hearing the slight quaver in Sandburg's voice, Jim eyed him with concern. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Blair forced himself to meet Ellison's gaze. "What is it you wanted to talk to me about?" His voice, although stronger now, still held a tremulous quality.
"Hey, it's all right." Jim smiled, gently reassuring. "I just wanted to tell you that I have to go to work tonight."
"Work?" Blair replied dumbly, as Ellison's announcement sunk in.
"Yeah, I... ah, work as a longshoreman down at the docks." The lie came out of nowhere. "I'm sorry, Chief. I hate the idea of leaving you alone for so long while you're still recuperating, but I really can't afford to miss any more time." He added apologetically.
Relived, Blair's stunned expression escalated into a full-blown smile. "Hey, man, it's okay. I'll be fine."
"I know you will," Ellison agreed yet, even as he said it, the idea of leaving Sandburg alone for such an extended period of time worried him. "Just remember what I said and don't open the door for anyone."
Reminded of the danger, Blair's expression faltered.
Neon lights reflected off the rain slicked streets. Heedless of the light drizzle, Jim leaned against the U.S. Postal Service mailbox and assessed the driver of the muddy brown sedan that had just pulled up to the curb.
Nonchalantly, Ellison made his way over to the car and bent down to peer inside. The driver looked to be in his late forties. The balding head, bushy mustache and horned-rimmed glasses lent the impression of a stereotypical accountant. It was the almost imperceivable click and soft whirring sound of a tape recorder that told Jim otherwise.
"Good evening, Officer," he greeted the man warmly. "Is there something I can help you with?"
To his credit, the undercover officer quickly masked his surprise and disappointment at being made. "I'm afraid you've mistaken me for somebody else." Even to an untrained ear, the man's denial fell flat. "I'm just looking for Chancellor Street."
"Two blocks down and make a left at the light," Ellison instructed, barely hiding his amusement at the man's obvious consternation.
"Thank you," the driver replied curtly.
As the car sped off, Ellison's smile crumpled. Normally, he enjoyed yanking Vice's chain, but tonight all he cared about was making some quick cash so he could get back to Sandburg. The kid had put up a good front, but Jim had smelt the underlying nervousness. Maybe he should have shown Sandburg where he kept his gun, just in case.
'Don't be ridiculous,' Ellison silently berated himself. 'No one knows where the kid is. He's perfectly safe.'
'Banks and the doctor know,' his subconscious took perverse pleasure in reminding him.
He wasn't too concerned about Wolf, but Simon had pushed the boundaries of their acquaintance several times of late. Unfortunately, at the moment there wasn't anything he could do about it. The pressing matter of his almost nonexistent funds had to take priority.
Aware that vice was still working the area, Jim casually made his way over to Bayside, where he knew the pickings would be slim, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about ending up in jail.
His first bite came about an hour later as a silver Lincoln cruised to a stop at the curb, the passenger-side window gliding down.
"Evening," he greeted the man, an executive looking type.
"How much?" The CEO asked without preamble.
"Depends on what you want," Ellison replied, having ascertained that the man didn't constitute a threat.
The man glanced around nervously before asking in hushed tones, "How much for a blow job?"
Jim named his price, nearly double what he usually charged for the requested service.
The executive grew angry. "You're fucking crazy, I can get it for half of that!"
Ellison shrugged. "Suit yourself, Slick, but Vice is working the main drag, so you might want be careful whom you approach." And with that, Jim started to walk away.
"All right," he heard the man call after him.
Suppressing a smile of triumph, Jim made his way back to the car and slid in next to the driver.
"Take a right on Freemont," he instructed the driver. "There's an abandoned gas station three blocks down. Pull in the back."
As the man followed his directions, Ellison found himself thinking about Sandburg. Was he resting? Had he remembered to take his antibiotics?
"Hey, I haven't got all night," the john growled as he unfastened his slacks. It was then Ellison realized that they had reached their destination.
Withdrawing a condom from his pocket, Jim tossed it at the man. "Put it on," he ordered.
"Wait a minute," the man protested. "You didn't say anything about having to wear a condom."
Ellison's eyes narrowed, fixing the executive with a steely glare. "Listen to me, asshole. You've already proven that you're not too particular when it comes to choosing your partners. So, either you wear it, or you can suck your own dick."
Jim wasn't surprised when the man backed down. While he may command respect and fear in his office, here on the streets he was just another desperate john.
"All right," he grudgingly agreed, as he rolled the condom over his cock. "But you'd better make it good. I ain't paying for some piss ass blow job." He tried for one last bit of bravado as he slid his seat all the way back.
Ellison's hand snaked out and grabbed the latex covered cock, squeezing it roughly. "Oh you'll pay," he purred dangerously. "Right after I've made you cum so hard you'll think your brain exploded."
Having perfected his technique long ago, Jim no longer thought about what he was doing. He'd give the john five minutes, no more. That is, if the asshole could even last that long.
"Oh yeah, do it," the exec moaned, grabbing Jim's head and thrusting upward into his mouth.
Immediately, Ellison grabbed the man's balls and twisted, jerking his head away. "Do that again and I'll rip them off," he spat.
"All right, fine, whatever," the man gasped. "Just don't stop."
Just wanting to get it over with, Jim returned to the task and quickened his pace. The john must get off on rough play, because it was over in seconds.
As the man came, Ellison sat back and swiped a sleeve over his mouth. God, he hated the taste of latex. Better that though than picking up an STD.
"Come on, buddy, time is money," Jim growled, when the man was slow to recover.
Dazed, his cock still hanging out, the john reached into his breast pocket and retrieved his wallet. Opening it, he lethargically thumbed through the bills.
Irritated by the delay, Ellison snatched the wallet out of the man' hand, withdrew his fee, then tossed it back.
"See you around," he told the exec and climbed out of the car, slamming the door.
It was nearly three hours later before Jim received another nibble.
It had rained a little, off and on. Damp and miserable, Ellison longed for the warmth and comfort of his motel room. He was just about to call it a night and hope he'd have better luck tomorrow, when he noticed a young man eyeing him from a doorway across the street. Even without the varsity jacket hugging his athletic frame, there was no mistaking the kid for anything other than a high school student.
The kid's body language screamed of nervousness, but there was no mistaking the hungry look in the younger man's eyes.
"Aw shit," Jim groaned, recognizing the expression. He'd been that kid once. Questioning his sexual orientation. Denying his attraction to other men. Wanting it, needing it so ungodly bad, and yet afraid to take the first step. The step that would lead to a lifetime of hiding his most basic instincts, of lying to family and friends rather than risking condemnation and rejection.
Usually, he shied away from jailbait, but the kid's need was so palpable that it stretched like an almost visible cord between them. Before he even realized he'd reached a decision, Jim inclined his head in an invitation.
The kid hesitated only a second before darting across the street.
"I know a place," Ellison quietly stated, then without checking to see if the kid would follow, he headed down the block.
On the surface, the five story building appeared to be a boarding house, and it was run by Vera Wilson, retired stripper. However, it was common knowledge on the streets that Vera wasn't averse to renting out her uninhabited rooms by the hour. It was to this brownstone building that Ellison led the younger man.
"Jimmy!" the aging redhead exclaimed, as she opened the door to her small apartment on the ground floor. "Where have you been hiding yourself?"
Ellison shrugged. "I've been busy. You know how it is," he replied, bending to give her a quick peck on the cheek.
"So, what can I do for you," she asked, blushing. It had been a long time since someone as handsome as Jim Ellison had kissed her.
"I was hoping you had a room available."
Peering past the prostitute, Vera eyed the teen waiting in the hallway. "Are you sure about this, Jimmy?" she whispered, concerned. "He's awfully young."
He'd been expecting the question. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Ellison sighed. "I realize that," he replied in equally hushed tones. "But I know the look, Red. If not me, then he'll just keep looking until he finds somebody else. And we both know the streets aren't safe, especially now."
Vera was all too aware of what was happening on the streets. One of her own boarders had fallen victim to the ghastly hate crimes being perpetrated against young gay men. Rob had been such a sweet, gentle soul. No one deserved to die like that. Withdrawing a key from her pocket, she handed it to Jim who, in turn, slipped her a twenty. "Just put the key through the mail slot when you're though," she instructed. "And don't be such a stranger. I've missed your handsome mug."
Taking her hand, Jim raised it to his lips, kissing it lightly. "It's been a pleasure," he told her, eyes twinkling.
"Get out of here, you scoundrel," she said, shooing him out the door,"and save the sweet talk for your clients."
Letting the kid precede him into the room, Ellison turned on the lights, and closing the door behind them, engaged its lock. Hearing the sound, the younger man whirled, eyes wide.
Jim smiled reassuringly. "We don't want someone walking in on us unexpectedly," he explained.
"Oh, yeah, right," the teen stammered.
Christ, the kid was nervous.
"Look, why don't we forget all about this," Jim suggested, wanting to give the young man an easy out.
"NO!" The protest was immediate. "I mean, I want to do this. It's just..." The sentence trailed off.
"That you've never done this before," Ellison supplied.
"Yeah," the kid replied, embarrassed.
"So, when did you first realize you were interested in guys?" Jim gently prodded.
"About the same time I hit puberty," the teen admitted with a wry grin. The smile however, quickly faded. "But my dad, he's like this big jock, you know? Really into sports. He even went through college on a football scholarship."
"Is that what you play?" Ellison asked with a nod towards the varsity jacket.
"No way, man," the blond snorted. "About the only sport I've ever been any good at is basketball, and even then I usually end up on second string. Hell, I don't even like basketball, but with dad, you aren't a man unless you're into sports."
The was no mistaking the bitterness, an emotion Jim was all too familiar with.
"I try to be what he wants," the teen continued with a faraway look in his eyes. "I went out for basketball, even dated my way through the cheerleading squad. But nothing I do is ever good enough, ya know? I need to 'work harder, be more of a man', he says. And the entire time I was hating myself for all the lies and deception. And I hate him, for making me pretend to be something I'm not." The solemn blue eyes rose to meet Ellison's. "I'm tired of denying who I am. I need to know..." he implored.
Slowly, Jim approached the teen, allowing him one last opportunity to change his mind. "Then let me show you," he whispered, before capturing the kid's slightly parted lips with his own.
The teen responded like a drowning man, returning the gentle kiss with a passion long denied. As his hands wandered aimlessly over Jim's body, he reveled in the feel of the well-defined muscles hidden beneath the impeding cloth. Impatiently, he reached for the buttons on Ellison's shirt.
Breaking the kiss, Jim pulled away. "Let me," he said, unbuttoning and removing his shirt.
The younger man's eyes grew wide, mesmerized by the expanse of skin now laid naked to his view. "You're incredible," he exclaimed in awe.
Ellison smiled, his grin somewhat cocky. "You haven't seen anything yet." He sat down on the edge of the bed to unlace his boots and then stood again. Slowly, tauntingly, he undid his pants, sliding them and his underwear to his ankles before stepping out of them altogether.
"Do you like what you see?" he asked.
As the kid's gaze took in Ellison in all his glory, his mouth dropped open.
"I'll take that as a yes," Jim chuckled, moving closer. "And it's all yours," he purred seductively. "Provided this is what you really want."
"Please." The entreaty was rich with desire. "I've never been so sure of anything in my life."
Reaching up, Jim caressed the younger man's face. "I'm going to make this so good for you..."
"Josh," the teen supplied. "My name is Josh."
"Well Josh, now it's your turn," and Jim started to unbutton the boy's shirt. In a moment, the kid went from awestruck to eager. He unbuckled his belt, popped open his jeans and ripped the zipper down so fast it was fortunate he didn't do himself an injury. He shimmied the denim past his hips with his underwear, and then lost his balance as he tried to step out of them. Jim caught him before he fell, and lowered the boy to the edge of the bed. "It's okay," he said, giving the kid's arm a reassuring squeeze, then kneeled to free him from the rest of his clothes.
Ellison's eyes and hands roamed over the naked flesh. The pale golden hair covering the athlete's arms and legs felt silky to the touch. His chest was almost bare, and only around the groin area did it grow darker and more coarse. Jim ran his hands up the lean torso and gently pinched a nipple. "Tell me what you want," he whispered, as Josh cried out and arched his back.
"I... I want you to suck me off," the kid panted.
With a predatory smile, Jim pulled away and retrieved a condom from the pocket of his jeans. Discarding the wrapper, he slipped it into his mouth and leaned forward, drawing the boy's length between his lips and smoothing the condom in place.
Josh grabbed at the cheap blanket. The heat of the mouth surrounding him was incredible, and he groaned as it began to move. Jim cradled the downy balls in one hand and grasped the base of the youth's shaft tightly with his other. It's a good thing he did, or the kid would have come instantly. Ellison hollowed his cheeks and drew back slowly, until only the head was in his mouth, then flicked the sensitive underside with his tongue. He wasn't going to do this blowjob on automatic pilot, and concentrated on bringing his considerable skill into play.
When he figured he's teased the kid enough, he released his grip on the shaft and slid his hand to Josh's hip to anchor him. Jim pressed slowly forward, relaxing his throat, until his nose was pressed into curls that smelled of soap and sweat and musk. Then he swallowed, and swallowed again. The kid gasped, and his legs began to tremble. Then with a hoarse shout, he came, hips jerking and cock twitching as he spilled his seed.
"Did you like that?" Jim asked, giving Josh's thighs a squeeze as he sat back on his heels.
"Ummm," came the barely coherent reply.
"There's more where that came from," Ellison promised, pausing to tweak one darkened nipple. "Do you want to know what it feels like to have my cock buried deep inside you?" he questioned seductively.
"Yes!" The teen gasped, his skin glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration, his eyes still half-lidded in post orgasmic bliss. Ellison had pegged the young man as a bottom, and he was right.
"It'll probably hurt," Jim warned.
"Don't-- care. I want you to-- fuck me." Though disjointed, the words were clear. Josh wanted this.
Pulling away, Ellison peered down and marveled at the slightly debauched beauty and trusting innocence of the kid he was about to fuck. Doubt and self recrimination suddenly reared their ugly heads. Angrily, Jim pushed them away. The kid wanted to be fucked, and he needed the money.
"Why don't you go into the bathroom and clean up a bit first." He gruffly suggested.
"Yeah, sure," Josh replied, hurt marring his brow.
Feeling like a heel, Jim captured the younger man's face, kissing him gently. "Don't worry," he murmured, "I'll make it good for you." Then kissing him again, he shooed Josh into the bathroom and began making preparations.
By the time the teen returned, the harsh overhead light had been replaced by the gentle glow of the bedside lamp. The bedclothes had been pulled back and the pillows arranged, a tube of lube and another condom hidden beneath them.
Surprised by the change in the room's atmosphere, Josh hesitated in the doorway. Jim lay spread out on the bed, propped up on one elbow. He extended his hand. "Join me?" he invited with a sexy grin.
Turning off the bathroom light, the teen padded over to the bed.
"Nervous?" Ellison asked.
"A little," Josh admitted.
"We don't have to do this," Jim began, only to be cut off.
"No! I want this," Josh insisted. "I'm just not sure what I need to do."
Ellison smiled reassuringly. "Just relax, follow my instructions and let me do all the work. Okay?"
Releasing a pent-up breath, the younger man nodded.
Most prostitutes would have merely fucked the kid, taken their money and beat a hasty retreat, but Jim Ellison was not your average prostitute. Calling on his experience and his sensitive touch, he stroked, fondled and kissed the teen into a heightened state of arousal. Reaching for the lube, he flicked the top with one hand, squeezing some into his palm before thrusting the tube aside. He closed his hand to warm the gel, then with infinite care he patiently prepared Josh for penetration. When all was ready, he donned the condom, and lubed it generously. Then, guiding the teen onto his side and placing a pillow between his legs, Jim slipped into position behind him.
"I've stretched you as much as I can," he said, "but it's still going to hurt some."
"Don't care. Need you inside me, now!" The smaller man insisted, his face flush with sweat and desire.
"All right, just try to relax," Ellison replied, positioning the head of his cock at the wrinkled opening. Slowly, he began pressing his way in, and almost immediately, he felt the kid stiffen. "Deep breath. Let it out, that's right, Another one," he encouraged, and as the boy filled his lungs, Jim breached the muscle and froze.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah," came the unsteady answer. "Is there more?"
Ellison didn't laugh. "Yeah, there's more. You can take it. Just a little at a time," he said pressing a little deeper before pausing. Reaching around to grasp the somewhat wilted cock in his still-slick hand, Jim ran his thumb across the sensitive head, then began to pump Josh slowly while easing in and out, a little deeper each time.
When at last he was fully seated, Jim sighed blissfully. It had been a long time since he'd been in someone so tight. Would Sandburg feel this good? Closing his eyes, Ellison found himself imagining what it would be like. Only with Blair, it wouldn't just be fucking, it would be making love. Slow and tender, where he would take pleasure in learning each and every nuance of the younger man's body. And as the kid pushed backwards towards him, signaling he was ready, Jim envisioned himself easing in and out of Sandburg.
Somewhere along the line, though, fantasy and reality intertwined, and Jim found himself making love to the dark-haired beauty who had been haunting his dreams. Never before had he felt such tenderness for another human being, one for whom he would willingly lay bare his heart and soul. His own needs ceased to exist. His universe solely revolved around the pleasure he could give to the man who clasped him in this most intimate embrace. With his hands, his lips, his entire body, he strove to pleasure his beloved.
Selfishly, he prolonged the act, bringing his lover to the brink then backing off, only to repeat the procedure over and over again. Then, just when he sensed the younger man could withstand no more, he helped him over that final precipice and into the euphoria waiting beyond, where he followed a few seconds later.
"I love you," he murmured.
"I love you too," came the reply, only the voice was all wrong.
Ellison's eyes shot open and Jim found his fingers entwined, not in the chestnut curls he'd been expecting, but short blonde strands. The fantasy in which he had indulged shattered into a thousand tiny fragments as reality came crashing down.
"SHIT!" Jim exclaimed, rolling away from Josh and off the bed.
Confused and frightened by the sudden outburst, the youth looked up. "What is it? What's wrong?" he questioned anxiously.
"Nothing," Ellison snapped, snatching up his clothes and heading for the bathroom. "Just get dressed," he ordered before slamming the door behind him.
After discarding the condom and cleaning himself up, Jim angrily began pulling on his clothes. 'What the fuck was I thinking?' he silently berated himself. 'Even if Sandburg was inclined towards men before the rape, there's no guarantee he'd be interested now.' Just thinking about how he'd used Josh's body to assuage his growing need for Blair made him feel sick. 'Face it, Slick,' he told himself.'You're an asshole.' At the very least he owed the kid an apology. Taking a calming breath to steady himself, Ellison opened the door.
Now dressed himself, the younger man sat on the side of the bed, a picture of total abject misery. Sighing, Jim moved to sit beside him.
"Look, I'm sorry about before..." he began, shame making him unable to look at Josh as he delivered his apology.
"I just want to know what I did wrong," the teen demanded his pain and confusion evident.
Jim did look at him then. "It wasn't you," he explained. "It was me, I..." The explanation died on Ellison's lips. There was no way he could tell the kid the truth, that he'd imagined making love to another man while he was fucking Josh's body.
"That's what I thought." Grabbing his jacket, Josh rose and headed for the door.
Despite the fact that he felt like a total shit, there was still a matter of business that needed tending to. "Haven't you forgotten something?" he called, stopping the younger man in his tracks.
With his hand on the doorknob, Josh turned. "Like what?" he asked belligerently.
"Like the small matter of payment." Jim reminded him.
Surprise and confusion flickered across the shorter man's face. "But I thought... What we shared..." His voice trailed off.
Ellison stood, a sneer crossing his features. "What? That it was something special? That it was love?" The laughter that followed rang hollow. "My kind of love comes with a price tag, kid, and it's about time you realized that."
Dumbstruck, numbly Josh reached for his wallet. "I've only got a hundred and twenty," he stammered, disconcerted by the events as he produced the bills.
Strolling over to the kid, Ellison took the proffered money. "Don't let it be said I left you totally broke," he said, stuffing twenty of it into Josh's front shirt pocket before proceeding to count the remaining bills.
His mouth agape, Josh turned and opened the door.
"Hey, kid!" Jim called after him. The younger man, stopped but this time did not look back.
"Do yourself a favor and find a nice guy. Someone your own age," Ellison continued. "Because if I ever catch you out trolling the streets again, I'm going to kick your ass."
With this warning, the youth fled. Shutting the door behind him, Jim leaned back against its hard surface and sighed. There were days when he hated this business, and himself even more.
Hearing the lock turn, Blair bit his lip to keep from calling the older man back. 'You're being ridiculous' he told himself as the familiar signs of a panic attack began to manifest. Inhaling, he sought to control his breathing, and with it his rapidly pounding heart. After all, Jim couldn't be expected to remain with him twenty-four hours a day. Besides, he rationalized, it wasn't a good idea to become too dependent on Ellison or anyone else for that matter.
Whatever Jim's reasons for helping him, Blair knew that eventually, he would have to move on. Oddly enough, he found the prospect depressing. It had been nice having a stable roof over his head, to be warm and dry and not to have to worry about where his next meal was coming from. Yet, even as these thoughts entered his mind, the only image that remained steadfastly in place, was that of one James Ellison. Of Jim caring for him. Of mesmerizing blue eyes and an incredible smile. Of the fierce, protective streak the man had exhibited. The gentle, almost tender way Jim not only touched, but looked at him. Blair sighed. He owed the man his life and yet the tiny voice in the back of his mind, the one scarred by previously misplaced trust, whispered innuendoes and spoke of dire consequences if he should listen to his heart. Blair covered his ears hoping to block out the insistent voice.
It was all just so confusing and once again, he found himself speculating on Ellison's motives. A consummate loner, Jim didn't appear the type to take in strays of any kind, so why had he made an exception in Sandburg's case? There was no doubt about it, the man was an enigma, warm and friendly one minute, closed off and secretive the next. Bewildered by the dichotomy, Blair examined the spartan room searching for clues.
Other than its neat appearance, which in itself was unusual for a bachelor, but could no doubt be attributed to Ellison's military background, there was nothing. No pictures or personnel mementos were in evidence. Perhaps, like him, Jim had no family of which to speak. That would certainly explain the lack of phone calls or visitors while he'd been there. Well, other than Simon Banks and the doctor that is.
Ellison's association with Banks was another mystery. Jim had called him a friend, but there was no denying the underlying tension when the two men were present. He knew Banks was hoping he could identify his attackers - was pushing the issue in fact, much to Ellison's displeasure, which brought Blair back to square one. Why had Jim not only taken him in, but continued to care for him?
Frustrated by the lack of answers and his own ambiguous emotions, Blair began to pace, the impromptu exercise quickly reminding him of his injuries. Living on his own for the past two years, he'd grown unaccustomed to having his activities curtailed. With an aggravated sigh, he sank down onto the overstuffed chair and snatched up the television's remote. A brief bout of channel surfing produced a nature program and tossing the remote into the table, Blair turned off the table lamp and settled back to watch. But even the playful antics of a wolf and her pups failed to hold his attention for long. Less than twenty minutes later, Blair was sound asleep, the television playing to an unresponsive audience.
