by K Ryn
In his mind, he took a step closer to the firewall, feeling the heat beat against him, hearing the crackle of the waiting flames.
"But no more. I know who I am again. And I know my duty as his Shaman. I need to understand your purpose, your truth. Not for myself, but for my Sentinel. I broached you once for a brief instant when I saw the light of your fire in his eyes. I reached through you and touched him -- he was strong and solid on the other side just as always. In that split second I put aside my own fears and acted from my heart, with his safety my only concern. Destroy what you will of me, but his life waits on the far side of your existence and I will do whatever it takes to save it."
With a roar, the flames surged forward, engulfing him. This time, instead of pulling back, or trying to fight it, he nurtured the fire, feeding it his memories, his desires, his dreams, his need. He fought to hold onto the image of his Sentinel that he'd built in his mind, drawing on the connection that they shared to hold his own.
Unbidden, the red tongues of fire became blood -- his Sentinel's- -and his concentration wavered. Pain such as he'd never imagined burned across his skin and a deafening wind stoked the flames even higher.
He screamed his defiance into its fury and filled his mind with the memory of clear blue eyes -- the color of the morning sky reflected in a cool pool of water fed by a mountain stream.
The strength that lay behind those eyes extinguished the pain. Blair stepped forward, becoming one with the fire as he shed the charred remnants of the persona he'd assumed. No longer a stranger to its consciousness, the Shaman moved through the red-orange sea like a living flame himself...
And stepped beyond it into another memory.
In yon smoke concealed
"Come on, Simon. Can't this tank go any faster? We've got to get there!"
Banks let the squeal of rubber tires on wet pavement answer for him as he tapped the brakes and spun the wheel to the left, guiding his special edition Taurus around another corner. He spared a glance for the 'backseat driver' in the passenger seat next to him before turning his attention back to the slick streets.
The darkly subdued and brooding young man of the past two weeks was gone, replaced by the barely contained bundle of white energy that had always typified the anthropologist in his most -- at least to Simon's way of thinking -- aggravating and headstrong mode. Banks welcomed the change, surprised at how much he'd missed the 'real' Sandburg.
"Just keep your seatbelt on and your hand off the door release, Sandburg," Simon growled, in earnest disgust. "I don't know how I let you talk me into this in the first place."
"Because you're a man of honor, Simon. You issued a challenge and I met it," Blair replied softly.
There was no hint of smugness in his tone, and none on his expressive face when Simon risked another look. Worry, exhaustion that the nervous energy held at bay, and a trace of fear, yes, but those faint clues were all but wiped out by the light of determination shining in the grad student's eyes.
It was the same adamant expression that had filled them when Sandburg had burst out of the guest room ten minutes earlier. His abrupt and emphatic entrance had practically given Simon a heart attack. The frantic explanation for his actions had almost had Banks reaching for the phone to call an ambulance. He'd thought for sure that the kid had gone off the deep end, spouting a rapid stream of nonsense about firewalls and premonitions.
I was sure the stress had gotten to him and he'd just folded. That he needed to be sedated. But one long look into those eyes...
Simon shook his head and tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
Admit it Banks, he got to you the same way he always gets to Ellison. You stonewalled him so he pulled an end-and-around like a pro running back. Now you're scrambling to keep up. I don't get it... How could Blair know where Jim is? Some sixth sense or just some new Sentinel/Guide weirdness?
Simon saw the light ahead turn red and gunned the engine. The car streaked through the intersection to the accompaniment of honking horns and at least one shouted obscenity from a cab driver whose taxi they nearly clipped in passing.
Damn, this is nuts... driving pell-mell across town... It's madness, chasing after a vision... But the kid looked so certain when he claimed to know where Jim was being held... How could I not check it out?
"Don't you think we should call Rafe and Brown, Simon?" Blair asked, interrupting Banks' mental grumblings. "And anyone else you think we can trust? We're going to need backup. An ambulance too, for Jim."
"I'm not pulling them off their own search until I'm sure this isn't some wild trip into the Sandburg Zone," Simon answered grimly.
A small, firm hand wrapped around his right forearm and he glanced sideways to find Blair staring at him, dark eyes pleading.
"I know you don't understand this, Simon. I'm not sure I do either, to tell the truth," the grad student admitted, his voice tight with strain. "Call it a hunch or instinct, or whatever you're comfortable with. Just trust me. We need to go back to the site of the sixth fire. That's where this all started. That's when the vision of the firewall first appeared. I just didn't understand the significance until now. Until I faced it. When I walked through the flames, I came out standing right where I was when I met Jankowski. The building where they've taken Jim -- it's the one across the street from the apartments they torched that night."
Blair squeezed Simon's arm once and then let go, turning his gaze back to the darkened night. "Jim will be there. So will Jenson and his men... if we're not already too late."
The last came out as a cracked whisper and Simon frowned. If they didn't find Jim in time, the kid was going to crash and crash hard. He didn't relish the idea of being the one left behind to pick up the pieces -- especially when half of them were missing.
He pressed down a little harder on the accelerator. Only a few more miles to go.
