This is a story about the aftermath of the rape of one of the main characters. I'm rating this story PG-13 for strong language and content. This story is very important to me and I'd like to know how it makes you feel.
This version appeared in Linda's zine The Sentry Post #1. It was revised and scenes were added for the zine. Please contact Linda at [email protected] for more information about the zine.
DISCLAIMER: The characters and concepts of The Sentinel belong to UPN, Paramount, and Pet Fly Productions. This story, however, belongs to me. I'm making no money from it. If you wish to share it with a friend, please do so.
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Destruction
by Laura F. Schomberg
"I realized that rape is really about destroying the spirit."
--Julia Ormond, 1997 (Newsweek), referring to her role as a gang rape victim in "The Baby of Maco'n." (1994)
Blair Sandburg drove in the night, listening to the engine of his car. Maybe, if he were lucky, it would break down in a good part of town. If he were really lucky, it would last until he got home. He sighed as the car choked and sputtered. He wouldn't be lucky tonight. Spotting an open space along the side of the road, he pulled the car in just before the engine died for good. Sighing, he grabbed his backpack, pulling out his cell phone. He groaned when the digital display flashed once then shut off, the battery dead. No, he wouldn't be lucky at all tonight.
He peered forlornly down the road. Queens Avenue was the last place he wanted to be stranded. He shook his head at the irony of the street's name. Once a quiet street in the business district of Cascade, it now catered to business of a different kind. Prostitutes, dressed in their gaudiest attire, offered their bodies to any john willing to pay their price. Highly respectable business men, who wouldn't be caught dead on this street during the day, drove slowly down the street at night. To the casual observer this was just like any other red light district, until you noticed the prostitutes' voices were lower than usual, their boas and scarves carefully conceal prominent Adam's apples.
"Make a decision, Sandburg," he said to himself, leaning his head against the steering wheel. "Walk down the street and find a phone to call Jim or wait in your car until he comes looking for you." Neither was a pleasant prospect. His long hair might make some man think he worked the street even if he wasn't dressed for action. On the other hand, Jim wasn't expecting him for at least another hour. He probably wouldn't start worrying for a couple of hours after that, assuming that Blair had gone for a drink with a colleague.
"You got car trouble, sugar?"
Blair's head snapped up, turning to look at the person leaning into the open window. The man, for it was definitely a man, had long white hair streaked with silver metal strands, long silver eyelashes swept against coal-black skin. Platinum Cleopatra eye shadow framed equally dark eyes and three faux diamond gems lined his cheeks. The flamboyant makeup was matched by a tight, silver metallic dress with a plunging neckline and very short skirt.
"Ah, yeah. It's been giving me trouble all day." He took another look at the person standing beside his car. "How did you know?"
Her laughter was deep and surprisingly musical. "Sugar, if you were lookin' to party you'd be trollin' down the road. Not sittin' here lookin' like you lost your best friend."
Blair grinned. "I guess you're right."
His new companion clucked. "Sugar, if I had your eyes and smile, the money I could make." Blair blushed, feeling the heat rise in his face. "Don't worry, sugar. I know you aren't interested. Do you have a flashlight? Maybe I can help you out."
Deciding the prostitute's offer of help was nothing more than that, Blair reached under his seat, fumbling for the flashlight. His hand closed around a cool metal shaft and he pulled it out, handing it through the window. Quickly popping the hood, he climbed out of the car.
"Could you open this?" she asked, waving long, garish, silver fingernails in front of her face. As Blair lifted the hood, she continued, "By the way, what's your name? I doubt you want me to keep callin' you sugar."
"Blair." He made sure the hood was securely in place then wiped his hands on his jeans. "What's yours?"
"Miss Argent Ebony."
Blair grinned. "That explains your outfit."
Miss Ebony chuckled as she turned on the flashlight, aiming its beam at the engine. "Killer smile, gorgeous eyes, and you're educated. What a shame it's all goin' to waste."
Blair's laughter joined hers as he peered at the engine. It died quickly when Miss Ebony started to shake her head.
"Sorry, Blair. Looks like you're out of luck." The feeble light moved to another section of the engine. "I can't see anythin' that can be fixed out here. Not at night anyway."
Shoving his hands in his pockets, the anthropologist turned around and leaned against the back of the car. His new acquaintance joined him, turning off the flashlight and handing it back. They stared down the road, watching the other prostitutes plying their trade starting a block and a half down. After a few moments Blair shrugged and asked, "Is that the only phone in the area?"
Miss Ebony looked at the lighted phone booth across the street at the end of the next block. "No. But it's the only one you'll be able to use." She pointed to the few shops still open at this hour. "They won't care one whit about your sad tale."
"Thanks for your help," Blair said, pushing away from the car, running a hand through his hair. "No offense but I really don't want to walk down there. I guess I don't have much choice, though."
"I'll go with you, Blair-sugar," Miss Ebony said as the anthropologist closed the hood of his car with a bang. "No one will mess with you as long as you're with me."
"Don't you, ah, need to get back to work?"
His question was greeted by deep, lyrical laughter. "Naw. I've already 'worked' tonight. I was headin' home when I saw you."
Blair thought over his choices. 'Waiting in the car is probably no safer than going to the phone with her,' he thought. He wasn't concerned about Miss Argent Ebony's intentions--she seemed to be straight-forward with him. Rather he worried that her presence at his side wouldn't be enough to distract someone intent on a 'little fun'. Shrugging once more, he made up his mind. "Let's go."
They leisurely made their way across the road toward the only phone booth in the vicinity, passing by buildings and dark alleys along the way.
************
Captain Simon Banks strode quickly down the hallway to unit 307. He was passing by a nearby apartment when he thought he heard a familiar voice drifting through the door. Stepping closer he heard a male voice yell, "Grab him!" The voice definitely belonged to Jim Ellison.
He was about to knock when he heard a loud crash. An unfamiliar female voice cried out, "Dammit!"
Simon didn't wait to hear the rest of their exchange. He knocked loudly on the door and was soon rewarded by the sound of Jim's voice asking, "You want me to get that?"
"No. Put the damn dog in the bathroom. I'll get it." The door was opened by a tall woman with chin-length dark blonde hair and dark gray eyes. Water and soap streaked her face and clothes, dripped off her hair. She was flexing her right wrist and grimacing. Behind her, Simon could see a lamp had been knocked over.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Jim Ellison. I thought I heard him in here."
The woman turned to look behind her as Jim came out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel. "Someone looking for you."
The detective looked up, surprise showing in his eyes at the sight of his captain standing in the doorway. His long legs quickly brought him across the room to join the two people standing in the doorway.
"Simon. This is my neighbor Krys Klear," Jim said, nodding toward the woman beside him. "You've met her dog."
The captain nodded once. Without preamble he said, "Where have you been? I've been trying to get in touch with you."
Jim frowned. "Here. Krys asked me to help wash her dog. He, uh, got away from us." He noted the worry lining his friend's face. "What's wrong?"
"It's Sandburg."
Jim could feel the blood drain from his face. How long had Simon been trying to get in touch with him? The only thing that sustained him at the moment was the knowledge that his captain and friend had been trying to reach him by phone before he came looking for him in person. If Blair were dead, Simon have come straight to Jim's loft. "How bad is it?"
"From what I've been told, bad."
The detective felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he looked into Krys' concerned eyes. "Go on. Let me know how he is." He nodded, absently handing her the towel he'd been using to dry his hands. Following Simon out of the loft and down the hall, he didn't even consider wasting time by going back to his place to get his jacket.
************
Jim listened to Simon's report in stony silence during the drive to the hospital. Blair and another man, a male prostitute, had been severely beaten in an alleyway off Queen's Avenue. Only the prostitute was able to tell the officers on the scene what happened; Blair was unconscious when they arrived. When Simon told Jim that the lone witness had stated that Blair's car had broken down and they were walking to a phone when they were attacked, the guilt that grabbed hold of him was almost unbearable. Blair had mentioned having car trouble this morning. Jim knew the route he used to get to the university. He also knew what time Blair was coming home tonight. He had offered to give the young man a lift to work as he was heading out the door but he didn't push the issue when Blair refused. 'I should have insisted,' Jim thought, leaning his head back against the headrest. 'I could hear how bad the engine sounded as he drove away. I should have gone after him, made him accept my offer.'
"One of the officers on the scene recognized Sandburg and notified me immediately." Simon took a deep breath, bracing himself. "Jim. . . Blair was also raped."
"Oh my god," Jim groaned. Raped. The word echoed in his mind. Jim could think of nothing worse that could happen to a person. Carolyn had once told him she'd prefer death to being raped.
"Do we know who did it?" Jim managed to ask.
"The other victim described their attackers as four men, all early 20s." Simon was quiet for a moment as he pulled into the hospital parking lot. He turned off the engine, saying, "There have been six assaults in that area in the last two months. All the victims have refused to file a report."
"Six that we know of."
"Right."
Jim got out of the car, and ran to the entrance, Simon at his side. They rushed past the admitting desk and into the emergency room. Without success, he tried to locate Blair, tried to pinpoint his scent hoping that would lead him to his roommate, his own worry and fears interfering with his ability to concentrate. The captain tapped his arm, nodding toward a doctor talking to a uniformed officer who Jim recognized, John Thompson. Thompson turned, saw Banks and Ellison down the hallway, and waved them over.
"Captain Banks, Detective Ellison, this is Doctor Bryant. He's been treating Mr. Sandburg," the officer said when the two men reached them.
"How is he?" Jim asked.
"He's not good," Bryant said dryly. "Mr. Sandburg has some broken ribs, a punctured lung. He also has a broken arm. A possible fractured skull."
"Possible fractured skull? Don't you know for sure?" Jim couldn't quite place his finger on it but there was something about this doctor he didn't like. Something about his tone as he listed Blair's injuries.
"No, we don't. Mr. Sandburg regained consciousness a few minutes ago. He won't let us continue our examination of him until he speaks to you, Detective Ellison. You are his roommate, right?"
Suddenly Jim knew exactly why he didn't like this man. His last statement practically dripped with disgust and contempt. The good doctor had assumed that Blair was gay and that Jim was his lover. The detective didn't care what this man thought about either of them but he wasn't about to let it affect his treatment of Blair. Taking a step forward he looked closely into the doctor's eyes. "Are you homophobic or just an asshole?"
The doctor stepped back. "I never thought he was gay," he said, indignantly.
"Really. How could a man beaten as badly as you say he is keep you from doing your job? Unless you didn't want to touch him." Jim felt Simon's hand on his arm but the captain didn't try to stop his next demand. "I want another doctor treating Blair."
Bryant's face reddened. He started to respond when a woman stepped between them. "I'll handle this," she told the doctor. Bryant started to say something but the woman cut him off saying, "We'll talk about this later." She took Blair's chart then dismissed Bryant as she turned to Jim and Simon. "I'm sorry about that," she said. She extended her hand to both men. "I'm Dr. Warner. I'll take over your friend's case."
Still angry, Jim asked, "Why is a man like that working here?"
"He's competent," she replied, her voice neutral. Looking over the chart she added, "Why don't you come with me. You can stay for just a minute or two. It might make things easier on Mr. Sandburg." Nodding his thanks, Jim followed her into a nearby examining room. She took the nurse monitoring Blair aside, giving the two friends some privacy.
The detective was shocked by his roommate's appearance. Tubes ran from IV bags into his left arm. His right arm was splinted. Another tube entered the left side of his chest, and Jim remembered the punctured lung. His entire upper body was a mass of ugly black and deep purple bruises. Similar bruises marred his face which also carried a deep gash over his right eye. A thin sheet protected the lower half of the young man's body. His eyes were closed.
Jim thought he might have slipped back into unconsciousness. He placed a hand on the young man's head, feeling cold, clammy skin beneath the hair. Blair cried incoherently, tried to jerk away, his eyes snapping open at the touch. The right eye only partially opened due to swelling but the fear that radiated out of Blair's left eye tore at Jim's soul.
"Hey, Chief. I'm here."
"Please. Don't touch me." His friend's plea was so quiet that only Jim's enhanced hearing could pick it up.
Jim quickly pulled his hand away. "I didn't mean to hurt you." He paused, searching for words. "Blair," he said gently, "everything's going to be all right. I'll get the guys who did this to you. Don't worry about that."
Blair gave an almost unnoticeable shake of his head.
Ignoring his friend's protest, Jim continued, "I'll take care of everything. As soon as I get out of here I'll call Naomi. Let her know what happened."
"No!" Blair tried to lift his head but couldn't find the strength. "No," he whispered.
"Blair, she would want to know. She'd want to be here."
"No. She can't know. Promise me."
Blair turned his head away but not before Jim noticed the tears that filled his eyes. Not wanting to upset the injured man further, he said, "Okay. I won't call her."
"Thank you," Blair breathed, not taking his gaze off the far wall. "Please, Jim. Go away."
Jim wanted to tell him he wouldn't leave, he wouldn't let anyone hurt him again. He tried to tell him but couldn't find his voice. He started to reach forward and place his hand on Blair's shoulder when he remembered the young man's earlier reaction and quickly pulled it back. Nodding, he whispered, "Okay, Chief. I'll be outside." He turned to walk out of the room. A portable X-ray machine was being wheeled in, blocking his path, and he felt a light touch on his arm. Dr. Warner led him past the large machine and into the hallway.
"Why don't you wait out here. I'll let you know how he is when I finish."
Jim nodded and she walked back into the room, motioning Officer Thompson to follow. He watched them till he felt Simon join him.
