The killer gazed with cold satisfaction at his work. He was a thorough man; he never left a job unfinished. Reaching down, he used the bloody knife in his hand to cut a lock of hair from the head of the beautiful young woman. He fingered the long, dark curls, running them over his face, inhaling the scent of flowery shampoo. He looked down again to admire what was left of her small, perfect body and sweet face. Mara. What a beautiful name, he'd told her. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Aaron smiled as he tucked the curls into his shirt pocket. Then he frowned as he noticed the blood spattering his shirtfront; he'd been clumsy with this one. The Cascade Slasher unbuttoned his shirt as he stepped out of the alley, and grinned as he saw the construction site across the street. Perfect.

Jim Ellison jogged up the stairs to the loft he shared with his friend and partner, Blair Sandburg. He was just rounding the corner to head down the hallway to #307, when his Sentinel ears picked up the sounds of scuffling and straining. He came around the corner and saw a young man in a brown delivery uniform hefting a large crate down the hallway. The man was red-faced and puffing, obviously overexerting himself. Jim was surprised the guy was still standing; it was a long trip up the stairs from the street. Jim spoke as he came toward the man, "Hey, can I give you a hand with that?" Jim smiled, and then hurried forward to take hold of one end of the crate, just as the man lost his grip on it. "Whoa," Ellison muttered, "It's OK, I've got it. Where are you headed with this monster?"

The delivery man smiled gratefully and took a deep breath. "Oh, you are a life saver, man!" He leaned down and grabbed his end of the crate. "It's not much further, number 307!" He started down the hall again, leading the crate and Jim with him.

"307?" Jim glanced up. "That's me!" He studied the large crate. What on Earth could this be?

"Oh, are you Sandburg?" the delivery man asked, glancing at the address label on his end of the crate. "Blair Sandburg?"

Jim sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. Great. Another box full of ancient artifacts from Northern God Knew Where for his roommate to cheerfully strew about the loft. "No, that's my roommate... the slob."

Blair looked up at the sound of thumping just outside the door to the loft. Curious, he stood and crossed to open the door. He was surprised to see Jim and a delivery man struggling down the corridor toward him, carrying a large crate. Quickly he backed into the room and held the door wide open, allowing the two men to enter.

With a grunt, the delivery man laid down his end of the crate and addressed Blair, as Jim followed suit with his end. "Are you Blair Sandburg?" asked the delivery man, wiping sweat from his forehead with his shirt sleeve.

Blair nodded, still staring at the crate, enthusiasm beginning to build. "Yeah. Is this for me?" Blair knelt to examine the crate. It was about two and a half feet high and wide, and about four feet long. He couldn't imagine what it could be; he wasn't expecting anything like this.

"What is it, Chief?" Jim asked, leaning against the kitchen counter as Blair signed for the delivery. Jim closed the door as the delivery man left, before speaking to Blair again. "This had better not be another load of mess-fodder from some museum in Tasmania, or wherever!" Jim's glare was wasted; Blair was too caught up in trying to figure out what the package was.

Blair searched for a return address label among all the "FRAGILE", "THIS END UP" and "HANDLE WITH CARE" stickers. It certainly seemed like a package from a museum, but Blair was sure there was nothing coming to him. Not to his home address, anyway. At last he located the address label, and his face brightened. Naomi Sandburg! He looked up at Jim with a wide smile. "It's from Mom!" he exclaimed. He quickly began to look for a way to open the crate. He tried to wedge his fingers under the lid, grimacing at the tight fit.

Jim crossed to the kitchen and retrieved a flathead screwdriver from the utility drawer. "Here Chief, let me. You're gonna hurt yourself." Jim gently pulled Blair away and set to work with the screwdriver. With a crack of splintering wood, and a screeching of nails pulling free, the lid came away. Jim set the lid aside and then joined Blair in pulling out the load of shredded newspaper on top to reveal... "Popcorn? Your mom sent you a crate full of popcorn?" Jim stared into the crate in amazement.

