Silent Thunder

by Kristine Williams

  "Yeah, I did. I guess I didn't realize just how tired I was." He tossed aside the towel and pushed long, wet hair from his face. "Listen, Jim, about last night, I'm sorry. Honestly, there's nothing going on. I just...I just got overly tired and let it all get to me, I guess."

  "I think there's more to it than that, Chief. You've been overworked before and haven't had this happen."

  "No, I have. I've just never had anyone around to notice, or to take it out on, before. Really, man, I'm fine."

  Jim glanced behind him at the cot Blair had slept on, then back to his friend. "So, you'll be sleeping at home tonight?"

  "Yeah, I'll be home. I just have a few things to finish up around here, get some grades posted and such. Do you need me today?"

  I need you every day, partner. "Nah, I can handle this Nielsen thing today. You just take it easy, all right? Take a day off or something, and get some sleep."

  "Right. Thanks, Jim."

  "No problem, Chief." Jim gave Blair a pat on the arm as he walked out, looking back once more at the doorway to see his partner opening his laptop with some trepidation. He shut the door, letting Blair realize the machine was in working order himself.

  Back at the Station, Jim continued to dig through the personal files of Mr. Nielsen. It wasn't until he ran across another file, several hours later, that he took a break. It was the personnel file for one Blair Sandburg, police observer. He sat back, opening the file, and took a look inside. First to catch his eye was the start date.

  "I knew it." It hadn't been 12 months at all, only 9. The computer must have spewed this out by mistake, and no one bothered to check it out. That was the way all too often these days. The computers were trusted far too much. Jim used them, he even liked them, but like any other tool, they weren't infallible. He closed the file, gathered up Mr. Nielsen's papers and stuffed them back into their box, then carried the whole mess back out to his desk.

  "Jim, anything on that Nielsen case?" Simon was standing next to his desk, his hand and mouth uncharacteristically free of any cigar.

  "Not much, Simon. I'm going to bring the partners in for questioning one at a time, see if I can get one of them to open up alone."

  "Good idea. Put them off their well-manicured guard." Simon glanced at his watch. "Listen, I seem to recall owing you lunch. Any plans?"

  "I'm all yours."

  They drove several blocks towards the waterfront, then parked outside a nice cafe that served a more balanced fare than they'd had just the other day. Simon volunteered them for the non smoking section, and Jim began to smell a trap. Even with a scent his Sentinel senses couldn't pick up, he was right.

  "Jim, something's been eating at you these past few days. You wanna tell me what it is?"

  They had finished eating, but the cafe was quiet, so no one was antsy for them to vacate the table.

  "I don't know, Simon. It's Blair, I think. He hasn't been himself lately."

  "That should be a welcome relief."

  Great. Jim rolled his eyes and shook his head, gazing out the window at the bay beyond. He should have known the Captain wouldn't take this as seriously as he was.

  "Jim, I'm sorry. Sometimes I just can't resist when it's Sandburg we're talking about." Simon chuckled a bit then sighed. "Come on, it takes a lot to rattle your cage. Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

  "I don't know what's going on. Maybe nothing. One thing I found out, it hasn't been a year after all." At least it wasn't some unconscious reaction to an anniversary of any kind. Of that Jim could be relatively certain. "I checked over his observer papers, and it's only been 9 months."

  "That figures. Those computers spew out whatever they want whenever they want, and it's too easy to believe them. Even I was having a hard time with that one."

  Jim shook his head and sat back, trying to distract both Simon and himself from this topic. "It's nothing, Simon. He hasn't been able to sleep these past few nights, probably all worked up over something at the University. Maybe he just needs a vacation."

  "What about you? How are you sleeping these days?"

  "Fine." Jim shrugged. "In fact, great."

  "Well, could be that he's just all worked up about being overworked. The kid does lead two lives, after all. I gotta give him credit for that." Simon pushed his chair back and stood, shaking his head and reaching for a cigar as they walked to the door. "I don't know how he does it, myself."

  "Yeah, neither do I." Jim held the door open while the Captain dug a book of matches out of his pocket. "I think the kid thrives on chaos."

