Progression Series 14 Rest in Peace, Blair Sandburg

by Beth Manz

  Lifting his head, he looked down at his left wrist. He twisted his arm slowly back and forth within the confines of the padded restraint. There was definitely more give in that one than the right one--but that wasn't saying much. He'd tried to reach the buckle holding the restraint closed but couldn't bend his wrist far enough.

  If I could just get to a phone! One call to Jim and this would all end!

  A noise to his left caught his attention and he turned to see the door to his room being pushed open. He tensed, then relaxed when he saw that it wasn't Grant who was entering, but a nurse--the same nurse who had given him the injection yesterday. She seemed older than Blair remembered--late fifties at least, possibly early sixties. But she had a kind face, her eyes wrinkled with laugh lines, an underlying warmth in her expression.

  "Good morning," she said brightly. Crossing to him, she retrieved his chart from where it hung on the end of the bed and flipped it open. "How are you feeling today, sweetie?"

  "Fine." He looked past her as she gazed down at his chart.

  "Dr. Collins hasn't arrived yet."

  Blair looked up at her. "What?"

  "That's who you're looking for, right?" She closed the chart and looked down at Blair, one eyebrow cocked in question.

  "Um, yeah, I was." He shifted where he lay, taking a moment to try and decide his next move. "What's your name?"

  "Abby. I've been taking care of you since you got here."

  Blair nodded, smiling up at her. "I remember. Thanks, Abby." He lifted his right wrist toward her. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to take these things off, would you?"

  She chuckled at the obviously ridiculous request, but the sound was not unkind. "You know I can't do that, David."

  He dropped his hand back down against the mattress and let out a long breath. "That's not my name. I know that's what Grant told you, but he's lying."

  She hugged the chart to her chest. "I'm sorry, but who is this 'Grant'?"

  "Dr. Collins," he answered simply. "The man you call Ryan Collins is actually named Marcus Grant. He changed his name and had plastic surgery to change his face, then he stuck me in here and--" But he stopped talking as he realized...I sound crazy. Everything I'm telling her sounds crazy!

  "And what, David?" Abby asked when he didn't continue, and although he didn't detect any contempt in her voice, he did think he heard an underlying tone of pity.

  "Listen, Abby, I know this sounds nuts. I thinks that's what Grant...I mean, Collins, is counting on. He's counting on the fact that everything I tell you will sound nuts. But you have to believe me!" The words poured out of him, one after the other, his voice rushed, desperate. "My name is Blair Sandburg. I'm a professor at Rainier University. Grant faked my death so he could trap me here, and if you'd just make one phone call for me--just one--you'd see that I'm telling the truth about all of this." He clamped his mouth shut, staring up at her. Would she listen? Would she believe him?

  "David," she began--and he knew. Just by the tone of her voice, he knew....

  "You don't believe me," he whispered.

  "It's not a matter of believing you or not believing you, honey. It's a matter of what I can do for you and what I can't. And one of the things I can't do for you is make phone calls."

  "Well, that only makes sense," he responded bitterly. "After all, I'm crazy, right? Why would you make a phone call for a crazy person?"

  "No one has said you're crazy." Abby opened the chart she held and jotted some brief notes inside before returning it to its place at the end of the bed. "And even though I can't make a phone call for you, there is one thing I can do." She glanced back at the door briefly as if about to relay a secret to him. Then, leaning slightly closer, she asked, "How would you like to take a nice hot shower this morning?"

  A wave of pleasure and relief swept across him. Take a shower. Leave this room, this bed. Have the restraints removed. "You would let me do that?" he asked, his voice holding an edge of hope mixed with disbelief.

  She straightened and folded her arms across her chest. "You and I are going to be spending a lot of time together. And I like to establish trust with my patients right up front." She narrowed her eyes as she continued to look at him. "This is my trust moment with you, David. I'm going to trust you to behave yourself well enough to be taken to and from the showers without causing a problem. If you do that, then this could become a regular morning routine for you. Do you understand?"

  Blair nodded. "I understand, Abby."