The rain came down in sheets impairing visibility and overflowing the trash-clogged gutters. With his shoulders slumped and head bowed, James Ellison was oblivious to the pelting drops.
After Josh had left, Jim found he couldn't bare to face himself, let alone the thought of going back out onto the streets. Instead, he found himself in the nearest bar, throwing back a watered down Scotch. The advice he had given the kid was sound, the streets weren't safe. Sandburg and the others who'd been attacked were proof of that. No, what ate at Jim wasn't the cruel way in which he'd brushed the young man off, but in the unforgivable way he'd used Josh as a substitute for the man he really wanted. Granted, he hadn't done it intentionally, but he was supposed to be a professional. Personal feelings and desires had no place on the streets. Yet he'd given into the impulse, and in some obscure way, by making love to Josh, Jim felt as if he'd betrayed Blair.
'You are one fucked up, sorry son of a bitch,' Ellison silently had berated his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, then ordered another drink, only to find Josh's pain-filled expression staring up at him from the bottom of the glass.
Now, slightly drunk and feeling like the whore that he was, shame made Ellison's steps falter. It was stupid to think there might be a future for him and Sandburg. Because while one might fuck a prostitute, no one was foolish enough to fall in love with one.
It had been a mistake to lie about how he earned a living. He should have been honest with Blair right from the start. After all, who knew what the kid himself had done in order to survive on the streets? So why had he felt the need to make up that ridiculous story about being a longshoreman? 'Because his love isn't the only thing you desire,' his subconscious supplied. Snapping at his subconscious to 'Shut the fuck up', Ellison turned the corner and headed for home.
In an effort to collect himself, Jim paused outside the dark green door. It was then he noticed the familiar glow of the television set escaping through the partially drawn drapes. What the hell was Sandburg still doing up? Suddenly concerned, Ellison let himself into the room. A test pattern was on the screen, and Blair was sleeping despite the annoyingly high-pitched tone.
Swiftly closing the door and shutting out the harsh elements behind him, Jim picked up the remote and thumbed the off button, plunging the room into darkness. Looking down at the sleeping man, Ellison felt a wave of tenderness wash over him. Sandburg looked so innocent, so young. Jim caught himself reaching out, as if to check Blair's injuries, but realized he wasn't even fooling himself. Instead, he retrieved a blanket from the bed, and after tucking it carefully around the younger man, headed for the bathroom.
While a shower was out of the question lest he wake Sandburg, Ellison gratefully shed his wet clothes and began toweling himself dry. Halfway through the process he heard the first muffled protest. Sandburg was dreaming. Hastily wrapping a towel around his hips, Jim hurried into the bedroom.
"No, please don't!" Crying out, Blair tossed restlessly.
Stopping only long enough to turn on the bedside lamp, Ellison knelt beside the overstuffed chair. "Come on, Chief, it's time to wake up."
With a startled gasp, Sandburg's eyes flew open.
"Hey, it's all right. It's just me," Jim quickly reassured him.
"Oh, man!" Blair exclaimed, unable to repress a shudder.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Blair's gaze darted away. "There's nothing to talk about. I don't remember what happened."
Ellison knew the kid was lying. "You've been having nightmares and flashbacks, haven't you?" Jim pressed, remembering Wolf's earlier comments.
Angrily pushing the blanket aside, Blair rose and paced a few feet away before turning accusingly. "Yeah, so what?" he spat. "It's not like I remember their faces or anything."
Raising his hands placatingly, Ellison stood. "Settle down, Chief, I'm just trying to help."
Sighing, Blair scrubbed a hand over his face. What the hell was the matter with him? Jim was the last person he should be lashing out it. "I know, and I’m sorry. I don't know why I'm being such a jerk."
Ellison shrugged. "You're angry, and you have every right to be. What they did to you was..." Unable to find an appropriate word to describe the atrocity, Ellison faltered. "Just remember, I'm not your enemy."
"Jesus, Jim," Blair swore softly. "If it hadn't been for you, I could have died out there. I owe you, man."
Covering the few feet separating them, Ellison grasped Sandburg's chin, tilting it upwards. As twin orbs of blue met, the tension in the air became almost palpable. Had payment finally come due? Blair swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously.
"You don't owe me anything."
Hopefully, Sandburg would never know how much it cost him to say that. Even now, with Blair staring up at him uncertainly, the desire to posses, to claim the man standing before him was overwhelming. Almost primal in its intensity. Ellison's hand fell away. "I need to get dressed," he stated, his voice gruff with desire. "Why don't you go back to bed and try to get some more sleep."
"Jim?" The uncertainty had been replaced by confusion.
Ignoring the unvoiced question, Ellison steered Blair towards the bed. "Go on, you still need your rest." Then, without looking to see whether Sandburg had complied, Jim grabbed some clean clothes and disappeared into the bathroom.
His brow creased in a frown, Blair stared at the closed door. Jim obviously wanted him, he'd seen that look too many times to be mistaken. He also knew how hard it had been for the older man to pull back. The strange thing was, part of him wished Ellison hadn't. Despite his fear, Blair had felt intimately drawn towards Jim. Were the feelings due to mere gratitude or something more? Suppressing a shiver, Sandburg returned to the overstuffed chair, pulling the blanket protectively around him.
With his hands braced against the bathroom sink, Ellison fought to gain control of his raging hormones. He wasn't an animal, damn it, he was a human being capable of controlling his sexual urges. So why did he still want to fuck Sandburg into oblivion? He could have taken Blair, he'd seen it in the younger man's eyes. But Jim didn't want Sandburg acquiescing out of some false sense of gratitude. He wanted Sandburg to come to him of his own accord.
Frustrated, Ellison stripped off the towel. With one hand braced against the sink, he cradled his aching balls, fondling them gently. Closing his eyes, unbid images of Blair performing the intimate caress caused Jim's cock to twitch. Shifting his grip, it took only a few strokes to bring himself to a climax. The urgency passed, Ellison cleaned himself up with the towel, and tossing it into the hamper, slipped on a pair of sweats.
Finishing his ablutions, Jim returned to the bedroom to find Blair not in bed as he had suggested, but curled up on the overstuffed chair. "Hey, Chief, I thought you were going to get some rest?"
Sandburg looked up at the inquiry. "I can do that just as easily here," he replied.
Ellison, however, was having none of it. "Not while you're still recovering. No arguments, Junior," he added when Blair seemed prepared to protest. "Let's go."
"Come on, Jim, I've kicked you out of your bed long enough. I'll be fine, really."
"This is ridiculous," Ellison sputtered. "Why don't we just both take the bed." Realizing what he'd just said, Jim's head shot up. "I mean it's more than big enough," he hurriedly explained.
Sandburg's gaze traveled to the bed. That much was true, still...
"Make up your mind, Chief. It's late and I'd like to get some sleep."
"All right." Clutching the blanket around him, Blair made his way over to the far side of the bed, and shook the blanket out over the top before sliding between the sheets. Satisfied, Jim turned out the light and crawled beneath the covers.
With each man on their respective sides of the bed, both discovered they were having trouble drifting off. Blair, from nervousness and an overactive imagination. Jim, from lingering guilt and his awareness of Sandburg's distress. Pummeling his pillow, Ellison turned on his side, away from Blair. "Go to sleep, Chief," he growled. "Your virtue is safe."
The remark was harsh and totally uncalled for. His eyes stinging with unshed tears, Blair maneuvered onto his side, away from Ellison.
A heavy sigh broke the deadly silence. "I'm sorry, I was way out of line."
"It's not your fault I'm such a basket case."
Damn them! If he ever got his hands on whoever did this to Sandburg... "Does it bother you?"
"What?"
"Knowing that I'm attracted to you?" Damn it! He hadn't meant to say that.
'Did it?' Blair wondered. He'd be lying to himself if he said the attraction wasn't mutual. Still...
The ensuing silence was interminable.
"Just forget it," Ellison growled, starting to get up.
Sandburg rolled over, grunting with the effort. "No, wait!" he called out, placing a staying hand on Ellison's arm. "It's not you, Jim, it's me. After everything's that's happened, I don't know if I can ... I'm not sure if I..." Blair took a steadying breath, his blue eyes pleading for understanding.
Jim rolled over facing Blair. "I'm not going to force you into anything, Chief," he said softly. "We can take this as slow as you want."
Relieved, "I can do slow," Blair whispered.
Ignoring the tiny voice that insisted he was a fool to get his hopes up, Ellison's smile penetrated the darkness. "Good, now go to sleep," he ordered, closing his eyes.
Bemused, Blair shut his own, only to have them pop open a moment later to study the face of the man laying beside him. He knew Jim wanted him, he'd admitted as much. But what exactly did that mean? Was he to be used as a plaything until the novelty wore off and then he'd find his ass back out on the streets? And if so, why then did the possibility bother him so much? Afraid to examine the question too closely, Blair closed his eyes knowing that sleep would be a long time in coming.
Sometime during the night the two men had gravitated towards each other and now lay intertwined, expressions of peace and contentment adorning their relaxed features.
The loud knock jarred Ellison awake. The movement roused Sandburg and inadvertently displaced him from his resting place against Jim's chest. Flushed with embarrassment, Blair quickly scrambled back over to his side of the bed.
The knock sounded again, this time accompanied by the familiar nasal tones of Simon Banks. "Open up, Jim, I know you're in there."
Exchanging confused looks with Sandburg, Ellison tossed the covers aside and climbed out of bed. Scrubbing a hand over his sleep mussed hair, he headed for the door, and disengaging the lock, opened it. Blinking as the harsh sunlight bothered his sensitive eyes, he greeted the older man. "Simon? What brings you here?"
Not bothering to reply, Banks barged past the prostitute and into the room. His gaze momentarily settled on Sandburg, noting his rumpled appearance and flushed skin tones before rounding on Ellison.
"Do you want to tell me what this is all about?" Jim demanded, annoyed by Simon's actions.
"This," Banks replied taking some glossy 8" x 10" photos out of the manila envelope he was carrying and tossing them onto the table. "There was another attack last night. A seventeen year old high school student by the name of Josh Jenkins was found dead in a dumpster early this morning."
Ellison's gut lurched at the name. No, it couldn't be... In a daze, he picked up the top photo and the color drained from his face.
"I assume you recognize him," Banks continued "Since witnesses report seeing the two of you together last night."
Confused, Blair glanced from one man to the other. "Jim, what's going on man?" Ellison's demeanor was scaring him.
"I think we'd better discuss this outside," Ellison said, unable to tear his gaze away from the horrifying photo.
"Not this time, Jim." The captain's tone brooked no argument. This time he was here in an official capacity. "The kid has a right to know. Now, we can discuss it here or downtown, the choice is yours."
Flinging the photo back onto the table, cold blue orbs rose to glare heatedly at Banks. "Am I under arrest?"
"Damn it, Jim," Simon growled, irritated by Ellison's tone. "I need some answers."
"Will someone tell me what the hell is going on here?" Sandburg's voice cracked with emotion as he made his way over to the two men, and before Jim could stop him, picked up the photos.
"Oh God!" He gasped, as the image was indelibly imprinted on his mind's eye. Numbly, he thumbed through the rest of the photos. The young man lay naked surrounded by piles of trash. His face forever frozen in a grotesque mask of pain, no doubt caused by the fact that his penis had been severed from his body. The photos fell from nerveless fingers.
"Chief..." Jim began.
Gagging, Blair bolted for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
With Sandburg's heaving ringing in his ears, Ellison turned on Banks. "Was that really necessary?" he barked. "The kid's been through enough."
Simon, however, wasn't about to back down. "We've tried this your way, and as a result, I've got a seventeen year old kid laying in the morgue. So, why don't you start with why you were with Jenkins last night."
"Surely you don't think I had something to do with this?"
"Of course not, Jim. But I also can't ignore the fact that you were spotted with the victim shortly before his death."
Ellison sighed, his anger draining away. "The kid was out trolling. I took him up on his offer."
"YOU DID WHAT?" Banks sputtered. Damn it, Jim, I've been willing to overlook what you do for a living, but you had to know the kid wasn't legal. Do you realize I should arrest your ass?"
Ellison held up his hands to ward off the tirade. "I know, but you didn't see him, Simon. The kid was ready to go off half cocked. If it hadn't been me who knows what kind of asshole he'd have ended up with."
"A fat lot of good it did," Banks snorted bitterly. "He still wound up dead."
"I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT!"
"Then you'd better start talking, Jim because I want the whole story."
"So do I."
Ellison whirled in surprise. Pale, but determined, Sandburg leaned against the bathroom's doorjamb.
"Chief, I can explain..."
Blair advanced. "You lied to me," he accused. "You told me you worked as a longshoreman."
Becoming defensive, Ellison struck back. "What? I'm supposed to just come right out and tell you I'm a prostitute, a whore?"
"At least it would have been the truth!"
"Right," Jim replied sarcastically. "And like you've been perfectly up front with me. I'm not the only one who's been keeping secrets, Chief. We've both done things in our lives that we're not proud of. But I have never lied to you about anything important." Silently, Ellison begged Sandburg to understand what he couldn't bring himself to admit out loud.
Reading the truth in Ellison's eyes, Blair gasped. Why hadn't he seen it before? Everything Jim had done, the looks, the touches, spoke not of someone who merely wanted him, but loved, was in love with him.
"If you two are quite through." Banks' patience had worn thin.
Mistaking Sandburg's silence for rejection, Jim bit back the pang of disappointment and turned to face the older man. "Sorry, sir, I'll tell you everything I can."
"Just start at the beginning," the captain instructed as Blair, still in a daze, sank down onto the edge of the bed. Jim was in love with him.
Concisely, Ellison led Banks through the chain of events, omitting only the fact that it was Sandburg he'd imagined making love to instead of the inexperienced youth he'd held in his arms.
Simon winced inwardly as Ellison described in brutal detail how he'd brushed the kid off at the end. "And that was the last you saw of him?" he questioned.
"I assumed he went home... Maybe if I'd-- Damn it!" He growled, eaten up with guilt. "I knew the streets weren't safe. I should have made sure he got home safely instead of spending the next couple of hours staring at the bottom of a scotch."
"So, you were in a bar when Jenkins was murdered?"
"Yeah, at Kirby's over on Sutton. I was there until they closed. I'm sure there are any number of witnesses who will be able to corroborate my statement."
"I'll have someone check it out," Banks said snapping his notebook closed and stuffing it in his breast pocket. " We'll also need to question Ms. Wilson."
Ellison nodded, he'd been expecting as much. "Will that be all?"
Simon shifted uncomfortably, the motion belying his benign expression. "There's still the matter of Sandburg being our only surviving witness."
"NO! NO FUCKING WAY!" Ellison bellowed. "I told you, I don't want him anywhere near this."
"He's all ready involved," Banks pointed out unwilling to back down.
"He's right."
At the softly spoken words, both men turned in Sandburg's direction. His face pale and made more haggard by the shadow of an emerging beard. The kid appeared devastated.
"It's all my fault. If I hadn't blocked it out..."
Ellison knelt before the distraught young man. "Come on, Chief. No one's blaming you here," he said gently. "Considering what happened, it's no wonder you were traumatized. But you're starting to remember, right?" Banks' eyebrows rose in surprise at the revelation. "It's just going to take a little time."
Anguished blue eyes rose to meet Ellison's. "And how many more people are going to die in the meantime, Jim? Die simply because I can't remember their faces?"
Simon seized the opening. "I might be able to help with that if you're interested. The department's psychologist has remarkable success using hypnosis."
Blair hesitated. He wanted to help, but the thought of remembering... Would..." He swallowed, trying to work up some saliva in his suddenly dry mouth. "Would I have to go down to the station?"
"I could ask her to come here if you prefer," Simon quickly suggested afraid that Sandburg might change his mind.
"Her?" Ellison's brow rose questioningly.
"Carolyn Plummer," Banks replied. Ellison's eyes widened, his jaw going slack with surprise.
"Don't worry, Jim," Simon quickly assured him, mistaking Ellison's reticence. She's the best in the business. The kid'll be fine."
'Carolyn' Jim mused, remembering his first love. His face pinched with worry, he turned to Blair. "Are you sure about this, Chief?"
"No," Blair answered in all honesty. "But I have to do something. A kid is dead because of me."
"It's not your fault," Ellison insisted, his own sense of guilt weighing him down.
"Jim's right," Simon chimed in gently. "Maybe now though we've got a chance to catch the bastards responsible." His gaze lit on Ellison. "I'll contact Carolyn and give you a call later with the arrangements."
Rising, Jim escorted Banks to the door. Opening it, Simon paused. "I may need you to come down to the station to make a formal statement. Are you going to be all right with that?"
"Yeah, whatever," Ellison replied distractedly.
Frowning, Banks' gaze traveled from Ellison to Sandburg and back again. There was a lot more going on here than met the eye. He suddenly felt like an interloper. "I'll call you," he said and slipped out the door.
Locking it behind Simon, with a heavy sigh, Jim rested his forehead against the closed door. He'd been wrong to think it would last. In a matter of a few minutes, his life, his dreams had been destroyed by the truth. Blair would leave him now. He'd seen it in the younger man's eyes. However, the danger still existed and there was no way he was going to let Sandburg face it alone. Resigned to his fate, but determined to protect man that had stolen his heart, his soul, Jim turned. "We need to talk," he began.
Abruptly, Blair stood. "I... I need to take a shower," he stammered. Briefly, his eyes met Jim's, then he headed into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him.
"That went well," Ellison commented sardonically.
Blair closed the toilet seat lid and eased himself onto its smooth surface, burying his face in his hands. 'Damn it!' Just when things were starting to look up, his world had come crashing down. Again. When would he ever learn? He knew better than to take things at face value.
If he had any sense, he would just grab his stuff and split. Maybe hitch a ride to a new town. Cascade held nothing for him but painful memories. Painful memories, and Jim. The prostitute, the whore. The man who loved, was in love with him. That revelation, more than any other, was what had surprised Blair the most. He could understand sexual desire maybe, but love? Hell, Jim didn't even know him. Yet, despite the seemingly gruff facade, Ellison had taken him in and cared for him. For that reason alone, Blair knew he owed the older man at least a chance to explain. Instead he had run. Granted not far, but he had fled just the same.
He'd been shocked to discover that Jim had not only known the slain teen, but had been with him right before his death. And for a few brief seconds, he found himself wondering if Ellison weren't somehow involved. It was ridiculous of course. Even without the promised alibi, one look at Jim's horrified countenance had been enough to assure Blair of the man's innocence.
Images of the dead youth played across his mind's eye. "Josh" he whispered. Seventeen years old, and brutally murdered. Like the others... Like... "No!" he cried, shaking his head in denial. He had survived, thanks to Jim.
Now that the initial shock had worn off, he began to understand why Ellison had lied about his profession. When jobs were scarce and money nonexistent, Blair had been known to suck dick himself. It wasn't something he was proud of, it simply was. But never in a million years would he have pegged Ellison as a prostitute. After all, he'd served time in the military and was obviously well educated. Why would a man like that resort to prostitution? Maybe if Jim were into drugs it would make some sense, but the man appeared clean. And other than his penchant for greasy food, he obviously took pride in his physical appearance. Okay, so there was that one time when he seemed to 'zone out', but even then there had been no evidence of substance abuse. It just wasn't adding up, and only Ellison held the key. The question was, would Jim be willing to unlock the mystery?
Suddenly, it seemed imperative that he find out. He returned to the bedroom. "Jim, I've been thinking..." he began, only to have the words die on his lips. The room stood empty. Ellison was gone.
Unafraid of the solitary human sitting a few feet away, the tiny sparrow foraged among the blades of grass for food as a nearby squirrel greedily buried its latest treasure in preparation for the oncoming winter.
Despite its graffiti covered benches and unkempt appearance, Ellison usually found solace in the small, dilapidated park. Today, however, even the serene setting had failed to ease his tortured soul.
It had been a mistake to leave. Sandburg was probably long gone by now. Not that Jim could blame him. After all, what did he have to offer the kid? Life in a seedy motel room with a man who earned a living by selling his body? Blair deserved so much more.
Mired in depression, it was several minutes before he sensed the presence of another. A presence that was forever engraved into his heart and soul. Warily, he stiffened.
"I figured you'd be long gone by now." His tone held no emotion, and his gaze remained fixed straight ahead. He'd seen the hurt, the condemnation in Sandburg's eyes. He could not bear to see it again.
Groaning softly, Blair lowered himself onto the park bench. "The thought crossed my mind," he admitted, his posture unconsciously mirroring that of the man sitting bedside him. "Hell, running away is what I do best. But, then I realized that maybe, this time, I finally found something worth sticking around for."
Rising abruptly, Ellison strode a few feet away until Sandburg's next question brought him up short.
"Tell me I'm wrong, Jim. Look me in the eye and tell me you're not in love with me."
Slowly, Ellison turned, his steady gaze revealing none of his inner turmoil. "I don't love you," he stated flatly.
Okay, so that wasn't the answer he'd been expecting. Disconcerted, he rose. "Jim, come on..."
"What is it you want to hear, Chief, that you're special?" Ellison sneered. "Sure, I find you attractive," he continued, "but since when did admitting physical desire become a declaration of love?"
Gaping incredulously, Blair felt as if he were going to be sick. "So, I was right," he said numbly, his voice sounding, to his own ears, as if it were coming from far away. "All this time you were just hoping to fuck me."
"You should feel honored," Jim replied with a nonchalant shrug of his brows. "Anyone else would have to pay for it."
Anger rose from within churning depths. "Well guess what, Jim," Blair retorted, "screw you!" Shaking his head at his own gullibility, Blair pivoted and began striding away. "I am like so out of here."
Ellison latched onto Sandburg's arm, spinning him back around. "You're not going anywhere," he growled. "In case you've forgotten, the people who tried to kill you are still out there."
"I can take care of myself," Blair snapped, wrenching his arm from Ellison's grip.
"Yeah, right," Jim snorted. "That's why I found you half-dead in a pile of garbage with your pants down around your ankles."
Ellison didn't even see it coming. One minute he was mesmerized by blazing orbs of blue and the next, Sandburg's fist had connected with his jaw. Shaking off the pain, Jim took off in pursuit of Blair, who was now racing in the opposite direction.
Due to his injuries, Sandburg wasn't yet up to speed and Ellison overtook him in a matter of seconds. Tackling the smaller man, he rolled, using his body to protect Blair from the force of the impact. Careening to a stop, he pinned Sandburg to the ground.
"Let me go, you son of a bitch!" Blair roared, as he tried to buck Ellison off.
"Not until you settle down and agree to listen to reason," Jim shot back.
His face flushed with anger, Blair stopped struggling, and breathing heavily, he glared up at the larger man. "What do you care anyway?" he challenged. "Or do you get off on fucking damaged goods?"
Ellison felt as if he'd been slapped. Oh God, what had he done? Thinking Blair would be better off without him, he'd tried to push the younger man away, and in doing so, ended up hurting him. Hadn't Blair already been hurt enough?