  "That would explain a lot." Simon chuckled all the way back to the car.

  Jim returned to the life of Mr. Nielsen, finishing the last of the dead man's personal calendars before phoning his wife. He'd visit her tomorrow, once again going over their financial records and files he had kept in his home office. It was beginning to look like maybe her husband really had taken the easy way out. But Jim had a funny feeling about this one, and he'd learned years ago to pay close attention to his feelings. One of which told him to bring home dinner.

  Blair was pacing the living room, one hand constantly running through his long hair, head shaking back and forth as he paced out each square foot in front of the balcony doors. Jim set the boxes from Wu Fung's take out down on the counter, recognizing the look on Blair's face immediately as a return to the black mood of last night. His own mood was returning to a nice state of quiet calm, and he almost hated to let Blair disrupt it again.

  "Hey, Chief. What's up?"

  "I can't do this anymore." Blair's eyes flashed to Jim, then looked out over the room. "I just can't."

  Jim took a breath, forcing his heart back down where it would do more good. He was stressed, that's all. Just take it slow, and don't let him do anything stupid. "Can't do what, partner?"

  "This!" Blair's pacing stopped on a dime, both hands came up in a wild gesture. "Professor Kinyon asked me to take her class for the rest of this week, I have my own finals to get out, the research group has a problem they expect me to solve, and here you come, wanting me to work with you again."

  "Hey, hang on, Chief. I haven't asked you anything yet. Let's just sit down and take it easy, okay?" Jim crossed the room, approaching Blair quietly.

  "I don't need to sit down, Jim, I need to clone myself!" Blair moved away, shaking his head.

  "Okay." Jim stopped, hands raised. "So the problem here is not enough time, you're overworked. We can deal with that, Blair. It's not something to make yourself sick over." He watched his partner continue pacing, like a caged animal that knew it was trapped, unable to stop looking for an exit that wasn't there. "I can get by without you at the Station for a while."

  Blair whirled around, eyes flashing anger. "You don't get it, do you? This is not about you, man!" The hand returned, pushing long dark hair from his face. Before Jim could reply, Blair took a deep breath, closing both eyes tightly while he stood there, facing the wall. "I just need some time to think."

  Jim watched his friend walk to his room, half afraid he was getting a pack out to gather some clothes. When he heard Blair sit down on the bed, and no other sounds but his breathing and a slightly elevated heartbeat, he relaxed a bit. If he needed time, he could have it, as long as he took that time where Jim could keep an eye on him.

  The Chinese food beckoned from the kitchen, stirring Jim's appetite. Ignoring the fact that he shouldn't be thinking of food when his friend was this upset, Jim settled in on the couch with the boxes and a pair of chopsticks. He turned on the news, but kept the volume low enough to allow him an easy survey down the hall when he needed to check Blair.

  The kid was showing all the signs of stress. Not sleeping, confusing the source of his irritation, lashing out at whoever was handy. He was probably associating being at home with his problems since that's where he had the time to think about them. Maybe it was time someone took over his life for a week or so, and took him on a retreat to recharge the batteries? Jim set his Moo Shu beef down and looked
around the coffee table for a brochure he'd seen the other day.

  That's when he spotted the letter. It had fallen to the floor, and was ready to be kicked under the couch. He picked up the overseas envelope and glanced at the front. To Blair Sandburg. Well, that wasn't unusual. From Dr. Eli Stoddard, Borneo. Something tightened inside Jim's gut. Something irrational, maybe even immature, but there nevertheless. He resisted the urge to breach Blair's privacy, and tossed the letter back to the table. Is that his problem? He wants to go to Borneo again, and doesn't know how to break it to me?

  "It's about friendship. I just didn't see that before."

  Right. Then what the hell was going on? Frustrated with his own feelings of jealousy regarding Blair's former mentor and the hold he apparently still had, Jim made up his mind. He had to know if he was the cause of all these ridiculous outbursts. And if so, they had to get past it, or end it here.