Blair was laughing at him. "No, man, that's just what Mom uses for packing material! Much more eco-friendly than those Styro Peanuts most people use!" Blair dove into the corn, elbow deep, feeling around for whatever was inside. He was just beginning to think that Jim was right; Mom HAD sent him nothing but popcorn, when his fingers connected with something smooth and flat, rounded on the edge. "What...," he began, running his hands over the object. Suddenly he realized what it was, and crowed happily as he lifted out an acoustic guitar. "YES! She did it! I can't believe she did it!" Blair jumped to his feet, cradling the guitar in his arms. He smiled down at Jim, who was staring at the instrument in disbelief.

"You play, Chief?" Jim asked. He grinned and shook his head, getting to his feet to follow the excited young man to the couch. It seemed like every other week Ellison learned of a new talent his partner had.

Blair sat down cross-legged on the couch, put the guitar in position on his lap and strummed his long fingers across the strings. He grimaced at the dull, toneless sound that was produced. "What the...? It shouldn't sound like that! I wonder...," he turned the guitar on its back to examine. "Oh, MOM!" Blair sighed and gave a pained look up at Ellison, who stood over him.

Jim had a few friends who played guitar, but he didn't know much about them, except that they seemed to need constant tuning. He gave Blair a curious glance as the young man raised the instrument and peered into the soundhole. "What's wrong Chief? Is it out of tune?"

"Yeah, among other things...," Blair began. He flipped the guitar over and shook an avalanche of popcorn out of the soundhole.

"SANDBURG!!!!" Jim bellowed, staring in disbelief at the corn that was now scattered all over the floor.

"What?" Blair looked up innocently, as he continued to shake the last few kernels out of the instrument. He glanced at the floor, and quickly bit back a giggle. "I'm sorry Jim! I'll get it in a minute, I promise!" Guitar fully cleared of popcorn, Blair repositioned it on his lap and began to tune it.

Jim sighed, and went to fetch a dustpan and broom. He grinned as he heard Blair humming certain notes, trying to tune the strings to match his voice. Jim waited until Blair had finished before asking, "So why did she send you this, all of a sudden?" He came back to the living room and began to sweep the corn into a pile.

Blair was running his hands over the guitar, almost dreamily. His eyes clouded over slightly as he spoke. "This was a gift to Mom from one of her significant others, years and years ago. Mom never got around to learning how to play it, so I sort of inherited it. I started playing when I was about 14 years old, but hadn't done much with it since I started college." He laid his head down on the side of the instrument and smiled at Jim, who had knelt to push the pile of corn into the dustpan. "A few months ago Mom found this thing in the attic, just collecting dust. She called and told me, and said she'd have it cleaned and re-strung for me, but I thought she'd forgotten." He sat up and repositioned the guitar in his lap. "Let me see if I remember...,"

Jim crossed to the kitchen with the dustpan full of popcorn. He dumped it into the trash and was replacing the broom and dustpan in their proper places, when he froze. Blair was playing the guitar and singing...and he was GOOD.

"I can't fight this feeling any longer...," Blair sang, "And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow.... What started out as friendship, has grown stronger.... I only wish I had the strength to let it show...."

Jim was walking slowly toward the couch, mesmerized. Blair had the sweetest baritone voice he'd ever heard; it was like listening to an angel. Carefully, quietly, so as not to disturb his young friend, Jim sat down at the opposite end of the couch and just listened. Blair's eyes were closed, and he rocked slowly in time with his playing.

"And even as I wander, I'm keepin' you in sight! You're a candle in the window on a cold dark winter's night....," Blair was in heaven. He'd forgotten how much he loved this, the sound of the guitar, the feel as it vibrated against his chest. He'd forgotten how much he loved to sing this song, and what it had meant to him. "And I'm...." He'd forgotten the words. He opened his eyes. What was the next line? He tried again. "And I'm... I... I'm.... Damn...." He huffed in annoyance with himself, and was turning to apologize to Jim, when...

"And I'm gettin' closer than I ever thought I might," Jim said quickly. He didn't sing; he knew Blair would rather listen to fingernails on a blackboard than his singing. Jim was dreadful, and he knew it. He smiled at Blair, and gestured for the young man to continue.

"And I'm gettin' closer than I ever thought I might...." Blair sang, with a grateful wink and nod to his partner. A crack about Santana crossed the young anthropologist's mind, but he let it go for now. "And I can't fight this feeling anymore.... I've forgotten what I started fightin' for." Suddenly Blair was in high school again, back when he'd first played this song. "It's time to bring this ship in to the shore... and throw away the oars... forever." He was seventeen years old, and he was in love. He was in love with.... {Oh God, no.... Don't make me remember! Please, don't make me remember that!} Blair's mind shouted. "And I can't fight this...feeling...any...."

