No Center Line

by Lois RH Balzer

  “Exactly. The men in it are dead. They aren’t going anywhere.”

  “On the other hand, the longer we wait, the more deteriorated the bodies will become. Forensics will have a difficult time as it is, determining cause of death.”

  “You know, I can’t help thinking that it’s too late for these guys. We’ve got four men out there, alive, who need help. Maybe I’m just motivated because one of those men is mine.”

  “You want input from me? My by-the-book answer? Well, the official thing to do is to call him. Explain the situation. What we don’t need is a charge against us for hampering a police investigation. Like it or not, we are out of our jurisdictions here. So, for that matter, is Woodward. By tomorrow morning, we’ll be dealing with the FBI, as this case has gone across state lines.”

  Nash sat down beside him. “And if I don’t tell him until later? What will you do?”

  Banks looked across the hall at the closed examination room door. Both men could hear the sound of harsh sobs from within. “Jim thinks he can get information from his partner; he just needs some time, which is why he didn’t want Woodward notified yet. I trust Jim — I trust them both. I guess the question is — do you trust them?”

  Nash smiled then, shaking his head in wonder. “Yeah, Bubba, I believe I do. Ellison found his partner when no one else could. Maybe I want to believe he can find Evan, too. I also believe we’re running out of time.” Nash took a deep breath and continued, “I spoke with Harvey—”

  “Your computer expert?”

  “And he’s Evan’s partner.”

  “Let me guess.” Banks looked at him wearily. “There are only four pictures up now.”

  “On the nose, Bubba. William Fong has dropped out of the race.”

  Banks swore. “So we’re assuming he’s dead now?”

  “I guess until those bodies are examined, we can’t be sure who the rest are. The pictures on the website may not mean anything.”

  They both looked up as the doctor came out of the examination room. As the door opened, then quickly closed, they could hear Sandburg’s obvious distress and Ellison’s soft words of comfort. The doctor looked over to Banks, then glanced at Bridges questioningly.

  The Cascade captain stood. “It’s okay. This is Nash Bridges. He’s working with us on the case. One of his men is among the missing officers. Nash, this is Doctor Benjamin Morrison.”

  Bridges stood as well, his hand extended to shake the doctor’s hand.

  “How are they doing?” Banks asked.

  “We’re done in there. I’ve just finished explaining the medication and pills to Jim. The man should have been a healer.” Morrison smiled. “I should rephrase that. He is a healer.”

  “What about the kid’s ribs?”

  “I’m just getting the x-ray results now, but unless the injury is severe, we usually don’t bind them any more, in cases like this. Jim’s been told what to watch for.” The doctor glanced back at his chart. “Simon, where can I reach you about the drug test results?”

  “We have a motel room,” Banks said, then looked to Bridges who provided a business card with the phone number of their room. “What’s wrong with Sandburg?” the Cascade captain asked, his attention focused on the sounds from within the examination room. “He was doing fine a few minutes ago.”

  Morrison crossed his arms, shaking his head slightly. “Blair’s been through a difficult time. The drugs and the trauma combined are messing up his memories and, as you can hear, playing havoc with his emotions. Just let them be for a few minutes.”

  “How’s Jim?”

  “He’s much better. Seems to have more or less recuperated from whatever happened to him. I’m listing it as a stress-related collapse.”

  Nash frowned, glancing to Simon as the doctor left them. “Did I miss something? What happened to Ellison?”

  Simon smiled grimly. “Sandburg stopped breathing, Ellison did CPR and brought him back, then collapsed himself from the effort.”

  “Oh. Is that all?” Nash shook his head. “Why should I be surprised?”

  “I’ve learned never to be surprised with those two.”

  “I can see why.”

  “I’m going to go bring the truck around to pick them up.” Simon took a few steps, then paused, looking back at him. “And Nash?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t call me ‘Bubba.’” Banks gave him a friendly, warning smile, and walked away.

  *

  Awareness returned slowly. He knew who he was. He knew he was in a hospital. And that Jim was with him.

  Jim’s here. It’s over. Jim’s here.