"I'll call Ms. Sandburg, Jim."
The detective shook his head. "He doesn't want her to know." Looking back into the treatment room, unable to see Blair for all the machines and people surrounding him, Jim said, "I want these guys, Simon."
"So do I, Jim. So do I."
************
Jim sat in the emergency waiting room, impatiently waiting for the doctor to update him on Blair's condition. Simon had left a few minutes before to talk to the other victim and personally take over the investigation into the attack. The detective wanted to be there, looking for evidence that might be missed by less sensitive eyes, but he needed to be at the hospital. He needed to know that Blair would be all right. At least physically. Jim didn't need a doctor to tell him his young friend had a long hard psychological battle ahead of him.
Once more he considered focusing on his hearing, listening to the doctor and nurses as they worked on Blair, and once more he chose not to. Blair had asked him to go away. Jim knew he had meant more than just leave the room; he'd also meant not to listen. The detective wasn't about to betray the kid by eavesdropping. Not when maintaining his trust was so important.
Nervous energy pushed Jim to his feet. He was about to start pacing, anything to vent some of his frustration, his anger, when he saw Dr. Warner come through the emergency room doors. He marched across the room to join her. She nodded silently at him before indicating that he should follow. Nothing was said until after she led Jim into a small unoccupied treatment room.
Closing the door, the doctor turned to Jim. "I'll give you the good news first. There *is* some. His skull isn't fractured and there is no evidence of intercranial hemorrhaging." She looked up into Jim's eyes. "Now for the bad news. As Bryant told you he has broken ribs, five to be exact. One punctured his lung. That problem has been taken care of. His right arm was broken and it will be set after he gets out of surgery. He's also going to need stitches in the gash above his right eye." Another deep breath. "And in his rectum. He was. . . He suffered skin and muscle tearing in that region but his pelvis wasn't broken in the assault."
Dr. Warner took a deep breath. "There's more. He's bleeding internally. They're taking him to surgery as we speak. It's probably his spleen--the pain is localized to the left side of his abdomen." She paused. "His chances are 80/20. It's going to depend on how much blood he's lost, how quickly they can stop the bleeding, and how quickly they can replace the lost blood."
Jim nodded, shocked, unable to speak, his hands clenched at his sides. Finally finding his voice he said, "I should call his mother."
Warner nodded. "I can let you use the phone in the doctor's lounge."
"I can't. I promised him I wouldn't call her."
"So that's why he wanted to see you." Jim nodded. The doctor sighed. "Detective, many rape victims feel the way your friend does. Why don't you wait, see how the surgery turns out. If it looks bad I'd call his mother, no matter what he asked. If it goes well. . . he can tell her when he's ready."
Jim stared out the door, trying to gain control over his emotions, the only thing he could control at the moment. Latching onto police procedure, he asked, "Do you have the evidence from the rape kit?"
"I've sent it with Officer Thompson." Taking a close look at Jim, she added, "Don't worry, I've done this before."
Jim shook his head. "I'm sure you know what you're doing. I'm just. . ." He lapsed into silence.
"You're just worried about your friend. Listen, it's going to be awhile. You look like you could use some sleep. You can stay here." She gestured to the unoccupied examining bed. "I'll let you know when I hear anything."
"Thanks," Jim mumbled.
Warner turned back before leaving the room. "For what it's worth, completely off the record, Bryant is a jerk. Even if your friend was a purple people eater he didn't deserve to be attacked or raped. No one does."
"A what?"
She shook her head. "Something my father used to sing to me." She then left him alone, turning off the light on her way out the door.
Jim stood in the dark for a minute. He sat on the bed, his head bowed, and prayed for Blair's life and sanity.
************
Simon checked with the charge nurse before walking into Miss Argent Ebony's room. Gone were her metallic silver wig and dress. The makeup had been cleaned off her face along with blood. A white bandage, covering her left cheek, stood out against her indigo face. The eye above the bandage was swollen shut, the lips below equally swollen. The nurse had told Simon that the bone in Miss Ebony's cheek was broken and would be surgically repaired in the morning. She had also told the captain that the prostitute was still awake, although somewhat dopey.
"Excuse me, Miss Ebony," Simon said as he approached the bed.
She turned her head toward him but didn't respond.
"I'm Captain Banks, Cascade PD. I've come to take your statement. If you feel up to it."
"Sure darlin'. I'm up to it." Miss Ebony laughed. "I wasn't expectin a captain, though."
Simon pulled a micro tape recorder from his coat pocket. "Do you mind if I tape this?"
"Imagine. A handsome captain come to talk to me."
Early in his career Simon had learned the importance of patience. Especially when interviewing victims. He'd seen victims of lesser crimes than this freeze up when interviewed by an impatient officer, unable to continue their tales. Simon didn't want that to happen here. Too much was at stake.
Pulling a nearby chair closer to the bed, Simon pressed the record button, placing the tape recorder on the table next to Miss Ebony's bed. "I'm in charge of this case," he explained.
That piece of information seemed to reach past the pain killers shrouding the prostitute's mind. "Really," she said, a dubious expression on her face. "A captain in charge of an attack on Queen's Avenue? Why care about what happens there now?"
"Mr. Sandburg, the man who was with you, is a special consultant for the department."
"Oh, I see."
Simon waited, unsure if Miss Ebony was offended.
"That tells me why the police are more interested than usual," she finally continued. "But why are you interviewin' me?"
"Blair is my friend," Simon admitted.
"So it's personal."
The captain nodded.
"All right," Miss Ebony said. "What do you want to know?"
"Just tell me what happened. Start with meeting Blair."
"I had called it a night and was headin' home. I heard this car comin' down the road. It sounded pretty bad, I could tell it wasn't goin' to get much further. Well, I saw the car pull over and went to see if I could help." She smiled, then winced slightly. "I'm afraid I made your friend nervous." Simon waited as Miss Ebony lapsed into silence. "We couldn't fix the car and he didn't seem sure what to do next. I told him I'd walk with him to the phone."
"Why did you do that?" the captain asked when she once again stopped talking.
"He was a nice kid. And he knew what my name meant." Noticing Simon's quizzical expression, she sighed and said, "Miss Argent Ebony. Silver-metal Black." One hand went to her bare head. "I guess it makes more sense with the whole outfit." The hand dropped to her side. "I knew none of the girls would mess with him if he were with me," Miss Ebony explained. "And I figured that if any john did show an interest I could dissuade them."
"I see."
"He told me he was an anthropologist. Is that true?"
Her sudden question surprised Simon. "Yes. He's working on his doctorate."
"That explains all his questions. He wanted to know why I did this, all about it. And he was really interested too. Not merely passin' time like most johns."
"How did the attack occur?"
"We were passin' this one alley when these four," she paused, taking a deep breath, "men," she spat, "came out and dragged us into the alley." She took another deep breath before continuing, "One of them held Blair while the other three beat me. When I went down they kept on kickin'. Two of them had silver-toed boots." Miss Ebony paused, a small disgusted chuckle escaped her lips. "Silver-toed boots." She shook her head. "Blair yelled at them, told them to stop. And they did. Oh, he should have been quiet. They might have forgotten about him." She took a deep, shaky breath before continuing. "They left me lyin' on the ground and started in on him. I tried to get up. To get help." Quiet sobs began to shake her body. "I tried."
Simon stood up, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. His eyes trailed down to the brace that wrapped Miss Ebony's torso. Hard plastic, designed to keep the body from moving. She hadn't said where she had been kicked. The duty nurse, though, had told Simon. At least one blow had landed against her lower spine, breaking a vertebra. It was too soon to tell if Miss Argent Ebony would ever walk again.
************
"Detective Ellison?"
Jim jerked awake at the sound of his name. He looked through the dark toward the door. Anyone else wouldn't have been able to tell who was standing in the door, the light behind them turning their body into a silhouette, but Jim's sensitive eyes could pick out the pale skin, dark brown hair, warm brown eyes, and concerned expression of Dr. Warner. The look on her face sent him stumbling off the examining bed, forgetting where he had been sleeping.
"How is he?" He quickly crossed the distance between them.
Laying a comforting hand on Jim's arm, she said, "They were able to repair his spleen. He's in Recovery now. Physically, he should recover fully."
The detective easily understood what Warner meant; Blair's emotional recovery was another matter altogether. Wanting his friend to have a doctor Jim knew, one who had already shown her sympathy toward the young man, he asked, "Are you staying on his case?"
"We ER docs don't usually take the attending physician position," she answered. Jim fought for control, fought to keep her from seeing his surprise and disappointment. His battle became easier when she continued, "But I like to keep a close eye on the rape cases I handle."
"Good. Who will be his doctor?"
"Dr. Anderson did the surgery. He'll be Mr. Sandburg's primary doctor. He's a good man."
"Can I see Blair?"
Warner nodded. "For a few minutes. Your captain's looking for you, by the way."
Jim took a deep breath, recognizing the faint smell of cigar smoke that floated into the room. "Where is he?"
She looked over her shoulder, down the hall. "He's out here. Come on. I'll show you both to Recovery."
The detective followed her out of the room. Simon fell into step beside him as they walked to the elevators at the end of the hall. Neither man spoke until the elevator doors shut behind the three people.
"Anything?" Jim asked, knowing Simon would understand his question.
The captain shook his head, disgusted. "No. We've got Sandburg's car. That's all."
Silence filled the elevator as its door opened on the second floor. Dr. Warner stepped off first, putting space between herself and the two policemen, allowing them some privacy. Simon kept his eyes on the woman as he said, "Sandburg should get a new car."
Jim sighed. "You think I haven't tried to talk him into doing just that? He says he likes the Corvair. 'It's a classic'."
Simon grunted. "I remember when I was Sandburg's age. I owned a 'classic,' too. No matter how many times it broke down I refused to replace it. Until Daryl came along." He chuckled. "Then I had to get a more reliable means of transportation."
Warner waited for the two men to catch up to her at the door to Recovery. When they did she said, "You can only stay for a few minutes. They'll be coming to move him soon."
"I've made arrangements for him to get a private room," Simon told Jim. The detective nodded his appreciation, holding the door for his tall friend. "No, Jim. I'll wait out here."
Jim nodded once more and walked into the room, letting the door close behind him. In the hall he heard Simon asking about Blair's injuries. He switched his focus to the young man who lay on the gurney in front of him. Jim couldn't remember a time he'd seen Blair so still. Even in sleep the anthropologist seemed to have bursts of energy, going from peaceful slumber to restlessness. At first it had kept Jim awake, worrying the kid was having nightmares, but eventually he'd come to realize Blair's restlessness in sleep was similar to his almost constantly moving hands, excess energy. Watching Blair's motionless form Jim suddenly remembered two other times he'd seen his friend like this: when Zeller shot him point-blank in the chest and when Lash had drugged him, getting him ready to drown in a near-by duck pond. The memories chilled him, bringing up old regrets to add to new.
Jim placed a hand on Blair's head, careful not to touch the bandage covering stitches over his right eye. "I promise you I'll get the men who did this to you," he whispered, even though the injured man couldn't hear him. He remained that way, one hand touching Blair, listening to the anthropologist's heartbeat, reassuring himself the young man was still living, until he felt a hand on his arm.
"Come on, Jim," Simon said. "They're here to take Blair to his room." The captain then stepped away, blocking the orderlies, giving Jim one more minute.
Brushing the hair away from Blair's face, Jim whispered, "Get better, Chief. I need my Guide." Taking a deep breath, he thought, 'I need my friend.' Reluctantly he moved aside and watched the orderlies wheel Blair away.
************
Jim insisted on being driven to the scene of Blair's assault. Simon complied, not expecting even the detective's Sentinel abilities to turn up something missed by the officers who had combed the scene earlier. Bloodstains on the wall, the ground, were already circled by investigators. The alley was clean, nothing being left to chance. The only thing left for Jim's sensitive senses were the smells. He tried sifting through the different odors, searching for something that couldn't be connected to the officers investigating the case, something lingering on the bricks or ground, with no success. When he finally gave up Simon drove him back to the loft, each man lost in his own thoughts.
************
The sun was rising when Simon's car pulled in front of Jim's building.
"Jim," Simon said.
The detective turned, one leg already out of the car. "Yeah, Simon."
"You look like hell. Get some rest. I don't want to see you back at the station before two."
"Simon, I. . ."
"I can make it an order if I need to, Jim. You won't do Sandburg any good if you collapse." He took his glasses off and scrubbed his eyes. "He's going to need you."
"Yes, sir." He didn't bother asking how his captain would be able to see him if Simon stayed home as well.
Jim walked slowly up the stairs and down the hallway, uncertain what he could do for the next several hours. He'd been kicked out of the hospital by Dr. Warner until he got some real sleep and a shower. She was going off duty herself but promised someone would call Jim if Blair woke up. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the exhaustion weighing him down. His hand was reaching for his door knob when he heard a door open behind him. Turning around, he saw Krys leading her dog out of her apartment.
The tall woman closed her door behind her before turning to look down the hallway. Seeing Jim, she walked over to him, the dog's leash dangling from her wrist. "Just getting back?"
Jim nodded.
"What happened? How is he?"
The detective thought over his reply to his neighbor. Blair didn't want him to call Naomi to tell her what had happened. Deciding the young man would be even more upset if he told Krys the truth, Jim answered, "He was mugged. He's hurt pretty bad but the doctor said he'd be all right."
"That's good." She took a close look at Jim. "God, you look awful."