Jim had closed his eyes, lulled into relaxation by his friend's previously unknown musical talents. Blair was incredible, for an amateur. Jim was almost asleep, when he heard the change in Blair's voice. It lost its resonant beauty, then cracked painfully and stopped. The guitar fell silent. Jim opened his eyes to ask what was wrong, and then sat up quickly. Blair was crying. Jim came to sit close to him, gently taking him by the shoulders. "Hey...hey Chief, what is it?" Jim asked softly.

Blair closed his eyes against the memories, but it was too late. Visions of Laura filled his mind. Laura playfully pretending not to notice the small, curly-haired sophomore that worshipped the ground she walked upon. Laura at last talking to him, asking him out. He, refusing the date, nervous beyond belief, not ready to care about someone, wary from past hurts. Then at last, months later, agreeing to go out with her. {We'll go up to Eagle's Watch,} Blair had said excitedly. {You've gotta see the cave paintings up there!} Blair remembered the hike up the mountain. The view. The sunset.

"No...," Blair's own voice reached his ears, choked with sorrow. He was barely aware of Jim gently taking the guitar from his grasp and laying it on the coffee table. Then the big, strong arms came around him and held him tight. Soothing hands on his back, against his scalp. Blair felt himself crumbling against Jim, crushed by memories so painful his mind had blocked them out until now.

Jim held his friend, feeling helpless and confused. What the hell just happened? One minute Blair was singing happily, playing the guitar and the next minute.... Jim whispered softly to his partner, "Blair.... Blair, talk to me." He felt Sandburg shake his head, the quiet sobs at last coming to an end. Jim sat back and studied the pale, tear-streaked face in front of him. "Please, Chief.... I want to help. " Jim's blue eyes were full of concern and worry.

Blair shook his head, taking a deep breath and wiping the moisture from his face. "It's nothing, man. I'm all right." He tried to stand up, but Jim had hold of his shoulders.

The big detective spoke, "You're not all right, Sandburg. You're just about the farthest from 'all right' that I've ever seen you!" Jim didn't mean to sound as harsh as he did, but his concern was affecting his voice.

Blair sighed, and gently pushed Jim's hands away. "Please, Jim. I just need a minute." Blair slowly got to his feet and moved like a sleepwalker to his room, closing the door behind him.

Jim stared after him, then sighed and carefully picked up the guitar. He crossed the living room and set the instrument against the wall in the corner, out of harm's way. If only he could do the same with his partner, he thought. Keep him out of harm's way. Blair had just shown Jim another tiny piece of his obscure past. A painful piece, from the look of things. Ellison trained his ears on the tiny room his friend occupied, and frowned at the sounds of quiet crying that emanated from within.

"Ellison, Sandburg... in my office, please," Simon called from the doorway, gesturing to the two men who stood at Jim's desk. The Captain fought down a grin as Jim started toward him, reaching back to tug on Blair's arm, urging the anthropologist to follow. Simon turned to go back into his office, shaking his head. Who would've thought it, James Ellison becoming so attached to this kid? Sandburg tended to annoy the hell out of Simon, but his temper was nothing compared to Jim's. So why did this relationship work so well? Simon thought about it often, and had come to his own conclusion. He kept it to himself, though, not sure how his conclusion would be received by Jim and Blair.

Jim moved into the office, then stepped aside to let Blair past him. He gestured for Blair to take the empty chair as he sat down on the edge of Simon's table. "What's up Captain?" Jim asked, as the usual coffee ritual was carried out, everyone passing mugs around.

Simon took a sip of his coffee. "We have a lead in the Slasher murders." He glanced up as both Jim and Blair stiffened. Jim's face brightened at the news; the Captain knew this Slasher case had been driving him nuts for the past two weeks, since the discovery of the first body. Jim, like everyone else, wanted to put an end to the killing spree.

