Progression Series 14 Rest in Peace, Blair Sandburg

by Beth Manz

  "Of course you can have it, Naomi," he whispered.

  Naomi exhaled a long breath, her gaze shifting around the small room. She clutched the small, framed photo to her chest. "I...I don't know what to do with his things," she admitted softly.

  "If you'd like...I'll take care of everything," Jim offered.

  "Yes, thank you." Crossing to the bed, she stuffed the photo into her duffel bag. Watching her actions, it was the first time Jim realized that she had packed all her things into the small bags she'd had with her when she arrived two days ago.

  "You're leaving." The words came out as a statement instead of a question. Jim had known she wouldn't stay long. It just wasn't who Naomi Sandburg was. Besides, Cascade had been Blair's home, not hers. She'd only come to the city in the past in order to see her son. Now that he was gone...Jim doubted he'd ever see Naomi again.

  "I'm going back to stay with my friends in Arizona," she explained, zipping her bag shut. "I'll leave the number with you in case something comes up in the next week or so. After that...I'm not sure what I'll be doing, where I'll be going."

  "I can always page you."

  A huff of mirthless laughter crossed her lips. "I threw the pager away," she stated flatly.

  Jim nodded, not surprised by the news.

  Closing her second bag, Naomi straightened and turned to face Jim. "I think that's it."

  Jim nodded and moved over to pick up the bags. He carried them to the elevator, but Naomi reached out and stopped him before he could step into the small car with her. "I'll be fine from here on out. I called a cab and it should be waiting for me downstairs."

  Jim looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay, then."

  Naomi stepped toward the elevator, but hesitated before getting inside the car. "Jim," she began, turning to face him again, "thank you for being such a good friend to my son. For caring about him so much." Her lower lip trembled, but she pushed on. "You gave him so many things I couldn't, so many things I didn't even realize he needed."

  Jim took a deep breath to help quell the emotions that rose up inside him. "He gave me more in return," he whispered.

  She smiled at the remark, tears now spilling freely down her cheeks. Leaning in close, she hugged Jim briefly before moving quickly to the elevator and stepping inside. Seconds later, the doors closed and Naomi was gone.

  Jim turned back to the loft. Crossing over the threshold, his gaze shifted to the French doors that still stood open. Without thinking, he moved to the small room and leaned heavily against the doorjamb. He took in the clutter, the possessions that were so uniquely Blair. He'd told Naomi he'd take care of the kid's things. But somehow, standing here, he didn't know how he'd ever be able to pack the papers and artifacts and clothing away. He knew it would have to be done eventually. But not today. Not for a long, long time.

  He stared at the neatly made bed with the jumble of wildly colored pillows, the desk with books and journals piled precariously on top, Sandburg's favorite jacket draped across the back of the chair. His gaze took in all the details of the room as though he were seeing them for the first time...and then the images began to blur....

  /

  /

  /

  Eli Stoddard pulled up in front of the building at 852 Prospect Street. He looked up toward the third floor loft, thinking about the first time he'd come here for dinner. He and Jim had sat out on the balcony talking about Blair, about what the young man meant to each of them. And as he continued to sit in his car, fingering the keys he'd pulled from the ignition, snatches of that long ago conversation played through his mind....

  "I want to thank you for something."

  "Thank me?" Jim asked, confused. "For what?"

  "For taking care of Blair over the past four years. When he didn't come with me to Borneo, I wondered who would run interference for him as he worked on his dissertation. I did as much as I could from the field..."

  "I appreciate what you did. I know Blair would, too, if he knew about it."

  "Blair is an uncommon young man. He deserves to be taken care of..."

  Eli closed his eyes against the memory, against the pain that twisted his heart. All I wanted was for you to be safe and happy. Nothing and no one would ever replace Blair Sandburg in his heart; the loss of the young man would remain with him for the rest of his life. But that pain would not keep him from fulfilling a promise he'd made to the young anthropologist.