Jim shrugged, starting to turn away when Krys asked, "Should I come by today? Later in the afternoon? Do you think he'd be up for visitors?"
Unsure that Blair would want any visitors, Jim replied, "Why don't you wait until tomorrow. He had to have some surgery last night. I doubt he's up to having any visitors today."
"Surgery?" Krys asked, shock showing in her voice and on her face.
"He was...beaten pretty badly. They had to repair his spleen."
"Oh my god! That's awful."
Jim nodded, feeling the exhaustion seeping into his bones. "I'll let you know when he's ready for visitors." She nodded her thanks, turning to lead her Great Dane down the hallway.
Jim entered his loft and shut the door. He started unbuttoning his shirt as he went up the flight of stairs to his room. Quickly stripping off his clothes, he collapsed onto his bed, laying on his back. As exhausted as he was, Jim thought sleep would come easily. It didn't. The loft was too silent. Images of Blair lying in the emergency room flashed in front of his eyes, guilt waged battle with frustration and rage. Finally he drifted into a restless sleep.
************
The shrill ring of the phone jerked Jim out of an uneasy slumber. He reached across, fumbling for the phone beside his bed. "Ellison," he managed to get out, uncertain if the person on the other end would understand him.
"This is Julie Matthews. I'm Mr. Sandburg's nurse at Cascade Memorial. Is this James Ellison?"
Jim sat up, suddenly fully awake. "Yes. Is he all right?"
"He's doing as well as can be expected. He's awake. Dr. Warner asked me to call you when he woke up."
"Right," Jim said. "Thank you." He hung up the phone. Moving quickly he grabbed some clothes, tossing them on the bed before heading down to the shower. He stayed in the shower long enough to let the heat work some of the tension out of his muscles before swiftly scrubbing himself all over and rinsing off. He wasn't planning on eating, didn't want to waste the time, but a loud grumble from his stomach changed his mind. Deciding to grab something along the way, he raced back up the stairs, quickly dressed, and left the loft.
**********
Jim strode down the hall, changing direction when he saw Joel Taggart, the Precinct's bomb expert, standing next to the nurses station talking on the phone. He walked up behind his colleague, listening to his end of the conversation.
"About fifteen minutes." The man paused, listening to the person on the other end. Jim briefly considered turning up his hearing to catch the other side of the conversation and quickly dismissed the idea. He had a pretty good idea who Taggart was talking to. "No, Simon. He didn't say anything about what happened." The heavy-set captain paused again before saying, "Most of the guys at the station feel real bad for the kid." He paused again, nodding his head. "That's right." Shifting his position, Taggart spotted Jim. "I'm going to head back to the station." He nodded to the detective. "Right. Later, Simon." Taggart hung up the phone, turning to face Jim. "Hi, Jim. I didn't hear you come up behind me. How much of the conversation did you hear?"
"Enough." Jim decided to ask his friend about the part of the conversation that confused him. "What did you mean 'Most of the guys at the station'?"
"Don't worry about the others, Jim. They don't know Sandburg well." He looked like he wanted to say more but didn't. Instead he said, "He didn't talk to me while I was in there. Kept looking out the window."
Jim clenched his jaw, felt the muscles pull against the bone, his teeth grind against each other. He took a deep breath, forcing the muscles to relax. "Thanks for coming over. He may not show it, but I think Blair appreciates your visit."
Taggart nodded. "Give him time." He clasped Jim's shoulder. "I need to get back to the station."
Jim watched Taggart move slowly down the hallway before walking over to Blair's room. The detective felt the muscles in his face, neck, and shoulders tensing as he considered what Joel had said, and what he hadn't said. He tried to determine which of his coworkers didn't know Blair well, who would see this as anything other than a vicious attack. He knew that sometimes people blamed rape victims for the attack. Surely that wasn't what Taggart meant. After all, these were civilians and officers who were used to dealing with victims of violent crimes. Jim shook his head, trying to clear the questions about his coworkers that began to fill his mind. It wasn't going to help Blair to dwell on this at the moment.
He took a deep breath before entering Blair's room. He sat down in a chair close to the bed and examined his friend, noting his pale complexion and shallow breathing. Purple-black bruises, vivid against pale skin, swelled his right eye shut, and seemed to bleed down his face. A white bandage, shocking in its contrast to the mottled skin beneath, covered the area above his eye. Similar bruises, only slightly less vicious in appearance, played across the left side of his face. His chest was bare, skin marred by deep bruises, a handful of electrodes snaking back to the monitors behind him. Blair's right arm was encased in a cast from his hand to just above his elbow. Jim could make out the bandages surrounding his abdomen through the sheet. Blair didn't say anything when Jim came in. He simply stared at the ceiling.
Breaking the silence, Jim asked, "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Blair mumbled, turning his head to look out the window.
Jim considered teasing him, telling the young man he didn't look 'fine' but decided against it. He didn't think Blair would appreciate the attempted humor. "Has the doctor been by?"
"No."
Deciding to fill the anthropologist in on his injuries, Jim said, "You've got a few stitches in your head but nothing serious there. Some broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a broken arm." He paused as Blair looked down at the cast covering his right arm. His uninjured hand moved down to the bandage covering his abdomen and Jim supplied, "They were able to repair your spleen." The detective was uncertain how to tell his friend about the other injury. Deciding to be honest and tell the young man everything, he said, "They also had to repair some damage to your...." His words stuck in his mouth as Blair roughly shook his head, tears barely contained as he turned away again.
"I don't want to talk about it," the anthropologist whispered.
Jim said, "I know this is hard for you Chief, but I need you to tell me what happened last night."
"Jim, please," the young man begged, eyes closed, face turned away from his roommate. "I . . . I don't want to talk about it."
"I tried to get something at the scene but my senses couldn't pick anything up. Is there anything you can tell me?" Jim persisted. "Anything that would give me a hint on where to go with this?"
"Just leave it alone." Blair's eyes opened, allowing tears to slide down his face.
"Blair," Jim said, his voice softening. "I just want to catch these guys. Don't you want that?"
"No." Blair turned, looking at Jim for the first time. "I just. . . just leave me alone. Please, Jim," he pleaded, looking back toward the window.
Jim started to say more, to try to reassure Blair, let him know he wouldn't let anyone else hurt him, when the nurse entered the room. Not wanting to press the issue in front of an audience, he said, "I've got to get to work, Chief." Jim stepped closer to the bed. "It's going to be strange without you there." He placed his hand on his friend's left shoulder. Blair jerked away, his breathing suddenly rapid, his left eye wide, fearful, locking on Jim's for an instant, then skipping away. The detective pulled his hand away. He didn't know what to do or say to ease Blair's fears. Feeling a hand on his arm, Jim jerked around, startling the nurse standing behind him.
"I'm sorry. I need to check on Mr. Sandburg," she told the man standing beside the bed.
Jim nodded. He turned back around, telling Blair, "I'll be back later."
The young man's breathing calmed as he silently stared at the ceiling. "Bye, Jim."
Jim nodded once again, turned quickly, and left the room, fighting to maintain control over his emotions.
************
By the time Jim reached the station he'd managed to regain control over his emotions by focusing on Blair's case. With single-minded determination, he walked into Major Crimes, not noticing that the conversation died when he entered the room. The overpowering silence finally made its presence known to Jim. He looked around, noticing all the people who had stopped working to stare at him. He was about to lose his temper when Brown came over.
"How's Sandburg doing?" Brown asked, glaring at the other people in the room. Work slowly resumed as they turned back to their tasks.
"Physically, he'll be fine," Jim replied, feeling the tension drain from his shoulders. Maybe Taggart was wrong. Maybe no one held the attack against Blair.
"You know I tease the hairy little guy but...," Brown trailed off. Jim waited while the other detective decided what he wanted to say. "It was just 'cause I like him. He's smart. I hope . . . I hope he comes back."
"Yeah. So do I," Jim replied. 'Would Blair come back to the station?' the detective asked himself. He remembered his visit with the young man. Blair could barely look him in the eye and he was a friend. Would he be able to face the people here? The ones who knew him and knew what had happened? People who weren't good friends?
"Me and a couple of the guys wanted to go see the kid after work but Joel said he wasn't talking to anyone," Brown said.
Jim sighed. "Today's not a good day to visit. Give him a couple of days."
"It's probably not a good idea to gang up on him either." Realizing the implication of his words, Brown said, "I didn't mean it like that."
"I understand." Jim patted him on the shoulder.
He started to turn away when he noticed two men talking at the other end of the room, looking towards him. One, Jefferson, said something to the other, Walton, and both laughed. Not liking the looks the men were giving him, Jim focused his hearing on them catching the rest of their conversation.
"I always thought that kid was too girlie to be hanging out with cops," Jefferson sneered.
"Ellison probably got someone to make up that bit about Sandburg's car breaking down." Walton said, looking at Jim.
"Yeah, didn't want anyone to know that his roommate was looking to score."
"He sure got what he wanted," Walton replied.
Jim felt the rage building up, racing from his chest to fill his body. He was about to charge across the room to shove the men's words back down their throats when someone stepped in front of him, blocking his path. He tried to move around the human obstruction, all of his focus on the two laughing across the room, but a hand grabbed his arm, jerking Jim around. The detective pulled back, ready to barrel past, and saw who was holding onto him for the first time.
"In my office," Simon said, not releasing his hold on Jim.
The detective started to protest. The words died on his lips as he noticed Brown, still standing beside him, looking at him as if he'd grown an extra head. Brown glanced to the men Jim had been staring at and back again. "You okay, man?"
Jim nodded, shrugged out of Simon's grasp, and stormed into the captain's office.
"Get back to work," Simon told the department before following Jim into his office, shutting the door behind him. Turning to look at the detective, he asked, "Do you want to tell me what that was about?"
"Do you know what Jefferson and Walton are saying about Blair?"
Simon shook his head. "No, but I can guess." He took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as he walked over to his desk. "You don't know either, by the way." Looking at Jim he added, "Unless you want to explain to the entire department how you heard their conversation from across the room."
"But, Simon, they're laughing about it. Saying that he got what he deserved." Jim refused to sit, pacing angrily around the table in the middle of the captain's office.
"They aren't the only ones," Simon said quietly.
The detective turned on his captain. Barely able to control the rage in his voice as he said, "Surely you don't think . . ."
"No," he said, cutting Jim off. "I don't think he deserved it. Some of those people out there don't like Blair. They don't feel he belongs around here. They are the ones who are joking about it." Simon shook his head. "Not a single one would say a word around you if they thought you could hear them."
"How do you know this? Have they ever said anything to Blair?"
"Yes, they have."
Jim stopped his pacing, slowly moving to sit in a chair in front of Simon's desk. "Why didn't he say anything to me?"
"Probably because he thought you'd create a fuss about it." Pointing a finger at the detective's chest, he added, "Like you were about to do just now."
"He told you?" Jim asked, surprised that Blair would confide in Simon over him.
The dark man chuckled. "No. Taggart did. He was standing behind Jefferson and Walton once when they said something to Blair." Remembering the incident, Simon smiled, "Joel threatened to put them on the bomb squad without proper training if they ever bothered the kid again."
Jim sighed. "Why didn't he say anything to me?"
"Jim, he wants to fit in. He's doing a better job of it every day. But there will always be people like Jefferson and Walton who won't let him. It's their problem, not Sandburg's, or yours." Making sure he had Jim's full attention, he added, "Unless you go around punching people for things you shouldn't have heard them say. How will that help Blair?"
"I know, Simon. But, god, it's just so hard to let it go."
"I know. If I had my druthers I'd let you pound on those guys. Hell, I'd hold them down for you. Not just for Sandburg but for everyone else they've hassled. But I can't do that."
************
At first Blair didn't recognize the woman who entered his room about an hour after Jim left. Long, dark-brown hair framed her pale face, equally dark-chocolate eyes appraised him as she crossed the room. She wore faded blue jeans and a deep cobalt sweater. It wasn't until she spoke that Blair remembered her: Dr. Warner, the doctor with gentle hands and a soft voice who'd taken over from the male doctor whose name he couldn't remember. He did remember the man's attitude, accusatory and demeaning.
"May I sit down?" she asked.
Blair nodded, relaxing slightly.
She pulled the chair back away from the bed before sitting down, her left leg tucked under her. Turning to Blair, she asked, "Has Dr. Anderson been by to see you yet?"
"No." He didn't bother to tell her that he wouldn't know this Dr. Anderson if he was standing in front of him.
She glanced down at her watch. "He'll probably be by about 6 or so." Looking back at Blair she asked, "How are you feeling?"
He gave her the same answer he had given Jim earlier. "Fine."
"Ask a stupid question." Warner smiled, leaning back in her chair. "Would you like me to tell you about your condition? Answer any questions?"
Blair started to shake his head. Jim had told him all he needed to know and more, then he remembered his companion from the night before. Turning to look out the window, unable to meet her eyes, he asked, "How's Miss Ebony?"
"The person who was brought in with you?" Blair nodded. "She's going to be here longer than you. Her back was broken, as well as her left cheekbone."
"Is she...will she be..." Blair fumbled for the words he wanted.
"Is she paralyzed?" Warner shook her head. "It's too soon to tell." She sat quietly while Blair stared out the window. When he finally turned his head back to the room she said, "She's been asking about you."
Blair's good eye closed. He gave a small shake of his head. "I don't think I can see her right now."
"I'll tell her. I'm sure she'll understand."
She sat quietly for a few moments while Blair tried to calm the fear that threatened to overtake him. Finally, he asked, "Why are you here?"
