Mistake

by Kristine Williams

  The music volume grew with each step closer, and he was forced to dampen his sense of hearing in order to approach. As they stepped through the doors, he had to increase the damping even more. The club was lit with the same purple, neon glow as the sign outside, and it was packed.

  "Stay close!" Jim had to shout over the din of the live band at the far end of the large open room. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the music, but the occupants of the club apparently found it worth screaming and bouncing over. The press of bodies was overwhelming at first, but as they made their way further into the club they were able to find some breathing room. The masses were concentrated nearer the band, and Jim found the array of lights and colors dizzying.

  "I can't concentrate on anything in here!" He had to nearly shout above the din, even now that they were on the opposite side of the club as the music. "There's too much coming in all at once!"

  Blair leaned closer. "Just push all of it out, filter out the sounds, and concentrate only on your vision!"

  Jim shook his head, squinting against the mix of colors, all blending together with the neon purple lights. "I can't, there's too many!"

  "Yes you can, Jim. You can separate all of the colors, identify each one, and filter it out. Look only for the one you want!"

  Jim nodded, doubtfully, but tried it anyway. He had seen Raymond still wearing those obnoxious yellow pants and bright red shirt, so if he was here, in the club, he shouldn't be too hard to spot. Jim took a deep breath, glancing at Blair, who was nodding his support. He had to tone his sense of hearing down almost completely, but then he could concentrate on his sight. Slowly, one by one, he picked out a color, and forced it away, moved it out of his mind, and tried to 'tell' his eyes what color to look for. Gradually, one by one, the colors faded, and he was left with a room of dull grey, red and yellow. Before he could stop long enough to realize it was working, he spotted Raymond at the far end of the club, standing near the mens room.

  "There!" He touched Blair's chest, then started to push his way through the crowds towards the bathrooms. As they approached, Raymond looked up and spotted Jim. Raymond swore, then shook his head. "What the hell do you think this is, a game?!" Jim reached him, and Blair was right behind.

  "I've got more important things to do than sit around my apartment waiting for nothing to happen."

  "This is what you call more important?" Jim asked, waving a hand to include the club. "I've got better things to do than babysit some punk who thinks being kidnapped would be some grand adventure, but this is what I'm stuck doing." He reached out and took Raymond by the arm. "Now come on, it's not safe in here." Several young men coming out of the bathroom pushed past them, and Jim had to move out of the way, as did Blair, pressing up against Raymond.

  "Fine, but I have to use the bathroom first." Raymond shrugged out of Jim's grasp, then pushed Blair aside. "And I don't need any help."

  Jim made a face, then turned to Blair. "Go with him."

  This time it was Blair's turn to make a face, but he said nothing. Two more young men pushed by them going in, and Blair waited, then followed Raymond. "Thanks, Jim," he said as he passed.

  Jim's vision had returned to normal intensity, and he raised his hearing, focusing into the mens room. When he heard the commotion, then suddenly recognized the smell, he turned and dashed inside. He kicked the door open, gun in hand, and was immediately greeted by a blow to the back of the head. Jim's last conscious memory was the sight of Blair, lying helpless on the floor, and the strong, unmistakable odor of the chloroform that soaked the cloth now being pressed over his face.

  Jim stirred, and tried to roll over. He was getting cold, but didn't know why. And his head was pounding. With great effort he managed to get to his side and force his eyes open. What greeted him was a cement floor, cold and hard, and the sounds of someone else moaning. He looked to his right, and found Raymond lying next to him, also beginning to wake up. Jim brought one hand up to his throbbing head, and brought himself to a sitting position. Someone else moaned, and Jim turned, seeing for the first time the cage he was in. What the hell? There was another cage, next to his, where he located the other voice.

  "Blair?"

  "What's going on here?" Raymond sat up, holding his head.