  Exiting the old Chevy, he glanced up at the loft windows again. When he'd first arrived home from Borneo, he and Blair had gotten together to discuss the sentinel books Blair was writing. During one of those afternoons, Blair had asked Eli to watch over Jim should anything ever happen to him. Somehow the idea that Eli knew what Jim was, knew about his sentinel abilities, had seemed to give the young man a sense of peace.

  Eli shook his head sadly as he crossed to the apartment building's front door. Blair must have always known...for all his bravado and even outward denial, Blair must have always known that his work with Jim would most likely lead to his death one day... An untrained, unarmed civilian watching the back of one of Cascade's most prominent and successful detectives...

  The thought, the knowledge of what Blair must have lived with, hit Eli like a lightening bolt. He'd always known Blair was fiercely loyal, unswervingly devoted to Jim, but now he realized the full depth of that loyalty and devotion.... Blair had stayed by Jim's side, all the while knowing the partnership would, most likely, result in his own death one day....

  As he rode up in the elevator toward the third floor, Eli's thoughts turned to the grieving detective he was about to face. He wasn't sure what he could offer Jim. What Blair provided for him, the connection between the two men...those things were unique, spiritual, irreplaceable. But he had promised. He knew he'd never be able to fill Blair's shoes, but he had to try.

  Stepping from the elevator, he made his way toward the loft. Ahead, he could see the door to the apartment standing slightly ajar. His brow furrowed in concern as he drew near. That's odd...

  "Jim?" he called out, pushing the door open before him. "Jim, are you here?" His gaze shifted across the living area then right, where he found the detective. Jim stood at the open doorway that led into Blair's room. He was leaning heavily against the doorjamb, and if he had heard Eli calling his name, he gave no indication of it. Even more concerned now, Eli stepped inside the loft and closed the door behind him. "Jim, are you all right?"

  Still, Jim did not answer, did not move.

  Eli stepped up to the detective. "Jim?" And as he looked up at the younger man he finally realized what was wrong. The sentinel's eyes were staring straight ahead, unseeing, and his features were slack, emotionless.

  Jim Ellison was zoning.

  Eli's mind raced. Frantically, he tried to recall the details of what Blair had told him about Jim's zone outs. What did Blair do when this happened? How did he pull the sentinel out of it?

  Tentatively, Eli reached out and placed a hand on Jim's arm. There was no reaction to the touch. Tightening his grip slightly, he moved in closer and said softly, "Jim, can you hear me?"

  Nothing. No movement. No change in expression. No flicker of acknowledgment in the blue eyes.

  Eli licked his lips as he considered what to do next. Then, raising the tone of his voice slightly, he tried again. "Jim, I need you to snap out of this. I need you to look at me. Jim!"

  This isn't working. A frustrating wave of impotence wound its way through Eli. He released his hold on Jim and stepped away from him. He swept his gaze over Blair's room, then turned to survey the large living area, searching for something that could give him the help he needed. There has to be something!

  His gaze locked on the telephone answering machine on the counter and an idea pricked his mind. It was a long shot but Eli was willing at this point to try almost anything to bring Jim back to reality. Moving quickly, he crossed to the machine and hit one of the small function buttons. Seconds later, Blair's voice issued
forth from the device: "Hi. You've reached the loft. Leave a message and we'll call you back."

  Eli studied Jim as Blair's voice filled the apartment. And even before the machine had finished playing the recorded message, the sentinel shivered--it was the first sign of movement Eli had seen since he'd entered the loft.

  "Blair?" Jim called out in confusion as he slumped against the doorjamb.

  At the sound of the pleading need in Jim's voice, Eli's heart constricted in his chest. He moved back over to Jim and placed an arm around the taller man's waist, lending him as much physical support as possible as Jim sought to regain his equilibrium. Within seconds Jim's eyes had cleared and he had straightened and pushed away from the doorjamb.

  "I'm sorry, Jim," Eli offered. "It's just me. Blair's--"

  "I know," Jim cut in, his voice rough. His eyes flicked to Eli's face only briefly, then he looked away. Reaching up, he rubbed his forehead, his brow furrowed in obvious pain. "What happened?"