"Two reasons. First, I wanted to see how you were doing." Her smile was missed by the young man as he turned away. "I'm not like most ER doctors. I like to know what happens to the people I treat."
"The second reason," Blair said, afraid of her answer.
Warner took a deep breath. "I'm not going to sugar coat this. Typically when a rape case is brought in we complete a PERK, a physical evidence recovery kit. Now we were able to collect most of the physical samples while you were being prepped for surgery and afterward. I doubt you remember." Blair shook his head. "Do you want to know what we did?"
"No," Blair whispered.
"Okay." She paused, pulling a form out of her back pocket. "There are some questions I need to ask you. They are needed to complete the information gathered last night."
Blair took a deep breath, turning to look out the window. He didn't want to answer her questions.
"Technically, this is supposed to be done in the presence of an officer. There's usually one down in ER for one reason or another. Would you like me to get one?"
Blair shook his head. The last thing he wanted to do was answer questions in front of a uniformed officer he might know from the station.
"Would you like me to wait for your friend?"
He shook his head again. He couldn't face Jim, not right now, and admit to his friend that he hadn't been able to defend himself. 'Jim wouldn't be laying in this bed,' he thought bitterly.
Warner leaned forward, lowering her voice, "Officer Thompson was here last night. He owes me a favor. If you want, we can do this alone. I'll have him add the form to the kit."
Blair hesitated, considered telling her he didn't want to answer her questions. Jim's face, disappointment clearly evident, swam in front of his eyes. Not wanting to sink lower in his friend's opinion, he said, "All right."
"Good."
She started by asking Blair general questions; his age, where he lived. The anthropologist started to relax, even answering her questions about when he last had consensual sex without qualms. The next question, though, shattered his calm.
"Did the people who assaulted you use condoms?"
"I don't know," he answered, his breath ragged as images from the night before flashed in front of his eyes.
"It's okay," she said, moving closer to the bed but not touching him. "Take a deep breath and slowly release it. Let the memories go with it."
Blair nodded, doing as instructed. 'I should know how to do this without her help!' he berated himself.
"Are you ready?"
He took another deep breath, slowly releasing it before nodding.
"Was your mouth penetrated?"
"No."
"Last question. I'm sorry, but I have to ask this. Do you have any sexually transmitted diseases?"
Blair's good eye opened wide. Turning his head, he looked at Warner, unable to hide the sudden, overwhelming fear that shook him to the core. "No. Oh, god, no," he whispered.
"We can run tests on your blood."
"When," he started to ask, when he suddenly lost his voice.
"I'll have a nurse draw the blood, with your permission. It takes about two weeks for the results to come back. Then you'll have to be retested again in three and six months." Warner reached out with her left hand but didn't touch Blair. He grabbed her hand, suddenly needing to feel someone else's touch. She gently placed her other hand over his, not moving until Blair pulled away, turning his head back to the window, hands nervously twisting the sheet. Warner sat quietly with him for a few more minutes before leaving, promising to check on him again.
************
"What do we have so far?" Jim asked as Simon handed him a mug of coffee before sitting back down behind his desk.
"Not much." The captain took a sip of his coffee, wincing as it burned down his throat. "They didn't leave much behind. Some gum wrappers that could belong to anybody, the usual trash you find in those alleys."
"What about witnesses?"
"Only one is talking," Simon told Jim.
"You tried to talk to Blair?"
The captain nodded. "He gave a brief statement to Thompson last night but refused to talk about it with me." He shook his head. "I saw him just after he woke up. Too soon."
Jim sighed. "He wouldn't talk to me either."
"How many rape cases have you dealt with?" Simon asked.
"Two. Why?"
"I worked on quite a few before I made captain. It's not easy for the victims to talk about their assault."
"I know, Simon." Jim took a long sip of his coffee. "But he talks about everything. I just figured he'd talk about this."
"Jim, how much do you really know about the kid?"
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I asked. What do you really know about the kid?" Simon regarded Jim over the rim of his mug. "Well?"
"He's working on his doctorate," Jim started, confused. "He likes to collect baseball memorabilia."
"What does he like to collect most?"
"Anything to do with 1961."
"Why?"
Jim shrugged. "Because the Yankees won the World Series," he guessed.
"But you don't know for sure," Simon stated.
Jim nodded, beginning to see what the captain was asking.
"What I know about Sandburg is all surface. Is it the same with you?"
Looking out Simon's window, Jim answered, "Yes. I guess it is."
"He'll talk about what happened when he's ready."
"I guess," Jim repeated. Deciding to focus on what they knew, he asked, "What does the witness who's talking say?"
"Miss Ebony should make a good witness. If we ever get these guys to court. Four men, early 20s, all white, between 5' 10" and 6' 2", muscular but not muscle-bound." Simon refilled his coffee mug. "All four wore boots. Two with silver toecaps. She didn't catch their eye color in the dark but said they all had dark hair. Not enough light to tell hair color for certain."
"Did she get any names?"
Simon shook his head. "They didn't use any names. Nor did they wear anything that stood out except their boots."
Jim ran his hand over his jaw, trying to get the tensing muscles to relax. "Last night you said there had been other attacks in that area. Do you think this one is related?"
"It's possible." Simon started to take another sip of his coffee then stopped, putting the mug down and looking Jim in the eye. "I'm turning this over to Vice."
"No way, Simon!" Jim almost shouted, leaning forward. "I want this case! I need to catch these guys!"
"Hear me out, Jim." Simon waited until Jim sat back in his chair. "You're too close to this case. I'm turning this over to Vice because they are better equipped to handle cases like this. They already have a couple of guys who are going to go out tonight and try and set these guys up." The captain took off his glasses, dropping them on the desk. "Trust me, Jim. You wouldn't pass as a drag queen."
Jim started to protest then noticed the determination on Simon's face. "I want a part of this. At least give me that."
"It's already taken care of. You'll be part of the backup."
Jim grunted, not happy with being regulated to watching from a car, away from the action.
"Jim," Simon said, getting out of his seat. He walked around and sat in front of Jim on the edge of his desk. "Do it my way. Take it easy for the next few days. Sandburg's going to need someone to talk to sooner or later."
Jim opened his mouth then closed it again. Finally, looking out the window, he nodded.
************
Jim left the station for the hospital in the late afternoon. When he arrived at Blair's room an older man, black hair graying at the temples, dressed in crisp gray slacks and a blue shirt covered by an open lab coat, was leaving. Jim stopped him and learned that he was Dr. Anderson, the physician in charge of Blair's case. They briefly discussed the anthropologist's condition and the doctor informed Jim that, barring complications, Blair would be released in five to seven days. The detective thanked him before entering Blair's room.
"Hey, Chief," he said, quietly walking over to the bed. Blair mumbled something that even Jim had trouble picking up. The detective dropped into the chair next to the bed, feeling the lingering warmth of the doctor's presence. "The doctor told me you could get out of here in a week or less," he said, trying to get some response from Blair.
"Good. I hate hospitals." He began to twist a piece of the sheet between his fingers.
Jim looked at the bruises on his friend's face, noticing that they had spread slightly and the swelling had diminished just a bit around Blair's right eye. A sliver of blue showed between the lid before Blair turned away, looking out into the deepening twilight.
"I called the university, told them what happened," Jim told Blair. The young man's head snapped around, his eyes locking on Jim's. The detective saw the panic in Blair's eyes before the anthropologist quickly turned away again. "I told them you were mugged," Jim said, trying to calm his friend's fears.
Blair whispered, "Thank you."
"They said they'd get someone to cover your classes. You're on medical leave until the end of this term."
"Thanks, Jim."
Blair barely spoke to Jim that night. Despite all of the detective's efforts to draw the young man into a conversation, Blair resisted. Twisting the sheet between his fingers, he'd occasionally nod or shake his head but little else. When Jim brought up Simon's decision to turn Blair's case over to Vice the young man stopped responding at all. He simply stared into the gloom outside, still twisting the sheet over his body.
Finally Jim gave up. He checked his watch and realized he had only a couple of hours before Vice's operation went into action. Jim stood, telling Blair good-bye. He started to lean over the young man, intending to place a reassuring hand on Blair's arm, when he remembered Blair's violent reaction to Jim's touch earlier in the day. Remembering that touch could trigger flashbacks, Jim pulled his hand back, straightening to his full height. He turned to leave, feeling Blair's gaze as he walked out the door. Jim hesitated, started to turn back, then went out the door. He missed the tears that slowly slid down Blair's face.
************
Blair was determined not to cry in front of Jim. 'I've embarrassed him enough, already,' he thought. It was hard, though. He knew Jim was hiding his disgust over the mess Blair had gotten into this time. The detective's disappointment was obvious when Jim told him about 'his' case. Blair had nearly lost his battle then, turning to the window in an attempt to block out the images that flashed in front of his eyes. It didn't work. His first doctor's face, full of contempt, jeered at Blair, an officer on the scene's scathing laughter echoed in his head. He managed to contain his tears until Jim left. When Jim pulled away from him, Blair knew it was because his friend could no longer hide the disgust he felt.
Blair let the tears fall. 'He's going to kick me out,' he thought, afraid to voice the words if Jim should be listening. 'Why not? Who would want to live with someone who can't even defend himself? He's just being kind, waiting till I get better.' Somewhere in his head he heard another voice. A calm voice that told him he was wrong, that Jim didn't blame him for what happened. The voice fell silent, easily drowned out by the voice that shouted at him, telling him he wasn't a man.
************
For the next few days, Jim split his time between the loft, work, and the hospital. He'd had Blair's car fixed and it now sat in front of his apartment building, a constant reminder that Jim could have prevented this if he'd only insisted on taking Blair to the university. The loft itself was quiet, adding to his guilt. Jim spent as little time there as possible, choosing to bury himself in his work. He made some headway on the cases on his roster but acutely felt Blair's absence. Jim had to admit to himself, if no one else, that the kid's unique perspective gave him a new way to look at his cases, often bringing up aspects he hadn't considered before.
He cleared the last file from his inbox before heading down to Vice, reviewing the case as he went. The operation wasn't going very well. On the first night, they'd managed to pick up a couple of thugs who were robbing the johns, but the thieves hadn't matched the descriptions of the men who'd attacked Blair. The area had been quiet since then, no arrests made, no attacks reported. The captain of the unit gave them two more nights to catch the perps or wrap things up.
Once in Vice, he listened to the short briefing of the night's line-up, grabbed his surveillance equipment, and headed to the parking garage. It was his turn to take the role of john for the night. There were two decoys working opposite sides of the road. He'd pick one up in his car, the other on foot. Since Blair and Miss Ebony were on foot when they were attacked everyone thought the second pick up had the better chance.
Jim met up with the rest of the unit on a deserted side street not far from the site of the attack on Blair. He waited thirty minutes before pulling onto Queen's Avenue and slowly drove down the road. He edged over to the curb and three prostitutes came over to his car.
"Want to party?" a very young looking pro asked him.
"Just how old are you?"
"Old enough to know how to make you fly," she answered, winking a heavily made-up eye.
"I don't think so. Besides, you're not my type." He turned his attention to an Oriental prostitute dressed in a low-cut, tight, red dress. "I always had a taste for the exotic."
The prostitute smiled. "For a hundred you can taste me all you like."
Jim grinned and motioned the hooker into his car. He drove them to a nearby dark alley, parked the car, and turned off the ignition.
"Damn, this thing itches like a son of a bitch!"
"Then take it off, Shiro," Jim said, turning to the smaller man sitting next to him.
"Can't," he replied, scratching at his head. "I'll never get it on right again." He dug into the small, red purse he carried and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Do you mind?" he asked.
Jim's sensitive nose didn't like the smell of cigarette smoke but he also didn't want to antagonize the people he was working with. "Sure. Just roll down the window. Otherwise it'll make me sneeze," he explained.
Smooth, black hair brushed past Shiro's shoulders as he nodded. He pushed the cigarette lighter in and then rolled down the window. When the lighter popped out, he lit his cigarette, and gave it a long drag before blowing the smoke out the window. "I've been wanting to do this since we got here tonight."
"Long day?"
He took another drag. "I was propositioned five times before I even got to my location." Another cloud of smoke was pulled into his lungs and then emptied into the chilly air. "I hate hooker detail."
Jim nodded. "It'll be over tomorrow night."
"For you maybe. I get to do this every time they need a decoy in this area." He turned to Jim and shrugged. "You're not the only one who likes 'em exotic."
They sat in silence as Shiro finished his cigarette. He flicked the butt out past the front of the car and rolled up the window. He stretched before turning to Jim and saying, "I hate to say this but I think this operation is a bust."
Jim nodded, frowning. "With no attacks since the first night, I'd have to agree."
"Sorry, Ellison. I know how I'd feel if a friend of mine was raped."
Jim sat silently, clenching his teeth in an attempt to contain his own frustration. "You think they may have moved to another location?"
Shiro shrugged. "Either that or it was some college kids on a lark."
"Some lark."
Shiro scratched his head. "Guess we better head back."
Jim agreed. He started the engine and drove the Vice detective back to his corner.
************
Jim's visits to the hospital were becoming increasingly frustrating. Blair's injuries were healing but, despite all of Jim's attempts, the young man seemed to be slipping further away. Blair talked, but only to answer questions, and only when the questions didn't involve the assault. And when he did talk, his answers were simple, his voice dull.