  I want to go home.

  Pretend it never happened.

  Jim’s here.

  Blair Sandburg pressed the tissue against his burning eyes, letting the thin material absorb his tears. “Can we go?” he whispered, not raising his head from where it rested on his friend’s shoulder.

  “We’re going soon. Just relax for a minute.”

  He nodded, blindly. Everything was just a little too intense at the moment. He felt overloaded, circuits fried. It was all he could do to cling to the here and now. Cling to Jim. If it wasn’t for the part of him screaming to get out of there and go home, he would probably have resisted any attempt whatsoever to get him to move and shatter his tenuous hold on reality.

  Jim is here. I can do this. If I couldn’t, he would tell me.

  He closed his eyes again, hoping the growing pain stabbing behind his eyes would ease. Relax, his partner had said.

  I hope you realize just how much I trust you, Jim.

  Blair breathed out slowly, letting himself sink closer against his partner, then he inhaled the scent of strength that was Jim Ellison’s alone. Sentinel. The word drifted through his thoughts like a reassuring mantra. Sentinel. Sentinel.

  “Simon went to get the truck.” Jim took the damp tissue from his still shaking hands, replacing it with a dry one. A warm comforting hand stroked over his back, possessive, protecting, and serving. Not rushed. Not self-conscious.

  Affirming. That was it.

  “Where’s the doctor?” Three words, but his voice faded out by the third.

  “In the hallway. He’s talking to Amy.” A pause as Jim listened, then, “They’re talking about your medications. He wasn’t sure how well she knew you before.”

  “Thank him for me, ‘kay?” Blair whispered, reluctantly withdrawing from the stabilizing connection, trying to stand on his own. He blew his nose and looked around for a garbage can. Two wobbly steps brought him close enough to drop it in the plastic-lined disposal. He wavered slightly and grabbed at the counter; his partner appeared at his side and supported him back to the chair. “I smell.”

  “Yeah. A little.”

  A hand ruffled his filthy hair, coming to rest on his bare shoulder. Hiding the telltale, red marks. Covering them. Warmth bled through the touch, and with a brief squeeze, Jim reached behind him and snagged a bundle of clothing.

  “Come on, I’ll help you get into these.”

  These turned out to be some surgical scrubs. They didn’t fit him. Too big, but he couldn’t seem to get his arms through the holes, and his partner came to the rescue again.

  “Hey, Chief. Stay with me, okay? We still have to get you to the motel and cleaned up before you sack out.”

  “Motel?”

  “Yes, we’re not in Cascade, buddy.”

  We’re not? His head came up, looking around the room again. “Where?”

  “Bellevue.”

  That didn’t make any sense. Made him feel dizzy again. “But she’s here — Amy?”

  “Transferred here two months ago.”

  “Oh.” Blair stopped trying to help and let Jim do up the ties on the scrubs without his ‘assistance.’ “Oh.” The door opened, but the man who entered wasn’t the doctor. It was another man, one who looked vaguely familiar. Trying to put a name to him just made the headache worse.

  “We’re almost ready,” Jim said to th
e man, glancing over his shoulder as he spoke.

  “Sorry I stink,” Blair whispered, staring, recognizing him finally as the man who had driven him to the hospital. But there was something more ��� Something else ���

  The man smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I understand. I, uh, stopped at a store and bought some vinegar. It’ll take the smell out of your hair,” he said, looking right at him. “Do you remember me?”

  Blair started to nod ‘yes’, but ended up shrugging. “Sorry.”

  “My name is Nash Bridges.” Intense eyes fastened on him, as if the name should mean something to him.

  It did. “Nash ���” The name. Something. The name.

  *

  Three days previous

  Mid-day

  The Warehouse

  “Someone bought me today. They’ll pick me up on Tuesday.” Evan sat across the room from him, awkwardly wiping tears from his eyes. He was scared, Blair could see that easily. Evan was a cop, a good cop, in a special investigations unit, and he was scared. He was also tired, too tired to fight any more, and Blair knew how dangerous that was. He didn’t want to think what would make someone like that scared.