  "I think you were zoning," Eli said softly. "At least that's what it looked like from the description Blair gave me. I...I'm not sure what to say, how to react to this."

  "Don't worry, Eli. I'll be fine." Jim offered him a weak smile. "Did you stop by for a reason?"

  "Actually yes," he admitted. "I promised Blair I would watch out for you if anything ever happened to him. I came to take you out to dinner so we could discuss it, but now-"

  "Dinner?" Jim blurted out suddenly, his gaze darting to the alarm clock that sat on Blair's night stand. His face paled slightly as he took in the time. "It's five-thirty?"

  "Yes. Why?"

  Jim turned his gaze back to Eli. "I zoned right after Naomi left. That was right after one o'clock. Now...." His voice trailed off and he shook his head, his eyes staring past Eli at some point on the far wall. "I lost half the day," he whispered in obvious disbelief.

  Worry crept over Eli. What would have happened if I hadn't come over this evening? Would Jim have remained as he was all night? But even that wasn't what had Eli worried most of all. It was the fact that he hadn't been the reason Jim had finally emerged from his obviously deep zone. It had been the sound of Blair's voice. It had been Blair.

  "No one can replace him for you, can they?" Eli muttered, his heart suddenly pounding faster in his chest.

  "What?" Jim asked, confused.

  "When I first came back to Cascade, Blair made me promise that if anything ever happened to him I would look out for you...in your capacity as sentinel. He said he wanted someone to know what you were capable of, someone who could understand your needs and be here to help you. But now.... Now I realize...." His voice trailed off and he shook his head.

  "You can't do it," Jim finished for the professor and his voice, his gaze, held a certainty that was unmistakable. "Blair was my guide," he stated softly. "Not by chance, not by choice. By destiny. No one can ever take his place."

  /

  /

  /

  Marcus Grant strolled past the nurse's station on Ward C, headed directly toward Blair Sandburg's room. As he passed the station and the first few patient rooms beyond it, he was acutely aware of the fact that Abby Glover was nowhere to be seen. She's probably in with Sandburg again, fussing over him. He ground his teeth together at the thought. Nurse Glover was one of those bleeding heart types who thought it was their personal responsibility to save the world and everyone in it. Deep down, he knew Nurse Glover's attitude could work to his advantage, that she would probably do everything in her limited power to "save" David Jacobs. He just hated having to put up with her constant questioning and watchful glances.

  Reaching Sandburg's room, he pushed the door partially open then paused briefly, listening. Instantly, Abby's voice reached him.

  "Who's Jim?"

  Marcus's heart caught in his throat at her question. Was Sandburg awake? Talking about Ellison? He pushed through the door without further hesitation, his gaze darting to the bed. Blair lay just as he had left him, eyes closed, unconscious.

  Abby sat in the chair beside the bed, Blair's chart in her lap. Her concerned gaze was locked on the young man beside her. As Marcus entered, she stood abruptly. "Dr. Collins," she greeted.

  "What are you doing in here?" he demanded.

  She shot him a confused look and shrugged slightly. "I was just talking with David."

  "Why? He can't hear you."

  "Nonsense," Abby retorted, straightening her shoulders and staring at him levelly. "I have always believed that one-on-one contact is very important for my patients. Even if Mr. Jacobs isn't fully awake, I believe just hearing a concerned voice is beneficial for him."

  Marcus rolled his eyes at Glover's pointless theorizing, then moved closer to the bed. "I heard you ask him who Jim was. Did he mention that name?"

  "Yes. When he first regained consciousness he asked where 'Jim' was. I thought maybe this Jim might be a family member of his, someone we should perhaps contact for him."

  "We're not contacting anyone for Mr. Jacobs, do you understand?"

  But it was obvious she didn't. She glared at him with challenge in her eyes, then her expression softened as her gaze shifted back to Blair. "Jim--whoever he is--has to be someone of importance to David if that's the first name he called out when he woke."

  "'Jim' is not important to David at all," Marcus responded, his tone curt. "He's important to Blair Sandburg, the man David believes he is right now. Dr. Sandburg's closest friend was a police detective named Jim Ellison. That's who David was asking about. That's who David has been asking to see since he was first picked up by the police."