When he arrived at the hospital, the nurses privately told Jim about Blair's restless nights, his screams that woke the other patients. He canceled his plans with Vice that night, planning to spend that night at Blair's side. The anthropologist asked him not to stay but Jim insisted. Blair refused to take his prescribed sedatives. Jim ended up sleeping in the chair, only to wake up stiff and aching. Blair was staring out the window. The detective didn't think making it through the night was important if it meant Blair didn't sleep. The night nurse, who'd somehow managed to come into the room without waking Jim, confirmed his suspicions that Blair had slept little if at all. For some reason the anthropologist seemed afraid to let Jim know just how he felt, afraid to even let him know about his dreams. Jim didn't know why. He decided to back off a little, at least staying away at night so Blair would sleep.
The rape counselor Blair's doctor ordered hadn't been able to get him talking, either. Jim was present for one of her daily visits. He'd waited down the hallway. In his desperation to understand how Blair felt, he broke his promise by listening to their conversation. She sounded competent and caring as she talked to Blair but she couldn't reach him any better than Jim could. Afterwards, she told Jim that Blair would talk when he was ready. She gave him some pamphlets to read, apologizing that only one actually dealt with male rape and even then only in one section.
Thinking that Blair would talk about more than the weather to someone who wasn't associated with the hospital or the police force, Jim finally gave Krys the okay to visit Blair. When Blair asked their neighbor how her dog was, Jim knew he'd made the right decision. It wasn't much but it was the first time his friend had shown any interest in something since the attack.
"LD is just fine," Krys said. She leaned forward, placing a hand on Blair's arm. "So, when . . ." The anthropologist suddenly jerked away from her touch, startling Krys into silence.
Jim, standing behind Krys, quietly watched his friend's reactions, realizing that what little progress Blair may have made was lost. Krys turned to look at Jim, her face pale, a horrified look in her eyes.
With a quick shake of her head, she turned back to Blair, asking, "So, when do you get out of here?"
Blair took a shaky breath before answering, "Couple of days."
"That's good." She continued to talk to the young man until Jim placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Chief, I need to get Krys back home."
Krys stood, saying, "I'll try and come by tomorrow if you want." When Blair shook his head she added, "Just tell Jim when you're ready for visitors again." She told Jim she'd wait outside the door and quickly left the room.
Jim stayed for a moment longer, trying to think of something to say to reach his friend. Something to let him know that he would be there when he was needed. "I'll be back tomorrow," he finally said, unable to think of the words he wanted. When he stepped into the hallway he found Krys pacing back and forth, her hands destroying her immaculate hairdo.
"Krys," he started.
"He wasn't mugged, was he?" she asked, cutting Jim off.
"No, he wasn't mugged."
"He was. . . I mean. . . Was he raped?" she whispered, looking at Blair's door.
Keeping his voice low, Jim asked, "How did you know?"
Krys turned away and started walking quickly down the hall to the elevators. Jim easily caught up to her, waiting quietly until they got into an elevator. They were alone, so Jim asked again, "How did you know?"
The teacher grasped her hands in front of her. "When I was a freshman in college, my roommate was raped." She took a deep breath. "She reacted to my touch the same way Blair just did."
"So you know what he's going through?"
"How can I know what he's going through? I wasn't raped."
"But your roommate was. You lived with her while she recovered," Jim pointed out.
Krys shook her head. "I didn't say that. She left school soon after the rape. I haven't seen her since."
Leaning against the elevator wall, Jim closed his eyes. Every time he thought he'd made some progress the rug was jerked from beneath his feet. The people caught in Vice's operation didn't match the descriptions of Blair's attackers, Krys knew what happened to Blair but couldn't help him. "I need to know how to help him," he said.
Krys asked, "Have you checked the web?"
"What?"
"The web? You can find out almost anything by surfing the web."
As the elevator doors opened he said, "I hadn't thought of that."
************
Jim's nose caught the familiar whiff of cigar smoke and he yelled, "Come in, Simon."
The captain opened the door and entered the loft, complaining, "You could at least let me knock on the door first."
"Sorry, Simon." Jim sat hunched in front of Blair's laptop computer. His jaw clenched in frustration, he growled, "How do you get into this stupid thing!"
Simon sat down next to the detective at the dinner table. "Is this what you called me over here for?"
"I don't know how he works this . . . this thing. Sandburg's been living here for a year and I have no idea how to work this computer of his." Jim pushed the offensive machine to Simon. "How do you get on the web?"
The captain couldn't suppress the chuckles that rumbled from his throat. Seeing Jim's deadly earnest expression, he took a deep breath, quieting the laughter. "Why didn't you do this at the station?" he asked.
"Jefferson and Walton." Jim sighed. "Every time I start to think about Blair I find myself listening in on their conversation. I end up getting nothing accomplished. I can't work that way."
Simon didn't respond. He touched the mouse pad with his index finger, dragging the pointer to the apparent Internet service provider. Overshooting his destination, he said, "Damn, kid's got a light touch." He managed to stop the pointer on the desired icon and tapped the mouse pad lightly. A screen appeared asking for Blair's password. "What's Sandburg's password?"
"What?"
"His password. It's how he gets into his service." Simon turned to study Jim. "You weren't paying any attention to the seminar last month on the Internet were you."
Jim rubbed his hand over his jaw. "We were working on those murders at the university at the time. I had more important things on my mind." He took a deep breath. "Besides, I always figured I could just get Blair to look it up for me."
Simon shook his head. "We can't do anything without his password. He doesn't use the same service I use. Why do you need to get on the Internet anyway?"
"Krys suggested using the Internet to find information to help Blair."
"You told her?"
"No. She figured it out." Jim straightened in his seat, his head tilted toward his door. Simon started to ask a question and the detective waved a hand at him. "Good," he finally said. "She's home." He quickly stood up, heading for his door.
"Wait a minute, Jim," Simon said, rushing to follow Jim. "Who's home? What are we doing?"
Jim stopped at apartment 304 and rapped on the door. Turning to Simon, he said, "Krys just got home. She told me how to find information to help Blair."
"Assuming that you knew how to get on the web."
"It sounded pretty easy when she was telling me how to do it."
Simon's next comment was interrupted by the door being thrown open. "Look, I've told you it's over so leave....," Krys stopped abruptly. Inviting the men in, she said, "Sorry, I thought you were someone else."
Jim walked into the loft, saying, "Sounds like trouble."
"Not really. Have a seat," she said, nodding to the couch and loveseat. "Melanie just doesn't seem to understand the words 'it's over.'" She laughed. "She doesn't understand 'buzz off,' 'take a hike,' or 'go to hell,' either."
Simon, who was in the process of sitting on the loveseat, froze. "Melanie?" he asked, shaking himself a little before sitting down.
"My ex." Krys laughed again. "You weren't expecting that."
"Honestly, no."
Krys sat down next to Jim before saying, "That's fine with me. You'd be amazed at how many people seem to think people can't teach because they're gay. Just makes my job easier if they don't suspect me." Turning to Jim she asked, "What can I do for you today?"
Jim cleared his throat, looking to Simon. "Remember telling me I could find information to help Blair on the web?"
Krys nodded.
"We..."
"Don't include me in this," Simon interrupted. "I know how to get on to my server."
"I," Jim corrected, "can't figure it out."
"He doesn't even know how to ask for help," Krys teased, shaking her head at Simon.
"Shame, isn't it?" he replied.
"Could you please help me get on the web?" Jim asked, ignoring their jabs.
Krys rose from the couch, one arm motioning the men to follow her. "Sure." She lead them into the downstairs room that was a companion to Blair's room in Jim's loft. Flipping on the light, she dropped into the chair in front of the computer. She pressed a switch on a power strip next to the machine and they waited while the computer took a moment to warm up.
"Get comfortable," she said as the screen came to life. "This is going to take a couple of minutes. There are chairs in the dining area." Jim left, returning with two chairs and both men sat on either side of Krys. A few moments later she told them she was on and proceeded to pull up a screen labeled bookmarks.
"You've already done this," Simon realized.
Krys shrugged. "I got the feeling he would need help. Blair's told me about trying to teach Jim how to use the Internet."
Under Jim and Simon's watchful gaze, Krys proceeded to pull up the pages she had found earlier, sending their information to her printer so Jim could read them on his own.
************
Blair was sitting in the chair next to his bed when Jim arrived to pick him up. He pushed the nurses' call button and told them he was ready to leave. Blair didn't want to leave. He wanted to crawl back into the bed and never come out. His body hurt: ribs, abdomen, arm, back, head, everything. The doctor had given him a prescription for the pain but Blair didn't want to take it because it made him sleepy. It was easier to suffer the pain than the nightmares.
The hospital bed provided Blair a place of sanctuary. He hated being there but he also feared returning to the loft. Jim would be there. Simon had given him time off from the force to stay with Blair. At first he had been relieved, afraid to stay in the loft alone. But doubts began to weigh on him; was Jim staying because he wanted to help or did he think Blair was too pathetic to care for himself? Part of him knew he was being silly. Jim was his friend, of course he wanted to help. But part of him thought Jim was as disgusted with him as he was with himself, that Jim had been hiding his contempt out of pity for Blair's condition.
Blair watched Jim moving about the room, checking to make sure nothing was left behind. 'He doesn't think I'd remember everything,' he thought, anger turning to shame when Jim found an anthropology journal that had fallen on the other side of the bed. Blair didn't even remember ever reading the journal.
"Did Dr. Warner come by?" Jim asked as he put the journal in Blair's backpack.
"She came by this morning."
"Good." He slung the backpack over his shoulder as the orderly entered the room, pushing a wheelchair. Blair saw him move closer, offering to help, and shook his head. "No, man. I can do it." He stood up, swaying slightly, then turned and eased into the wheelchair. Reaching up for his backpack, he said, "Here, I can take that."
"That's okay, Chief. You've only got one good arm. I'll take it," Jim replied, shaking his head.
"Jim . . ."
"I've got it, Chief."
Blair sat back in the chair, careful not to slump and cause his ribs to ache further. He kept his eyes on the floor, watching the carpet, as they headed to the elevator.
"Are you excited to get out of here?" the orderly asked while they rode in the elevator.
"Yeah, thrilled," Blair answered dully. He didn't see the orderly behind him turn to look at Jim. Nor did he see the concerned look that crossed Jim's face.
Jim had parked the Ford in front of the hospital. The orderly pushed Blair over to the car, opened the door, and started to help him in, pulling back when Blair insisted he didn't need help. Blair took a short breath, lifted one leg into the car, then started to pull himself into the vehicle. A wave of dizziness struck and he felt like he was about to fall. Strong hands grabbed him, steadying him, and Blair fought back the images that threatened to overtake his mind. He finally pressed them back down and found that he was sitting in the car. Jim released his hold on Blair before handing him his backpack with a concerned look on his face.
"Are you all right?"
"Fine. I'm fine."
The trip to the loft was made in virtual silence. Blair leaned his head back, keeping his eyes closed, and prayed to every deity he'd ever heard of not to fall apart in front of Jim. When they reached their destination, he waved off the larger man's offer of assistance, slowly climbing up the stairs. He had insisted on carrying his own backpack and for once, Jim didn't override Blair's wishes. Breathing a sigh of relief, he lowered his backpack to the ground and started to struggle out of his jacket, trying to get it off with one hand.
Rough hands grabbed his arms, jerking his wrists up behind his shoulder blades. He cried out in agony as he felt a bone in his right arm snap as the arm was raised higher than it could physically reach. The man holding him jerked him around to watch his companions beating Miss Ebony.
"Watch what we do to the perv," the man holding him hissed in his ear.
"No!" Blair yelled. He slammed his heel into his captor's foot and was rewarded with brief freedom. "Stop it!" he screamed, as he was grabbed from behind again. His right arm dangled useless at his side, while his left arm was twisted behind his back. Three quick, sharp blows slammed into his unprotected left side. He would have curled over in agony but the assailant held him up, one hand snaking around his throat.
"Pretty boy wants to play," his captor shouted to his friends.
"Does he now?" one asked, sending a final viscious kick into Miss Ebony's back as she lay on the ground.
"I bet he's never had a real man," another said.
Blair couldn't move, couldn't escape. He watched as the men moved toward him and prayed for death. It would be easier to take.
************
Jim reached forward, placing his hands on Blair's arms to help him out of his jacket. The young man stiffened under his touch. Jim heard his breathing and heartbeat start to race. Blair cried out in pain and Jim realized he was in the throes of a flashback.
"Blair!" he called quietly, not wanting to shock Blair more than he already was.
"No!" Blair yelled, slammed his foot into the floor, and started to bolt away. Instinctively, Jim rushed forward and grabbed him before he could run into the kitchen island. "Stop it!" the young man screamed.
Jim maintained his hold on Blair, afraid the young man would hurt himself if he let go. "It's okay, Chief. It's okay," he whispered into his ear. "I'm here. No one can hurt you." He felt the smaller man stiffen against his chest and then suddenly go slack. Jim didn't want to injure Blair's ribs any further, so he held him up until he felt the anthropologist steady himself and pull away. He let Blair go, taking a step away to give him more space.
Blair stared at the floor, breathing deeply, for several minutes. While he attempted to regain his composure Jim repeated, "It's okay, Chief. I'm here. No one can hurt you." The anthropologist shook his head then walked slowly into his room.
Jim followed him to the door. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," Blair whispered, shutting his door before turning on his stereo. The pounding beat of one of his 'jungle music' CDs blared through the door setting Jim's teeth on edge. Normally he would tell his roommate to turn it down but not today. He could easily make out the sound of sobs behind the music.