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispered softly.
"Just tell me why, Jim. Why?" Blair pleaded.
"Because, Lord help me, I do love you," Ellison admitted, defeated.
"Then why?"
With an exasperated sigh, Jim rolled off Sandburg and sat up. "Do I have to spell it out for you? I'm a prostitute! A whore!"
Levering himself into a sitting position, Blair brushed the hair out of his eyes and waited.
"I can't explain it, Chief," Ellison continued. "But from the moment I saw you, I felt--" he shrugged. "I don't know... drawn to you. I tried to convince myself that the attraction was merely physical, but deep down inside, I knew it was more than that. So I lied. Not only to myself, but worst of all, to you." Jim
laughed mirthlessly. "I should have known better."Blair felt his chest constrict. How many times had he himself uttered the exact same words, only to feel another piece of his soul quiver and die as a result? Maybe he and Jim were more alike than either man realized.
"Is that why you tried to push me away? Because you're afraid?"
Smiling sadly, Ellison brushed Blair's cheek in the gentlest of caresses. "The thought of losing you scares the hell out of me, Chief, but that's not why I did it."
Sandburg frowned in confusion. "Then why?"
"Because you deserve someone who can give you the world."
"Jesus, Jim," Blair swore softly. "You've already given me more than anyone else ever has."
Ellison's hand fell away. "I don't want your gratitude, Chief." No, what he wanted, what he needed and was loath to admit, was his love returned by the man sitting beside him. Of course, now that Blair knew the truth, there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of that ever happening. "People fuck whores, Chief, they don't fall in love with them."
A frown tugged at Sandburg's brow as his silently contemplated Jim's words.
"That's what I thought," Ellison sighed.
Rising, he dusted himself off and held out his hand to Blair. "Come on, we'd better be getting back. It's not safe for you out here."
A gentle tug and soft groan brought Sandburg to his feet.
"Are you all right?" Ellison eyed Blair with concern. What had he been thinking, tackling the kid like that?
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Blair hastily brushed aside the concern. "Jim, about before, I --"
"Whadda say we stop by the diner and pickup some carry-out on our way home?" Ellison suggested, cutting Blair off mid sentence.
Okay, so obviously Jim didn't want to talk about it. However, his suggestion of food, no doubt to be paid for by his earnings from the slain teen, caused Blair's stomach to protest.
"I'm really not hungry," he said, his facial skin tones taking on a decidedly
greenish hue.As if reading the younger man's mind, Ellison replied, "Look, I know how you feel. But, you need to eat if you want to regain your strength."
Jim was right, of course. Just the effort of locating the missing prostitute had left Blair feeling shaky. Still, the idea of eating...
"We'll get something light," Ellison prodded, his concern gaze lingering as he noted the minute tremors.
"All right," Blair found himself capitulating. "But only if we eat at the diner." He was tired of being cooped up in the tiny room.
Jim, however, was not pleased with the stipulation. "I don't think so, Chief," he began, shaking his head.
"Come on, Jim." Sandburg sounded personally affronted. "It's broad daylight and I've got my Blessed Protector with me, what could possibly go wrong?" The matter settled, at least in Blair's opinion, he started down the winding path that would bring them out of the park just across the street from the diner.
With an aggrieved sigh skyward, Ellison hurried to catch up. "Blessed Protector, huh?" he questioned warily, falling into step beside the shorter man.
Sandburg chuckled, eyes twinkling, and Jim was reminded all over again just how much he loved the scrappy, long-haired man who had so unexpectedly entered his life. If things had only been different... He allowed the thought to trail away and forced himself to listen as Sandburg explained the ancient Chinese belief. It was good to see Blair so animated, especially after the shitty things he said to the kid earlier. Thankfully, Sandburg didn't seem the type to hold grudges. However, there was one thing that needed to be made clear. Snagging Blair's arm, he brought the younger man's monologue and steps to a halt.
"Yeah, well before we go any further, lets get one thing perfectly straight," he said in all seriousness as Blair looked up in confusion. "You ever go out again on your own and your Blessed Protector is gonna kick your ass all the way back to the motel. I mean it, Chief, until these bastards are behind bars, I don't want you going anywhere alone."
"Okay, okay." Smiling, Blair held his hands up in acquiescence. "I get it. From now on we're joined at the hip."
'If only', Jim thought wistfully. Shoving his traitorous emotions aside, he forced himself to smile. Then, slinging his arm over Sandburg's shoulders, he trapped Blair in a head lock and playfully ruffled the shorter man's hair. "Don't get smart, Junior, or you'll find yourself sleeping in the chair tonight."
It was an innocent enough comment, delivered as part of their lively banter, and yet, in that single instant, the camaraderie was gone and walls once again erected. Feeling Blair stiffen, Jim allowed his own stone facade to fall back into place. Releasing Sandburg, Ellison stepped back.
Sensing the change, "Jim, about before--"
"We'd better get going," Ellison cut in sharply.
"Yeah," Blair agreed softly, and as he strode beside the larger man, wondered why he suddenly felt a strange sense of loss.
Ellison paused outside the diner, thoughtfully eyeing its rundown exterior.
"What's up?" Confused by Jim's wary demeanor, his gaze traveled over the diner, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.
Ellison shook off the disconcerting sensation. "I don't know. For a minute there, I felt..." At a loss for words, he shrugged. "Look, maybe this isn't such a good idea after all. Why don't we just go back to the motel and I'll call for takeout."
"What?" Blair exclaimed. "Come on, Jim, I know I called you my Blessed Protector, but aren't you carrying it a bit too far?"
Maybe Sandburg was right. Unable to pinpoint the source of his unease, Ellison relented. "You win, Chief."
Flashing Jim a smile, Blair mounted the steps and entered the diner, a reluctant Ellison following.
Fortunately, the lunch rush was over and they pretty much had their pick of booths. Passing several, Jim selected the last one and slid behind the marred table, sitting with his back facing the wall. As Blair took the seat facing him and open the tattered the menu, Ellison scanned the diner's few remaining
patrons. His perusal was disturbed a moment later by the waitress's arrival."Jim!" The older woman greeted him warmly upon approach. "We don't usually see you in here this time of day." Her inquiring gaze fell on Sandburg. "And I see you've brought a friend."
Hearing the unvoiced curiosity, Ellison quickly made the introductions. "This is Blair. Blair, Michelle."
"It's nice to meet you," Michelle said, smiling brightly.
All too aware of his battered appearance, Blair gave her a brisk nod, and ducking back behind the menu, feigned interest in its contents.
She took no offense at the abrupt dismissal. "Now, what can I get for you boys?" she asked, pad and pencil poised and awaiting their order.
Since neither man was particularly hungry, they compromised on the soup of the day and coffee.
Within minutes, Michelle returned with their order. "If you need anything else, just holler," she said, setting it before them.
"This will be fine, thank you," Jim told her, and with a parting smile, she returned to clearing off the tables.
Conversation lagged as Blair, seemingly fascinated by his soup, swirled his spoon through the steaming broth. Ellison’s meal was forgotten entirely as his gaze once again swept across the diner. The feeling of unease was back and it was setting his teeth on edge.
Unable to bear the silence any longer, "So, Jim," Blair began hesitantly. "I realize it's none of my business, but I'm curious as to how you--"
"Ended up as a prostitute," Ellison concluded with an air of weary resignation.
"You gotta admit, Jim, you don't seem like the type," Blair replied. "After all, you're obviously well educated, and with your military background, there's any number of jobs you could do."
The internal debate was brief. Blair already knew the worst, and as a result, Jim knew he'd already lost whatever chance he might have had with the younger man. What harm could there be in telling him the rest of the story?
"When I first got out of the service, I thought about becoming a cop," he ruefully admitted. "But I flunked out of the academy."
"What? No way, man!" Blair exclaimed with disbelief. Ellison didn't seem like the type to fail at anything. "Why?"
As the painful memories surfaced, Jim's expression grew somber. "I was becoming delusional. Hearing... seeing... smelling things that no one else could. Then I began losing track of time where minutes, sometimes hours would pass with my having no recollection of them." He met Sandburg's gaze. "It happened the night you mistook me for dead," he reminded Blair of the incident before continuing. "Needless to say, it made holding down a job of any king virtually impossible. Finally, I disappeared for nearly a week. When they eventually found me, I was half-dead from exposure and dehydration. It was then that my father had himself declared my legal guardian and placed me in a VA hospital where I was diagnosed as suffering from PTSD. Their solution was to keep me doped to the gills." His gaze fell away, turning to look out the window. "I couldn't live like that," he stated flatly. "So, when my father refused to get me out of there, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I began ditching their medication, and one night, when one of the other patients went ballistic, I used the distraction to slip away. But, instead of running in the opposite direction, I found myself drawn home, here to Cascade. And yet, even without the fugue episodes, I knew I couldn't risk holding down a legitimate job, because if the old man ever found out where I was he'd have me returned to the hospital. So, I did what I had to in order to survive."
By the time Ellison finished relating his tale, Blair was frowning thoughtfully. During one of his many clandestine sojourns into Rainier University's Library, he remembered being captivated by Sir Richard Burton's monograph about ancient trial guardians, chosen because of a genetic advantage, a sensory awareness beyond that of normal humans. These sentinels, as Burton named them, would patrol the borders watching for approaching enemies, changes in weather, movement of game. The tribe's survival depended on it.
"I think I might know what's wrong with you," he pensively announced then, deciding to probe deeper, asked. "What about your olfactory and tactile senses, have they also been affected?"
Wondering where the kid was going with this, Jim recalled the onslaught of various allergies, of the times when his clothing felt like sandpaper rubbing on raw skin. "Yeah," he admitted. "So what?"
"Yes! I knew it!" Blair crowed, jubilant. "Jim, you're not suffering from PTSD, delusions or anything else. You're a sentinel, man. The living, breathing embodiment of Burton's work."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Ellison barked.
As Blair explained, Jim's expression grew darker. "What are you trying to say," he hissed. "That I'm some some of throwback to precivilized man? I may be crazy, Sandburg, but I'm not stupid."
Rising, he tossed some bills onto the table and started for the door.
"Jim! Wait!" His food forgotten, Blair hurried to catch up. "Don't you get it," he said snatching Ellison's arm. "There's nothing wrong with you. What you have is a blessing, not a curse!"
Grabbing Blair by the shirt front, Jim shoved him against the counter. "This fucking blessing, as you call it, has ruined my life!" he snarled, oblivious to the curious on-lookers. "And what about the lost periods of time, huh! Where do they fit into this theory of yours?"
"Burton mentioned something about that," Blair replied, trying not to wince as the counter's edge dug into the small of his back. "It's the zone-out factor. Apparently, when a sentinel focuses too much on one of his senses, he can become oblivious to the outside world. That's why he usually had a partner along, someone who could watch his back."
"Is there a problem here?" Michelle asked, cautiously approaching the duo.
Realizing he still had the kid by the shirt front, Jim released his hold and stepped back. "Just a small disagreement. Sorry," he smiled in apology, and grasping Sandburg's arm, took him aside.
"If what you're saying is true," he said in hushed tones, "then how do I get rid of this thing?"
"Get rid of it?" Blair squeaked, incredulous. "Jim, your senses are as much a part of you as the color of your eyes. They're genetic, man, you just can't turn them off. But I do believe you can learn to control them. And I'd like to help it you'll let me."
Jim searched the earnest expression. 'My God!' he thought. 'Could this nonsense Sandburg is spouting possibly be true?'
"Let's get out of here," he said, prodding Blair towards the exit.
Caught up in the possibilities of this newest revelation, neither man noticed the keen interest of one of the diner's patrons. Waiting until the two men departed he pulled out his cell phone, and dialing, said, "We have to talk."
The shrill sound of the telephone could be heard as they approached the room. Placing a hand on Sandburg's back to hurry him along, Jim dug out his key and opened the door, ushering Blair inside.
Swiftly securing the door behind them, Jim snatched up the receiver. "Ellison."
"Where in the hell have you been?" Simon Banks gruff baritone demanded. "I've been trying to reach you for the last two hours. I thought for sure at least the kid would answer."
"We've been out," Ellison replied, offering no further explanation.
"Yeah, well," Banks grumbled, still annoyed. "I spoke with Carolyn Plummer, and she’s agreed to meet with Sandburg. If there are no objections, we could be there about six-thirty."
Covering the mouth piece, Jim relayed the information to Blair.
His mouth set in a grim line, Sandburg nodded.
"You're sure?" Ellison asked, aware of the fine sheen of perspiration dotting the kid's upper lip.
"I just want to get this over with."
"Six-thirty will be fine," he told Banks.
Returning the receiver to its cradle, Ellison scrutinized the other man. "You don't have to do this you know."
"Yeah, Jim, I do," Blair said softly, but with conviction. Then he squared his shoulders, and changed the subject. "Meanwhile, we've got several hours in which to work on learning to control your senses."
Ellison grimaced in distaste at the thought of being a lab rat.
"Come on, man," Blair encouraged. "What have you got to lose? If it doesn't work, you're no worse off than you were before."
The pain from his most recent disappointment was still too fresh, and Ellison glared at the younger man.
"Trust me," Blair implored.
His life, quite possibly his entire future, hinged on Sandburg's belief that heightened senses were the source of Jim's problems. What if the kid were right and he could learn to overcome the debilitating aspects of this so called gift? He was not normally a gambling man, but Jim took one look at Sandburg's earnest expression and knew he couldn't refuse to try.
"Okay, Einstein, where do we start?"
"Funny you should ask," Blair quipped, flashing Ellison a brilliant smile. "Because I've got some ideas about that."
And over the next few hours, as Sandburg explored each one, it quickly became apparent that Jim's senses were indeed heightened beyond normal parameters. The question then became how to control them without subjecting Jim to excruciating sensory spikes or zone-outs.
At first, Ellison scoffed at Sandburg's suggestion of using imaginary dials to control each of his five senses. But, as each impromptu test garnered him more and more control, Jim had to admit that the kid just might be onto something. However, the constant stimulation had taken its toll, and the headache which had begun as a mild annoyance had escalated into a near-migraine. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jim was about to call an end to the session when a knock sounded at the door.
Both men started, their questioning gazes locking. It was then that Jim remembered Banks' earlier phone call. He glanced at his watch.
"That must be Simon," he said, and saw the excitement that had lit Sandburg's features all afternoon fade.
"It's still not too late to change your mind," he told Blair, but Sandburg was already shaking his head.
"No, this is something I have to do. You faced your demons today. Maybe its time I face some of my own."
It was obvious that the thought of reliving that night terrified Blair, and Jim found he had to admire the younger man's courage.
"Just remember, Chief, you're not alone."
Receiving Sandburg's quick nod of affirmation, Ellison opened the door.
"Well, it's about time," Simon groused as the door swung open. "Jim, I'd like you to meet--"
"Jim!" Carolyn Plummer exclaimed, brushing past Banks to quickly envelop Ellison in a hug. "My God! Where have you been?" she demanded, pulling back to examine his face. "We've been worried sick about you."
"It's a long story..."
"I take it you two know each other," Simon commented sardonically.
"We're old friends," Jim stated, not wanting to elaborate.
"Friends don't just disappear," Plummer berated. "Do you have any idea what you've put your father and Stephen through?"
Despite the obvious censure, William Ellison was the last person Jim wanted to discuss. "We'll talk about this later," he retorted, barely keeping his anger in check. "Right now you're here to help Sandburg."
It was then that Carolyn noticed the fourth person in the room. Exceedingly thin, his long chestnut hair hanging just past his shoulders, the man -- Man? Hell, he didn't even look old enough to vote -- still bore visible signs of his recent assault. His haunted expression, coupled with a defiant tilt of Sandburg's chin, convinced Carolyn that Jim was right. Now was not the time to air their personal grievances.
Her gaze softened. "Hello, Blair. I'm Carolyn," she greeted him warmly.
Wondering what this well-dressed woman meant to Jim, Sandburg's gaze quickly darted to Ellison and then back. "I appreciate your coming by," he told Plummer, painfully aware of the slight tremor in his voice.
"Well, Simon explained your situation, and I think I can help if you'll let me."
Swallowing nervously, "What do you want me to do?" Blair asked.
Scanning the room, Carolyn spotted the overstuffed chair.
"First you need to get as comfortable as possible. Why don't you take a seat," she said, indicating the chair. "Then we'll get started."
Waiting until Sandburg was settled, Plummer selected another chair, and moving it into place, seated herself opposite him.
"Simon told me you were having some problems remembering the night you assaulted," she began, gently. "What I'd like to do is use hypnosis in order to help you recall the event."
"You're not going to make me act like a chicken or anything?" Blair asked, in a weak attempt to make light of his nervousness.
"Of course not," she replied, exchanging an amused glance with Ellison. "I'm just going to help you relax, and if we're lucky, we might even be able to break through the memory block you've been experiencing."
"Okay," Sandburg hesitantly replied. Were it not for the stabilizing influence of Jim's hand on his shoulder, Blair was convinced he would have bolted, right then and there.
Removing a silver dollar from the pocket of her tailored gray suit, Carolyn held it up. "I want you to focus on the coin," she told Blair. "See how the light reflects off its surface. Concentrate only on the coin and let everything else simply fade away."
Forcing himself to focus, Blair soon found himself transfixed by the glimmering light, and with a barely discernible sigh, he relaxed.
"Very good," Plummer encouraged. "Now, I want you to think back to the night of the assault."
Sandburg's languid expression changed immediately, his body going rigid.
"It's all right," the psychologist quickly intervened, "you're safe. Nothing can hurt you now. You can watch without feeling any pain or fear."
Ellison gave Sandburg's shoulder a reassuring squeeze and a moment later, Blair nodded, indicating he was ready to continue.
"Okay, I want you to start with when you went into the alley, and remember, you're only an observer.
Seconds ticked by as Blair blinked once, than twice. When he finally spoke it was with a detached tone.
"I'd been washing dishes at Chen's, and was taking the trash to the dumpster in the alley when out of nowhere I was surrounded by three—no, four men."
Thanks to the techniques Sandburg had devised earlier, Jim had been able to monitor the younger man's heartbeat and was immediately aware of the slight increase.
"Take it easy, Chief, you're doing great."
Upset by the interruption, Plummer shot Ellison an irritated glance. Unabashed, Jim shrugged. Frowning with annoyance, Carolyn turned back to her patient.
"Can you describe them?"
Cassette player in hand, Simon pressed the record button.
Blair focused, trying to bring their facial features into focus. As all but one of the images fell into place, pain flashed through his skull, causing him to wince.
"Three of them appear to be in their early to mid forties," he began. "The man beating me is about six-two and weighs around two hundred and twenty pounds. He has short, dark hair that is showing signs of beginning to thin on top. There's not enough light to make out the color of his eyes, but he has a scar that starts just above his right brow and ends just below his eye."
"That's excellent, Blair," Plummer beamed in approval. "Now, what can you tell me about the other two?"
His brow crinkling in a frown, Blair turned his attention from the man who had taken such delight in administering the severe beating to the men who had restrained him.
"The other guys were holding me. One was about five-nine, a hundred seventy-five pounds with short brown hair. He was wearing a dark blue, or maybe it was black, jacket. The other one also had short hair, but it and his mustache were more gray than black. He was about my height with a slight paunch. And I remember he wore a ring."
"Ask him to describe it," Banks whispered to Carolyn. She scowled at the intrusion, but repeated, Blair, can you tell me what the ring looked like?"
"It was gold, with black inlay. And it had either gold letters, or symbols..." Blair shook his head in frustration. "I can't make them out."
"You're doing fine, son," Simon said gently while trying to mask his disappointment. Apart from the man with the scar, the general nature of Sandburg's descriptions pointed to a small percentage of Cascade's population. Maybe he could get the kid to work with a police sketch artist.
"Blair," Plummer cut in, reasserting her control of the session. "You said there were four men. What can you tell us about the fourth?"
As if summoned, the man hovering in the shadows took a step forward. His features were shrouded in darkness. The apparition raised an accusing finger, and pointed it directly at Blair.
Unconsciously, Sandburg repeated the man's words - "Your kind is an abomination and should be driven from the face of the Earth!" - and in doing so, felt the first warning sign as pressure began building in his temples.
"Homosexuality," he ground out through clenched teeth as the pain increased, "is a blight on mankind, an aberration of God's will. It cannot be allowed to flourish!" And as Banks and Plummer exchanged startled, horrified glances, the figure in Blair's mind took another step forward. One more and his face would be illuminated by the faint glow from the street light. Squeezing his eyes shut against the crimson streaks lancing through his skull, Blair's breathing faltered and he cried out.
"All right, that's it!" Jim barked. "I want you to put an end to this, now!" he told Carolyn.
"Denounce your unclean ways and live a life of righteousness, or I will be forced to drive Satan from your body!" Blair repeated the awful words.
"Damn it! I said that's enough!" Ellison bellowed, wedging himself between Sandburg and Plummer.
Kneeling, Jim gently captured Blair's face in his hands. "Come on, Chief, let it go," he pleaded, anxiously scanning the pain etched features. "You're not in the alley anymore. You're safe with me, and I need you to wake up now, okay?"
"Jim?" Blair questioned, his voice barely audible, his tone plaintive. He reached out blindly, hands searching.
"Yeah, buddy, it's me," Jim replied, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and pulling him close.
Blair sought the comfort, burying his face against Ellison's chest. "Hurts," he complained.
"Let me take a look," Carolyn said. "Perhaps I can help."
"I think you've done enough already," Jim snapped, immediately regretting the harsh tone at Carolyn's hurt-filled expression. His voice softened. "Just give me a few minutes alone with him."
Plummer, however, was not ready to relinquish her patient. "Jim, he's obviously in pain. He needs--"
"The only thing he needs right now," Ellison cut in brusquely, "is me."
Carolyn's brows rose. "Very well," she replied haughtily and leaving Sandburg to Ellison, she joined Banks on the other side of the room.
Blair groaned and the psychologist was instantly forgotten. "You still with me, Chief?" Jim asked gently.
"Make it stop," Blair pleaded.
"I will, buddy, I promise. But first I need you to listen to me, okay?"
"Um," Blair murmured softly in agreement.
Mimicking the technique Sandburg used earlier to guide him in the use of his senses, Jim said, "All right, I want you to concentrate on the sound of my voice and let everything else go. Can you do that?"
Ellison's relief at Blair's nod was short-lived. After all, what did one say to a man who had been brutalized and left for dead? Perhaps Carolyn was right after all. However, loathe to let Blair go, Jim began to quietly sing instead.
"Would you like to swing on a star... Carry moonbeams home in a jar..."
Banks smiled, shaking his head. Ellison's lone-wolf, I eat nails for breakfast, persona had just flown out the window.
"And be better off than you are... Or would you rather be a mule?"
Amused, Sandburg snorted.
"What?" Jim questioned with feigned annoyance. "You'd prefer to hear my rendition of 'I'm A Little Teapot' instead?"