  "Then, maybe if this Jim Ellison would just come and talk to him, David would realize he's not Blair Sandburg and this would end."

  "Detective Ellison did talk to him," Marcus answered. He watched the nurse carefully, for he needed to be sure she believed this part of the story completely. "Unfortunately, it wasn't under the controlled circumstances you just described. Instead, Detective Ellison was called down to lockup because David was telling everyone there he was the detective's friend. Can you imagine the man's pain? Just the day before he'd learned that his closest friend had died under very tragic circumstances. Then he receives a call saying there must have been some horrible mistake, that his friend is alive and in the station!" He shook his head. "No, under no circumstances is Detective Ellison to be bothered again. Is that clear?"

  She nodded, all challenge gone from her features, replaced by concern and pity. "This poor boy," she muttered. She reached over and touched lightly at Sandburg's shoulder. "So alone."

  Marcus had to stop himself from snapping at her regarding what he considered to be sympathetic whining. "If there's nothing else, Nurse Glover, I'd like to exam my patient."

  Abby nodded demurely. "Of course, Doctor."

  As soon as Marcus was alone with Blair, he bent over and checked the restraints around the young man's wrists. They held firm and he smiled down at his "patient."

  "Listen to me. My name is Blair Sandburg. This man you're calling Ryan Collins is actually Marcus Grant. He's tried to kill me twice before..."

  Marcus had to bite his lip to keep from laughing as he replayed Sandburg's words through his mind. If the good Dr. Sandburg only knew how much his truthful outburst had helped cement his psychosis in the nurse's mind.... "You'd just kick yourself," he whispered to Blair.

  As Marcus spoke, Sandburg stirred, mumbling softly. Marcus frowned and, reaching down, lay two fingers against the carotid artery at his neck. The pulse was strong but beating faster than the sedative in his system should allow.

  He's waking again.

  "Can't have that," he muttered. Until he was sure he could trust the staff to keep Sandburg in the restraints, he planned to keep him sedated when he wasn't around.

  And since I'm going home to have a nice dinner...

  "Nurse," he called out sharply.

  Abby Glover stuck her head in the door. "Yes, Doctor?"

  "Mr. Jacobs appears to be waking."
/>   She nodded, her gaze darting briefly to the young man in the bed. "I'll order his dinner and-"

  "That's not what I wanted," Marcus bit out. "I want you to give him another sedative. One that will keep him quiet for the rest of the night. He'll receive whatever nutrition he requires through an IV until further notice."

  Abby stepped into the room, frowning. "But if he's capable of eating, he should. You know that. If you're worried about the restraints, I won't remove them. I'll feed him myself. But I really think--"

  "I didn't ask you to think!" Marcus bit out. "I asked you to administer another sedative and that's what I expect you to do!" He paused, gave himself a moment to reign in his anger. "I'm planning on leaving as soon as I'm through here," he explained in a crisp, even staccato, "and I don't want to have to wonder whether Mr. Jacobs is out of control while I'm gone. So, you will do as you're ordered or I'll find another nurse who will. Am I clear?"

  Part Four

  Morning sun filtered in around the bars in the window set high on the wall. The spring rays fell across his bed, warming the blanket draped over him. When Blair had first awakened several minutes ago, before he'd opened his eyes he'd thought--just for the briefest of moments--that what had happened before had just been a horrible nightmare. That when he opened his eyes he'd find himself back in the loft, securely tucked away in his room under the stairs. And Marcus Grant will still be dead.

  But that hadn't happened. Instead, when he'd opened his eyes, the same sterile, white walls had greeted him. The padded restraints that encircled both his wrists and ankles still kept him tethered to the bed.

  He sighed even now and squeezed his eyes closed, swallowing deeply against the almost overwhelming disappointment that washed over him.

  I just want to go home.

  No one had come in yet this morning to check on him. And he hadn't called out for fear that whoever responded would simply shoot him full of drugs again. Even as horrifying as he found his surroundings, he didn't want to slip back into oblivion and be unaware of what was happening.