Staring at the closed door, Jim asked, "How can I help him if he won't let me in?" As expected, he didn't get a response.
************
Jim rubbed at his temples, glancing at his watch. 8:30 pm. The loud, angry music coming from Blair's room was giving him a headache. Jim didn't know the name of the group; for that matter he only knew one song. Blair played the same song on a continuous loop whenever he went into his room and shut the door. Jim knew that Blair wasn't fool enough to think the detective couldn't hear him over the music; after all the young man had taught him how to filter through different distractions to find what he wanted, but Jim respected the his privacy anyway.
Jim sighed and started to rub his neck. 'Maybe if we could both get some sleep,' he thought. At 10 pm each night, if the music was on Blair would turn it off, giving Jim's ears a respite. Not that Jim took advantage of the quiet to sleep. Instead he spent the night listening to Blair pace in his room. Jim doubted Blair had gotten more than a few hours sleep since he'd been back from the hospital. It was taking its toll on both of them. The bruises on Blair's face had faded only to be replaced by dark circles under his eyes and gaunt cheeks. Jim doubted he looked any better. He knew his patience was slipping.
Thinking about the past few days didn't help his building headache. Things had gone downhill after Blair's first flashback. First of many. Jim remembered each flashback vividly. The latest was the worst; Blair crying out in pain, attempting to run from his attackers, pleading for his life, then begging to die. Simon had been present for that episode, helping Jim to keep Blair from hurting himself in the grips of the memory. Looking into his captain's eyes, Jim saw the rage that was reflected in his own.
Simon had been coming by every evening to help out, trying to get Jim to take a break from his "mothering," as the captain put it, of Blair. Each time Jim had refused. Krys had made an appearance today with the same intent. At first Jim had refused but then changed his mind. Blair hadn't had a flashback yet and if nothing else, Jim needed to go grocery shopping. When he returned an hour later the loft was silent. Both Blair and Krys were gone. Jim had thought they had gone to Krys' place but her apartment was equally still. Jim was about to call in an APB when they returned, Krys' dog, LD, trailing at her side.
It hadn't been a pretty scene. Jim didn't listen to Krys' explanation that they had only gone around the block. He yelled at her about responsibility and doing what you were told to do. Only when he heard a low growl did he stop, looking down to see LD standing between them, his ears pressed back against his head. Krys had jerked the dog back before storming out of the loft and over to her place. Jim had followed her, attempting to apologize without success. When he came back Blair was in his room, loud music drowning out anything Jim could say to the young man.
Jim had learned that the music was Blair's way of asking for space. It came on after every flashback. The detective figured its presence now could only mean Blair was mad at him. Maybe Simon was right. Maybe he was 'mothering' Blair.
Dr. Warner called shortly afterward. She had talked to Blair briefly. Jim had insisted that Blair tell him what she had said, so he told him that his test for sexually transmitted diseases came back negative. The detective tried to point out that it was good news, but Blair only shook his head, mumbling something about testing again in a few months, and turned the music back up.
Maybe if they could both get some sleep they could finally talk about the problem instead of avoiding it. Jim went to the bathroom and pulled the sleeping pills Blair's doctor had prescribed. He went back to the kitchen, got a glass of water, and placed it and a pill on the kitchen counter next to the bottle. Jim walked to Blair's room, opened the door, and shut off the stereo.
Sitting against pillows piled against his headboard, Blair dully asked, "Why'd you do that, Jim?"
"Could you come out here, please?"
Blair sighed and got up from the bed. He followed Jim to the kitchen, leaving his bedroom door open behind him. Jim picked up the glass and pill before turning back to his roommate.
"It's time to take your medicine." Jim held out the glass for Blair. When the young man didn't take it, he added, "You need your sleep. Dr. Anderson prescribed these to help you sleep."
"I don't need it," Blair said, turning to head back into his room.
"Dammit, Blair. Stop being so childish!" As soon as he said the words, Jim wished to grab them, pull them back into his mouth before Blair could hear them.
But it was too late. The young man froze then seemed to fall into himself. Shoulders that had been slumped ever since his return from the hospital five days before slumped even more. He seemed somehow smaller, almost as if he were the child Jim had accused him of being. Jim took a step towards him but Blair ran into his room, turning the music louder than it had ever been. Locking his door for the first time .
"Brilliant, Ellison," Jim said to himself. "Tell someone whose self-esteem is shot that they're acting like a child." He took a deep breath and reached up to rub the tight muscles in his neck. "Maybe you can tell one of the kids in the building that Santa doesn't exist while you're at it." His hand squeezed at the stiff muscles in his neck and left shoulder. Deciding a hot shower would help him ease his aching muscles and get rid of some of his frustrations, Jim headed to the bathroom, pulling off his shirt along the way.
************
"Dammit, Blair. Stop being so childish!" Jim's words echoed in Blair's head. The music was loud but he didn't hear it. Its beat pounded through his blood but he didn't feel it. He could focus only on those six words spoken by his friend. Even Jim didn't think he was a man anymore. He sat on his bed, his arms wrapped around his chest, uninjured arm over the cast, and rocked. The words hurt. Hurt more than his healing ribs, arm, and stomach. They bled Blair's soul, leaving him empty.
He couldn't live with the nightmares so he avoided sleep. It didn't work. Instead his nightmares invaded his waking moments. Grabbing him, assaulting him, taking away more of his self, his identity.
Jim was witness to each one. Even Simon had seen his humiliation. The rage in the dark man's eyes hurt but Blair had expected it. His relationship with Simon was getting better but Blair knew he still annoyed the captain. It was the fury in Jim's eyes that nearly destroyed Blair. It had taken several hours of self-talking to convince himself Jim wasn't mad at him. That he was angry at the people who had hurt him. But now Blair knew better. He couldn't fool himself anymore. Only pity kept Jim from throwing him out of the loft. Blair felt the hot tears sliding down his face, further proof of his lost manhood. He took as deep a breath as possible, holding it for several seconds before slowly releasing it. Jim wanted him to sleep, so he would.
Blair cautiously walked across to his door, turning the stereo up to its maximum as he passed. He carefully opened the door, easing past it to walk to the kitchen. Not seeing Jim on the lower level, he glanced at the bathroom door. He could barely make out the sound of the shower. Taking another breath, he moved across the room, picking up the glass and bottle of sleeping pills Jim had left on the counter. Opening the bottle, he stopped, trying to hear Jim over the stereo. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, Blair turned to the sink and filled the glass to the rim.
He checked to make sure Jim wasn't coming out of the bathroom. Pouring several pills onto the counter, he picked them up and put them in his mouth, quickly bringing the glass to his lips, and swallowing the medicine. He repeated the process until the bottle was empty. Already light-headed, he tried to drop the empty bottle in the trash, but missed his mark. He shook his head, then shakily went back to his room. He turned off the stereo and laid down. Closing his eyes, he listened to his pounding heartbeat and allowed the swirling room to carry him away.
************
Jim turned down his hearing in favor of his sense of touch when he stepped into the shower. He turned his back to the pounding water, letting it massage his tight neck and shoulder muscles. After several minutes, he felt the tension flowing away with the water, leaving him feeling better than he had in days.
He didn't know if Blair would want to take a shower tonight. Sandburg had already taken two today but Jim couldn't be certain he wouldn't want another one. Blair's almost compulsive need to wash himself was a reaction to his rape and probably wouldn't go away for some time. Deciding to leave the young man some hot water, Jim turned off the shower. Stepping out of the stall, he heard Blair's music suddenly shut off.
Jim wrapped a towel around his waist. Still dripping, he stepped out of the bathroom, focusing on the sounds coming from Blair's room. The young man's breathing was slow and for a moment Jim thought he had fallen asleep. Walking past the kitchen, his eyes spotted the pill bottle lying next to the garbage can. Suddenly cold, Jim ran to Blair's room, praying the young man hadn't locked his door again.
He flung the door open. Blair lay on his bed, eyes closed, breath shallow. Jim ran to him and jerked him up, panic threatening to overwhelm him. Desperate to wake the young man, he slapped him hard. Blair's head snapped back from the blow but he didn't waken. Jim slapped him again. Blair's eyes opened.
"How many did you take?" Jim yelled, pulling Blair to his feet. The younger man's body was limp so Jim wrapped his arm around Blair's chest, unconcerned for the broken ribs he felt moving beneath his touch.
"Wha . .?"
Jim didn't bother to ask him again. He dragged Blair back to the bathroom. Holding him up with one arm, yelling at him to stay awake, Jim flung open the medicine cabinet, looking for the Ipecac syrup Blair had once bought as a joke, telling Jim if he ever thought his cooking had poisoned him he could use it. Jim never understood why he had kept the syrup but was grateful he had. Finding it, he spun off the top, forced Blair's mouth open, and poured the syrup down his throat. Blair started to weakly struggle against Jim but the detective wouldn't release his grip. It didn't work fast enough for the detective's comfort so he did the only other thing he could think of to induce vomiting. Taking a deep breath, he dragged him over to the toilet, forced Blair's mouth open, and stuck his index finger in as far back as it would go, pressing it against his tongue. Jim felt Blair's stomach contract. Supporting his weight, Jim pulled his hair away from his face, while Blair expelled the contents of his stomach.
"Everything will be all right," Jim said. "Everything will be all right."
When Blair finally stopped vomiting, Jim filled a cup with water and held it to Blair's lips. "Here, rinse your mouth." His roommate did as instructed. Still supporting Blair's weight, Jim took them out of the bathroom. He half-walked, half-dragged Blair to the phone in the kitchen and called for an ambulance.
"No," Blair weakly protested.
"Sorry, Chief. There's no telling how much of that stuff your body's absorbed."
Blair began to sob, his body shaking in Jim's arms. "I jus wanna go sleep," he cried, his speech slurred.
"Not tonight, Blair," Jim soothed, hitting the memory dial to notify Simon. "You need to stay awake." After he got off the phone, he walked Blair around the room, waiting for the paramedics.
************
Simon found Jim pacing in the emergency waiting area. He strode over to his detective, stepping in front of him to force the man to stop pacing. "How is he?"
Jim sighed, sitting down in a nearby chair. "I don't know. I think I got most of it out of his stomach in time."
Sitting next to Jim, Simon asked, "Do you know why he did this?"
"I was an idiot." Jim leaned back in the chair, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. "I tried to force him to take a sleeping pill. When he wouldn't, I said he was being childish."
Simon shook his head. "Not smart, Jim."
"I know, Simon."
Jim's head jerked toward the emergency room doors just before Dr. Warner came through. "How is he?" Jim stood up.
Dr. Warner rolled her shoulders back, gently twisting her head to one side. Jim easily heard her neck bones popping. "He'll recover," she finally said. "We had to pump his stomach to be on the safe side. Luckily you were able to get him to expel most of the pills. The activated charcoal we've pumped into his stomach and the citrate of magnesia we've given him should take care of the rest."
"Thank you," Jim said. "When can I take him home?"
"That's a different issue," she answered. "He'll have to stay here for the next 24 hours to make sure there are no complications from the overdose. After that he'll be moved to the psych wing where he'll spend the next week at the very least. Maybe as long as a month."
"He's not crazy," Jim said, his voice straining, wanting to shout but keeping it quiet.
Dr. Warner closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead. "I didn't say he was but it's standard operating procedure under these circumstances."
"Blair won't see it that way. He'll probably just see it as another failure. How is staying in the psych wing for a week going to help him get better?" Jim's voice started to rise until Simon took his arm.
"Isn't there something we could do to avoid this?" the captain asked.
She took a deep breath, her eyes closed, before answering, "Gentlemen, Mr. Sandburg told me he took 30 sleeping pills. I can't just write that off as an accidental overdose. It was a deliberate suicide attempt and, as such, warrants further psychiatric therapy."
Jim placed his hand on her arm. "I know that but can't the therapy be handled privately so Blair can come home?"
"Like it was during the last five days?" she asked, doubt evident in her voice.
Letting his hand fall to his side, Jim said, "I couldn't get him to go to the therapist. He said he wasn't ready. I didn't feel I could force him to go," Jim said.
"I'm sorry, but Mr. Sandburg doesn't get a choice in this matter and neither do you." She looked from Jim to Simon, her expression softening. "Look, I don't want to be a hard-ass about this, but I hate having patients come back as attempted suicides."
"I understand," Jim said. "He won't try again."
"And just how can you guarantee that?"
"I won't let him out of my sight."
She shook her head. "I don't think you realize what that means."
"It means watching him 24 hours a day seven days a week."
"Exactly. Something that is physically impossible for one man to do."
"I'll help," Simon offered.
"Thank you," Jim told him.
Dr. Warner didn't answer for a long time. She carefully studied the men standing in front of her. "He can't get out of here before tomorrow evening, that won't change. However, I *might* be willing to convince the attending physician to let him go after that on one condition."
"Anything," Jim promised.
She pulled a pad out of her lab coat pocket and quickly wrote down a name and number before tearing the page out. Handing the paper to Jim, she said, "Dr. Nelson specializes in rape cases, female *and* male. You *will* make an appointment for Blair for the day after tomorrow and he *will* attend. After that you will take him to as many sessions as Nelson feels are necessary."
"Yes, ma'am." Jim folded the paper and stuck it in his back pocket. "Thank you. I really appreciate this."
"Detective, I want you to realize that this is against my better judgment. The only reason I'm agreeing to this is the obvious commitment you both show." She nodded to both men. "I also know David Nelson. He's good, probably the best in this area."