This earned Ellison another chuckle, followed by a swift hiss of pain, but at least Sandburg was beginning to relax, if only marginally. Hoping to aid the process along, Jim began carding his hand through Blair's long, curly strands, uncertain whether it was more for Sandburg's benefit or his own.
The intimacy of the moment left Simon feeling strangely like a voyeur. Quietly he conferred with Plummer, pulling rank when the psychologist protested. Arms crossed, Carolyn's body language clearly stated her displeasure.
Banks cleared his throat. "Jim, it's obvious the kid is unable to continue, so why don't I just call you in the morning. If he's feeling up to it, I'd like Sandburg to work with the department's sketch artist. Maybe we can get a composite of these guys."
Ellison stiffened. "Don't you think you've put him through enough?"
Simon felt his own hackles rising. "Look, I feel bad for the kid too but right now Sandburg is our only means of getting these bastards off the street before someone else turns up dead."
The icy blue gaze directed at Banks hardened.
"Don't fight me on this, Jim." The warning was unmistakable.
Brown eyes met blue in a silent confrontation of wills. Simon conceded first. Heading for the door, he invited the psychologist to join him.
'Damn it!' Worried about Sandburg, Carolyn's presence and the danger it represented had slipped Jim's mind altogether. He'd been hoping to speak with his former high-school sweetheart in private, and plead, if necessary, for her silence concerning his whereabouts. If his father were to find out...
"Carolyn, wait!" The desperate tone halted Plummer in her tracks.
"I'd appreciate it if you kept quiet about this."
"But, Jim your father--"
"Never gave a rat's ass about anything but appearances," Ellison cut in, his tone hard and unforgiving. "I was a freak, an embarrassment, so he had me locked away. How do you think he'll react when he finds out his son's a prostitute?"
Carolyn's gasp was clearly audible in the small room.
"That's right," Jim sneered contemptuously. "I'm a prostitute, a whore, a man who sells his body to any low-life who can cough up a buck. And I have dear old dad to thank for it!"
"I had no idea," Carolyn murmured, shocked by the revelation. "But if you'd let me, I'm sure I could--"
Ellison turned his head, effectively dismissing her. "The only thing I want from you is to forget that you ever saw me, and for both of you to leave. Sandburg need to rest."
Her brow furrowed, Carolyn prepared to argue further when Simon interceded. "I'll call you in the morning," he reminded Jim before shepherding Plummer out the door.
Ellison heaved a weary sigh.
"They gone?"
Jim didn't have to ask who Blair was referring to. "Yeah, buddy, they're gone." And if Jim had anything to say about it, they wouldn't be back.
"I'm sorry, Jim. I tried, I really tried--"
Ellison grip tightened protectively. "Shhh, take it easy," Jim cautioned as Sandburg became agitated. Lightly brushing Blair's temple with his thumb, Ellison felt the pulsating throb, and noted the fine lines of fatigue and pain that radiated from the corners of Sandburg's eyes. "Whaddaya say I get you some aspirin and then we both get some rest?"
Blair, however, seemed reluctant to relinquish his hold. "Jim?" he murmured.
"Hmmm?"
"Why did you pick that particular song?"
"It was the first thing that came to mind," Ellison replied with a shrug.
Expressing his skepticism, Blair made a rude noise. "Try again," he suggested.
A resigned sigh tinged with sadness escaped. "My mother used to sing it to me."
The melancholy air worried him. Opening his eyes, Blair squinted up at the larger man. "This is the first time you've mentioned her."
His eyes shuttered, and Ellison's expression hardened. "That's because there's not a lot to talk about. She deserted us when Stephen and I were just kids."
The admission left Blair brimming with questions, but before he could summon the first one, Jim pulled away and stood. "I'll get the aspirin," he said dryly.
His face pinched with pain and sadness, Blair watched as Ellison, his back ramrod straight, disappeared into the bathroom.
'My God!' Deserted figuratively by his father and literally by his mother, no wonder Jim had issues with trust. And yet, he'd not only opened his home, but his heart to Blair. He'd left himself exposed and vulnerable, and Blair knew that he had the ability to crush Ellison beyond repair. The knowledge frightened him, and Blair shuddered at its implications.
Outside, the motel's vacancy sign flashed on and off, its mirrored reflection clearly visible against the side panel of the dark, nondescript van. Inside the vehicle, four sets of eyes were glued to the room from which Banks and Plummer had just departed.
"There's only the two of them left," one of the men complained to his three companions. "I say we go in there and deal with the little pervert and his boyfriend once and for all."
"And while we're at it, why don't we just invite the whole fucking neighborhood to watch," the man behind the wheel input sarcastically. "Christ, Ray, what do you have, shit for brains?"
"Thou shall not take the Lord thy God's name in vain." The reprimand came from the man sitting beside him.
"Yeah, whatever," the driver replied, unconcerned, as he returned to his surveillance of the motel room. "Ray's right about one thing though, we need to take care of the hippy and soon."
"None of which would be necessary if you and the others had dealt with him properly in the first place." The man's hands tightened around a well-worn Bible.
"That's easy for you to say," the scar-faced man chimed in from the back. "All you do is spout scriptures and then stand back while the rest of us do your dirty work. What's the matter, preacher, afraid you'll catch something?"
Slowly, the man in the front seat turned. "You dare to question God's will?" he challenged in a raspy voice.
"If that little faggot talks to the cops, we're all looking at life," the scar-faced man replied. "Now, I don't know about the rest of you but I'm not about to go to jail because of some pansy-assed butt fucker. I say we do the bastard-- now!"
"Patience, my friend, is a virtue," the preacher pointed out. "Sooner or later the other man will have to leave, and then Blair will be all ours."
The confrontation with Carolyn had escalated his burgeoning migraine. Shaking two aspirin from the bottle, Jim popped them into his mouth, swallowing them dry. Grimacing at the aftertaste, he turned on the faucet, and using his cupped hand, spooned some water into his mouth. Jim swished it around, then spat it out. Cascade's water supply in this part of town left a lot to be desired, especially for someone with a heightened sense of taste.
Returning to the bedroom, he snagged the last of the bottled water from the small refrigerator. He set it on the table, and doled out two more aspirin.
"Here you go, Chief," he said softly, as not to startle the young man curled up in the chair, eyes closed.
Dark lashes fluttered as eyelids opened slightly, revealing tiny slits of blue.
Accepting the tablets and bottle of water pressed into his hands, Blair tossed the aspirin back and followed it with a quick swig. Then, as the bottle was removed, his eyelids slid closed once more.
Silently studying the immobile features, Jim recognized the telltale signs of the lingering headache. Hell, he'd seen them reflected back at him from the bathroom mirror just moments before. Ellison snorted at the irony. What a pair they made. But was it a match made in heaven; or hell? Had the fates dropped salvation into his lap, or planted the seeds of his destruction? Absently, Jim massaged the area above his brow. Either way, now was not the time to contemplate the cosmic ironies of life, they both needed some rest.
"Come on, Junior, let's get you to bed."
Wordlessly, Blair allowed himself to be lead to the bed. It wasn't the blinding headache that held his tongue in check as he eased himself onto the lumpy mattress and toed off his sneakers, but an awareness of the risk Jim had taken in allowing Carolyn Plummer to come here.
Tilting his head upwards, "You knew all along," Blair accused.
"What was I supposed to do, Chief?" Jim asked wearily, his tone echoing the fine lines of fatigue marring his normally handsome face. "There are four men out there killing people. They killed Josh..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "They almost killed you."
"But if she tells your dad--" Jim would probably be remanded to some hospital, kept drugged, possibly restrained because they didn't understand the reason for his affliction. No! Jim had escaped that particular hell once already. There was no way Blair was going to let him go through it again.
"We've got to get you out of here," he decided, forcing himself up from the bed again. The sudden movement sent a stabbing pain through Blair's head, and he swayed. The gentle pressure of Jim's hands on his shoulders steadied him.
"And go where?" Jim asked. "Face it, Chief, neither one of us is in any condition to go anywhere tonight. And even if we were, how far do you think we'd get on less than two hundred dollars?"
"We'll take the bus," Blair suggested, his anxiety increasing. "That should be enough to get us down to Portland, maybe even up into Canada."
"You don't know my old man," Jim said shaking his head. "The first thing he'd do would be to alert the airport and bus terminals."
"Then we'll hide out here in Cascade. I know a couple of places--"
"Where? Some warehouse with hot and cold running rats?" Ellison countered. "I know you're feeling better, Chief, but you're still not up to living like that."
"It's not me I'm worried about," Blair replied, concern evident in his voice. "Right now, the only thing that matters is your safety."
"That's where you're wrong." Moving closer, Jim captured Blair's face in his hands. "The only thing that matters is you."
Mesmerized by the unadulterated love staring back at him, Blair offered no protest as Jim's lips gently descended onto his own.
Beneath his touch, Ellison felt Sandburg tremble. Reluctantly, Jim pulled away.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." he stammered, taking in Blair's stunned expression. Schooling his own features, he withdrew. "Look, I know someone who might be able to put us up for a while," Jim said, heading for the phone. "I'll give her a call."
Dazed, Blair's legs gave way and he sank down onto the edge of the bed.
The unexpected kiss had been earth shattering, for in that single span of a few seconds, an epiphany occurred. Love. One tiny four letter word. A feeling he'd locked away so long ago that it now felt foreign in nature. He'd buried it with his mother in a cold, desolate grave. It's place had since been filled with bitterness, hatred, suspicion and worst of all-- loneliness. Then two blue eyes bore into his soul, and the gentle caress of warm lips melted his frozen heart. In James Ellison, Blair recognized a kindred spirit. Angry and afraid, vulnerable in his need to love and be loved in return. Somehow, love had taken root in the aftermath of a tragedy. First in Ellison's heart then, although he'd tried to deny it, his own.
Jim was wrong. People could fall in love with a prostitute. But was love enough, or would Jim's profession end up tearing them apart? Sure, they'd make great strides today in recognizing Jim's abilities, but control didn't happen overnight. It would take weeks, possibly months before Ellison could safely pursue alternative employment. Suddenly, a thought occurred and Blair blanched. Had Jim had ever experienced a zone out while with a john? He shuddered as possible scenarios played across his minds eye.
Then there was the problem of Jim's father. In order to have the elder Ellison's guardianship overturned, Jim would have to prove that he'd overcome the debilitating affliction, which would be difficult while he still had to ply is trade.
Could he bear to see Jim leave night after night knowing he'd be sexually involved with other men, or would that knowledge eat away at him like a cancer, devouring the love until only resentment remained?
Preoccupied, it was several seconds before Blair realized Jim was calling his name.
"Huh?" he questioned, looking up.
Ellison's gaze was inquisitive, as if trying to read Blair's thoughts.
"I said there's no answer," Jim repeated. "I'll try again in the morning."
"Tomorrow could be too late!" Blair exclaimed, springing to his feet.
The sudden move had been a mistake, and pain sliced through his skull. Clasping his hands to his head, Blair issued a strangled cry. His vision wavered like heat shimmering off hot asphalt, and his knees buckled.
Ellison caught Sandburg as he slipped into unconsciousness then, hefting the dead weight into his arms, he carefully laid Blair back on the bed.
Terrified by the sudden collapse, Jim's first instinct was to call for an ambulance. It wasn't until he dialed 911 and the operator asked the nature of the emergency that reality clicked in - neither he nor the kid had insurance. Stifling a curse, Jim apologized for the error, and slamming down the phone, returned to Sandburg's side.
Settling himself beside the unconscious figure, Ellison anxiously tried to recall his medical training. Hesitantly at first, and then with more confidence as the knowledge returned, Jim began checking Sandburg's vital signs. The pulse was slow but steady, his breathing unimpaired. Ellison's hands moved upwards to lift first one eyelid, then the other as he checked Blair's pupils. Reassured by what he saw, Jim breathed a sigh of relief.
But instead of pulling his hand away, he allowed it to linger. Unbidden, it reached out to trace Blair's injuries. The bruises, once prominently black, had faded to ghastly shades of yellow and green. The cuts had been covered by scabs. His thumb brushed against the slightly parted lips, pausing as a soft exhalation of breath gently wafted across his skin.
Ellison ached to reclaim those lips. But while Sandburg hadn't fought against the unexpected assault, his expression had remained undecipherable. Had Blair been remembering the crude, callous remarks Jim had uttered while in the park? Or could his silence be attributed to the same rush of emotions Ellison felt when it seemed that, not only their lips, but their souls had intertwined?
Either way, Jim knew he could not let it happen again. Despite Sandburg's recent reiteration of the word 'we', once the homophobic bastards responsible for the murders were caught, Jim had every intention of severing all ties with Sandburg. To instigate a relationship that held no possibility of a future would not only be cruel to Blair, but leave Ellison with only more regrets with which to live. Even now it was already too late. When the younger man healed and was ready to move on, Jim knew his heart, his soul would be irreparably wounded.
Silently, he studied features now relaxed in slumber, committing them to memory. His hand moved upwards. Lifting a lock of the chestnut curls, he swirled it between his fingertips and reveled in its silky texture. The room's light played off the different colored strands ranging from blond to varying shades of brown and finally red. His gaze slid lower, roving once more over the battered face and coming to rest on the gentle rise and fall of Sandburg's chest. A fleeting image of the heart laying below that chest, beating in synchronization with his own, flashed across Ellison's mind. Jim sighed. 'If only that were true. If only...' Wearily, he allowed the thought to trail off. Rising, he deftly tucked the covers around Blair, clothes and all. It was just as well, after all, that he never did believe in fairy tales.
Turning his back on the sleeping man, Jim strode over to the window, and pulled the burnished gold drapery aside, peering into the darkness.
It had begun to rain, not surprising for Cascade, but the weather conditions brought to mind the night he first encountered Blair. What if he hadn't taken the shortcut across the vacant lot that night, Ellison wondered. In his condition, there was no way Blair could have survived the elements. A shudder sluiced through him.
Jim still wasn't certain what made him turn around and go back that evening. Had he heard something, or was it somehow due to the inexplicable bond he felt from the first moment he'd laid eyes on Sandburg? Angrily, Ellison shook his head at the direction his thoughts had taken. A realist at heart, he'd never been known for flights of fancy. His finding Blair had been a coincidence. There was no bond, merely a commiseration for the injured man's plight. Now if he could only dismiss his feelings for Blair as easily.
Scrawny and battered nearly beyond recognition, somehow Sandburg had snuck in beneath the former Ranger's tightly controlled barriers, and despite Jim's protestations, taken up permanent residence in Ellison's heart. It was then Jim realized that love held no rhyme or reason, it just was. Love-- joy or heartbreak? Why was it he only had first hand knowledge of the later?
With a heavy heart, Jim's gaze roamed across the motel's grounds. He was one of the few permanent residents, and the sight of unfamiliar vehicles was not unusual. Therefore, Ellison found it surprising when his gaze kept returning to the dark-colored van parked at the far end of the lot.
Straining, he found himself trying to see past the reflection of the neon sign on the windshield, to the occupants inside. He didn't know how he knew they were there, but the strange prickling sensation he'd experienced at the diner was back and growing stronger with each passing second.
A low growl emerged from Ellison's throat, and before he even realized what he was doing, Jim was halfway out the door.
"No. Don't."
The barely audible plea stopped Ellison dead in his tracks. Damn it, the kid was having another nightmare. Closing the door, Jim strode swiftly over to the bed.
"No!" Blair murmured louder, tossing restlessly as he dreamed.
Ellison lowered himself onto the bed.
"Blair. Come on, buddy, I need you to wake up," he called, gently shaking the younger man.
With a gasp, Blair's eyes shot open.
"It's just me," Jim quickly soothed.
Blair blinked against the room's harsh light. "Jim?" he questioned, disoriented.
"Yeah. Bad dream, huh?"
Slowly shifting into a sitting position, Blair scrubbed a trembling hand through his disheveled hair. "I dreamed I was back in the alley."
"I'm not surprised," Ellison softly replied. "The session with Carolyn was bound to stir up some memories."
Worriedly, Jim eyed his companions pale complexion. "Are you going to be all right?" he asked.
"It was just so real," Blair whispered, staring off into space.
"Have you remembered anything else?" Jim gently probed.
Sandburg's expression hardened, and Jim sensed there were depths and complexities in Blair he hadn't even begun to understand.
"You mean like how they beat the shit out of me?" Blair asked, his tone filled with rancor. "Or the way they laughed as they shoved that-- that thing up my ass?"
"I'm sorry, I wish--"
"Don't!" Blair snapped.
Lips pursed, Blair closed his eyes and tried to regain control of his tumultuous emotions. "It just makes me so damn mad, you know?" He ground out a moment later as the tears he tried to keep at bay slipped from beneath closed lids. Turning his head aside, Blair angrily scrubbed them away.
Jim's gentle grasp quelled the furious motion. "It's all right to cry," he said softly, nothing the clenched jaw, the minute tremors.
"I don't want to cry. I want--"
"What... What is it you want," Jim prodded. "Revenge?"
"YES, DAMN IT!" Blair shouted, his face flush with anger. "Is that what you wanted to hear? I want those bastards to pay for what they did to me, to the others--"
"And they will." Grasping Sandburg's chin, Jim forced Blair to look at him. "I swear to you, Chief, they won't get away with it. Sooner or later, they will be caught."
"And how many more people are going to die in the meantime, Jim, huh? Can you tell me that?"
Ellison's hand fell away. "Simon wants you to work with a sketch artist. If we can get their pictures out there someone's bound to recognize them."
Blair digested this latest information. "All right, good," he said with a nod of his head. "I'll do the thing with the sketch artist, maybe look through some mug shots. I mean, these jokers probably have some kind of record, right?"
"It's possible," Ellison hedged, not wanting to get the kid's hopes up.
"Yeah, yeah, I bet they do," Blair continued, warming to the idea as he pushed back the bed covers.
"Hold on a second, Dirty Harry," Jim said, staying the motion. "Just where do you think you're going?"
Blair stared at him incredulously. "To the station, where else?"
"Not tonight, you're not." As if making his point, Jim tucked the covers firmly back into place. "The only thing you're going to do is get some rest."
"Are you crazy? They might be out there choosing their next victim even now!" Blair exclaimed, dislodging the blankets once more.
Jim pulled the cover back into place, ignoring Sandburg's exasperated glare. "First of all, I doubt their sketch artist is working this late. And secondly," Ellison cocked his head listening, "in case you haven't noticed, it's raining cats and dogs out there. No one in their right mind is going to be out on a night like this."
"Jim, are you forgetting who we're talking about here? These guys aren't exactly playing with a full deck."
Okay, so the kid had a point. But taking in Blair's haggard appearance and the residual traces of pain, there was no way he was letting Sandburg go out in this weather.
"Be that as it may, you're still not going."
"Bet me," Blair retorted. Grabbing the covers, he started to toss them aside. Ellison's firm grip halted the motion.
Defiance met determination in a silent battle of wills.
Sighing, Ellison caved first. "All I'm asking is that you wait until morning, then we'll both head down to the station. Whaddya say?"
Damn! Blair knew that expression. He should, he'd used it himself to charm his way out of scrapes. Who knew Jim could wield it with such expertise?
"Okay, fine," he ungraciously relented. "But first thing in the morning, I'm going down there with or without you." He fixed Ellison with a determined glare. "And when we're done there, we're going to see about finding you a safe place to stay."
So he hadn't forgotten about that.
Jim stuck out his hand. "Deal?"
Blair took it, sealing the bargain. "Deal."
"So, do you think you can sleep now," Jim asked, smiling gently.
"I don't know, man," Blair admitted with a frown. "Every time I close my eyes all I see are those men..."
"Maybe I can help."
Blair looked up hopefully. "Yeah?"
"Scoot over," Ellison instructed, reaching up to turn off the bedside lamp.
Bedsprings creaked as Blair moved to make room, groaning louder as the larger man added his weight.
Arranging the pillow, Jim lay back, arm bent, hand tucked behind his head. "Now come here."
Hesitating only briefly, Blair slid closer.
Shaking his head, Ellison tucked the smaller man in beside him, then draping one of Sandburg's arms around his waist, declared, "This is more like what I had in mind."
"Um, Jim-- how's this supposed to help?"
Ellison looked affronted. "What-- you never owned a teddy bear when you were a kid? Something you could snuggle up to when you were lonely or afraid?"
Blair's teeth flashed in the darkness. Jim Ellison, teddy bear. His amusement, however, was short-lived as memories from his childhood rose up to haunt him. Of his mom's succession of boyfriends, of the constant relocation. No, as much as he loved his free-spirited mom, security hadn't been a familiar commodity. Suddenly bereft and afraid of what the future might bring, Blair tightened his grip on the warm body beside him.
Rain lashed at the window, punctuating its ferocity with intermittent claps of thunder. The raging storm however went unnoticed as Jim sheathed himself in the warm, slick confines of the body beneath him.
He'd prostituted himself for so long that he'd forgotten how incredible making love felt. Yet even as their bodies merged, Jim realized that memory paled in comparison. Emotions long since atrophied through disuse flared into life, searing his senses and branding his heart. The compelling urge to mark, to claim that which he held, frightened him and he stilled, seeking reassurance.
Eyes dark with desire stared hungrily back at him. The tip of a tongue darted out to stroll invitingly across a lower lip, even as hands captured the sides of his face urging him forward.
A low growl escaped. Inflamed, Jim seized the parted lips, thrusting his tongue into the opening. Encouraged by the answering moan, he ground his groin against its counterpart and a heady fragrance of musk filled the room. Breaking off the kiss, he withdrew slightly and plunged forward once more. "That's it," he whispered huskily. "Open up to me--"
"Open up!" The words echoed back to him, accompanied by a loud knocking. Jim's brow wrinkled in confusion, and he looked questioningly at his companion only to have Blair vanish before his eyes.
Ellison bolted upright in bed.
Shaken, Jim wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced at the bedside clock. Ten forty-five, the luminescent numbers read and beside him, Blair slept undisturbed.
The knocking started once more. "Open up," a disembodied voice demanded.
'What the hell?' Automatically, Jim reached for the night stand drawer in which his gun was kept.
"Open up, Cascade Police," the voice beyond the door finally identified itself.
Ellison's hand froze. The motion aborted, Jim turned to shake the man laying beside him. "Come on, Chief, I need you to wake up."
An incomprehensible murmur emerged from beneath the covers.
Expelling an exasperated sigh, Ellison shook harder. "Damn it, Sandburg, wake up."
"Hmmm?" Blair muttered drowsily.
"There's someone at the door." Tossing aside the covers, Jim sat up and started searching for the shoes he'd discarded earlier.
Suddenly alert, Blair sat up. "Who is it" he asked, his eyes wide with apprehension.
"The police," Jim replied curtly. Finally locating the missing footwear, he slipped them on and rose, heading for the door.
"WHAT?" Blair croaked in surprise. "What are they doing here?"
Ellison shrugged. "I guess there's only one way to find out."
There was a soft click, and light from the table lamp filled the room.