  Jim ignored him and stood, trying to peer through the bars at Blair. He was still unconscious, but stirring. "Sandburg? Blair, come on." Jim urged his partner to wake up. He glanced around the room they were in. It seemed to be a warehouse of sorts, with several cages of the same variety he, Raymond, and Blair were in, strewn about the large, open room. Somewhere in the distance, Jim heard a ship's horn. Well, they were still at the waterfront. If these were the kidnappers, and they had gotten Raymond after all, why had he and Blair been brought? And where were the men? Jim's question was answered much too quickly as a door opened at the far end of the warehouse. He glanced at Blair, who was only now beginning to move, then at Raymond, who was on his feet and looking around.

  "Sandburg, wake up." He saw Blair raise his head, then ease himself to a sitting position.

  "What the hell?" Blair looked up, then slowly stood, supporting himself with the cage bars. "Jim? What's going on?"

  "I think we're about to find out, Chief." Jim was watching the two men approach. They were slightly built, one very small compared to the other, and each wore black pants, black sweatshirts, and a black ski mask. One man, the smaller of the two, was carrying a video camera. Jim's jaw clenched as he realized for the first time what had happened. Not only had he just failed to keep Raymond from being kidnapped, but he had also gotten himself, and Blair, taken as well. But why? He quickly scanned the area, trying to find something he could use to get them out of this. The cages seemed solid, and the second man produced a gun...Jim's gun.

  Part 4

  * * *

  The two men approached the cage Blair was in, then one of them took out a key and opened the door.

  "You, over here." The man with the gun waved it at Blair. "Come over here. NOW!"

  Blair took a few steps forward, glancing at Jim as he did so. "Hey, man, I don't know what this is about, but.."

  "Shut up!" The other one, with the camera, reached out and pushed Blair into the side of the cage. "Hands behind your back, Whatcom."

  "What?" Oh God. "Wait a minute..."

  "What's going on here?!" Jim demanded, pressing closer to the front of his own cage.

  "Shut up!" Blair's head was pressed into the bars, and his hands grabbed and pulled violently behind his back. A pair of handcuffs were slapped over both wrists, then he was spun back around to face his captor. "Over there." The man pointed outside the cage.

  "There's been a big mistake here, man."

  "Move it!" The one with the gun reached out and grabbed Blair's shirt, pulling him from the cage so that the other man could lock the door again.

  "You've made a mistake!" Jim shouted. Oh God, they thought Blair was Raymond...but how? And what could he do? Jim's mind raced with potential outcomes. If they thought Blair was Raymond, then they were about to---but, if he convinced them he wasn't, what would happen then to Blair? Or Raymond? Did Jim have the right to save Blair and send Raymond in his place? Dammit, he couldn't just stand there and...

  Blair was pulled a few yards away, then slammed against another cage. Both hands were forced through the bars, and a rope pulled up from below to wrap around the handcuffs, forcing his hands down and his back into the bars. Blair opened his mouth to protest, and a gag was shoved inside, then tied tightly behind his head.

  "Hey! What the hell's going on here?" Jim shouted, pressing up against the door of his cage.

  "Relax, cop. You've got nothing to worry about." The larger of the two men spoke, turning from his position in front of Blair to look back at Jim. "It's Whatcom here who should start praying."

  "His name isn't Whatcom!" Jim replied, desperate now to save Blair no matter what the consequences. He knew what was about to happen.

  The smaller man p
roduced a wallet from his sweatshirt pocket, then held it out to the other man.

  "Says so right here. Found this wallet on him. Yours, says Cascade PD. And that one, he didn't have any." The larger man pointed to Raymond.

  Jim spun his head around, and glared at Raymond.

  "My name is Sandburg, Blair Sandburg." Raymond announced.

  Jim's blood ran cold...ice-cold. He didn't have to force the hatred and disgust that he could feel showing on his face. He could see it reflected in the fear mirrored back from Raymond's eyes. You son of a bitch.

  "He's lying!" Jim was through playing games. He couldn't send Raymond to the slaughter, but he couldn't stand by and let Blair take a beating that wasn't his. If he could get them to open the cage, come inside and check, he could take them. Or die trying.

  "Nice try, cop."

  The two turned back to Blair, who was desperately glancing from Jim to the men in front of him.