"Are you sure he can see Blair?"
"I'll talk to him. Once he knows the situation, I'm certain he'll make every effort to see Mr. Sandburg," she said before turning back to the emergency room doors. She paused, briefly, saying over her shoulder, "Blair should be moved to his room in about an hour. You can see him then if you want."
************
Blair kept his eyes closed after he woke up. He'd failed. He remembered telling the doctor what he'd taken, the tube being forced down his throat, his stomach's painful contractions. Worse, he remembered seeing Jim and Simon after his further humiliation. They looked and acted happy to see him, but they weren't. How could they be? He'd just proven that he couldn't do anything right.
"I know you're awake, Chief," he heard Jim's voice at his left side. "Are you thirsty?"
Reluctantly, Blair opened his eyes and looked around. Another typical drab hospital room. He sighed and tried to raise his arm to his head. It would barely move. Panic rushed through him. Had he made his situation even worse? The relief he felt when he saw the restraints was fleeting. He was trapped, couldn't leave, couldn't escape.
"Jim, take these off," he asked, forcing as much strength into his voice as possible.
The detective sat on the edge of the bed, carefully avoiding Blair's bound arm. He poured some water into a cup as he said, "I can't do that. I'm sorry, Chief. They don't want to take any chances."
Trying to hide behind sarcasm, Blair responded, "What do they think I'll do? Run away?"
Jim positioned the straw so that Blair could sip from the cup he held. "They think you might try to kill yourself. Again."
"I won't try again. I promise, Jim."
"Sorry, Chief. I've already talked to the doctor about this and she won't budge."
Blair felt his tenuous grasp on control begin to fade. A child! Everyone was treating him like a child! He tried to build up his anger but it disappeared as quickly as it had risen. Why shouldn't they treat him like a child? He wasn't a man. A man wouldn't have allowed himself to be raped. A man would have been able to kill himself properly. He no longer heard the voice that tried to tell him he was wrong, that he couldn't help what had happened to him. He knew it wasn't right anyway.
Jim pulled the bedside cart over and plucked one of the lids off the tray. "Hungry?" He picked up a spoonful of eggs and moved them toward Blair's mouth. "Here, I'll feed you."
Blair's hold on himself broke. He sobbed as he twisted his head away from the spoon in Jim's hand. "Please, Jim. I'm begging you. Let me go."
He felt Jim's hand brush through his hair, pushing it away from his face, reminiscent of Naomi's touch when he was a boy. "I wish I could, Blair. I truly do. But I can't."
"Please," Blair cried. "I'll be good. I'll do whatever you want. Just let me go."
Jim's hand continued to caress his head as he said, "It's all right. It'll be all right."
************
"Why is Simon staying with us?"
Jim kept his eyes on the road. "He offered to stay and help out."
"We don't need help."
He pulled into his usual parking space before he said, "Yes, we do."
"I'm fine, Jim. I don't need Simon's help. Or yours."
Jim could tell Blair was angry. He hoped it was a good sign. He'd noticed only fear and defeat coming from Blair since his rape. Maybe if he could push that anger a little he'd finally open up some. "You need my help and I need Simon's."
"I can take care of myself."
"No, you can't. Not right now, anyway," Jim said, turning toward Blair.
He wanted his friend to yell, scream. Do something. Even an attempt at a rational reason why he didn't need any help would be welcome. Instead, Blair's shoulders slumped and he nodded his head. Jim barely heard his defeated whisper, "You're right. I can't do anything."
Blair had unhooked his seatbelt and opened the car door when Jim said, "Blair, wait. I didn't mean it like that." The younger man paused. "I know you can take care of yourself. Simon and I both do. Who else could of thought of cutting a hole in the floor to drop a bomb out of an elevator? It's out of our hands. Dr. Warner insisted that *someone* stay with you 24 hours a day seven, days a week. It was that or you would spend the next week in the psych ward."
Blair nodded and then climbed out of the car and went into the building, leaving Jim behind. The detective sighed, resting his head against the steering wheel. "Blew it again, Ellison," he said to himself. He wanted the old Blair back, missed him more than he could have thought possible. All of his efforts to draw his friend out, however, were being met in failure.
************
Thirty-six hours after Blair's attempted suicide, he sat in Dr. Nelson's office with Jim. The older man had explained to Blair that Simon would stay in the loft until his psychiatrist decided he was no longer suicidal. With that knowledge, Jim had thought Blair would be willing, if not eager, to meet with Nelson. He wasn't. Jim had to threaten to carry Blair to the car before Blair agreed to go. He hadn't stopped complaining even after they had arrived at the office.
"I don't want to be here," Blair grumbled.
"I thought you'd been in therapy since you were in diapers. Why moan about it now?"
\'0b"I'm fine, Jim. I don't need to be here."
"You're not fine. Less than two days ago you tried to kill yourself."
Blair turned away. "It won't happen again."
"I'm glad to hear you say that. Now you need to convince Dr. Nelson."
Blair grumbled something under his breath. He sat in silence for a few minutes before saying, "Don't listen."
"I wasn't planning to," Jim stated.
Before he had a chance to say anything else, a slim man with blue eyes and salt and pepper hair stepped into the room. Jim stood as the man crossed to them.
"Hello, Mr. Sandburg. Kathy's told me about you," he said, offering his hand to Blair.
"Who?" Blair asked. He tentatively shook Nelson's hand.
"Dr. Warner. She told me she doesn't want to see you in the emergency room again."
"She's not the only one," Jim added.
"Then let's get started," Nelson said. "Detective, why don't you wait here." Turning to Blair, he said, "Please follow me, Mr. Sandburg."
Blair went with Nelson to his office. The room was well lit, sunlight streaming in through the windows. Nelson twisted a rod, adjusting the blinds, and cutting some of the sunlight. Blair eased into a chair in front of a mahogany desk. The psychiatrist sat down behind the desk and picked up a pen.
"What would you like me to call you?" Nelson asked.
"Blair is fine."
"All right, Blair. The purpose for today's session is to get to know you." Nelson paused, then began asking questions about where Blair lived and what he did for a living. The questions were simple, non-threatening, but they didn't stay that way.
"Blair, I'd like to hear why you think you're here."
Blair didn't answer at first and Nelson didn't rush him. Finally, he said, "I tried to kill myself."
"Why did you do that?"
"I don't know," Blair sighed. "It's all a bit muddled."
"Why do you think you did it?" Nelson asked.
Blair knew the answer but was reluctant to tell. Instead he said, "I guess it seemed like the right thing to do at the time."
Nelson wrote something on a pad of paper. "Do you still think that?"
"No," Blair lied.
"What happened to you eleven days ago?"
The change in direction surprised Blair. "You already know," he hedged.
"You're right," Nelson admitted, "but I want to hear your version of what happened. After all, you were there; the people I've spoken to weren't."
Blair knew what Nelson wanted to hear but the words were too painful, stirred up too many memories. "I was attacked."
"Were you raped?"
Blair nodded.
"What have you been experiencing since then?"
Blair squirmed in his seat, emitting a slight gasp when his ribs protested the movement. "I can't sleep," he admitted.
"Nightmares?"
"Yes," Blair said. "And flashbacks." He didn't see any reason to lie to this man. Jim had probably told him all of this already, anyway.
"How often have you had the flashbacks?"
"One or two a day."
Nelson continued to ask questions, pushing forward until Blair resisted answering and then pulling back. Today's session wasn't meant to solve Blair's problems, it was meant to help the doctor understand where Blair stood now, and where he needed to go to regain his life.
After fifty minutes, Nelson concluded the session, saying, "Blair, there's a lot we need to work on. Do you agree?"
Blair reluctantly nodded.
"For the time being I'd like to see you two times a week. How does the day after tomorrow at this time sound to you?"
"You don't need to check your schedule?"
Nelson shook his head. "I had a patient move. The time is free."
Blair thought for a moment, then said, "Okay."
************
"Blair, wake up," Simon said, stepping close to his bed but not touching him. The kid was still too jumpy for Simon to want to risk physical contact.
Blair's restless movements stilled and then his eyes shot open, darting around the room till they spotted Simon. He took a deep breath then asked, "How long was I sleeping?"
"Forty minutes," Simon replied. "Just like you asked."
The young man sat up. "Where's Jim?"
"Went to the store." Simon chuckled. "Said I'm as bad a grocery shopper as you."
"No more greens then," Blair joked.
Simon smiled, glad to see some improvement in his friend. Following Blair out to the kitchen, he said, "Collard greens are definitely on the out list. My southern grandma would be terribly disappointed."
"I can't get him to eat grits, either."
"I haven't had grits since the last time I was in Georgia," Simon said, a smile playing across his face at the memory.
"I lived in Madison, Georgia for a few months," Blair told him as he walked to the refrigerator.
"I figured you had to live somewhere in the south to know about grits." Simon grabbed a couple of glasses and moved to stand behind Blair, handing one of the glasses to him.
Blair opened the refrigerator and started to put ice in his glass. Simon reached past his head, intending to fill his own glass with ice when his cuff link tangled in Blair's hair. As soon as he realized Blair's hair was caught, Simon stopped his movement and tried to release the long hair. The glass slipped from Blair's hand, shattering on the floor. He stood, frozen in place, his eyes locked on the freezer but seeing something else. Simon quickly freed his hair, jerking off the cuff link in his haste.
"It's all right, Blair," he soothed, dividing his attention between the young man's face and bare feet. "It's going to be all right," he continued to repeat, slowly easing his hand onto Blair's shoulder.
At Simon's touch, Blair jerked, snapping his eyes shut, and roughly shaking his head. He started to step away but Simon's gentle grip held him in place.
"Stay here," Simon told him. "There's glass all around you. I'll get a broom."
"I need to go to the bathroom," he said, his voice trembling.
"Just a second," Simon said, returning with a broom. He cleared a path through the glass, allowing Blair to escape to the sanctuary of the bathroom.
************
As Simon cleaned up the last of the glass, Jim walked through the door, two grocery bags in his arms. Placing them on the counter, he asked, "What happened?"
"It's my fault. I reached past his head and his hair got caught in my cuff link. He had another flashback."
"Damn," Jim swore. "Where is he now?" He cocked his head to focus his hearing throughout the loft.
"Bathroom."
He shifted his focus to the bathroom, locating Blair's heartbeat, his breathing. Pulling slightly back, he listened to the other sounds coming from the bathroom. He heard hinges protest and knew Blair was opening the medicine cabinet. Momentary panic filled Jim until he remembered he moved all medications to his dresser. He heard metal against glass and the panic flared anew. The scissors. He'd left the scissors in the cabinet. Pushing Simon aside, Jim rushed to the bathroom. He tried the knob, found it locked, and then slammed into the door, breaking its lock and sending it crashing into the wall.
Blair didn't react to the loud noises behind him. Instead, he stared into the mirror, his eyes following the path of the scissors he held in his hand. They were open, ready to cut, and he placed them against his head, sliding them into his hair. He squeezed his fingers together, closing the metal prongs. A lock of long, dark hair dropped into the basin. Jim's hand grabbed his as he repositioned the scissors. As if coming out of a trance, Blair blinked, shook his head, and turned to Jim.
"You don't want to be doing that, Chief," Jim said, pulling the scissors away from Blair's face. He started to reach for the scissors with his other hand when Blair's face twisted in anger. Before Jim had a chance to react, the young man slammed his elbow into Jim's side, forcing him to stumble back, releasing his hold on Blair's hand.
Ducking past the larger man, Blair ran out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, still clutching the scissors, only to find his path blocked by Simon. He spun around but Jim stood behind him, his hand rubbing at his side. Defeated, Blair slumped against the kitchen island, burying his head in his hands.
"Come on, Chief," Jim quietly said. He reached forward, wanting to take the scissors from Blair but not wanting to risk hurting his friend in a struggle. "Let me have them."
Blair shook his head. "You just don't understand, man," he said.
"Tell me about it. Maybe I will." Jim stepped closer.
"No. You can't understand. Neither of you can."
Jim's hand was about to close on the scissors when Blair jerked up, pulling the instrument away. Raising his hands, Jim said, "You haven't cut your hair since I've known you. Why start now?"
Blair's free hand reached up, the white of the cast in sharp contrast with his dark hair. He twisted his hand in the hair. "Because this can be used against me," he said, his voice edged with pain. "You can't understand," he said again, his voice dropping to a whisper. "No one can grab your hair and use it to slam your head against a wall." He backed up against the counter and slid to the floor. "No one can use your hair to jerk your head back so they can force their tongue down your throat."
Jim knelt down next to Blair. He gently took the scissors from the young man's hand before pulling him into his embrace, wanting to let Blair cry against his chest. The young man immediately stiffened and pushed Jim away. He climbed to his feet and rushed to his room.
"Damn," Simon whispered.
"Yeah," Jim said, getting to his feet. "I'm going to call Naomi."
"You told him you wouldn't tell her what happened."
"I know, Simon. But I don't know what to do here. She probably knows him better than anyone. Maybe she knows what he needs." He walked to the front door.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to borrow Krys' phone." Jerking his head toward Blair's room, he added, "I don't want to upset him anymore today."
************
Krys got home from a school track meet, kicked off her shoes, dropped onto her sofa, and promptly dozed off. She was luxuriating under a waterfall when a sharp pounding interrupted her dream, scattering the image like so many raindrops. Shaking her head, knowing she'd never get back to that relaxing locale, she called, "Coming. I'm coming."