  "Sandburg, I--" Jim stopped at the door, trying to understand what he was seeing. Blair didn't bother looking up. He sat at the edge of the bed, rolling a small tan bottle between his hands. A bottle that held a label, hastily applied, bearing Jim's name. "What he hell are you doing?" Instinct propelled him forward to take the container from Blair's hands. The lid was off, but there were several pills still inside the bottle.

  "I have a headache, Jim." Blair didn't look up, didn't protest when the pills were taken from him.

  "How many did you take?"

  "None."

  He'd had this bottle in his room all this time. "How many did you take?!" Angry and worried, Jim pulled Blair from the bed, looking into his eyes.

  "None!" Hands came up quickly, forcing Jim's grip away. Blair's eyes flashed again, fearlessly challenging. "Just leave me alone, Jim! You're not my keeper, all right?"

  "Maybe if I was I'd know what the hell was wrong with you!" Jim's heart was racing now, matching the rhythm he could hear in Blair's own chest. What was he thinking? "We need to have a talk here, Chief. Right now."

  "No, Jim, we don't." Blair pushed past him and out of the room, marching to the front door.

  "Sandburg, where are you going?"

  "Out."

  Jim stopped at the door, letting it slam in his face. He needed time. Time to calm himself down, time to understand what was happening. Time to count those damn pills. To the best of his understanding, there was only one, maybe two missing. What was happening here? He'd been sure he'd seen Blair in every stressful situation possible already, and could predict his reaction to anything. Tonight was proof of his mistake.

  Maybe Blair had been planning a break in the routine all this time. Maybe the only stress he was feeling was over the best way to approach Jim with the news that he wanted to leave him, leave the Sentinel studies, the exciting life of police work, and return to his real mentor, Dr. Eli Stoddard. The first man to ever gain Blair's undying respect.

  Part 4

  * * *

  It had started to rain. But it wasn't cold. Blair wasn't nearly as cold outside as he felt inside. Damn Jim and his prying! Why couldn't he leave well enough alone? Why couldn't he have left Blair to his internal demons? He'd have worked them out eventually. He was pretty sure. He'd never taken Dr. Stoddard's offer seriously, after all. But now...now it was beginning to look like his only option. Blair had managed to talk himself out of these feelings today, but now they were back, strong as ever.

  He thought he was being paranoid, thinking Jim didn't want him around anymore, that he was keeping him on out of some misguided sense of obligation. Jim hated his Sentinel senses, and would just as soon set them aside. He never understood what that meant to Blair. He never realized how it hurt to have your entire life's work, your thesis, first embodied, then rejected by its owner. What he wouldn't give for five minutes' worth of Jim's abilities! What he'd been through, all these years---the ridicule, the scorn, the rejection---only to find what he alone knew to exist. And to have that very find reject itself out of scorn. Contempt of itself. Contempt of Blair.

  In his dazed wanderings, Blair found himself in the park again, standing on the sidewalk gazing out over the bay. His head was pounding along with the rain, keeping time with the rush of blood surging through his ears. It was so loud, he didn't hear Jim until the man was standing beside him.

  "What the hell's going on here, Chief?"

  "I don't know, Jim." He couldn't meet Jim's eyes for fear of what he'd see. All his past worries, all that paranoid apprehension that he'd some day piss this man off, had finally come to fruition.

  "Are you trying to end this?"

  No! "I'm not sure."

  "Cause if you are, this is one hell of a way to go about it."

  Blair risked a glance, and his fears became stone. Cold, hard, and just as dangerous as the blue eyes gazing anywhere but at him.

  "If you want out, Sandburg, then I can't stop you. You won't talk to me, you won't talk to anyone else as far as I know. You've shut me out, and I can't help you."

  No, no, this was all so wrong! It never should have gone this far. Blair sank to the curb, heedless of the damp cement. The cold, hard surface matched the piercing pain in his chest that made inhaling an aching chore. His heart had fallen through one of his shoes to mingle with the drainage water flowing quietly out to sea. Just as well, his life had ended today. Three days ago, technically. It had been a slow, lingering death. And now it was over. Dear God, it was over! "Jim..."