Sandburg, on the other hand, started to look sick, setting his untouched coffee aside. Simon felt for the young man; he'd been with Jim when they'd examined each of the five bodies, three women and two men. The "Cascade Slasher" was brutal, sexually assaulting his young victims, male and female, then eviscerating them like a hunter gutting a deer. Simon remembered Blair moving away to discreetly toss his cookies at the discovery of the last body, a woman, who basically looked like she'd had a trip through a meat grinder. Even Simon had felt his stomach turn a bit at that one, so he wasn't surprised at Blair's reaction.

Jim glanced sideways at his partner, hearing the familiar heartbeat begin to accelerate. Jim sighed. He wished Blair didn't have to be a part of this. The kid wasn't a cop, wasn't trained to deal with this sort of thing. The sight of that victim had really upset him yesterday. Jim reached over and gave Blair's shoulder a reassuring pat as he addressed his Captain. "What's the lead, sir?"

Blair listened as Simon explained the situation. There was a construction site downtown, a high-rise that was being put up in the same area that the Slasher's victims had been found. Apparently, one of the workmen had discovered a bloody shirt hidden in one of the disposal bins on the site. Tangled in the fabric of the shirt was a navel ring identified by Hank and Beth Wilson as belonging to their daughter Mara, the Slasher's latest victim. It had apparently been yanked out of her body as she was raped. The blood on the shirt was of the same type as Mara's. It was a large man's shirt that had been found, and Mara was tiny, like the other victims. This plus the fact that Mara had still been wearing her clothes when she'd been discovered led forensics to believe the shirt belonged to the killer.

"Why would the killer just leave his shirt someplace?" Blair asked uncertainly.

Simon shrugged. "We're not sure, possibly because the victim's blood was all over it. The killer may have been trying to get rid of the evidence. The workman said it was stuffed way down under a bunch of rubble. The only reason he found it was that a bulldozer accidentally knocked the disposal bin over and spilled it."

"Has forensics been able to tell much about the killer from the shirt?" Jim asked.

Simon nodded. "Well for one thing, it looks like your idea of the hair fetish was right on," he said to Jim. "They found a handful of Mara's hair in the shirt pocket, cut off cleanly, almost as if the guy was taking a trophy."

Jim nodded. This sicko apparently had a preference for long, dark curly hair. He glanced uneasily at Blair as the young man reached up to push back his own mane of burnt-umber curls. "Anything new about him physically, Simon?"

The Captain smiled. "Yes, it's one of the biggest beaks we've had on this case," he replied. "Forensics found two strands of hair clinging to the collar of the shirt. Blue hair."

"Blue?" Jim asked, checking to see that he'd heard right.

Simon nodded. "Uh huh. Bright blue." He handed Jim a plastic bag.

"So.. what, we're gonna put an APB out on Cookie Monster?" Blair giggled. He quickly swallowed his mirth as Simon glared at him.

Jim held the evidence bag up to the light and examined the two strands of hair. Then he opened the bag and sniffed carefully, focusing his Sentinel senses. "I smell chemicals of some sort, strong ones, " Jim said, glancing up at Simon, who nodded.

"Forensics said it's something called...," Simon checked the file in his hand. "Colorshock?" The Captain looked up at his team, shrugging. Jim continued to sniff the contents of the bag.

Blair perked up. "Oh yeah, man. Colorshock is like, the most popular hair color around this year. It's what the students in the Art Department at the University use." Blair smiled at the raised eyebrows of his partner.

"OK Chief, great. That means it's pretty easy to get hold of, right?" Jim sighed, feeling his relief at the lead beginning to fade. If this hair coloring stuff was so common....

Blair shook his head. "No man, actually it's not. There was some big fuss raised earlier this year about the safety of the product, something about the chemicals leaking into the scalp through the bloodstream, but a lot of my friends from the University think it was a big Government hoax. You know, trying to regain some state of what they call 'normalcy' in the appearance of the new generation of...,"

"SANDBURG!" Jim and Simon said in unison.

Blair glanced up in surprise. Jim quickly rotated his finger, gesturing for the young man to cut to the chase. "Oh, right!" Blair said quickly. He ignored the annoyed sighs of his Captain and partner as he continued, "Anyway, because of all that trouble, only one or two places in the city carry the stuff. One of them is Punk Central Station," Blair looked up at Jim and Simon, adding, "Which is two blocks from the construction site."

Jim looked at Simon and smiled. This was turning out to be a very good lead, indeed.

Continue on to Part 2