"I don't know, man. I've got a bad feeling about this," Blair commented warily as Jim slid the security chain into place and disengaged the dead bolt. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
Another set of insistent taps fell on the door and Ellison smiled wryly. "They're obviously not going to go away. Besides, Simon probably sent them." Still, it was with caution that Jim cracked open the door and peered into the night.
Outside, barely sheltered from the storm by a brief overhang, stood two uniformed officers.
"Can I help you?" Jim asked, eyeing them appraisingly.
"Are you James Ellison?" Judging by the obvious age difference, Jim immediately pegged the man as the senior partner.
"What's this about?" Jim inquired, suddenly suspicious.
"Ask to see some ID," Blair insisted in hushed tones as he joined Ellison. "Any bozo can rent a cop suit."
"Captain Banks has requested your presence downtown," the officer supplied before Jim could pose the question.
Upon hearing Banks' name, Ellison relaxed. "They're obviously legit, Chief," he assured Blair. "Maybe Simon's finally caught a break on the case."
Disengaging the security chain, Jim opened the door.
"James Ellison?" The officer asked again.
"Yes."
"We have a court order remanding you into the custody of one William Ellison. Now if you would just come along quietly--"
Terror struck, not for himself, but for Jim. Seizing the door, Blair tried to slam it shut, but the officer, anticipating resistance, foiled the attempt. The door bounced off the brawny man's shoulder, reversed direction, and clipping Blair along side the head, sent him reeling to the floor.
"SANDBURG!" Ellison's bellow rent the air. Jim lunged towards the fallen man, only to be brought up short by the firm body of the officer blocking his way. "Sandburg!" He cried out again as he tried to force his way through the immovable object.
Although dazed by the blow, the urgency in Ellison voice alarmed him. Shaking off the disorientation, Blair peered upwards. "LOOK OUT!" he shouted, but the warning came to late as Ellison was struck from behind by the cop's partner. The force of the first blow sent Ellison to his knees, the second drove him to the floor.
"JIM!" With an anguished cry, Blair staggered to his feet.
"Hold it right there!"
The clipped command and the service revolver pointed at his chest halted Blair in his tracks. His gaze darted from the gun to Jim and back again. A guttural whine escaped but, slowly, reluctantly, his hands rose in surrender.
Roughly, Jim's arms were yanked behind his back and his hands cuffed.
"You can't do this, he hasn't done anything!" Blair yelled in protest.
"We've got a court order that says otherwise," the officer retorted hauling Ellison to his feet. "So if you know what's good for you, you'll back off and let us do our jobs."
"Leave him alone," Jim barked angrily. "It's me you want."
"Awfully protective of your little boy toy, aren't you?" Eyeing Blair, the cop sneered contemptuously. "From the looks of him though, I think he'd be better off without you. What did you do beat him up because he let someone else have a go at his tight little ass?"
"Baker, that's enough!" the senior officer warned, his tone brooking no argument.
"Jim?" Sandburg's anxious gaze bore into his own.
"It'll be all right," Ellison tried to smile reassuringly. "Call Simon Banks, he'll know what to do."
"Banks!" Blair sputtered incredulously. "He's the one who turned you in."
"I don't think so, Chief," Jim replied thoughtfully, "but I've got a pretty good idea of who did."
"Enough with the chitchat, let's go."
None to gently, Ellison was shoved towards the door. At the abrupt movement, the rooms light bounced off the metal band encircling the officer's finger. Drawn by the bright light, Blair frowned in consternation. The ring looked familiar. Suddenly, Blair was back in the alley and he knew where he'd seen the ring before.
Stunned, Jim's warning to lock the door fell on deaf ears as the prostitute was pushed out the door. The remaining uniform followed, his weapon still trained on the seemingly dazed man.
Something had spooked Sandburg. Bewildered as to what it might be, Jim failed to register the presence of the gray Continental pulled behind the patrol car, or the man and woman standing beneath an umbrella beside it. As they drew abreast of the pair, the officer stopped.
"Hello, son," William Ellison greeted his oldest.
Slowly, the bowed head rose. Blinking the rain out of his eyes, Jim's gaze met briefly with that of his father before continuing onto the woman.
"Why, Carolyn?"
"What was I supposed to do, Jim?" The psychologist rationalized. "Look at how you're living."
"Don't you mean how I make a living?" Jim countered flatly.
"You're not being fair," Plummer protested. "I'm sure when you have time to think about it, you'll realize this is for your own good."
Jim's expression hardened. "Lady, you don't know what the hell you're talking about. The only good thing that ever happened to me is back there in that room and if anything happens to Sandburg because of your interference..." The words trailed off but the implication was clear.
"I'd hope you'd be more reasonable. But apparently the situation is even worse than Carolyn led me to believe."
Reserved disappointment. How well Jim knew that tone; he'd it heard enough while growing up. Ignoring his father, Jim continued to glare at Plummer. It was obvious that he held her solely responsible.
With a barely audible sigh, William nodded to the officer.
Every instinct cried out in warning, demanding that he return to Sandburg's side. His jaw set in a grim line, Jim fought the compelling need, offering no resistance as he was placed into the back of the patrol car and the door slammed shut.
Covert Ops had taught him well. He would wait and watch for an opportunity to escape to present itself. Until then, he could only hope that Blair would follow his instructions and call Banks, knowing full well that the captain would feel an obligation to keep an eye on the kid during his absence. Yet, even as the vehicle pulled away, Jim could not shake the ominous feeling that something bad was about to happen.
The intricate shapes weren't symbols, but letters. F.O.P. -- Fraternal Order Of Police. That meant that at least one of the men who had attacked him had been a cop.
Damn it! Why hadn't he remembered sooner? This was exactly the type of information Banks had been hoping for. Or had he? Blair's distrust of cops in general surfaced. What if it had all been a facade, a trick to lure him into revealing what he knew? Jim seemed to trust the guy, but-- JIM! He suddenly remembered.
Snapping out of his stupor, Blair raced to the door just in time to see the patrol car pulling out of the motel's parking lot, followed by a sleek gray sedan.
"JIM!" He shouted after the retreating vehicle, only to have the anguished cry swallowed up by the driving rain and distant rumble of thunder.
'Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!' Blair silently berated himself. He knew Jim was in danger and should have insisted that they leave sooner. Instead, he'd allowed Ellison to override his concerns and now Jim was paying the price.
NO! No way was he going to allow Jim to be committed, condemned by a misdiagnosis to a life of drugged captivity. They had to be made aware that Jim's abilities were natural and not the byproduct of some mental affliction.
But how? Enmeshed in his own nightmare, Blair hadn't even thought to find out where they were taking him.
Simon. He said Simon would know what to do. Setting his suspicions aside, Blair rushed to the phone and dialed 'O'.
"Operator, how may I assist you?"
"I need to talk to Captain Simon Banks, Central Precinct, Major Crimes Division. It's an emergency."
"One moment please."
"Hurry, hurry," Blair muttered, one leg bouncing with unrestrained anxiety.
"Banks," Simon barked into the receiver a moment later.
"They took Jim!" Blair blurted out. "Please, you've gotta help me find him."
"Jim who? Who is this?" Banks demanded.
Swallowing, Blair sought to reign in his tumultuous emotions. "It's Blair, Blair Sandburg," he identified himself. "Two cops showed up with a court order, and they took Jim away."
"All right, just settle down," Simon replied, stunned by the sudden turn of events. "Did they say where they were taking him?"
"No," Blair said shaking his head. "Please, you've got to help me find him. Jim doesn't belong locked up. There's nothing wrong with him."
Having personally witnessed one of Ellison's mysterious fugue states, Banks felt the point was somewhat debatable. But the kid was right about one thing, there was no way Jim deserved to be resigned to that hell again. Last time it had nearly destroyed the man.
"All right," Simon agreed. "I'll see what I can find out. In the meantime, I want you to stay put. No going off half cocked and trying to find Jim on your own. Is that understood?"
"You promise that you'll call as soon as you know something?" Sandburg sounded desperate.
"I promise, Blair," Simon softly assured him. "In fact, I already have a pretty good idea of who might be behind all this."
Jim had said the same thing. But if Banks wasn't responsible then...
"It was the psychologist, wasn't it?" The question was rhetorical. "Damn it! I knew it was a mistake for Jim to trust her. Please, Simon." Upset, he'd inadvertently addressed the captain by his first name, "you've got to help him."
"Don't worry, Blair, I'll call Carolyn and get to the bottom of this."
"Wait!" Blair cried out before Simon could hang up. "There's something else. One of the cops who took Jim wore a ring. The same ring worn by one of the men who attacked me."
Banks was astounded. "Are you saying it was the same man?" He asked, incredulous.
"No," Blair quickly corrected. "But the man was a cop. The symbols on the rings were actually letters. The letters F.O.P."
"Dear Lord," Simon whispered, immediately recognizing their significance. The same exact letters were engraved on the ring in his dresser at home. He cleared his throat. "Good work, son," Simon told him. "I'll have someone run the description you gave us through our personnel files. If the man is indeed a cop, we'll find him."
"Thanks, man, I really appreciate--" The line went dead.
"Sandburg? Blair?" Simon frown in consternation.
Maybe the storm was responsible for the interruption of service. Then again... Punching another line, he dialed. "This is Captain Simon Banks, I need a unit dispatched to 823 Bourbon Street, unit four. They're to check on the occupant and get back to me as soon as possible."
"Right away, sir," the officer acknowledged.
'Now to deal with Plummer,' Simon thought with a scowl.
"Thanks, man, I really appreciate--" Blair was saying when the phone was wrenched from his grasp and the call disconnected. Startled, the young man whirled and found himself face to face with three of the men who had assaulted him. 'Oh God!' Concerned about Jim, he'd forgotten to close and lock the door. Just then, a fourth person entered the room and it all came rushing back. Now he knew why his mind had sought refuge in the form of amnesia.
"Hello, Blair." Although cordially spoken, there was no mistaking the hatred-filled glare in his uncle's eyes.
Initially, Plummer had adamantly refused to divulge Jim's whereabouts. It wasn't until Simon threatened her with impeding an investigation that the psychologist reluctantly provided the information -- Ellison had been taken to the prestigious Hillcrest Psychiatric Hospital.
Trust William Ellison to pay for the best, Banks had snorted with disgust. As if money were a suitable substitute for love and support. Hell, even he knew that Jim didn't belong in a place like that.
Now that Sandburg had gone missing, it seemed more imperative than ever that he secure Ellison's release. Other than the kid, Jim was the closest connection they had to the murders, and that was precisely the angle Simon planned to use.
Banks dreaded being the one to inform Ellison that Sandburg was missing. From the officer's description of the scene, he'd not gone willingly and Simon could not help but fear the worst. That the men responsible for assaulting the teen and leaving him for dead, had returned to finish the job.
Maybe the lead Sandburg gave them would pan out and they'd have an ID on at least one of the perpetrators. It was a small kernel of hope but, at the moment, the only one Simon had to offer the prostitute.
Simon shifted restlessly. Where the hell was the facilities administrator?
As if summoned by the thought, the man in question appeared. Thinning gray hair, determined to stick out in several directions at once, set off his wide forehead and bushy brows. Curious, blue eyes peered through thick, black framed glasses. "I'm Doctor Kolbe," he announced. "I understand you wanted to see me?"
"Captain Simon Banks with the Cascade PD," Simon replied, displaying his credentials for the administrator's review. "One of your patients, a James Ellison, is wanted for questioning."
"Oh my! Nothing serious, I hope."
"I'm not at liberty to say," Simon countered evasively.
"This is highly irregular." Kolbe appeared flustered. The only reason he was even here at this time of night was because he had personally overseen the young man's admittance.
"I'm sure it is, however, I have the necessary paperwork temporarily remanding Ellison into my custody..." Reaching into the breast pocket of his suit coat, Simon produced a tri-folded document.
"That won't be necessary," the administrator said waving them aside. "I trust the Cascade PD has everything in order. Mr. Ellison's room is this way."
Expelling a sigh of relief, Simon tucked the divorce papers from Joan back into his pocket and followed the doctor. Time enough later to worry about possible recriminations regarding his deception.
"Here we are," Kolbe announced, stopping in front of a sage green door, unadorned except for a small 8-1/2" x 11" observation window. Producing a set of keys, he found the appropriate one and inserted it into the lock.
"Was it really necessary to lock him up?" Simon could not suppress a hint of accusation from creeping into his tone.
"Unfortunately, Mr. Ellison has a history of... wandering off," Kolbe settled on the polite euphemism. "For his own safety, we felt it was necessary."
Ever since he'd arrived, Jim had paced the small confines of his room like a caged animal. At the sound of the key in the lock he froze, his gaze snapping towards the door. His anger at being imprisoned was swiftly replaced by surprise as Banks followed the doctor he'd met earlier into the room. Quickly schooling his features, Jim took on the calm, cooperative persona he'd adopted since his arrival.
"Ah good, you're still up," Kolbe greeted Ellison warmly. "And I see you've managed to get settled in."
'It wasn't too difficult considering all I had were the clothes on my back,' Jim thought perversely as the doctor continued.
"Regrettably, something's come up and I must ask you to accompany this gentlemen."
Ellison's brow rose in question.
Taking his cue, Simon stepped forward. "I'm Captain Simon Banks with the Cascade PD," he said, flashing his credentials. "It has come to our attention that you are a material witness in an ongoing investigation. Therefore, I must insist that you accompany me downtown to answer a few questions."
"I'm truly sorry for the inconvenience Mr. Ellison. But I'm sure this unfortunate matter will be cleared up in no time and you can resume your stay with us."
Kolbe's ingratiating attitude pissed Ellison off. 'Christ, he makes it sound as if I were here on holiday.'
Only Simon sensed the coiled anger as Jim forced a smile and replied, "I'm sure it will."
It was in utter silence that the two men followed Kolbe to the main reception area.
"Thank you for your cooperation, Doctor," Simon told the elderly gentleman. Placing a hand on Jim's back, he prodded Ellison towards the door.
"Just a moment, Captain."
Both men froze.
Turning, "Is there a problem?" Simon innocently inquired.
"I'm afraid that regulations require an orderly to remain with Mr. Ellison at all times," Kolbe explain with an apologetic air.
Affronted, "May I remind you that as a police officer, I am quite capable of--"
"Yes, yes, I'm sure you are," the administrator waved Banks protest aside. "However, as an officer of the law, I'm sure you can appreciate the necessity for following the rules. Now if you'll excuse me for a moment, I'll arrange for someone to accompany you."
As Kolbe went to place his call, Jim took the opportunity to pull Simon aside. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to see you but, would you mind explaining just what the hell is going on?"
A brief glance told him that the doctor was still occupied. "Sandburg's missing," Simon replied in hushed tones.
'WHAT?" Ellison exploded.
"Will you keep it down," Banks hissed with another glance towards the receptionist's desk. "According to the officers at the scene, the kid didn't leave voluntarily."
"Son of a--" Taking a deep breath, Jim marshaled his thoughts and emotions. "It has to be them, there's no other explanation. And my being out of the picture gave them the perfect opportunity to nab him."
An oppressive silence filled the car as Simon's sedan sped along the rain swept streets. Brought up short by a red light, Banks risked a quick glance into the rearview mirror, studying his passengers. The orderly's presence was an unforeseen complication, one that would have to be dealt with. As for Ellison, his seemingly indifferent attitude gave little away. Were it not for the telltale tick of the prostitute's lower jaw, Simon would have believed Jim unaffected by Sandburg's disappearance.
Revolving red and blue lights chased one another across the motel's exterior. Pulling into the lot, Simon was pleased to see the forensics van still in evidence. Hopefully, the perpetrators had left behind some clue as to their identities or Sandburg's whereabouts.
Hastily parking beside one of the patrol cars, Simon killed the engine and climbed out of the vehicle. Turning, he opened the rear passenger door, indicating for Ellison to join him. However, as the orderly prepared to follow, Banks slammed the door closed, barring his exit.
Catching the attention of one of the officers, Simon waved him over. "I want you to keep an eye on this man," he said, indicating Thomas. "If he attempts to get out of the car, arrest him."
"Yes, sir," the enthusiastic young officer crisply replied before frowning uncertainly. "Ah... on what charges?"
"I'll think of something," was the captain's acerbic reply.
That Sandburg had not gone willingly was a gross understatement. If the room's shattered window was any indication, the kid had put up one hell of a fight. As Simon approached the room, he could only hope that the lack of a body meant that somewhere out there, Sandburg was still alive.
Glimpsing the motel's night manager in an animated conversation with one of the officers, Ellison groaned. Andretti, a squat, rotund man in his mid to late fifties had taken an instant dislike to Jim, clearly expressing his hatred of fags, as he called them, right from the start.
"I want that man arrested," Andretti shouted, having spotted the prostitute.
"On what grounds?" Simon demanded, coming to an intimidating halt in front of the outraged manager.
"Just look at this place," the Italian exclaimed with a wave towards the trashed unit. "It's ruined and it's all his fault," he insisted with an accusing glare towards Jim.
"I happen to know for a fact that Mr. Ellison was not on the premises when the break in occurred. Therefore, he can not be held accountable for the damages."
"And you are?"
"Captain Simon Banks with the Major Crimes Division of the Cascade PD." Simon took perverse delight in the manager surprised expression as he presented his badge. "Now if you'll excuse us, we have a crime to investigate."
"This is an outrage," Andretti sputtered as Banks and Ellison brushed past him and into the room. "Who's going to pay for all this?"
Jim stepped through the threshold and froze, his astute eyes assessing the damage.
The drapes, half on - half off their rods, fluttered as the chilly night air flowed through the gaping window, smashed by a straight-backed chair which now hung partially out the opening. Teetering precariously near the table's edge lay the orange lamp with its smoke stained shade. The dilapidated yet deceptively comfortable overstuffed chair had also been tipped on its side.
Ellison's nose twitched, the room reeked of scotch. Automatically, his gaze strayed to the dresser where a bottle of the amber liquid normally stood but now lay in ruin amongst the shattered remains of the dresser's mirror. The culprit, the phone, which had obviously ripped from its jack and hurled at the unsuspecting objects.
Too upset to lament the loss of good whisky, Jim's gaze continued around the room before pausing at the unmade bed. The worn mattress still bore the impression of their bodies. If only he had listened to Blair, none of this would have happened. Instead, the kid was out there somewhere at the mercy of the same sadistic bastards who'd tried to kill him once already, and failed. This time, they would not chance a repeat of their mistake.
Knowing it was in Sandburg's best interest, Ellison had prepared himself for the eventuality of a life without Blair, but not for a world without Blair in it. Somehow he had to find the kid before it was too late; otherwise it wouldn't matter if the world, as he knew it, ceased to exist.
The empty bed was a painful reminder of his failure to protect Blair. Unable to bear the sight any longer, Jim turned away, and that's when he saw it-- the small patch of blood on the threadbare carpet. Drawn to the spot, he knelt, and brushing his fingers across the spot, brought the stained digits to his nose. The scent was-- familiar, bringing instantly to mind images of the long haired, blue eyed individual who had captured his cynical heart. "Blair," the name, whisper soft, fell from Ellison's lips.
"I need those results yesterday," Banks brusquely told the forensics officer.
"We'll get on it right away, sir," Morrison assured him before heading out the door with the collected samples.
Feeling as if the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders, Simon scrubbed a hand over his exhausted features. It had been a long day and promised to be an even longer night. One man was missing, another had been whisked away from a psychiatric hospital under false pretenses. Speaking of which...
His first impression was that Jim appeared to be experiencing one if his mysterious fugue episodes. It wasn't until Ellison sank back on his haunches and anguished filled eyes looked up at him that Simon realized the cause of Ellison's dazed expression.
"We will find him," Simon said, the soft reassurance accompanied by a gentle squeeze to the hunched shoulders.
"The question is, will we find him in time?" Scrubbing the bloody fingers against his pants leg, Jim rose, brushing past Simon to stand in front of the broken window. "I never should have left him alone."
"From what the kid told me, you didn't have much of a choice."
Ellison whirled, striding back towards Banks. "You spoke to him? When?" he urgently demanded.
"Right after you were picked up," Simon replied, confused by Ellison's outburst. "How else do you think I knew where to find you." Banks recalled the frantic conversation. "When the line suddenly went dead, I suspected something was wrong. They must have been watching," Simon mused aloud. "Waiting for the perfect opportunity to grab him."
"And I handed it-- handed him to them on a silver platter." The self-deprecation in Ellison's voice was clearly evident.
"Come on, Jim there's no way you could have known--"
"That's just it, I did know." His growled admission shocking Simon into stunned silence. "I sensed their presence."
"You did what?" Banks sputtered incredulously. "Jim," the name came out an exasperated sigh, "don't make me regret springing you from the hospital."
"I know it sounds crazy, but... Have you ever experienced the sensation where you can literally feel the hairs on the back of your neck start to rise?" he asked, trying a different tact.
Simon knew the feeling well, he called it a cop's intuition and told Ellison as much.
"Well, I may not be a cop, but isn't it just possible I posses the same instinct?"
Put like that, the idea suddenly didn't sound quite so far fetched. "All right," Simon conceded. After all, the man was a former Ranger and had spent eighteen months in Peru as the sole survivor of his unit. That alone would have honed his instincts for survival. "Do you have any idea what might have trigger this feeling?"
"It was a van. Black, maybe dark blue, I'm not sure." Jim shook his head in frustration. "There was just something about it. I was going to investigate, but the kid was having another nightmare." His consternation grew. "I didn't realize it at the time, but it had to be them."
"Okay, suppose you're right," Simon replied thoughtfully. "Can you give me a description, a license plate number, anything that might help us locate the van?"
His brow pinched in concentration, Ellison searched his memory, but other than recalling an ominous presence emanating from within the van, he came up blank. "No, nothing," he sighed, feeling as if he'd failed Blair once more.
His shoulders slumped in defeat, as Ellison's gaze strayed beyond the shattered window. Blair was out there somewhere-- hurt, possibly dead-- and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
Awareness and pain, the two became synonymous as Blair was catapulted from unconsciousness into harsh reality.
The hand struck again, his head snapped sideways from the force of the blow. His taste buds registered the salty tang of blood as it flowed across his tongue before trickling out the corner of his mouth. Involuntarily, he gagged and panic propelled leaden lids to open.
The room was familiar. An abusive drunk, his uncle would beat Blair senseless and then chain him here in the basement, for days on end without food or water. Only this time, Blair had a feeling that he would not leave the damp, cold room alive.
His initial grogginess had worn off and Blair was becoming increasingly aware of the ache in his limbs, and of the way the coarse rope cut was cutting into his wrists. Shifting to more easily distribute his weight, Blair looked up and found his hands securely tethered to the overhead floor joist. Experimentally, he gave them a tug.
"Your struggles are useless. There is no escaping the wrath of God."
The raspy voice, damaged from years of smoking, was one he'd hoped never to hear again. Lowering his gaze, Blair peered in the direction from which the voice had come. His uncle stepped out of the shadows, a Bible clutched in one hand, the razor strap Blair had learned to despise and fear, in the other. Of the other three men, there was no sign.