  "No, Sandburg. I've had enough." His voice held finality. His words cold and hard.

  Blair let his head sink to meet the hands required to hold it up. Long, damp hair fell forward, hiding his eyes from the man who stood beside him. Jim's own eyes, still cold blue fire, looked right over Blair. They hadn't focused on him since he stormed out. Blair knew, the instant those eyes bored through his soul, it was over. No greater weapon could ever be invented than Jim Ellison's cold blue eyes. No sharper blade cut as deeply as the words Jim said. The truth known only to him, but so obvious now, was painfully bright.

  Knowing it was finished, Blair waited for tears, but nothing came. What kind of animal was he? He was too exhausted to mourn the loss. He couldn't even cry. There was no effort, no running nose or heaving chest, no tightening in his throat. Not even tears. As if to some degree, it was a release. Fear, having been realized, could only cause pain now, not the slow, lingering suffering of worry. Maybe this was a good thing in some way. The inevitable parting that was a staple of his life. It was best he do the leaving, this time.

  "I'm sorry, Jim."

  "So am I, Chief." Jim stepped off the curb and into a puddle. "So am I."

  The feet Blair could see remained in front of him. After a few minutes, he glanced up.

  "I'm not going to leave you out here. Do you want a hotel room, or will you stay in the loft until you figure this out?"

  Blair sighed deeply, forcing himself off the wet ground. He'd lost it. He'd lost everything that ever mattered. Somehow, where he slept no longer meant a thing. "I'll stay at the University. I can find a dorm room next week."

  "I won't ask you to move, Blair. But if you stay, you'll have to talk."

  He laughed slightly, then pushed soaking hair from his eyes. "I think I've said enough, don't you?" It was ironic, really, when you thought about it. Ironic that in trying so hard to prove everyone wrong, he ended up proving them all right. The cops who said he didn't belong there. The professors who said he didn't belong here. And Naomi, who said he'd never be happy staying anywhere for too long.

  As they neared the loft doors, Blair dug into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. "I'll come by tomorrow night, to get some things."

  "Fine. Call me, if you need anything."

  He couldn't look up, couldn't see those eyes again, even if the voice was reflecting concern and regret. Blair knew the eyes would be cold, and very painful. As quickly as he could, he got to his car, started it up, and pulled away, not even checking the rearview mirror. He was sure Jim was standing there, and would stand there, until his Sen
tinel vision could no longer see Blair's black car in the rain. Blair was grateful then for his own limited vision.

  At his office, the cot lay unused. Blair gazed over the campus, wondering if he'd ever be able to go back. There had never been any place he called home before. Not since being on his own. The great American dream realized! A place to hang your hat, kick off your shoes, grab a beer and unwind. A place you could count on to always be there. A place...Hell. He knew it was never the loft. A two bedroom renovation over shops on a busy street with some half-assed view of the city's backside? No. That was never home. Jim was.

  He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, trying in vain to force out the anger and betrayal. What the hell were you thinking, Sandburg? What on earth made you think this man wanted you in his life? You move in, take over his life, lay claim on his God-given gift and presume to instruct him, and all this time you thought he wanted you here? Embarrassment and regret battled for first place inside his gut, while confusion and the deep need to take a flying leap out the second floor window fought for control of his mind.

  Oh God oh God oh God! What had he done? The University, Borneo, Dr. Stoddard, suddenly nothing mattered any longer. Blair's entire life had flushed out to sea with that rain water in the park. Nothing else mattered anymore.

  Sure, maybe in time he'd recover. Maybe when hell froze over, he'd get over this. For now, all he had to hold onto was a deep, echoing empty feeling inside. The sun was coming up before Blair realized he'd been standing at the window for hours. Numbly, he crossed the room and flipped on the radio, trying to flood his consciousness with some mundane news or sports report. What he heard stopped his heart cold.

  "We return to our breaking news story. Police report a shooting in a residence on the 800 block of Prospect Avenue. We have at least one man dead, and an unconfirmed rumor of police involvement. Whether or not the dead man is in fact the police officer reported to live in the building is not officially known at this time."