She walked across the room, careful not to slip on the polished wood floor in her stocking feet. Opening the door, she was surprised to find Jim standing in front of her. "What can I do for you?"
"I need to borrow your phone," Jim said, stepping into her loft.
"What's wrong with yours?"
"I need to make some private phone calls," he said. "Too many people at my place."
"Okay," she said. "But they won't be too private with me here."
Jim seemed to think this over for a moment then said, "Would you wait at my place?"
"Sure," she answered, walking out into the hallway. Remembering her shoes, she turned to find Jim closing the door behind her. She heard the unmistakable sound of the bolt being thrown. "Hey!" she cried, slamming her hands against the door. "I need my shoes." When Jim didn't respond she stormed over to his place, fuming, "I didn't say he could take my place!"
Not bothering to knock, she opened the door to Jim's loft, slamming it shut behind her. Walking over to Jim's captain, she asked, "Can you arrest someone for stealing your place?"
Simon shook his head. "What?"
Calming slightly, she said, "I said he could use my phone not lock me out of my home."
"Sit down," he said, gesturing to the sofa. Krys took a seat and Simon sat down next to her. "You know what really happened to Blair?"
Krys nodded.
Simon leaned back, took off his glasses, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, and cleaned him glasses. Putting the glasses back on, he said, "Someone once described a rape as a nuclear explosion. The victim, in this case Blair, is at ground zero. From there the shock waves blast into the family first, then the friends."
"I'm not sure what you're getting at."
"Blair is like family to Jim. He's in shock over this. It's making him do things he probably wouldn't do in another situation."
"Like lock me out of my home."
"Exactly."
Krys sighed. "I guess I don't want him arrested after all."
Neither of them saw Blair standing in his doorway. He eased the door shut and retreated to his bed.
************
The last time Naomi had called she'd told them she was staying at a commune for the next two months. Jim called the number she provided, waiting impatiently for someone to answer. When they did, he had to wait another ten minutes for that person to track down Naomi. While he waited he went over what he wanted to say to Blair's mom. Nothing felt right. He wanted to tell her about the rape, felt she deserved to know, but at the same time he didn't want to break his promise to Blair. Waiting for Naomi gave Jim time to think over his options. When she answered he had come to an uneasy decision.
"Something's happened to Blair, hasn't it?" were her first words to Jim.
Startled, he almost forgot his decision. "He was. . .he was mugged," he said, shaking his head. "He's fine, though."
"What aren't you telling me?"
Jim thought quickly, trying to come up with a half-truth that Naomi would believe. Deciding to tell her as much as possible, he said, "Blair was out with a friend when they were mugged. The guys who did it beat him up a bit. Broke his arm. He's going to be fine. He's just pretty shaken up."
"Oh, god! My baby! I can be there by tomorrow."
"No! No, that's all right. I know he doesn't want you to break your plans on his account." Jim stood up, pacing across the room. This wasn't working the way he planned.
"Nonsense! At a time like this he needs me."
"Naomi." Jim sighed. "Blair doesn't know I'm calling you. He didn't want you to know about this."
"That doesn't surprise me. Ever since he was a boy he's never wanted me to know when he was hurt. He always tried to be a 'big man' and look out for his mom. Secretly he loved the extra attention I gave him. He hasn't changed that much."
Jim felt his jaw clenching and forced himself to relax. Changing tactics, he said, "Actually, I was hoping to get him out of town. Get him away from the scene of the crime, so to speak." He paused. "Any suggestions?"
"St. Sebastian's."
"The monastery?"
"Yes. I first sent Blair there when he was fifteen. He was at that age and we were going through a rough time. I felt we needed some time apart to cool off and he needed a chance to get to know himself better. It worked like a charm. He's been going there ever since, whenever he needed to get his head together."
Jim thought for a moment. Blair had seemed to hold a special reverence for the place. Maybe it was what he needed. "Thanks, Naomi. I'll call Brother Jeremy right now."
Naomi was silent on the other end. Finally, she asked, "Jim, are you telling me everything?"
Leaning his head against a wall, Jim said, "He was pretty shaken up by the attack. I don't think he realized that something like that could happen to him. He just needs to work a few things out."
He heard her sigh. "Take care of him for me, Jim. Tell him to call me when he's ready."
"I'll do that," he promised before hanging up the phone. He took a deep breath, contemplating his next move. He needed to call the monastery, find out how soon they could go there. Jim started to dial information when he remembered Dr. Nelson. The psychiatrist might not agree with Jim's decision. He cut the connection and dialed Nelson. The receptionist answered, asked him to wait a moment, and then put his call through.
"Detective Ellison, I've been trying to get in touch with you. I called your place and the woman who answered said you could be reached at her place. Is that where you're calling from?"
"Yes, Doctor. I needed to make some phone calls and I didn't want to upset Blair."
"Why don't you tell me what happened?"
Sitting down, Jim proceeded to tell him about Blair's flashback and attempt to cut his hair. "I didn't know what to do so I decided to call his mother."
"Did you tell her what happened?"
Jim sighed. "I was going to."
"But you didn't."
"No. Instead I told her he'd been mugged and just needed to get out of town for a while."
"Actually that's what I wanted to talk to you about." Nelson was silent for a moment. "You know that I can't tell you what Blair told me."
"I understand."
"As a police officer, have you had the opportunity to visit the scene of the attack?"
"Yes."
"What can you tell me about the location?"
Jim closed his eyes, bringing the alley before them. "It's dark, narrow. I'm not sure what you're driving at."
"Is there anything about the walls that's familiar?"
"Red brick walls. No, not really."
"Think about it, Detective. Where else do you see red brick walls on a daily basis?"
Opening his eyes, Jim stared at the wall in front of him. He suddenly understood what the psychiatrist was trying to tell him. "In the loft." He paused. "Is that what's been setting off Blair's flashbacks?"
"Flashbacks can be triggered by any of the senses. Smell, sound, touch, sight . . ."
"So if he were to get away from the visual reminders the flashbacks will decrease?"
"I can't say that with complete certainty. Where were you thinking of taking him?"
"Naomi suggested St. Sebastian's monastery. Blair really likes the place and there are no red brick walls."
Silence greeted his last remark. Finally, Nelson said, "Normally I wouldn't agree with taking a patient in Blair's situation out of therapy after only three visits. However, I am agreeing that he needs to get out of the loft. St. Sebastian's sounds like a good place to take him. I want only one concession, Detective."
"Anything."
"I want to continue normally scheduled sessions by phone. So I can judge how he's doing."
"I'll make sure he calls you," Jim said before hanging up. He grinned at Krys' Great Dane as he ambled into the room. Knowing what was setting off the flashbacks confirmed Jim's decision. All he had to do was call Brother Jeremy. As he dialed information, he tried to think of a way to convince the good monk to let them forego the bumpy bus ride.
************
Jim came back into the loft smiling. He handed Krys her keys, apologizing for locking her out of her own home. Her gracious acceptance surprised him but she left too quickly for him to say anything more. He grinned at Simon, saying "You've got a reprieve from playing house guest. I'm taking Blair to St. Sebastian's tomorrow."
He walked past the taller man before he could respond. Quietly he went into Blair's room and sat on the edge of the bed. Blair had his back turned to Jim but the Sentinel could tell by his irregular breathing pattern that he wasn't asleep. "Blair, I need to talk to you."
The younger man slowly rolled onto his back. "You told Krys," he said, his voice full of defeat.
Jim wondered what Blair had heard. "No, I didn't tell her. She figured it out that day she saw you in the hospital." When his friend snorted in disbelief, he added, "I haven't told anyone what happened to you."
"You left to call Naomi. You told her."
"No, Chief. I didn't tell her."
"You told Simon you were going to tell her. I heard you."
Taking a deep breath, Jim contemplated his next words. Lying to Blair wouldn't work but how could he make him see the truth. "You're right. I told Simon I was going to tell Naomi but I changed my mind. I didn't want to break my promise to you." Jim paused, trying to read Blair's face, to see if he believed his words. "I told her you had been mugged and needed to get out of town. She suggested going to the monastery." He hoped that was enough. He didn't want to tell Blair that he wasn't sure if Naomi believed the mugging story.
Blair sighed. "That's all she said?"
"No," Jim admitted. "She wanted to get on the next plane and come here but I convinced her you just needed to get away."
Blair nodded. "Okay," he said. "Okay."
"I've arranged everything with Brother Jeremy. We can leave tomorrow morning."
Again, Blair nodded.
Getting up from the bed, Jim asked, "Do you want me to pack for you?"
Blair continued to lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "No. I can do that."
"Good." Before he left the room, he asked, "What do you want for dinner?"
"I'm not hungry."
As Jim shut the door he heard, "Thanks, Jim."
************
Jim smiled as he watched Blair talking to Brother Marcus. The decision to come to the monastery had been a good one. The flashbacks and the nightmares had finally eased. Blair still hadn't started talking about what happened but at least he was sleeping and eating. At least the haunted look was leaving his face.
It surprised Jim that he'd managed to stay at the monastery for two weeks without wondering what was happening at work. Watching his friend heal seemed to fill the hole left in his own soul by the attack. He would never say that he thought of Blair as a child but for some reason he'd yet to figure out, the young man brought out a fierce protective side in him. Blessed protector mode. It was the same thing he saw in Simon's eyes when Daryl's life had been threatened by Kincaid.
When Simon had first told him about the rape, he'd felt impotent, unable to do anything for his friend. Lost. His blessed protector mode had kicked into overdrive, trying to compensate for his feelings of helplessness. Even though Blair was healing, Jim couldn't shake his need to watch his friend's every step. To be nearby in case he was needed. So he stood fifty feet away, far enough to be unobtrusive, but close enough to hear if Blair needed him.
He wasn't really listening to their conversation. Not really. That would be eavesdropping and Jim didn't want to do that to his friend. Instead he listened to the sounds around the two men, their heartbeats, their breathing. Focusing on the physical sounds that would indicate a recurrence of one of Blair's dreaded flashbacks. He heard one heartbeat increase, not enough to indicate fear. Sniffing the downwind breeze, he thought he smelled anger. When he turned toward the two men, he saw Blair looking at him, his expression unreadable for a change. The increased heartbeat, something that couldn't be hidden, came from Blair.
Jim didn't need to shift his focus to know that Blair was ending his conversation with Brother Marcus. He saw it in the young man's face, the tilt of his head, the way the monk patted his shoulder. They parted and Blair stalked over to Jim, the coat hanging on his right shoulder. Jim noted that Blair's movements weren't as fluid as before, his still healing ribs making him stiff, aging him in some way.
"*Stop* hovering over me, Jim!" Blair said when he reached the detective.
"I'm not hovering," Jim replied. "I'm out here enjoying the clean air."
"Bullshit!" Blair took two stiff steps away before turning around, his arm waving as he spoke. "You were listening! Don't bother trying to lie to me, man. I know you too well." He stopped waving his hand, instead taking a stance almost identical to Jim's just moments before. "You turn your head away from what you're listening to. Close your eyes. You do both to help you focus on what you're hearing." He paused, sighing. "Your eyes were closed just now, your head tilted toward me."
"I wasn't listening, Chief."
"Stop lying."
"I wasn't listening to your conversation. I respect your privacy."
"Do you really?" Blair asked. "Then why have you been keeping me in your sights, listening to everything I said, ever since we got here?"
"I worry about you," Jim said, the words coming easier than he had expected. "You were badly hurt and I want you to get better." He took a step closer, laying a hand on Blair's shoulder. "I wasn't listening to your conversation. I was listening to your heartbeat."
"Why? Why listen to that?"
"To make sure you weren't having another flashback." There was another reason, but Jim wasn't sure Blair would believe it. Deciding to take a chance, he said, "To reassure myself that you are all right." He pulled his hand away, stepping back from the younger man. "You probably don't understand."
Blair shook his head. "No. No, I guess I do understand." He laughed. "A shock wave."
"What?"
"Simon told Krys that rape was like a nuclear explosion. That you had been hit with a shock wave."
"I don't understand, Chief."
The bell rang, announcing lunch, and Blair started back to the monastery, Jim following slightly behind. "You've been hovering, smothering me really, because what happened to me off-balanced you. It made you feel useless. You're not running the investigation, I'm falling apart at the seams, and you don't know what to do. So you hover."
"Why didn't you tell me you felt that way?"
"You may not believe this, Jim, but until now I didn't know how."
Jim chuckled. "Coming from you that's hard to believe."
Blair stopped so suddenly Jim almost ran into him. Turning around, he said, "I know you just want to help but you aren't. I'm sorry." He rushed on, not giving Jim a chance to speak, "I know you worry about me but I need some time away from you. I need some time to get my head straight and I *can't* do that with you listening to my heartbeat all the time. It's unnerving."
"So you want me to leave?"
"Yes. Go back to Cascade. Go back to work."
"When will you come back?"
Blair didn't answer for a few moments. "I have to get this cast off," he said, raising his right arm, "in a week. Maybe then. If not, classes start at the university in two weeks."
"One to two weeks?"
"No more. I just need some time to think. Away from anything or anyone that reminds me of . . . of what happened."
Nodding his head, he agreed to his friend's request. "On one condition," he said, placing his hand on Blair's shoulder and gently steering him down the hill. "You call me every night."
"What? Long-distance smothering?"
"It's the next best thing to being there," Jim said, a slight chuckle in his voice.
"I'll think about it," Blair answered, presenting Jim with the first smile he'd seen from the young man in a long time. It wasn't much -- a slight curving of his lips -- but it was a start.
end of Destruction
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