  Jim was scared sometimes, though. When Blair was freaked out about something, Jim would tell him that it was okay to be afraid, especially when you had a good reason. But then you had to set your fear aside and figure out a way around it.

  He shivered, his hand smoothing the sweat suit he was wearing. He had nothing on beneath it, his bare skin rubbing against the new fabric.

  Someone bought Evan.

  What did that mean? He glanced around the room, looking through his own tears, then stood awkwardly and forced himself to walk over to the coffeepot. He had smelled it earlier, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee turning his stomach then. It was having the same effect now, but it was hot and maybe familiar to this fellow captive. He knew his mind wasn’t grasping the significance of what Evan was telling him. His head felt clogged, sluggish. Like he wasn’t firing on all thrusters.

  There’s a problem with the anti-matter regulator. Shields down on B Deck, Captain Kirk. Scotty’s voice whispered the thought, and he smiled.

  And someone bought Evan. Can they do that? Can you buy a person?

  With trembling hands, Blair poured the coffee into a black mug and then shuffled back across the room to where Evan sat hunched over. He collapsed beside him, his arm draped around Evan’s shoulder, and pressed the mug into the other man’s hands.

  Evan laughed suddenly, and Blair shivered at the hysteria behind it. Tears rolled down Evan’s face to drip into the ceramic mug. “At least they have to go easy on me. I’m lucky. I’m damned lucky, you know? They can’t punch me or I’ll bruise, and they can’t cut me or do anything to me that will lessen my value. Because someone bought me. Someone fucking bought me!”

  My God ���

  For a moment, Blair thought he was going to throw up.

  Evan’s terror became his, sinking beneath his consciousness, then it surfaced and he was able to disassociate himself from it long enough to wrap his arms around the other man, holding him, gently rocking him as the sobs were wrenched from Evan’s body. Regardless of his own situation, Blair could feel the other’s pain, and there was a passionate need within him to comfort the man, to be someone else’s arms. Someone else should have been there, offering this support, but they were alone, and Blair was all Evan had.

  “Thanks,” Evan whispered finally, wiping his eyes on the arm of his sweatshirt. “I’ve got to talk to you quick before they come back. Listen, okay?”

  “Okay.” Blair still felt dizzy, disconnected from what was happening. But Evan had sounded intense, and Blair did his best to listen. They didn’t have much time. Already footsteps echoed down the hallway.

  Evan cleared his throat nervously, still wiping at his tears. “First, in case you get away: Tell Cassidy that I love her. Tell Nash to take care of her. Tell Harv — that I’ll miss him.” Tears ran down his face unchecked now, as the door opened. “Did you get that?”

  *

  Present

  12:30 a.m.

  Bellevue, Washington

  “Easy,” Jim murmured, holding him.

  His hands taloned into Jim’s shirt, anchoring himself. With great effort, he looked back at the other man. “Nash?” he got out, panting, trying to catch his breath. “Evan?”

  “Yes?” The man moved closer, heedless of Jim’s arms tightening around Blair.

  “Evan.” He leaned his head back on Jim’s shoulder, needing that security to go back into the memory and tell Nash the message. Tell Nash ���

  “Chief?” Jim asked him softly. “What do you remember?”

  Already it was fading. How could it disappear when it had been so vivid a moment before? So incapacitating?

  Then he found it, the message Evan had asked him to deliver, but his energy was gone again, his head heavy. “Jim, help me out here.”

  “What do you need?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t concentrate. I need to ���” Abruptly, he could feel strength, the dizziness calming. Blair lifted his head and turned around to face Nash. “Evan said ��� to tell Cassidy that he loved her. Tell Nash to look after her. Tell Harv that he’d miss him.”

  As quickly as the strength had appeared, it vanished, and Jim had to repeat the rest of his almost silent words to Nash. “He needs you to find him.” Blair felt Jim’s arms supporting him, keeping him from crumbling to the floor.

  “You saw him? When? How was he?”