  "Dammit, listen to me! It won't work! Whatcom won't pay anything for someone who isn't even his son!" God, they had to listen to something! He had to get his hands on one of them..just one.

  Blair was breathing hard through his nose, his eyes searching for Jim's.

  Both men ignored Jim. The one with the gun pocketed the weapon, then reached into his shirt and brought out a set of brass knuckles. He pulled his ski mask down farther, then stepped up to Blair.

  "NO!" Jim shouted, but they ignored him.

  Jim's shout was punctuated by a blow to Blair's gut that doubled him over, and would have sent him to the ground had he not been held up against the bars. Jim's heart stopped. His breath froze in his lungs. The intensity of his stare was matched only by the burning ice in his gut as he watched the man with the brass knuckles hit his partner over and over. Jim gripped the bars of the cage with all of his might, willing his grip on the metal to hold him back. Forcing the rage he was feeling to remain where it was, and not turn to seek release against Raymond, as the younger man stood, cowering like a child, in the far corner.

  With the third strike, Jim heard Blair's rib break, and a stabbing pain shot through his own gut. A pain of helplessness like he had never before felt. The fourth blow was to Blair's face, connecting just above the right eye, and his partner lost consciousness immediately. Jim's head began to spin, and he couldn't pull his hands from the metal bars. The warehouse was fading into the background, and only the two men, carrying Blair back to the cage, remained in focus. Something inside of him forced air back into his lungs, and he exhaled through his nose. His jaw was too tightly clenched to allow even air out. He moved closer to the cage wall as they opened the door, depositing Blair's unconscious form back on the floor. By some providence, his head hit a pile of old gunny sacks, forming a crude pillow.

  The two men backed out of the cage and locked the door, then stepped towards the door of Jim's cage. Jim moved forward, ready to strangle the first one to come close enough with just one hand. The larger of the two produced the gun, and cocked the hammer.

  "You two just relax. If you're lucky, and Whatcom here gets ransomed, we might see fit to let you go as well."

  Jim stood his ground in front of the cage door, flexing his jaw as he considered his options. Blair was alive. Hurt, but alive. He was alive, as was Raymond. He needed time. "Doesn't work that way," Jim said, applying his best look of pure, intense hate. "The FBI is gonna find you, then they're gonna arrest you. Then, I'm gonna get you in a holding cell." Jim moved closer, pressing up against the bars. "Then, you get an up close and personal with the forensics department."

  Jim had the momentary satisfaction of seeing fear flash across the smaller man's eyes, just before he turned and hurried out of the warehouse.

  * * *

  The elevator shaft was pitch black, and he was falling alone, racing towards the hard, cold ground. When he hit, pain shot through his right side, and he cried out, trying to roll away. Why hadn't the fall killed him? Why was he still alive? Alive to feel the pain that was shooting through his right side, increasing with each breath. His face hurt, and his right eye felt as though it had been crushed. He was able to bring both arms around to hug himself against the pain, but he couldn't quite focus through the blackness that still danced in front of his face. Someone somewhere was speaking, calling his name, but somehow he knew it wasn't him they were talking to. Blair swallowed, trying find some rhythm that would allow him to breathe, and not send the knifing pain through his side as he did so.

  "Blair...come on, buddy. Blair, can you hear me?"

  This wasn't the same voice he had heard moments ago. This voice was talking to him. It was a voice that Blair knew he needed to answer. A few more breaths, and the blackness subsided, if not the pain. Blair saw metal bars, and a cement floor. He took another breath, and the pain that ensued caused him to gasp.

  "Easy, buddy. Easy."

  "Jim?"

  "I'm here, just take it easy."

  Blair raised his head, slowly, and saw Jim beside him but on the opposite side of the bars. He remembered then. Remembered what had just happened, and where he was. And Raymond. Blair tried to turn, to locate him, but as he raised himself up, pain shot through his side and he cried out.

  "Easy, Blair, lie still." Jim's voice was insistent. "Just lie still, buddy."