"Why?" he asked his uncle. Nathan had always been a viscous bastard; Blair's body bore the scars to prove it. But even he did not seem capable of committing the atrocities visited upon the murdered victims.
The scent of whisky permeated Blair's nostrils as Nathan drew near. "Because their kind is an aberration."
'THEY WERE HUMAN BEINGS!" Blair countered hotly, appalled by his uncle's callous attitude. "The last one was only a kid. You had no right!"
"This," Nathan rasped, holding up the well worn Bible, "gives me the right."
"You make me sick!" Blair spat. "Twisting God's words to justify your hatred. What happened to 'Thou shalt not kill'? You sin against God by your very actions!"
Oddly enough, the older man smiled, the sight of which chilled Blair to the bone. "You think you can deceive me with your serpents tongue but, I will not be swayed. Nor will I rest until every last one of you is wiped out."
"So, you're into wholesale annihilation now," Blair mocked with disdain then, recalling the words his uncle uttered in the alley, asked, "What happened to the promise of redemption should we cast aside our unclean ways?"
"You always did have a smart mouth." Setting the Bible and razor strap aside, Nathan removed his jacket and began rolling up his sleeves. "Lord knows, I tried my best to beat it out of you. But then what could I expect from the bastard son of a whore?"
"YOU LEAVE MY MOTHER OUT OF THIS!"
"She should have aborted you in the womb." Picking up the strap, Nathan wound the end securely around his hand. "It's time I rectified her mistake. But first, you're going to answer some questions."
"Go to hell." Gathering a mouthful of saliva, tinged with blood, Blair spat in his uncle's face.
Banks eyed the selection with disdain before settling on a cinnamon roll and pushing the corresponding button. Not that Ellison would actually eat it. Since arriving at the station, Simon had been hard pressed to get the sullen young man to accept so much as a cup of coffee.
Since first meeting Jim, Simon had learned to look beyond Ellison's cynical 'I don't give a fuck about anyone' facade to the cautious, yet caring, individual beneath. He'd seen the man enraged and injured so severely he could barely move, but never had he seen Jim with such an utter look of despair. It was as if his whole world had collapsed with Sandburg's abduction. Nothing else mattered. Ellison wouldn't eat, the coffee sat untouched, and suggestions to try and get some rest were met with stony silence.
One break, that's all they needed, but so far none of their potential leads had panned out. After eliminating Sandburg and Ellison's prints, Serena Chang had two partial prints unaccounted for. Unfortunately, the department's database had yet to secure a match. Likewise for the questionable license plate number of the van that the motel's night manager had been able to provide. That only left Sandburg's vague description and the suspicion that one of the perpetrators was a cop. Both were worthless without Sandburg's presence to identify the culprit. At this point, Simon didn't care if it did turn out to be one of Cascade's finest, he just wanted a lead.
"Hey, Simon you got a minute?" Joel Taggert asked, entering the break room and softly closing the door behind him.
"Sure, Joel," the captain replied, wearily. "What do you need?"
"I just wanted to bring you up to date on the investigation."
"What have you got?" Simon demanded.
"The MVA finally coughed up a list of possibles on the license plate. I've got a couple of units checking out the addresses now."
"Any word from Forensics?"
Sadly, Taggert shook his head. "According to Serena, the storm took out a main between here and the central computer. The entire network is down and they're not sure how long it will be before they can get it up and running again."
Banks swore vehemently. "You tell Chang that I don't care if she has to take them there personally, but I want those results over to central processing immediately. They can access the database directly from the main computer. And while you're at it get somebody on the phone with Records. Have them cross reference the list the MVA provided against known felons."
"You got it." Taggert headed for the door then paused, his hand on the doorknob.
"Was there something else?" Simon asked noting the hesitation.
"That guy, Thomas? He's making noises about needing to get Ellison back to Hillcrest."
"Tell him that he's free to leave at any time but Ellison remains here."
Simon's jaw was set in a stubborn line, and Joel was certain that there was more to the story than Banks had previously divulged. Equally grim faced, he nodded. "I'll take care of it."
"Damn!" Simon muttered under his breath. He'd hoped for more time. The cinnamon roll discarded, Simon returned to his office.
Thomas had apparently decided to stay. Sparing a quick glance towards Jim who stood sullenly staring out the window, Simon addressed the orderly. "If you'll excuse us, I need to speak with Mr. Ellison in private."
"I'm sorry, sir, but Dr. Kolbe said I wasn't supposed to leave him alone under any circumstances."
"He'll be in my office the entire time surrounded by a station full of cops. I'd hardly call that alone," Simon pointed out rationally. "Besides, I'm sure you could use a break by now -- maybe get a cup of coffee," Banks pressed sensing Thomas' indecision.
"Well, I could use the break," the orderly admitted. Rising, Thomas met Simon's gaze head on. "But I'll be back in fifteen minutes."
Okay, obviously the guy was still pissed about what happened back at the motel.
"That'll be fine," Simon replied, smiling sweetly. Turning, he waved Officer Dills, who had been patiently standing by, into the office. "Would you mind showing this gentleman to the break room."
"Sure, Captain," Dills readily agreed. "This way, sir."
Waiting until the orderly was out of sight, Simon shut the door and drew the blinds. "We've got to get you out of here," he told Ellison without preamble.
"No," came the soft reply.
"What do you mean, 'No'?" Banks asked heatedly. "I don't think you fully realize the possible consequences, Jim. I got you out of that hospital under false pretenses. All it would take is one wrong word from Thomas to Kolbe and my ass is in a sling and yours right along with it. Now, I don't give a damn what happens to me, I'll deal with my superiors somehow. But you can't honestly tell me you want to go back to that place?"
Sighing, Ellison turned. "It doesn't matter." His tone was devoid of emotion, his eyes-- lifeless.
"What's going on here, Jim?" Simon inquired softly, his brow pinched in a confused frown. "It's like you've given up..." Banks bristled, his tone growing curt. "That's it, isn't it? You think the kid's already dead so you're just going to let them lock you up in the loony bin for the rest of your life because you feel responsible?" Banks shook his head in disbelief. "The Jim Ellison I know isn't a quitter."
"Well, I guess you don't know me as well as you thought you did," Ellison replied baldly.
"If you want to assuage your guilt by playing the martyr, fine. I'm not going to stop you," Simon began, his voice laced with a quiet anger. "But let me ask you this, suppose we do locate Sandburg in time and you're not there? Or better yet, we're too late and you have to live with the knowledge that you didn't do everything within your power to find him in time. How are you going to feel then? You think about that, Jim. In the meantime, I've got a missing kid to find." And with that, Simon stormed out of his office leaving a silent, pensive Ellison behind.
It took all of two minutes for Simon to regret his actions. A person would have to be blind not to realize how much Ellison had come to care for the kid-- to know how hard he was taking Sandburg's abduction. But, damn it, he wasn't about to let Jim simply give up. Maybe a swift kick in the pants, or in this case 'conscience', was exactly what Ellison needed to slice through his state of apathy. Deciding to let Jim mull it over a while, Simon went to check on the investigation.
Thomas was supposed to have been off duty hours ago. Determined to find out how much longer they intended to keep Ellison, he tossed the wadded up paper towel into the trash, and exiting the men's room, made his way back to Banks office. He]spotted the captain leaning over the shoulder of one of the detectives, intently studying a computer printout. Obviously, Banks had concluded his business with Ellison. Good. Maybe now he could make arrangements to return them to Hillcrest.
Smiling, he began whistling a merry tune, the cheerful melody dying on his lips as he entered Banks office only to discover it empty. "Oh shit!" The expletive slipped out as Thomas backpedaled into the bullpen and whirled, loudly demanding, "Where is he?"
Several sets of eyes looked up, Simon's among them. "Where's who?" he inquired, straightening from the slightly hunched over position.
"Ellison!" the orderly exclaimed, his tone verging on panic.
Scowling, Simon strode into his office. "What are you talking about? He's right..." The words died on his lips. Jim was gone. Disconcerted by Ellison's sudden disappearance, he silently cursed the impetuous prostitute.
"You assured me this wouldn't happen," Thomas ranted from behind. "Dr. Kolbe's going to have my job for this. You've got to do something!"
"All right, just settle down," Simon growled. Feeling the orderly's expectant eyes on him, Banks snagged the nearest phone and ordered an immediate search of the building. Yet, even as he issued the order, Simon found himself wavering between hoping Jim had gotten away and concern that his friend was out there all alone.
It was fear that had rendered him impotent. Fear that they wouldn't find Sandburg in time. Fear that they would, only to read condemnation in the younger man's eyes. But Simon had been right about one thing. He couldn't - wouldn't give up on Blair without a fight. The question though was where to start? The forensics evidence would no doubt be the most promising lead, but even as the thought occurred, Jim quickly dismissed it. Returning to the station would only compromise his freedom and place Simon in a difficult position. Even now, Jim regretted the distinct possibility that the captain could lose his job for the aid he'd already provided. Unfortunately, the scales weighed too heavily in Sandburg's favor. For now, Simon would have to fend for himself.
Activity within the precinct had increased and the search was expanded outward. Sensing the impending danger, instinct cried out for him to return to familiar terrain. Experience told him that would be the first place they would look. Huddled in the darkest recess of the alcove, Ellison contemplated his next move.
"I'll have your badge for this!" William Ellison declared, slamming his fist down on the desk. Arriving mere minutes after the hospital's administrator, Ellison, enraged upon learning of his son's disappearance, had spent the last twenty minutes demanding explanations and threatening multiple lawsuits unless his son was recovered.
Even the solid wood and glass door could not prevent the voices raised in anger from escaping Simon's office. Intent on his work, Detective Jack Pendergrast ignored the confrontation and double-checked the print out in front of him. "Son of a..." The words trailed off. Why hadn't they noticed the connection sooner? Meeting or no meeting this was the first tangible lead between the van and the murders.
With barely a cursory knock, he barged into Simon's office. "Captain, I think you ought to see this."
Startled by the abrupt intrusion, the heated discussion inside swiftly ceased.
"This had better be important," Banks growled, glowering at his best detective.
Undaunted by his superior's foul mood, Pendergrast handed him the file. "We've got a possible lead on one of our suspects."
Intimately familiar with the case, Simon immediately recognized the significance of the address. "You're sure about this?" he asked looking up.
"Positive," Pendergrast confirmed.
"All right, have a patrol car meet me there," he instructed. Removing his service revolver from the desk drawer, Simon tucked it firmly into his holster. "And tell them to keep a low profile. I don't want to them to tip off our suspect. Also, get on the horn to records and have them check for known associates."
"Yes, sir," Pendergrast acknowledged, before hurrying out the door.
Snagging his coat off the rack and coming around the desk, Simon addressed his visitors. "Gentlemen, I'm afraid we're going to have to table the rest of this discussion until later."
"Now just a damn minute!" William Ellison bellowed, grabbing Banks by the arm. "I want to know what you're going to do about my son."
Slowly, Simon looked down at the offending appendage. "You are impeding an officer of the law from doing his job, so unless you want to become aquatinted with one of our holding cells, I suggest you remove your hand immediately."
Rarely intimidated, Ellison stood his ground. "How dare you threaten me. The police commissioner and mayor are going to hear about this," he warned.
Jerking his arm free, Simon rounded on the slightly smaller man. "You're welcome to use my phone if you like," he replied coldly. "Although I doubt either of them would appreciate being awakened at this time of night. In the meantime, I've got a job to do."
Jim ditched the car he'd hot-wired and continued on foot. Hopefully the car's disappearance wouldn't be reported until morning. Although it had finally stopped raining, the air was cold and damp, reminding Jim of the night he'd first encountered Blair. Images of the brutalized man, and the time they spent together, battered Ellison in graphic detail, causing him to stumble. Grabbing onto a parking meter, he barely managed to remain upright as the bombardment continued. Each succeeding memory was more vivid than the last. Unable to bear the onslaught, he cried out in anguish. As the echo faded away, he became aware of a dog barking nearby, alerting others of his presence. Conscious of the danger, he pressed onward, the urgency to find Blair growing with each step.
Intent on his destination, Jim mentally reviewed what little he knew about the murders. Other than the fact that the victims had all been gay, there was only one other factor that tied them all together-- the area in which the murders occurred. A three-mile radius known as 'The Strip', where prostitutes and drugs were plentiful, and anything could be bought if the price were right. Located on the fringe of the red-light district stood Vera's boarding house, a place Jim knew was connected to at least two of the murders. Danny Petrie, the third victim, had rented a room from vivacious redhead. And then there was Josh, found dead just a few blocks away mere hours after leaving the brownstone. Guilt reared its ugly head and Jim felt a pang of regret for the part he played in the teens last hours. If only he'd seen the kid home... One way or another the bastards were going to pay, and it was to that end that Ellison headed for the boarding house.
"All right! All right! Hold your horses on, I'm coming." Cinching the belt of her robe tighter, Vera turned on the overhead light and peered through the peephole. Her eyebrows rose in surprise. Quickly unlatching the door, she pulled it open. "Jimmy, what are you doing here at this ungodly time of night?"
"I'm sorry to disturb you but I need your help." His tone held a low note of urgency.
"Yes, of course." Stepping aside, she allowed him to enter before closing and securing the door. Patting at her roller-covered head, she turned to the distraught young man. "Now then, what's this all about? I've never known you to be so upset."
"Earlier tonight a good friend of mine was abducted by the men committing the murders," Jim stated bluntly.
"Oh dear!" the redhead gasped. "I'm so sorry to hear that." A slight frown creased her aging brow. "But what's that got to do with me?"
"Two of the murder victims can be traced to this building. What I need to know is if you've noticed anyone suspicious lurking about?"
Vera chuckled nervously. "Come on, Jimmy," she admonished lightly, "you know better than that. Everyone around here looks suspicious." Which was true enough considering the former stripper didn't exactly cater to the upper echelon of society. Still, her response left Jim feeling frustrated.
"Well, what about a van? Black, maybe dark blue in color." His eyebrows rose questioningly.
"One of my boarders, Frank Parnell, owns a van like that." She eyed him worriedly. "You don't think he's involved do you?"
"What room is he in?" Jim urgently demanded, grasping her by the upper arms.
"302. But he's not there," she added as Ellison abruptly released her and headed for the door. "He's a veteran living on disability. He sleeps during the day and then goes out carousing half the night."
"I need to get into his room, it's very important."
"Of course, dear. Just let me get my keys."
A knock sounded at the door, startling them both.
"Cascade PD." The visitor announced.
Damn it, he'd know that nasal baritone anywhere. Pulling Vera aside, Jim whispered, "I promise I'll explain everything later. Right now though, I need you to forget that you saw me here tonight."
Had it been it anyone else, she would have questioned his motives. Fortunately, she'd learned to trust and admire the young prostitute the night he'd rescued her from being beaten and robbed by a drugged-out tenant. "Why don't you go wait in my bedroom while I see what he wants."
With a quick smile of appreciation, Jim ducked into the bedroom, and closing the door almost all the way, peered through the opening.
Waiting until Jim was safely ensconced, Vera undid the locks and opened the door to find an exceedingly tall black man flanked by two uniformed officers on her doorstep. "May I help you?" she inquired.
"Captain Simon Banks with the Cascade PD," Simon announced producing his badge. "I'd like to speak with the manager."
"I'm Vera Wilson, the manager. Is there a problem?"
"We're trying to locate one of your boarders, a Frank Parnell."
"He's not in trouble is he?"
"I'm afraid that Mr. Parnell is wanted for questioning in connection with the series of gay murders that have occurred."
Hand going to her chest, the redhead gasped, feigning surprise.
"We tried his door," Banks continued, "but he doesn't appear to be home. I was hoping you might know of Mr. Parnell's whereabouts?"
I wish I could help you, Captain," Vera replied sadly shaking her head. "Frank goes out most nights and doesn't usually return home until the wee hours of the morning. I do know he's not at work," she added, repeating the explanation she'd given Jim earlier.
"I see," Simon replied unable to hide his disappointment. "Do you know if he still drives a black van, license plate number 64275H?" he said, referring to the information in his notebook.
"Yes, that would be Franks," Vera confirmed.
This was enough to confirm Simon's suspicions. "Have an APB issued on the van and its occupant," he instructed one of the officers.
"Yes, sir."
'I'd like to have a look at his room," he told Vera as the officer hurried off. "I can get a search warrant--"
"That won't be necessary," she replied, waving aside the necessity. "Just give me a moment to find my pass keys."
Entering the bedroom, Vera was surprised to discover the prostitute gone, the open bedroom window the only evidence of his ever having been there. Pulling her robe tighter against the cold air seeping into the room, she grabbed the ring of keys off the dresser, and silently wishing Jim well, returned to the living room.
The teenage prostitute had been a disappointment. All he'd been able to think about as he pounded into her was the longhaired hippie he had helped string up in the preacher's basement. He wanted to make the faggot bleed, hear him beg for his life. But the preacher, intent on settling an old score, had insisted on questioning his nephew alone. It wasn't until after he assured Frank that he could have his fun once he found out what Blair had told the cops that the veteran agreed to wait.
Parnell's expression hardened. This time he was going to make sure the little pervert was dead before dumping the body. Then he was going after the other guy, the big butch one that had ex-military written all over him.
Smiling for the first time that night, Frank turned the corner. "Son of a bitch," he cursed, spotting the patrol car parked a block away from his building. Executing a U-turn, he headed in the opposite direction. The fucking cops were onto him.
The shirt lay in tatters around bare feet. Fine trickles of red etched their way down skin mottled by welts and bruises. Barely conscious, Blair hung limply from his restraints adrift in a sea of pain.
Breathing heavily, Nathan furiously cast aside the bloody strap. He'd been trying to break Blair for hours to no avail. The one question, 'What did you tell Banks?', remained unanswered. Hating to be thwarted, he grabbed Blair's jaw, forcing the slack head upward. "Tell me what I want to know and I will end your suffering here and now. Otherwise, I will be forced to call in my associates. You remember them don't you? Frank is especially eager to renew your acquaintance."
Red rimmed eyes blinked sluggishly as Blair tried to make out Nathan's words above the blood pounding in his ears. Not that he hadn't heard it all before. His uncle had asked the same question over and over, accompanying each demand with numerous blows from the razor strap. He'd long since lost count of he number of times the despised piece of leather had struck him leaving behind its indelible mark. Each blow however, instead of loosening his tongue, had served only to strengthen his resolve not to tell his uncle anything. It was a small satisfaction, one he would probably take to his death, but he had no intention of helping Nathan and the others avoid the cops. The one redeeming facet of this whole mess, the one he took solace in each time the strap fell, was the knowledge that at least Jim was tucked away safely out of their reach.
"Tell me!" Nathan shouted, his fingers digging into Blair's jaw.
Eyes widening slightly, Blair stared with silent mutiny at his uncle.
"It is the devil that stays your tongue," Nathan hissed, abruptly releasing Blair. With a trembling hand he picked up the nearby Bible, clutching the tattered book to his chest. "I had hoped to save your immortal soul but I can see now it is of no use. So be it. You will die as you have lived, corrupt and immoral."
The minute Vera turned on the overhead light, Banks knew that they had identified at least one of their suspects. Asking her to remain in the hallway, Simon made his way across the room. The wall above the desk was littered with newspaper clippings of the murders. Solemnly, Simon studied the faces of the victims who had yet to see justice. Young men with their whole lives ahead of them, brutally slain. As someone accustomed to bigotry, the cause behind their deaths hit the black man particularly hard. Unfortunately, hate crimes had existed for thousands of years and would no doubt continue well into the future. While he may not be able to put an end to them, he could make certain that those responsible the murders were apprehended and placed behind bars.
He slipped on a pair of gloves and pulled the chair aside. Opening the desk's center drawer, he began examining it's contents. Nothing but old bills and loose change cluttered its interior. Disappointed, he moved on to the remaining four drawers, hitting pay dirt on the final one. Inside lay a .38 with the serial number filed down - a sure sign of an illegal weapon. What chilled Simon to the bone though was the collection of knives with their razor sharp, or in some cases, serrated edges. A closer inspection revealed blood stains that Simon was positive would match that of the deceased. Continuing to search, the dresser produced several pieces of jewelry including; a gold hoop earring and an engraved watch known to belong to the first victim. However, the most horrific discovery, the one that sent the younger of the two uniformed officers sprinting into the hallway to lose the contents of his stomach, was stashed in an old shoebox, hidden away at the back of the closet shelf. Apparently, Parnell had graduated from taking mere jewelry as souvenirs. Laying in the shoebox were the rotting remains of a man's penis and testicles. Swallowing the bile that had risen in his own throat, Banks swore vehemently. No wonder they hadn't been able to recover them at the scene. After mutilating Jenkins, the bastard had kept the missing remains as a trophy.
"Get forensics over here," Simon ordered the remaining officer.
"Won't the additional personnel alert the suspect to our presence?"
Once again Simon's gaze fell on the gruesome remains. "I have a feeling he has other plans for tonight," he replied thinking of Sandburg. The kid had barely survived his encounter with this monster the first time and it was beginning to look as if only a miracle would save him now.
Stowing his van out of sight in the preacher's ramshackle garage, Parnell headed to the back of the equally dilapidated house. Without bothering to knock, he burst into the kitchen.
Nathan was caught by surprise, and the glass of whiskey slipped from his hand. "Now look what you made me do!" he accused.
'Figures the old man would be piss ass drunk,' Frank thought with disgust. "Forget the fucking booze, Preacher, we've got even bigger problems. The cops are at the boarding house."
"You worry too much," Nathan scowled. "It isn't like they haven't been there before asking questions and both times they came away empty handed."
"But why now? There's no link between the hippie and the boarding house."
Nathan shrugged, unconcerned. "Maybe they had some more questions," he suggested.
"At four o'clock in the fucking morning!" Frank roared, then made a visible effort to calm down as the other man cringed. "Were you able to get anything out of him?"
"He's being most difficult," Nathan replied, sighing.
"I'll take care of him," Frank promised, pleased that he would get another shot at the little faggot. "You get a hold of Ray and Carl and have them check out the boarding house. I want to know what the cops are doing there." Eager to begin, Parnell turned towards the basement door.
"What are you going to do?" Nathan asked.
Frank paused at the head of the stairs. "First I'm going to get some answers and then I'm going to take care of our little problem once and for all."
Waiting until Parnell's steps could no longer be heard, Nathan reached for the bottle of whiskey.
He was going to enjoy making this one suffer. Him with his long curly hair and tight little ass just begging to be fucked. It was his kind that made Frank's dick sit up and take notice. Even battered and bloody, the slim frame held a certain appeal that made him want to bury his cock balls-deep as his fingers splayed across the blood laced back, and Parnell hated him for it.
"WAKE UP!" he demanded, striking the seemingly unconscious man a viscous blow with the back of his hand.
Issuing a grunt, Blair tried to raise his head only to find the effort beyond his means.