  Too many questions. He couldn’t think. He closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly, then jumped as the man touched his arm.

  “Don’t.” Jim’s quiet order was instantly obeyed by the other man, and Nash stepped back. “We’ll find out what happened, but let’s get him to the motel first. Not here,” Jim said softly, sternly, but without anger, as if he knew the desperation that Nash was feeling.

  “Just tell me if he was alive the last time you saw him,” the man whispered.

  “He was alive,” Blair answered, before the memory swept him away in the deadly current.

  *

  Two days previous

  The Warehouse

  The room was dark, windowless, claustrophobic.

  It probably wasn’t even a room, Evan realized slowly. It was too small, a storage closet, echoing his breathing. The cement floor was cold beneath his bare skin. He raised his head, blinking, staring at the thin ribbon of light beneath the door. A moth drawn to the flame, he reached toward to it, his hand meeting instead a cloth, a towel, and he wrapped his fingers around it, dragging it closer.

  The movement prompted a thought. I’m not tied up.

  He moved from his side to his back. Where am I now?

  An attempt to push himself upright ended in a flash of pain, and he pressed the towel first against his lower back, then, understanding the problem, wrapped it beneath himself, wondering if he was bleeding. Maybe he would just bleed to death and it would all be over.

  But it — this — was all over. Whatever had happened, had happened to him hours ago. It was just the drug releasing him to consciousness, his body presenting him with the aftermath.

  He swore softly, then swallowed back tears of frustration. Where are you? Nash? Harv? Joe? Somebody?

  Damn it. Get me out of here.

  His breathing faltered, and he struggled to calm himself, kicking out with one leg, then freezing as he encountered something with his foot. What? It took a precious few seconds to realize that the breathing he heard was not just the echo of his own. Someone was there beside him. A second kick brought a muffled response.

  A name came to him. “Blair?” How he had come to that immediate conclusion, he wasn’t sure.

  He was rewarded with a frightened groan, then the man he was shut away with began struggling in his bonds.

  “Steady,” he whispered. “I’m not tied up. I’ll release you.” His hands fumbled in the darkness,
with hooks and catches, buckles and straps. Movement hurt, but the pain was localized, and once Evan registered what it was, he chose to ignore it.

  “Thanks, man.” Soft panting beside him. Shivers and sobs, combining, then controlled.

  “It’s okay.” Evan shifted, holding his breath at the spasm of pain that brought.

  “You all right?” Blair asked.

  “I’m alive. That’s what counts, right?”

  “You said it. Stay alive until you can get away. Or until they rescue you.” Blair took a deep breath and forced himself to exhale slowly.

  But what if they don’t?

  “What do you mean?” Blair asked, and Evan realized he had spoken aloud.

  He said nothing. Why crush the hopes this man had? Why pass on his own growing despair that help would come too late this time? No Nash to the rescue. No Harvey to flash a smile at him and tell him everything would be okay. No Joe to make some smart aleck remark that would make him laugh, despite his terror.

  Evan felt an arm around his shoulder.

  “What happened to you?” Blair whispered, drawing him close. “Did they hurt you?”

  “Jurgen raped me.” He gagged on the words, the bile burning his throat. “The fucking bastard raped me.”

  “Shit.” Blair had frozen at his words, but then was released into action, as though the admission from Evan dismissed his own needs and his own fear. “Lie still. Let me check you over.”

  “I’m okay. I just don’t want to move,” he said, stilling Blair’s hands. “I’ve got a towel there. They won’t let anything happen to me,” he added. “I’m sure I was all doctored up afterwards.”

  “I’m sorry, man.” Blair stayed beside him for a moment, the arm steady on his shoulder, then he drew away. “Is this door locked?” He managed to get to his feet, finding the door handle and turning, but the door was bolted securely. “Then unless you have some great idea to get us out of here, we just wait, I guess.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jim will find me.” Blair’s voice sounded so sure of himself, that Evan found himself nodding in agreement.

  “Jim? He’s your partner, right?” He grasped on to the thought, wanting to talk about anything other than how he was feeling right now.