  A wide smile spread across her face and she gave him a motherly wink. "Good. I'll get Gary. He's the orderly who'll accompany you to and from the shower."

  -----------------

  Twenty minutes later, Blair stood under the hard spray of a steaming shower. He tilted his head back, relishing the feel of the hot water as it ran across his scalp and down over his aching muscles. He took his time--shampooing his hair, scrubbing his torso, enjoying every moment of his temporary freedom. Because when I get out of here, I'm going to end up right back in that bed with those damn restraints.

  On the way to the showers he had briefly thought about trying to escape. But only briefly. Two things had prevented his making an attempt--the beefy hand that Gary, the truck-sized orderly assigned to accompany him, had on his arm...and Abby. He knew the elderly nurse was testing him, seeing if she could trust him or not. He wasn't about to jeopardize that. In the long run, Abby's trust might be the only thing he had going for him.

  How long have I been in this place, anyway? He had no idea, but if his cramped limbs were any indication, it had been several days at least.

  Several days. I've been dead to everyone--including Jim--for several days. His heart went out to his partner, then to his mother, then to Eli. The three people who loved him most. But his mind returned to Jim, to the friend he knew would be grieving for him at this very moment. Is he sleeping? Eating? Has he zoned? A shiver of fear ran through him. I have to get out of here. I have to!

  As the water continued to pound down on him, Blair closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest, breathing deeply. And a strange darkness descended around his soul....

  ...The wolf stepped from the underbrush and limped slowly toward the next rise in the forest floor. As he traveled--his movements stiff and labored--a soft whimpering emanated from deep within his throat. Darkness pressed in on all sides and the animal stumbled in the oppressive blackness. Fear gripped its heart, raised the hair on its neck.

  The wolf was lost. Alone. Afraid.

  A cold wind blew over the beast and it shivered. Unable to find shelter, unable to find its way home, it stumbled forward just the same, hoping...hoping the next turn in the trail or the next horizon beyond the next rise would reveal that he'd found his way home after all...

  A few more painful steps and then there was the sound of metal scraping against metal. The buried hunter's trap snapped shut around the rear leg of the beast, and it howled out in pain as its bones were crushed within the massive steel teeth.

  Lost. Alone. Afraid.

  The wolf lay on the ground, blood pouring from its injured limb. Throwing back its head, it howled, a long mournful sound that split the night. Again, its strength nearly spent, it called out in the darkness for help. Called out for...

  ...."Jim!" The name burst from his lips as Blair jerked his head upright again. He was still in the shower, the water pelting against his trembling body. He reached out a shaky hand to steady himself, his legs suddenly weak.

  Images of the wounded, lost wolf filled his mind. Did I fall asleep? Was I dreaming? But it hadn't felt like a dream--it had seemed real...just as real as the spirit walk he and Jim had so recently completed. The wolf could only be his spirit guide, then. So what had the images meant? Why had he seen them?

  A heavy fist pounded on the unlocked door that separated the shower from the very large orderly who had escorted him here. "Time's up, Jacobs. Let's go."

  "Yeah, okay," Blair called out shakily. Turning off the water, he st
epped from the stall and toweled off quickly. As he pulled on the clean shorts and hospital-issue pajamas Abby had given him, his mind turned again to the images of the wolf. They were fading but one abiding sensation remained.... For a moment, as he had listened to the frightened, pain-filled howl of the injured animal, it had felt as if he'd been very near to Jim, as if Jim could hear him calling out for help. He still felt it, was as sure he was right as he'd ever been of anything in his life.

  Please, Jim. Please. Listen to the wolf. I'm here! I'm alive!

  /

  /

  /

  Blair is gone. Gone forever...

  The words whispered unbidden, unwanted, through Jim's mind. But as he sat on the edge of the couch, staring out the balcony doors, he was no longer sure of that fact. He ran a trembling hand across his sweat-dampened face and breathed in and out in deep, deliberate breaths, hoping to slow his fast beating heart. Images from the vision he'd just had still raced through his mind. Visions of a wolf, alone and trapped, crying out in the darkness of despair. And most vivid of all was a feeling that Blair was near, alive. Waiting for him. Needing him.