Angered by the meager response, Parnell scanned the cellar, smiling maliciously as his gaze settled on a bottle of ammonia. Retrieving it from the washing machine, he uncapped the bottle, wincing as the odor assaulted his eyes and nostrils. Perfect. Returning to his hapless victim, Parnell shoved the bottle under Blair's nose.
The results were immediate. Bucking, Blair tossed his head from side to side in an effort to avoid the noxious fumes. Unable to draw fresh air into his burning lungs, coughing soon followed. Fear forced his eyelids open, his head upright.
"That's better," Parnell sneered, recapping the bottle. "I want your complete and undivided attention, or I swear to God, I'll pour this all over you. You think your cuts hurt like a bitch now, just wait until this shit starts eating away at them."
"What do you want?" Blair croaked, followed by another bout of coughing.
"I want to know what you told Banks. We know he's investigating the murders, his black ass has been plastered all over the news." Parnell stepped menacing closer. "Now, you can either tell me what I want to know and make it easy on yourself or we can do this the hard way. Personally," he added, the soft whisper wafting across Blair's skin, "I'm hoping you chose the later."
Unable to repress a shudder, Blair tried to jerk away. His uncle he could handle, but this man-- this man was insane. You could see it in his eyes. Blair knew from the moment they'd taken him, he was going to die, but only now was he beginning to experience true terror. And for the first time, his courage began to fail him.
"Please, don't." The whimpered plea escaped before he could call it back and Blair hated himself for it.
Parnell smiled. Oh yeah, this was going to be fun. "Don't what?" he taunted, tossing the bottle of ammonia aside. "Don't do this?" His hand shot out to the younger man's groin and cruelly clamped down.
Blair's eyes widened, his sharp intake of breath silenced as Parnell's lips brutally took on his own. With a groan of protest, Blair bit down on the tongue ruthlessly invading his mouth. "Son of a..." Parnell exclaimed, abruptly releasing him.
Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Frank wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're going to pay for that." Enraged, Parnell struck out, the powerful blow snapping Blair's head backwards. Seconds later a knife appeared in the man's hand, the overhead light glistening menacingly off its serrated edge. Grabbing a fistful of hair, he jerked lax head upright, digging the point of the blade into the soft flesh beneath Blair's chin.
"You want to know what I did to the last one?" Frank asked, the soft timber of his voice more terrifying than if he had shouted. "I cut his dick and balls off." Parnell chuckled, the sound sending chills down Blair's spine. "The little fucker was still alive when I did it."
Breathing heavily, eyes wide with horror, Blair stared mutely back as Parnell moved closer. "Now, unless you want to experience what it was like first hand, I suggest you start being nice to me."
It was all he could do not to gag as the other man's cloth-covered erection brushed against his groin. Feeling as if his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest, Blair closed his eyes offering no protest as Parnell's mouth cruelly captured his own. Pinpoints of light danced across his inner eyelids, and as he welcomed the signs of fading consciousness, his tormentor broke off the kiss. The lights receded and awareness returned.
"That's better," Parnell purred as he drug the point of the knife down Blair's chest before finally letting it come to rest on the younger man's groin. "It would be a shame to have to waste such a nice package."
Tears slid from beneath closed eyelids, and as a droplet lit on Parnell's hand the veteran's gaze shot upwards. "LOOK AT ME!" he snapped noting the closed lids. "I want to see your fear." As the lids opened more tears spilled forth to glide across ashen skin. Drawn, like a bee to nectar, Frank licked away the telltale moisture, revealing in the metallic tang. "This is going to be so sweet." The breathy promise making Blair's heart lurch as he felt Parnell fumbling with his zipper.
"If we had any sense we'd pack up and get the hell out of town," Ray told Carl, who had been his friend since childhood.
"Look, even if they are after Frank, there's no reason to suspect that they're onto the rest of us," Carl insisted over the car's idling engine.
"But if they nail him, we're going down for sure."
"Frank wouldn't rat us out--"
"The man's a fucking psycho," Ray cut in. "Who knows what he'll do."
"What's the matter, Ray? Losing your balls?" Carl challenged.
"Capping a few queers is one thing, but what Frank did to that last kid was fucking nuts. And if you ask me, the preacher's not playing with a full deck either."
"Nobody's asking you," Carl snapped, his tone taking on a dangerous edge. "So just shut the fuck up and let's get this over with." The man's gaze turned hard; the pale scar running across his face stood out ominously in the moonlight. "And don't even think about cutting out on us or the hippie might not be the only one who ends up dead."
Oh shit. Carl was just as crazy as the rest of them. Beginning to regret his involvement, Ray shifted the clutch and eased the Mustang out onto the roadway.
The brownstone was swarming with cops.
"Oh man, we're screwed."
"Shut up and keep driving," Carl ordered. "It could be anything."
"How do we find out for sure?" Ray asked as they cruised past the boarding house.
Carl produced a hand-held scanner from inside his coat. "With this. It belonged to my old man."
"Yeah, I remember," Ray replied, casting a quick glance at the device. "He used to carry it with him even when he wasn't on duty."
"Until some fucking pervert took him out," Carl snarled. The incident had fueled his hatred of homosexuals. If not for them, his father would still be alive. Unconsciously, he fingered the ring once worn by his old man.
"Turn here and park," he instructed at the next intersection.
Less than twenty minutes later they had their answers. Frank was right; the cops were after him. Uttering an expletive, Carl hit the scanner's off button. "We'd better let Parnell and the Preacher know."
Scrubbing a hand over his exhausted features, Simon exited the brownstone into the chilly, predawn street. Pausing to light a cigar, he inhaled then exhaled blissfully as the nicotine coursed through his system, settling his stomach and quelling his nerves. Hitching the collar of his coat higher against the night air, he headed for his sedan, thoughts of his gruesome discovery dogging his heavy tread.
The evidence, left in Forensics capable hands, imparted no clue as to Sandburg's possible whereabouts, and Simon could not help but fear that the young man's chances of survival were growing slim. That is, if he wasn't already dead. NO! Simon raged against the possibility. They'd taken too many lives already. Surely God would not let them claim another. And yet, God alone could not be blamed with each death weighing heavily on Simon's conscience. He was a cop, damn it. He was supposed to protect people, not stand ineffectually aside as the killings continued. Right from the start he should have overridden Ellison and placed the kid in a protective custody, gotten him some professional help. Then maybe... But he hadn't. Instead, he'd allowed his friendship with Jim to override his better judgment. As a result, Jenkins death could be directly attributed to his decision. And now, possibly, Sandburg's. Angry with himself, Banks pitched the last of the cigar into a storm drain. Popping open the driver side door, he slid behind the wheel and slammed the door closed after him.
"Did you find anything?"
Startled, Simon automatically reached for his weapon, staying the motion as Jim Ellison appeared in the rearview mirror. Expelling the adrenaline rush, Simon growled, "Jesus, Jim, you know better than to sneak up on a cop."
Jim leaned forward, crossing his arms on the top of the seat back. "And you should know better than to leave your car unlocked. Especially in this part of town."
"Point taken," Banks grudgingly agreed. "I gotta tell you though, Jim this is the last place I expected you to turn up. You do realize that every cop in Cascade is on the lookout for you."
"It couldn't be helped," Ellison replied. "I realized you were right. I couldn't give up on Blair, no matter what the outcome. And I can't search for him if I'm locked up."
Simon chuckled. "We're still trying to figure out how you got out of there without being seen. I thought your old man was going to have a coronary when you turned up missing. But," his expression grew grave, "that doesn't explain what you're doing here."
Ellison brow crinkled in a frown. "I got to thinking about the case and realized that every murder could be traced to within a one mile radius of Vera's. So, I thought I'd see if she knew of anyone who drove a dark colored van--"
"And you came up with one Frank Parnell," Simon interjected, impressed. "You should have been a cop, Jim. Your instincts were right on this one. Parnell's definitely involved. The evidence we found in his room will corroborate that."
"What kind of evidence?"
Thankfully, Simon was saved from having to reply by the shrill ring of his cell phone. "Banks," he answered.
"Sir, it's Serena. We were finally able to come up with a match on the partial prints. The first set belongs to Carl Lewis, Jr. Last known address 1413 Kilmore Road. The second set are for one Nathan Sandburg, last known address--"
"Wait a minute," Simon abruptly interrupted. "Did you say Sandburg?"
Hearing Blair's name, Jim anxiously demanded, "What is it? Did they find Sandburg?"
Motioning for him to be quiet, Simon listened as Chang continued. "Yes, Sir. Nathan Sandburg, currently out on parole after having served eighteen months of a five year sentence for a non-fatal hit and run while driving intoxicated."
"What's the address?"
"632 Sycamore Lane," Serena read aloud.
Making a mental note of the address, Simon started the car. "I'm on my way. Have Taggart get Pendergrast and Brown over to Lewis's address."
"Yes, sir," was all Chang had time to reply as Banks snapped the cell phone shut and maneuvered the gear shift into drive.
"What is it? What's going on? Jim demanded, anxiety sharpening his tone.
"Forensics was finally able to come up with a match on the latent prints we found in your motel room."
"And?" Ellison prompted impatiently.
"One of them belong to Nathan Sandburg, Blair's uncle."
Jim sank back in the seat, stunned. He knew Blair had run away from the disreputable alcoholic, but if the man were capable of such malicious, cold-blooded murder, who knew the extent of abuse Blair had been forced to bear? To think that the SOB had stood by while Blair had been brutally raped and left for dead was unconscionable.
"Can't you go any faster?" he growled at the man driving.
Banks gaze connected with Ellison's in the rearview mirror. "Look, Jim, I know you're worried about the kid, but I don't want you going off half-cocked when we get there. Blair's survival could depend on us keeping a cool head."
'That is, if he isn't already dead,' Jim thought morosely, uncannily echoing Simon's earlier concerns. Either way, those bastards were going to pay for what they did to Blair and the others. And one Nathan Sandburg headed the list.
Fear radiated off the kid in waves, fueling Parnell's lust. With one quick stroke he yanked the zipper down, the corner's of his mouth curving upwards at Sandburg's hastily in-drawn breath. Oh yeah, he was going to enjoy this one. Transferring the knife to his left hand, his right snaked into the opening of Blair's jeans.
"Do your friends know you like dick?"
The hand froze, Parnell's furious gaze snapping upwards. "You just bought yourself a world of pain, pervert." Grabbing Blair's cock, Parnell exerted pressure.
"At least I'm not a fucking psycho," Blair ground out through the pain.
"Maybe I won't cut your balls off," Parnell retorted. "I'll just rip them off instead and shove them in that smart mouth of yours."
Any reply Blair might have made was cut off as the cellar door flew open and three men descended the steps. Releasing Blair's cock, Parnell whirled, snarling, "What the fuck do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Getting slow in your old age, Frank?" Lewis smirked, his gaze straying to Blair's battered form. "I thought you'd have offed the little bastard by now."
"We've got trouble," Ray cut in. "The cops know you're involved. They searched your room."
"What kind of fucking moron are you? Leaving evidence lying around?"
Parnell's hand shot out, the backhanded blow sending Carl sprawling. "When I want your opinion I'll ask for it!" Parnell snapped.
"Carl's right," the Preacher put in as Ray extended a hand to his long time friend, pulling Carl to his feet. "Because of your carelessness we're going to have to leave town."
"This is all your fault," Parnell snarled rounding on Blair who hung limply in his restraints. "You just had to get the cops involved." The knife flashed menacingly. "You like the pigs so much, maybe I ought to gut you like one."
"No, wait!" Lewis called out. "There's no telling how close the cops are to nailing us. We might need him his as a hostage."
"We can always dispose of him later," Ray added hastily as Frank seemed to consider the suggestion.
Parnell studied his victim. He wasn't done with this one. Not by a long shot. The little queer liked taking it up the ass; maybe this time he'd see how well a baseball bat would fit. At the mental image of Blair stripped naked, broken, bleeding and ruthlessly violated, Parnell's cock began to swell. The faggot would die, eventually, but not until Frank was through with him.
Making a left onto Sycamore, Simon located the address. Killing the car's lights and engine, he coasted to a stop along side the curb. Across the street and two doors down, lights illuminated the windows at the rear of the suspect's house.
"Looks like somebody's home," Simon commented, noting the car in the drive. "I'm going to take a look. You stay put."
Used to having his orders obeyed, the captain was not prepared when Ellison argued, "Come on, Simon. You need me."
One glance at Ellison determined expression and Simon knew the chances of Jim remaining behind hovered somewhere between slim and none. Banks felt his resolve wavering. At least he wasn't some inexperience civilian. In fact, the former Covert-op could even be an asset. "All right," he relented. "But I want you to stay behind me at all times. Are we clear on this?"
"Crystal," Jim replied, popping open the rear door and climbing out.
Shaking his head, Simon followed suit.
Like a cross between shadows and moonbeams, the two men slipped across the darkened street before disappearing behind the hedge running parallel to Sandburg's driveway.
Crouching beside the car, Jim pressed his hand against the hood. "It's still warm."
"From what I know about Nathan Sandburg's background I wouldn't take him for the Mustang type," Simon commented softly. "My guess is it belongs to one of our other perpetrators. I don't see Parnell's van though."
"The garage?" Jim suggested.
Banks nodded. "I'll check it out. You stay here."
As Simon silently slipped away, Jim turned his attention to the house. Blair was in there somewhere. He could feel it.
'Focus your hearing, Jim. I know you can do it.' The memory of Sandburg's instructions rose to the forefront. Tilting his head slightly, Jim sought sounds from within the house." Nothing!" he growled impatiently a minute later. Damn it! He knew someone was in there. 'Screw the sentinel senses and screw the Cascade PD,' he thought. Those bastards either had Blair or knew where he was. About to take matters into his own hands, he finally heard it-- voices coming from below the house. Peering over the hood, Jim cursed at the sight of the boarded up basement windows. Emitting a sound of displeasure, he concentrated on the voices, separating them one by one until, finally, he could make out the entire conversation.
"It's Parnell's van all right," Simon said, easing himself down beside Ellison. "Jim?" he questioned. Something about the man's rigid posture and inward gaze set off warning bells.
"JIM!" he hissed again, giving the younger man a gentle shake.
"Blair's in there. They all are."
Banks breathed a sigh of relief. For a minute there he was afraid that the prostitute had slipped into one of those mysterious fugue episodes. Then realizing what Jim had said asked, "How do you know? I haven't seen any sign of movement from inside the house."
"They're holding Blair in the basement. They know the cops are onto them. They're planning to skip town." Jim paused, listening. "He doesn't sound good, Simon. His breathing is erratic and he's in pain."
Simon's brow rose questioningly. "And you know this because?"
Hesitating only briefly, Jim turned towards the older man. "Because I can hear them," he stated bluntly.
Banks was clearly skeptical. "Come on, Jim you can't possibly expect me to believe you can hear them talking, let alone Sandburg breathing."
Everything in him cried out to race to Blair's rescue. "Look, I know it sounds crazy," he replied exasperated. "But it's true. It isn't PTSD that causes me to see, hear and taste things no one else can. I have heightened senses, Simon. All five of them."
"Wait a minute, slow down, you're losing me. How do you know all this?"
"Blair recognized the symptoms and explained it to me. Even the fugue states are connected, only he calls them zone outs."
Simon was shaking his head. "And you expect me to believe all this."
"I had my doubts too in the beginning, but Blair conducted some test and it's all true. Please, Simon," Ellison implored. "I'm asking you to trust me on this."
Jim Ellison was many things, but a liar was not one of them. "All right," Simon conceded. "But when this is over I want the entire story."
"You got it," Jim replied, smiling with relief.
You three gather up some supplies and stow 'em in the van," Parnell ordered, his eyes never leaving Blair. "Preacher, if you've got any cash, get it. We're going to need some traveling money."
"We're going to have to take the Mustang," Ray told him. "The cops have an APB out on your van.
"Now just a minute," Nathan sputtered indignantly. "I'm the one in charge here. I say--" The rest of the sentence was abruptly cut off. In shocked surprise, the preacher glanced down at the knife embedded in his chest. Choking on his own blood, Nathan pitched forward, eyes wide in death.
"Anyone else have anything to say?" Frank demanded. Rolling over the corpse, he retrieved his knife, wiping the blade clean on his pants leg.
"Come on, Carl," Ray said tugging the other man towards the stairs." Let's load up the car."
Stiffening, Ellison's gaze snapped towards the basement.
"What is it?" Simon asked, suddenly alert.
"I'm not sure but I think Parnell just killed Blair's uncle," he replied distractedly then added, "They're on the move."
Banks reached for his cell phone. "I'd better call for backup."
"There's not enough time," Jim stated with a hint of urgency and turned towards the other man. "We're going to have to take them out ourselves."
Trusting the former Ranger, Banks nodded. "What did you have in mind?"
With a look of disdain, Parnell turned his back on the preacher. He should have killed the sanctimonious bastard months ago. And if the other two decided to get in his way, he had no problem with offing them too. His brow rose contemplatively. In fact, he might do it anyway. Then no one could interfere with his plans for the queer.
"Would you like that, pretty boy? Just you and me?" he asked running his free hand across Blair's torso. "I know I would." Reaching up, he sliced through the bindings holding the younger man in place.
Released, Blair tumbled forward into Parnell's waiting arms. An agonized cry escaped as feeling surged through useless limbs. Unable to defend himself, Blair felt like putty in the other man's hands as he was pushed face down over a workbench and his wrist secured behind his back. Hauled upright, he was shoved towards the stairs. His legs, however, refused to cooperate and he collapsed onto the bloodstained concrete floor inches away from his uncle's lifeless body.
"Get up!" Parnell snarled, delivering a vicious kick to Blair's lower back.
"C-- Can't," Blair breathed out.
Grabbing a fistful of hair, Parnell jerked the smaller man upright. "Either you move your skinny ass or I'll cut you up into pieces and leave you here for the rats to fight over."
Red rimmed eyes, dull with pain, stared defiantly at his tormentor. "Go ahead, do it!" Blair taunted, hoping for a quick death. He had nothing left to fight for. Jim, the one good thing to have happened in his life was gone, probably forever. No, better to have it end now, swiftly, rather than suffer endlessly at the hands of this psycho. Closing his eyes, he waited for death.
This time however, Parnell would not be goaded. "No, that would be to easy." Tucking the knife into his belt, he grabbed Blair hauling him to his feet and then over his shoulder into a fireman's carry. At the surge of motion, Blair's vision dimmed the faded altogether as he slipped into unconsciousness. Redistributing he dead weight, Parnell ran his hand over the younger man's ass. "Soon," he promised then started up the steps.
As Frank stepped into the kitchen the heated discussion ceased. "I thought I told you two to gather up some supplies," he snapped.
"We were just about to do that, weren't we, Carl," Ray hastily replied and began going through the cupboards.
"I saw some boxes out back," Carl added, heading for the back door. His hatred for Parnell simmered just beneath the surface. No one struck him and got away with it.
Spying the broom closet, Parnell dumped his burden inside. "That ought to hold him," he said, closing the door. "You finish up in here," he told Ray. "I'm going to check out the rest of the place."
"Sure, Frank," Ray nervously agreed, breathing a sigh of relief as Parnell disappeared into the remainder of the house.
Grumbling beneath his breath, Carl sorted through the discarded boxes. Intent on planning his revenge, he failed to notice the large figure looming up behind him. Suddenly, an arm snaked its way around his neck cutting off his air supply. Struggling, he tried to shout, only to have the sound come out a choked whisper as a hand clamped over his mouth.
'This is one of the bastards that hurt Blair,' Jim thought, tightening his hold. All it would take was one quick snap to break the son of bitch's neck.
"Jim, let him go," Simon hissed as if reading the younger man's intentions.
Ellison hesitated briefly and then with a low growl thrust the now unconscious form towards Banks. Joining forces, they dragged the body out of sight.
'I wonder what's taking Carl so long?' Ray silently wondered as he added a couple more cans to the growing pile. Casting a quick glance towards the broom closet, he went to the back door, opened it, and called the other man's name, "Carl?" Silence answered him. Swearing softly, Ray jogged down the small flight of steps.
Frank was growing frustrated. On a fit of pique, he overturned the mattress, sending the blankets and pillow tumbling onto the floor. The effort proved fruitful for hidden beneath the mattress lay what he'd been searching for. Snatching up the tattered envelope, he leafed through the contents.
"I always knew the old man was holding out on us." Tossing the envelope aside, he jammed the money into his coat pocket and headed back downstairs. It was time to get out of this dump.
Entering the kitchen, he discovered it empty. The stack of canned goods spread across the table, the only evidence of his orders being carried out. Where the hell were they?
Suddenly, it occurred to Frank that they might have already skipped town and he rushed to the window. The Mustang was still in the drive. A quick check assured him that his play toy was still where he'd left him but, of Ray and Carl, there was no sign.
Something wasn't right.
Swiftly killing the overhead light, he slid the knife from his waistband. Moving once again to the window, he cautiously peered out. Although the night sky had grown lighter, there were still too many nooks and crannies where someone could be hiding. Assuming someone was laying in wait, Frank knew there was only one way he'd get out of this with his skin intact --- the hippie.
Making his way back to the broom closet, Parnell threw open the door and hauled Blair out onto the kitchen floor. "Wake up," he ordered, nudging the limp figure with his foot. Irritated by the lack of response, he grabbed Blair by the arm, jerking his upper torso off the floor. "I SAID WAKE THE FUCK UP!" he shouted, striking the unconscious man repeatedly as Blair's head snapped back and forth with the force of each blow.
Suddenly, a primal scream of rage rent the air. Startled, Parnell dropped Blair, his gaze snapping nervously back and forth for the source of the inhuman cry.
With one forceful blow the back door crashed open, sending shards of glass and wood flying. A second later death incarnate filled the threshold, its pale blue eyes blazing with anger.
Realizing his mistake, Parnell made a grab for Blair only to be knocked off his feet as the massive shaped hurled itself in Frank's direction. Both men went down hard, Parnell grunting as the air was forced from his lungs. The knife, dislodged by the impact, skittered to a stop a few feet away.
Straddling Parnell's body, Jim grabbed a fistful of Frank's coat, hauling him upright. Seeing the fear in the other man's eyes, Ellison smiled. "That's right, you sick mother-fucker. You're a dead man."
"JIM!" Banks bellowed from the doorway.
His face twisted in a snarling mask of rage, Ellison leaned closer. "How about I rip your balls off, you son of a bitch," he growled softly.
"Jim!" Simon shouted again, reluctantly drawing his gun. "Don't make me shoot you."
The tension in the room intensified and a low rumbled emerged from Ellison's throat. "He hurt Blair."
Simon knew the statement, delivered without inflection, sealed Parnell's fate.
Ellison's eyes narrowed, his lips parting in a feral grin. Parnell would die -- slowly, painfully.
Sensing the situation was swiftly getting out of control, Simon edged closer. "I know," he softly agreed, but Blair survived, Jim." Simon cast a quick glance at the sprawled form. "And right now he needs your help."
Slowly, the rumble ceased and the only sound that could be heard was the antiquated kitchen clock ticking off the seconds.