Blair ground his teeth, but kept his frustrated comments to himself when Simon slowed the car to a crawl before they'd reached their destination. He chided himself for his impatience. The captain was being justifiably cautious. They couldn't just blow in there and demand that Jenson and his men release Jim and give themselves up.
Although it would be nice if they would, Blair mused wistfully. He sent a silent round of encouraging thoughts in the direction of his Sentinel. Just hang on a little longer, Jim. We'll get you out of there.
"I don't know about this, Sandburg. Outside of a few wrecks that look like they've been rusting at the curb since the beginning of the decade, the street's deserted. Not a soul in sight," Simon observed as he peered through the rain- splattered windshield. "Which building did you say it was?"
Blair wiped away the condensation that had formed on his own window. The rain had started again -- a fine misting drizzle combined with a clinging ground-fog that had reduced their visibility drastically.
"Third from the corner." Blair pointed toward a large, four- story brick apartment building on his side of the street.
"Looks deserted."
"It is. The guy that owned the property before Jenson got his hands on it had already started to gut the place. Apparently he ran out of money half-way into the renovations. It's a shame that he couldn't hold onto the property. Each floor of that building could have easily housed a dozen families."
Blair studied the structure as Simon inched the car forward.
"It's one of the few buildings that Jim and I didn't check out from top to bottom, but I'd guess the layout's pretty similar to the place that burned down across the street. One entrance at the front, another at the rear that leads out onto the alley. Some of the owners added an emergency exit to bring things up to code, but I don't know about this one. Which way do we go in?"
"We don't. Not yet."
"But Simon..."
Banks shot Blair a withering glare. "We do this my way, or not at all. Is that clear?"
"Okay, okay!" Blair responded, waving his hands in surrender. "Anything you say as long as we keep things moving."
"Oh, we'll move, all right. I'm going to drive by and take a look. You get your head down and keep it down. The last thing we need is to have one of Jenson's goons get a good look at you."
"I'll crawl under the car and hang from the front axle, if it'll get us to Jim," Blair muttered. He grabbed the release for the seat and slid it back as far as it would go, then crouched down sideways under the dash, facing the older man.
Simon eased the car forward, maintaining a slow, but steady speed as he cruised past the building that Blair had targeted.
"Still nothing," Banks reported. "Stay put, I'm going to swing around the corner and take a look down the alley."
Blair nodded, his eyes glued to the dark captain. He leaned into the seat, shifting his balance to match the motion of the car. He saw Simon take a quick glance out the window at his back and stiffened at the anger that filled the older man's face.
"Damn... there are at least four vehicles parked behind the building," Banks hissed. "Keep down. I'm going to circle the block and find a place to park us out front."
Blair felt every hole in the pavement as a separate and distinct jolt through his spine as Simon sped up the back side of the block. Banks cranked the car to the right, then right again. He had his cell phone out before he braked to a full stop.
"Rafe, I need you and Brown with whatever backup from the department you can muster at 1722 Almond Street... yeah, we think Jim's inside with Jenson and who knows what army... No, I'm not waiting for a warrant... as far as I'm concerned we've got probable cause..."
While Banks barked orders into the phone, Blair crawled up onto the seat. "Don't forget the ambulance, Simon," he reminded the older man. Banks nodded and added that requirement to the list he was reeling off.
Blair rolled down his window, trying to get a better look at the building, but his view was obscured by the rain and the windswept fog. The snick of a seat belt being released brought his attention back to Simon.
"Backup will be here in a few minutes," Banks said tersely. "You stay in the car and wait for them. I thought I saw a flash of light in the alley when we drove by... could have been someone with a cigarette. I'm going to check it out."
"It could be Gordon," Blair offered. "He's a chain smoker. Never saw him without a butt dangling from his fingers."
Simon nodded and opened the driver's door, easing silently out of the car, his gun already out of its holster. Banks paused and glared in at Blair before closing the door. "I mean it, Sandburg. Stay put. If Jim is in there, he's not alone."
Blair didn't argue, but he didn't do anything that might be interpreted as agreement, either. He watched as Simon headed down the street, using the parked cars as cover. Once Banks was out of sight, Blair slipped out of the car and followed the same path until he was just a few feet from the front entrance. He let his gaze drift upward, scanning the windows -- some broken, some surprisingly still intact -- for any sign of life or light.
I know you're in there, Jim, but where?
He found nothing on the first floor, nor the second. But his breath caught when he saw what he was sure was a flicker in one of the third-story windows.
Not a light, but a flame!
Propelled by the fear that they'd arrived too late, Blair shot toward the entrance. Flinging open the front door, he stumbled into the darkness.
Stairs... gotta find the stairs...
He almost gasped out loud when his groping fingers touched the smooth metal of a firedoor. Fumbling for the knob, he wrenched the door open and took several shuffling steps forward. When the toe of his shoe hit the base of a step, he reached out and grabbed the railing. Guided by instinct and the smooth metal under his fingertips, he headed upward, searching for his Sentinel.
Blair scrambled up the dark stairs as silently as he could. He was relieved that he hadn't smelled smoke yet, although he was sure that it had been flames that he'd seen in the open windows.