  He'd been sleeping on the couch again, still dressed in the clothes he'd worn the day before, when he had suddenly been jerked awake. Pulled from exhausted sleep by images of a wolf. Images of Blair's spirit guide.

  Lost. Alone. Afraid.

  Pushing up from the couch, he crossed to the balcony and stepped out into the cool morning air. As the wind whispered over his skin and through his hair, his thoughts turned to Incacha and to the spirit walk he and Blair had so recently shared.

  What was it Incacha had told Blair? That when Blair was dying on that mountainside the only reason his animal spirit hadn't alerted the sentinel to his need was because the young shaman had not accepted his animal spirit and the role it represented. That had he accepted him, the wolf would have been free to journey to Jim, to let him know Blair was in trouble.

  Just as he had today. Jim stared out across the bay, his mind and heart racing. Was it possible? Had that dream, that vision, been some kind of message from Blair's animal guide? And if it was, what did it mean?

  "Could Blair still be alive?" he questioned softly. And within him the answer welled up. He was sure of it. As sure as he could be. As sure as he needed to be.

  And then, as if in confirmation of what he already knew, he heard the distinctive cry of a wolf coming from somewhere in the distance. The plaintive howl, carried on the soft wind, seemed to almost wrap itself around Jim, to tug at him, to draw him toward one undeniable fact.... There are no wolves in the city. And if there were no wolves in the city, then there could only be one explanation for the sound he had just heard....

  Blair is not dead.

  A sense of determination burned through the sentinel. Determination to find his guide and bring him home.

  Turning away from the view before him, Jim crossed back into the loft and headed toward the bathroom. He would shower and dress and then hit the streets. But before he reached the bathroom, the phone rang. He changed directions slightly and snatched up the receiver.

  "Ellison."

  "Jim, Simon." The captain's voice poured from the phone, his tone somber. "I was just calling to see how you're doing this morning."

  Jim nearly laughed out loud. "I'm doing great, Simon. In fact, I was going to call you." He paused briefly, trying to decide the best way to phrase what he was about to tell his skeptical friend. Then, deciding there was no 'best way,' he said simply, "Blair's alive and I'm going to find him."

  There was no sound from the other end of the line, and the silence stretched out for several moments. Then--finally--Jim heard a faint sigh of breath. He could envision the captain in his mind, his eyes filled with pity and disbelief. "Jim," Banks said at last, and in that single word Jim could hear all the doubt the captain was feeling regarding his sudden pronouncement.

  "I know it sounds crazy, Simon, but I'm telling you it's true. I had this vision, this dream about Blair and-"

  "Jim, would you listen to yourself?" Simon cut in. "You had a dream about Sandburg. But that's all it was--a very nice dream."

  "But that's just my point, sir. It wasn't a nice dream. It was more like a nightmare." He paused. He and Blair had not really shared the spiritual side of the sentinel universe with Simon. The captain was a practical man--if he could see it, touch it, experience it with his physical senses, then he could believe it. But animal guides and spirit walks? Jim could only begin to imagine Simon's reaction. But he had no choice. He had to tell him.

  "Simon, there's a part of this sentinel thing you don't know about. A whole spiritual side that Blair and I never discussed with you. But it's that spiritual side that's telling me right now that Blair is alive. This morning I had a vision about Sandburg's animal spirit guide, a vision in which he was lost and afraid. I won't go into details, but I can tell you this much--I'd only have the kind of vision I had this morning if Blair were still alive." He stopped talking then, and waited.

  Silence was his only reply. The captain was still on the line--Jim could hear him breathing--but the man had yet to utter a response.

  "Simon, I know this is a lot to take in," Jim said when the uncomfortable lull in conversation went on too long. "I know that, but you have to believe me. What I'm telling you is the truth. There is just so much you don't know."