Finally, one last snarl erupted as Jim stood, dragging the veteran to his feet. "You want the bastard?" he growled. Thrusting Parnell in front of him, Jim rammed Parnell's head and upper shoulders through the nearest kitchen window. "Now you can have him," he stated calmly, dropping the limp form as tiny fragments of glass continued to trickle down.
"Son of a ..." The soft expletive escaped. Holstering his weapon, Simon moved to the window where Parnell lay draped across the sill. Carefully, he checked for a pulse. Breathing a sigh of relief as the faint heartbeat throbbed beneath his finger tips, he glared at Ellison. "Was that really necessary?"
"Yes, sir. It was."
The two men stared at each other in a silent standoff. Simon was the first to relent. "You see to Sandburg. I'll take care of this piece of trash."
With a brusque nod, Ellison turned. "Oh Chief," he cried softly, taking in Blair's crumpled form for the first time.
Covering the short distance, he knelt. "What did those bastards do to you?" Faintly registering Banks calling for an ambulance and backup, Jim carefully lifted Blair into his arms. Tenderly, he brushed aside the tangled strands of hair and anxiously searched the battered features.
"An ambulance is on the way. How's the kid?" Simon asked, coming to squat beside them.
With a tentative touch, Jim skimmed his hand lightly over the surface of Blair's skull and upper torso before sliding down to the abdominal region. "He's got a nasty bump on his head but there doesn't appear to be any internal injuries," he reported.
Repositioning his hold on the younger man, he examined Blair's back. Banks let out a low whistle. The skin was mottled, angry in color. Barely an inch remained untouched. Seeing the damage, Ellison's anger rekindled. "The bastard's beat him!" he hissed, wishing he had succumbed to the urge to rip Parnell's balls off, after all.
"It could have been worse," Simon rationally pointed out. "At least, he's still alive."
A fact for which Jim would forever be grateful. It concerned him though that Sandburg was still unconscious. Easing Blair back into his arms, Ellison searched the lax features. "Come on, Chief, I need you to wake up," he pleaded softly.
"Jim, we've got another problem." Sirens could be heard approaching. "There's still an APB out on you. If you're still here when backup arrives..." The implication of what would happen was clear.
"I left him once before and look what happened."
Although the admission tore at Simon's heart, his next words were cruel but necessary. "If you don't leave now your old man's going to have you locked up and this time even I'm not going to be able to get you out." His tone softened. "It's just for a little while, Jim. And I promise I won't let Blair out of my sight."
Pain filled eyes rose to meet Simon's. "I can't," he whispered.
"You have to," Banks insisted. "It's your only choice."
His brow set in a frown, Jim gazed down at the still form. "I love you, Chief," he breathed. "Wait for me." Placing a chaste kiss on the slightly parted lips, he carefully lowered Blair onto the floor.
The siren's grew closer.
"You have to go. Now!" The urgency in Banks tone could not be denied.
Reluctantly, Jim rose, and with one final glance, disappeared out the door.
Within minutes, the house was surrounded by flashing lights. Flanking the doorway, guns drawn, Detective's Pendergrast and Brown cautiously entered the kitchen.
"Is everything all right, Captain?" Brown asked, spying his superior on the floor, the head of a bruised and bloody Sandburg resting in his lap.
Unaware that his hand was gently stroking the battered form, "The situation is under control," Simon reported. "We have one dead suspect in the basement and two more cuffed behind the garage. That one," he added indicating the unconscious Parnell, "will require a trip to the hospital."
Holstering their weapons, Pendergrast waved the waiting medics inside then disappeared out the door to deal with the other suspects. Moving closer, Brown looked down at Sandburg. "The kid going to be okay?" he asked uncertainly.
Remembering Ellison, Banks smiled and softly replied. "Not now, but he will be."
True to his word, Simon provided a police escort for the ambulance, refusing to leave Sandburg's side even as the kid was rushed into ER. Citing that the young man was under police protection, his unrelenting glare soon discouraged all attempts to have him expelled to the waiting room. He even accompanied the gurney, standing guard outside the door as Sandburg was taken for X-rays and a CT scan. Through it all Blair remained unconscious, and despite the doctor's reassurance that both tests had turned up negative, and that Sandburg's condition was probably due to exhaustion, Simon was becoming increasingly worried.
Lost in his own turbulent thoughts, he almost missed the soft moan coming from the figure on the bed. "Sandburg -- Blair?" he questioned, examining the younger man for signs of waking. The dark lashes fluttered, looking impossibly long against the circles beneath closed lids. "Blair, it's Simon. You're safe now, son."
The lids lifted to reveal dazed orbs of blue. "Simon?" he asked, bewildered.
"That's right," Simon replied, smiling approvingly.
Slowly, Blair's gaze traveled across the room. "What?" he croaked. Confused, he looked to the older man for answers.
"You're in the hospital," Simon told him, and then taking a deep breath gently added, "Your uncle's dead, son, and the other three are in custody. They can't hurt you anymore."
"Jim?" Blair asked hopefully.
"Right here, Chief."
Simon whirled as the privacy curtain was thrust aside.
"Damn it, Jim," Banks growled. "I wish you'd quit sneaking up on me like that."
Ignoring the irate Captain, Ellison moved to Sandburg's side. "Hey, buddy, how're doing?"
Blair shifted experimentally, wincing slightly. "Been worse," he finally pronounced.
Exchanging uneasy glances with Ellison, Simon filled the ensuing silence. "Yeah, well, the doc said you'll need to take it easy for a while but otherwise you're going to be fine."
Guilt clothed Ellison like a shroud. "I'm so sorry, Chief. I should have never left you alone."
"Not your fault, man," Blair replied, gingerly shaking his head. "There's no way you could have known." Pausing, he smiled ruefully. "Besides, your old man didn't exactly give you a choice."
"No, he didn't," Jim sadly agreed.
Blair's expression crumpled. "I thought I was never going to see you again," he admitted and both men knew that he was no longer talking about Jim's incarceration.
Ellison tried for levity. "There's no way you're going to get rid of me that easily, Chief,"
"But there was so much I wanted to tell you. Things I thought I'd never get a chance to say."
Jim's expression sobered. "Like what?" he asked, half afraid of what the answer might be.
Blair sensed the hesitation and a flicker of doubt crossed the battered features. The words died in his throat. What if he were wrong? Old insecurities came back to haunt him. After all, why should Jim have to settle for damaged goods. The man was gorgeous, he could have anyone he wanted.
"Chief?" Ellison pressed with growing unease.
"I... I just..." Blair stammered, uncertain.
Thankfully, a nurse chose that moment to enter. "Captain Banks, there's..." she began, the words dying abruptly as she spotted the other man in the room.
"It's all right," Simon quickly interjected, "he's with me."
"I see," she replied noncommittally then noticed Blair watching the exchange. "Mr. Sandburg, I'm glad to see you're finally awake," she said, smiling brightly. "Dr. Robbin's will be with you shortly."
"Was there something you wanted?" Simon prodded.
Flashing Blair one last smile, she turned to the captain. "Yes, sir. There's a William Ellison at the front desk demanding to see you. He keeps insisting that you know where his son is," she finished, noting the increased tension in the room.
Simon grimaced, making his displeasure known. "Please tell Mr. Ellison that I'll be with him shortly."
"Of course, Captain."
The moment she left, Simon turned to Ellison. "My car's in Emergency Parking," he said, pressing his set of keys into the prostitutes hand. His brow quirked knowingly. "I assume you know another way out."
"I appreciate what you're trying to do, sir," Jim said, but I'm not going anywhere."
"What?" Blair croaked, struggling into a sitting position. "Jim, you have to. If you don't, your old man's going to put you away again."
Ellison's affectionate smile was tinged with sadness. "I can't leave you, Chief. Not now, not ever again," he whispered.
Blair's heart soared. "Let's go then," he said, pushing the covers aside.
"Sandburg, are you crazy?" Simon growled. "You're in no condition to go anywhere."
"Watch me," Blair obstinately replied. Clutching the side of the bed, he rose on unsteady legs.
"Simon's right," Jim said,wrapping an arm around Blair's waist to steady him.
"Jim, you can't stay here and you won't leave without me. Ergo, where you go, I go." Who could fault logic like that.
"Jim, do something," Banks demanded, exasperated.
Ellison's gaze remained fixed on the upturned face of the smaller man. "Simon, we're going to need your coat. Blair can't leave dressed in just a hospital gown."
Banks mouth dropped open in astonishment. "Of all the damn fool..." he muttered but began stripping off the trench coat.
Exchanging amused grins, Jim helped Blair don the garment, securing it firmly up the front.
"You help the kid," Simon said gruffly, snatching the keys out of Ellison's hand. "I'll drive."
Jim's brow rose questioningly. "What about my father?"
"What about him?" Simon challenged.
Catching on quickly, "Right," Jim replied with a conspiratorial grin.
Tucking Blair close, Jim peered into the hallway. Timing it just right, he and Blair slipped into the corridor with Simon bringing up the rear.
"I know you're behind this Banks." Enraged, William Ellison stormed into Simon's office.
Rhonda, her face flush, hurried in. "I'm sorry, sir. I tried to stop him."
"It's all right," Simon assured his secretary before turning to face the elder Ellison. "This gentleman and I have something we need to discuss."
Relieved, the blonde nodded. Backing out, she closed the door gently behind her.
"It's about time you've come to your senses, Banks," William began smugly. "Now, where is my son?"
Rising, Simon came around the desk. "Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you."
"Damn it, Banks," Ellison roared. "I'll have your job for this."
Crossing his arms, Simon leaned back against the desk. "I don't think so. Of course, you're welcome to try and while you're at it I'm sure the Commissioner and District Attorney will be very interested in learning why you tried to have your son committed."
William's expression became guarded. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Simon rose, moving back around behind his desk. "I did some checking," he said, opening a manilla folder. "It seems you've run into some financial difficulties the past few years. In fact, I have it on good authority that you narrowly avoided a lengthy jail sentence for tax evasion."
"What's any of this have to do with my son?"
"Because according to my sources, it was Jim's trust fund that you used in order to bail yourself out of trouble. The same trust fund that your son gains control of on his thirtieth birthday."
William Ellison was starting to sweat. Taking a handkerchief out of his pocket, he dabbed at the moisture collecting on his brow. "As executor, I have every--”
Simon's fist pounded the desk. "You have no right to steal your son blind and then try to cover up the fact by having him committed."
"That's not true!" Ellison countered. "My son is mentally unstable and I have the medical reports to prove it."
Banks disdain was clearly evident. "Reports no doubt bought and paid for by Jim's money." His gaze hardened. "Do you really want to take this to court? Because I promise you as slow as our judicial system is, I can keep this case tied up for years. And as I'm sure you're aware, it's standard procedure to freeze all assets until a decision has been rendered."
"How dare you threaten me," William blustered.
Banks tone grew deadly. "That's not a threat, mister. That's a promise. Despite the lifestyle Jim's been forced to live, he's one of the finest men I've ever had the privilege to know. And I'll be damned if I'm going to stand by and let you interfere with his life any longer."
Carefully replacing his handkerchief, William examined his options. Call Banks bluff and risk an investigation or... "What do you want?" he asked.
"I want you to relinquish your guardianship. Furthermore," he continued, staying Ellison's protest, " you are not to touch another penny of Jim's trust fund."
"Anything else?"
"You are not to contact him. If Jim wants to talk to you, that's up to him. But if I hear of you approaching him for any reason, I will have you arrested. Is that clear?"
"Just who the hell do you think you are?" Ellison demanded.
"Someone who obviously cares more about your son than you do."
Blair was restless. Straightening the dislodged covers, Jim tucked them firmly around the sleeping man. Physically, it would take some time for Sandburg to heal. Emotionally was another matter entirely. Even now the nightmare was far from over. There were still depositions to be taken -- the trial.
Caught up in his own musings, the knock at the door startled not only him but Blair as well. The younger man's eyes flew open, fear lurking within the haunted blue depths as they frantically searched the room.
A familiar scent triggered Jim's memory, and muscles which had instinctively grown taut at a perceived threat, visibly relaxed. "It's all right, Chief. It's only Simon."
Finally recognizing his surroundings, Blair nodded dully. His brow creased in concern, Jim gave Blair a reassuring pat and rose to answer the door.
"Simon, what brings you here?" he asked, letting the older man into the room and firmly securing the door behind him.
"I've got some news." Setting his parcels on the nearby table, Simon's gaze slid around the room. Amenities were few but at least the place was clean.
"Hey, Simon," Blair said, pushing himself into a seated position. Jim had told him the part Banks had played in his rescue.
Banks grinned at the tousled figure. "Good to see you awake, kid. The last time I was here you were snoring so loudly I'm surprised you didn't wake half the neighborhood."
The comment earned Simon a scowl. Crossing his arms, Blair haughtily replied. "I do not snore."
"Don't let him rile you, Chief," Jim chuckled settling beside Blair on the bed. "I have it on good authority that Simon snores loudly enough to wake the dead."
Simon's brow rose threateningly. "And just who told you that?"
"Daryl," Jim replied, grinning devilishly.
"Remind me to dock Daryl's allowance," Simon huffed, gaining him a bark of laughter from Sandburg.
It was good to hear the kid laugh.
Sharing amused glances with Blair, Jim reminded Simon of the reason for his visit. "You said you had some news?"
"Actually, there's a couple of things I wanted to talk to you about," Simon replied. Rifling through a series of folders, he produced the one he'd been searching for. "This contains all the pertinent information," he said handing Ellison the file, "but what it basically boils down to is that your father had you hospitalized so that he could cover up the fact that he'd been pilfering your trust fund."
Ellison looked up sharply from scanning the documents. "I didn't even know I had one."
"It was set up by your maternal grandfather with the stipulation that your father manage the fund until your thirtieth birthday at which time you would come into your inheritance. Unfortunately, your father ran into some financial difficulties and decided to bail himself out using your money." Banks paused, the next part was going to be difficult. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Jim, but the money just about all gone."
Dazed, Jim glanced through the documents. Everything Simon had said was true. No wonder his father wanted him out of the way.
"I can't believe your dad would do something like that," Blair said softly. "I'm sorry, man."
Offering Blair a humorless smile, Jim tossed the folder onto the bed. "Don't be, Chief. It's no more than I've come I've come to expect from my old man."
"The good news is," Simon put in hoping to salvage the situation, "that I've used this bit of knowledge to persuade your father to relinquish his guardianship rather than fight a lengthy court battle. You're a free man, Jim."
"That's great!" Blair exclaimed. The mere thought of Jim being locked away in a hospital where no one had a clue as to the true nature of his affliction had terrified the young man.
Jim's expression, however, remained inscrutable as he digested the latest information. No more running or hiding from the authorities. It was a dream come true. And yet, the money could have bought him a way out. Him and Blair. Anger rose to the surface. With supreme effort, he pushed it back down. Time enough later to deal with the resentment. "You said there were a couple of things you wanted to talk to us about?" he asked Simon.
Okay, so Jim obviously didn't want to deal with the issue. Not that Simon could blame him. It's not every day you find out you're old man's a prick.
"I'm going to need both of you to come down to the station and make a statement." The warm brown eyes settled on Sandburg. The kid was pale with a slight greenish tinge. "You going to be all right with this Blair?" he asked gently.
His head bowed, Blair shrugged. The apparent indifference belied by the unconscious fingering of the bedspread by ragged fingertips. Placing his hand over Blair's, Jim arrested the motion. Expelling a pent up breath, "Sure," Blair replied. "I mean otherwise they might walk, right?"
"Parnell we've got pretty much dead to rights," Simon explained. "But, yeah, without your testimony we've got no way of tying Bowers and Lewis to the murders."
"What's wrong, Chief?" Jim asked, noting the tiny frown.
Blair shook his head. "It's just all so insane, you know. I mean, what is it that makes people hate enough to kill another human being?"
"I wish I had some answers, Chief," Jim replied. "But the truth is we may never know what prompted the attacks."
"Maybe I can provide some answers." Retrieving the remaining files from the table top, Simon handed them to Ellison .
"Your uncle, Blair, served eighteen months in the state prison for vehicular hit and run. Apparently, while on the inside, he pissed off the wrong people and was beaten and raped as a result. According to the prison Chaplain, it wasn't long after that Nathan 'found religion'," Simon emphasized with quotations.
"Unfortunately for his victims it was a perverse form of religion," Jim muttered.
"Carl Lewis, Junior," Simon went onto report, "was the son of one of Cascade's finest. That's were the ring comes in. It belonged to his father who was killed while intervening in a domestic dispute between a reportedly gay couple."
"As near as I can figure, Raymond Bowers got caught up in the mess simply because of his life long friendship with Lewis."
"And Parnell?" Just the mere name left a bad taste in Ellison's mouth. Simon had been right to stop him but, a part of Jim still wanted to waste the bastard.
Banks grimaced. "Most of Parnell's records were sealed. However, I was able to call in a few favors. The story is that while in the service, Parnell's fellow squad members discovered he was a homosexual. As a result, one night he was found mutilated and left for dead. True to form, the incident was hushed up and Parnell received a discharge along with disability pension."
"Mutilated," Blair repeated softly. "How?" he asked, pinning Simon with his quiet intensity.
Banks looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Let's just say that they saw to it that he would never be able to be sexually involved with another man or woman."
"Serves the bastard right," Jim grumbled.
But Blair was shaking his head. "Don't you get it, man. That's probably what sent him over the edge."
"How in the hell can you defend that animal after what he did to you and the others?" Jim demanded hotly. "Remember them? That bastard killed and butchered a seventeen year old boy." His voice rose in volume.
"Jim!" Banks barked a clipped warning. He wasn't about to let anyone brow beat the kid and that included Ellison.
Sandburg looked devastated. Feeling like a total ass, Jim took it as a good sign when Blair didn't resist as he eased his arms around the younger man, pulling him close. "I'm so sorry, babe," he whispered. "It's just every time I think about what that bastard did to you -- What might have happened if we hadn't gotten there in time, and then to hear you making excuses for him, I just..." Unable to articulate the magnitude of hatred and rage he felt the rest was left unspoken.
Blair knew exactly what Parnell had planned for him. Unable to suppress a shudder he buried his face against Ellison's chest. How could he explain to Jim that he had to try and understand the reason behind the insanity or face going mad himself? That the involvement of his uncle in the hideous crimes tortured Blair more than the knowledge of what might have been, simply because the man was family.
With a sniffle, he turned his head aside. "It's okay," he told Jim. "If the situation were reversed, I'd probably feel the same way. Every thing's just so mixed up."
"It'll get better with time," Jim promised, unconsciously stroking the silken strands beneath his palm.
"I wish I could believe that," Blair sighed wearily.
"That reminds me," Simon spoke up. Removing an envelope from his breast pocket, he handed it to Blair. "Maybe this will help."
"What is it?" Blair asked, opening the envelope.
"Josh's father posted a reward for any and all information leading to the apprehension of his son’s killers."
Pulling out the slip of paper, Blair's eyes widened at the amount of the check.
"It's all yours, son," Simon announced, conspicuously pleased by Sandburg's dazed expression.
Blair couldn't believe it. With this much money he and Jim could find a decent place to live. He could afford to go back to school, maybe even college... His expression crumpled. Tucking the check back inside the envelope, "I can't take it," he said, handing it back to Banks.
"Why the hell not?" Simon demanded, frowning.
"It just wouldn't be right," Blair tried to explain. "I appreciate the gesture but, I think you should divide it among the families of those who were killed."
"Are you sure, Chief?" Jim asked, surprised by Blair's decision.
"Yeah," Blair replied thoughtfully. "I mean, it's not like I couldn't use the money but, at least it should help with their expenses." Craning his neck, he looked up at Jim. "You don't mind, do you?"
"Why should I mind? It's your money." Ellison's visage soften. "The fact is, I'm pretty damn proud of you. Not many people would turn down that kind of cash."
"I gotta tell you, Sandburg, I'm impressed," Simon put in. "But if you're sure this is what you want, I'll see that your wishes are carried out."
"Thank you, sir. I'd appreciate it," Blair replied, flushed with praise.
Tucking the envelope back into his pocket, Banks nodded. "Consider it done."
Sensing the two men wanted to be alone, Simon cleared his throat. "Well, I'd best be getting back to the station," he said starting for the door. "Jim, don't forget, I need you and the kid to fill out those statements. The sooner the better."
"We'll be by sometime this afternoon," he promised. Carefully dislodging himself from Blair, Jim rose gracefully and accompanied the older man to the door. "Did you get it?" he whispered to Simon.
"It's in the bag," Simon replied in the same conspiratorial tone with a nod towards the table.
"Thanks, I owe you." Then recalling everything Simon had done, Jim snorted mirthlessly. "Actually, I owe you a lot more than that. I don't know how I'm ever going to repay you."
"Well, if what you tell me about your senses if true, I may have a have a few suggestions," Simon mysteriously replied.
Jim's brows rose questioningly.
Grinning broadly, Simon fished a cigar out of his pocket, and clamping it between his teeth, called over his shoulder, "Take it easy, kid," before disappearing out the door.
With a perplexed frown, Jim closed and locked it after him.
"I wonder what he meant by that?" Blair questioned from his position on the bed.
"I have no idea," Jim sighed.
Dismissing the obscure comment, Jim headed towards the table where the lone bag remained. "Close your eyes, Chief. I've got a surprise for you."
"Oh?" Instantly curious, Blair tried to peer around Ellison's large frame.
"Close 'em," Jim growled. "And no peeking."
"What have you got, eyes in the back of your head?" Blair grumbled good-naturedly but nonetheless complied. Listening intently, he heard the faint rustle followed by a soft click. A moment later he felt the bed dip as Ellison joined him.
"You can open your eyes now."
The dark lashes sprang open and Blair's lower jaw dropped open in astonishment. "I don't understand," he said, turning to look questioningly at Jim. For tenderly cradled in Ellison's hands sat a small, beautifully decorated cake upon which a solitary candle burned brightly.
Embarrassed, Ellison shrugged. "Considering everything that's happened it just seemed to me like you didn't have much of an eighteenth birthday..."
"Oh, man!" Blair exclaimed, his gaze returning to the cake. "I'd forgotten all about that. Jim, man, this is so sweet."
"Yeah, well, I couldn't have done it without Simon's help."
Blair's tone grew serious. "But you know what I'd like more?" he asked, looking up at Jim.
"No, what?"
"I'd rather look on this as a celebration of the first day of the rest of our lives... together."
"Are you sure?" Jim asked, his brow furrowed. "Because it's not like I have anything to offer you--"
"Do you love me?" Blair interrupted softly.
"More than life itself," Jim replied, smiling tenderly.
"Then that's all I need. Now, are you going to help me blow out this candle or not?"
Eyes bright with unshed tears, lips parted, Ellison blew gently. Briefly the flame flickered, dying altogether as Blair added a puff of his own.
The search was over. That which neither believed existed, now sat a hairsbreadth away. Perched on a precipice, the future loomed frighteningly before them. None of it mattered. Because whatever happened, they now knew they would no longer have to face it alone.
The End