Maybe you just have fire on the brain... Don't start questioning a good run of luck when you find it, Sandburg, he admonished himself. No smoke and no flames means that Jim might still be alive.
Buoyed by that hope, he charged upward. He'd just passed the second floor landing when he heard the sound of a door slam shut somewhere above him. Blair froze, one sneakered foot hanging in midair, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. The thud of heavy footsteps headed his way broke him out of his fear-imposed stasis. He whirled and fled back down the steps.
He opened the firedoor to the second floor and slipped out of the stairwell. He left the door slightly ajar and plastered himself to the inside wall. Holding his breath, he peered out through the slim vertical crack, straining for some glimpse of whoever was coming down the stairs. A faint circle of light bounced from step to step, and within seconds, a figure rounded the landing and continued down toward the front entrance. There wasn't enough light from the flashlight the man carried for Blair to recognize him.
Blair exhaled slowly through his mouth, swallowing hard against a new surge of fear. The close call had reminded him that just finding Jim wasn't going to be the end of this. If his Sentinel was badly injured, it would be his responsibility as Guide to figure out a way to get both of them past an unknown number of undoubtedly well-armed cops who would like nothing better than to see them both dead.
Opening the firedoor, Blair poked his head out into the stairwell. He could hear the faint rumblings of voices up above, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.
I could really use your enhanced hearing right about now, Jim. He retreated to the relative safety behind the closed door. Okay, time for a plan... At least one guy down at the front exit and who knows how many right over my head. Maybe the safest route is the back stairs. Hopefully that's the end of the building where they're keeping Jim. Once I find him, we could head down the rear stairwell. Simon's got to have corralled whoever was out in the alley by now...
With that decision made, Blair turned and surveyed his surroundings. Two safety lights pulsed in fitful bursts along both long walls. Their intermittent glows cast a weird strobe effect across the interior. Most of the internal walls that had formed the original rooms and apartments had been demolished. The structural beams loomed like black telephone poles strung in a bizarre zig-zag pattern across the depth of the space. The abandoned remodeling blitz had left huge piles of splintered wood, jagged shards of drywall and mounds of plaster scattered like miniature chains of rugged mountains in its wake.
Blair moved cautiously forward, sliding his feet along the rubble strewn flooring. The last thing he wanted to do was run into something and announce his presence. However, when he did slam his toes into a hard, unyielding object, it came as no surprise. He clamped his mouth shut and swallowed a grunt of pain. Kneeling down, he examined his inanimate assailant.
To his delight, he found a well-equipped tool box. He quickly rummaged through the contents, stuffing two screwdrivers, a good sized hammer and a handful of nuts and bolts into his jacket pockets. He hefted a heavy pipe wrench and laid it quietly on the floor next to his feet. A lopsided grin filled his face as his fingers wrapped around a familiar cylindrical shape. He pulled the small acetylene torch from the box and clutched it to his chest. A few more seconds of digging unearthed a small lighter which he also pocketed before picking up the wrench once more.
Armed with his odd assortment of makeshift weapons, he rose to his feet and headed toward the back end of the building.
Andrew Jankowski pressed the folded length of cloth that had once been Ellison's shirt sleeve against the bullet hole in the detective's shoulder, relieved to see that the flow of blood had lessened. Part of his own shirt was wedged under the unconscious man's back, soaking up the leakage from the exit wound. Shredding their clothing to form the rough bandages had been difficult with his wrists still handcuffed, but he figured it was the least he owed to the man who'd tried to save his life.
"I've done some foolish things in my long life, but I've never been a fool un
til today," he murmured ruefully, staring down at the prone figure under his hands.
Their captors hadn't been gentle with the injured detective. After stripping him of an impressive array of weapons, they'd cuffed his wrists in front of him and stuffed him into the trunk of one of the vehicles. Jankowski had been forced into the back seat of a second car. He hadn't seen Ellison again until the ex- ranger was dumped on the floor of the room that they now occupied.
The harsh sounds of voices raised in angry argument caused the old man to lift his head and glance toward the door -- the only way in or out of their temporary cell. The roughly 6-by 8- foot space appeared to be new construction; part of the renovations that he'd glimpsed when he'd been hauled upstairs. The small room was largely finished, except for an opening above the cheap wooden door. That area had been framed in, but hadn't been dry-walled yet, which Jankowski took for a providential twist of luck in their favor. If not for that opening, the room would have been pitch black and there would have been no way he would have managed even the rudimentary first aid that he'd applied to the detective's wounds.
Jankowski strained to make out the words of the arguing men, but all he caught were fragments. He smiled grimly. As long as they were fighting amongst themselves, he and the detective still had some time. Not that he contemplated any hope of rescue. He'd eliminated that option when he'd made his preemptive strike against Ellison.
"I should have listened to that young partner of yours," Jankowski mused softly, his gaze still fixed on the faintly lit space above the door. "Although it's still hard to believe that he was hooked up with you. Pretty mismatched pair if you ask me. He must be something special."
"He is..."
Jankowski looked down in surprise at the rough whisper. Against all reason, Ellison was awake. The warm, compassionate blue eyes that strained to remain open were a far cry from the cold, empty orbs that the detective had turned on him at the factory.