  "Jim," Simon answered at last, his voice soft, reassuring. "I think you need to talk to someone. A counselor, maybe. Someone who can help you come to terms with what's happened, with your loss...."

  Jim's hand tightened around the receiver. "I don't need a damn counselor," he shouted. "I need help finding my partner!"

  "Jim, Blair is dead! He was positively identified. We buried him."

  "We buried a body that was burned beyond recognition. That could have been anyone, Simon! And you know as well as I do that dental records can be faked."

  "Okay, Jim, let's say you're right," Simon offered. "Who would do this? Who would go to this much trouble to fake Sandburg's death? And why?"

  "I don't know," Jim admitted with more than a little reluctance. "But give me twenty-four hours and I swear I'll have proof that Blair is alive."

  There was a slight hesitation on the other end of the line, then, "Twenty-four hours," Simon agreed at last, his voice reluctant yet firm. "But if you don't find anything in that time that supports this...feeling you have, then I'm going to insist that you talk to someone about this."

  "Fine. But Simon, I guarantee you that by the end of today, you're going to be joining me in this search."

  Jim hung up the phone and turned toward the bathroom again. Simon had given him twenty-four hours to prove his theory and he wasn't going to waste a second of it. He would shower, shave, dress--then go talk to the one man who would believe him, who would help him bring Blair home.

  /

  /

  /

  "I see they cleaned you up a bit this morning. How nice."

  Blair turned and glared up at Marcus Grant. The man stood over him, an arrogant grin splitting his face, his arms crossed over his chest. Blair's hands balled into tight fists. If I didn't have these restraints on... "How long do you expect to keep me here?" he bit out.

  "Forever, of course," the doctor answered without compassion. "Ellison, your friends, even your mother thinks you're dead, so there will be no interference." He sat down in the chair beside the bed, his gaze taking on a strangely contemplative look. "You know, Blair, I've been thinking about you, about the way Ellison always treated you. So accommodating, so sheltering. And I've decided that I really can understand his protectiveness toward you. There is something...unique about you." Reaching over slowly, Grant brushed back the hair that had fallen across Blair's forehead. "Maybe that's why I can't bring myself to kill you outright. I guess you bring out the same sort of protective feelings in me as well...."

  Blair pulled hard against the restraints on his wrists, trying to move as far away from Grant as po
ssible. He hated the feel of Grant's hands on him, the touch of his fingers in his hair. "Get your hands off me, you freak!"

  Grant only chuckled softly at the outburst, clearly unperturbed. "I'm thinking of going to visit Eli today. Did I already tell you that? I thought I'd offer to clean out your office for him." His smile widened as an idea seemed to come to him. "Who knows? Maybe I can even make a play for it next school year. Imagine that...taking up residence in your office while you lie here, counting the ceiling tiles, slowly forgetting who you are...."

  "I'll be in my office next school year," Blair ground out, "so don't get too fond of it."

  Grant made a tsking sound with his tongue. "You just refuse to believe the inevitable, don't you? Well, believe me when I tell you that you'll be right here next year, David. And the year after that, and the year after that...."

  A chill snaked down Blair's spine but he kept his gaze locked on Grant, swallowing his fear, not giving the man the satisfaction of knowing how much his words horrified him. "Sooner or later," he ground out, "you'll have to let me go. You can't keep me here forever."

  "Why can't I?" The doctor laughed and shook his head. "Blair, you must realize that a sane man can only remain sane in a place like this for so long. My hope, my desire, is to slowly watch you lose that brilliant mind of yours. I'm sure the entire process will prove quite fascinating." He smiled down at Blair. "Believe me, between the drugs and the other treatments I have planned for you...well, very soon I'll have you believing you really are David Jacobs."

  Drugs...treatments... Terror coursed through him as he thought about what this man could do to him--would do to him.

  "You're afraid now," Grant whispered, his voice tinged with excitement. "Your fear is rolling off of you in waves. I can practically smell it."

  "Why are you doing this?" Blair demanded. "You had a new life as Ryan Collins. Everyone liked you. We were friends."