  Blair fell back down, turning slightly onto his back to ease the pressure on his injured side. Jim's cage was several feet away from where he lay. Where was Raymond? Jim...where...what..." He couldn't speak, couldn't even take a decent breath without the pain shooting through his side. There was something rough and hard under his head, keeping him slightly raised up.

  "No, easy, Blair. Don't talk, buddy. Just lie still." Jim's hand reached through the bars, and Blair instinctively reached out for it. Jim was able to catch his shirt, and gently pulled Blair's left arm closer, then worked his way down the sleeve to find his hand. "Just take it easy."

  "What the hell do they want?! You gotta get me out of here, Detective. You gotta get me out of here!" Raymond was cowering in the far corner of the cage Jim was in. The shaking of his voice was obvious.

  Blair closed his eyes momentarily, swallowing against the pain that was welling up from his side, threatening to make him sick. Jim's fingers began to rub his thumb, methodically massaging the base of his thumb and hand. He opened his eyes again and turned to face Jim.

  "It hurts, Jim." His voice was a whisper, the words forced out in one breath.

  "I know, I know." Jim's voice remained calm, light. "Just concentrate, Blair. Try to find the dial and turn it down."

  The dial? "What?" Blair stopped to breathe again, trying to shake his head. "Jim, that wo...won't work for me."

  "Why not?" Jim kept his voice low, calming, still stroking Blair's hand in the same, repetitive motion. "It worked for me, didn't it?"

  Blair swallowed again and shook his head, slowly. "I'm n...not...a Sentinel, Jim." God his side hurt! A sudden, stabbing pain caused him to cry out, and he tried to hug himself with both arms, but Jim refused to let go of his left hand.

  "Easy! Easy. Come on, Chief, it will work." Jim was insistent now, but his voice remained calm. "Listen, these senses of mine are no different than anyone else's. Just a little more intense, that's all. Right?"

  Blair nodded, afraid to inhale too much. The pain in his right side wasn't subsiding at all. Shouldn't it start to ease up soon? He wasn't moving. Why was he still in such pain?

  "Okay, then the dial should work for you, too." Jim continued to massage Blair's thumb. "Come on, give it a try."

  Blair nodded again, numbly realizing Jim's touch was mesmerizing him. He knew the dial wouldn't work, not for him. He wasn't a Sentinel. He was just a Guide, and not a very good one, at that. But, having a focal point sometimes worked. "Just...keep talking..." Breathe "Okay, Jim?" If he could concentrate on the fingers rubbing his hand, and Jim's calm voice, maybe he could get through this.

  "Okay, Chief." Jim shifted to a more comfortable position on the floor, but never once too
k his hand off Blair's, or stopped the rhythmic massaging of his thumb. "Raymond switched ID with you, back at the club." Jim's voice remained quiet, but he flashed a look at the younger man keeping his distance in the same cell.

  Blair closed his eyes, concentrating on his partner's voice and the motion across the back of his hand.

  "It was a game," Raymond whimpered. "I do it all the time, just to see if I can."

  Jim's breathing increased momentarily, but his voice remained steady. "Don't worry, partner. Agent Mills and his people will get us out of this."

  "And if...they don't?" Blair opened his eyes, searching out Jim's.

  "Then I will."

  He nodded, holding Jim's gaze. God, those eyes were ice. Jim had an amazing capacity for anger, but somehow it remained in check. Blair never wanted to see that anger come unglued. Even if it was never directed at him, the force behind it was frightening. "How long...do we have?" He knew another beating would come, if the ransom wasn't paid. Even if it was, which it wouldn't be, another beating would come. Maybe they could convince the men they had the wrong guy? No, Jim couldn't do that. Besides, he'd tried once already. Maybe he'd pass out quickly, and it would end in blackness. Just like the blackness that was creeping in on him, the pain--Oh God, it hurt! "Jim!"

  "Easy!" The grip on Blair's hand tightened.

  "I can't...breathe." It hurt too much. Too much to inhale. The pain was shooting through his side and into his chest, making each inhalation agony. His heart was beginning to race, and a panicked blackness clouded his mind.

  "Yes, yes you can." Jim's voice lowered soothingly, and the hand that held Blair's gripped more tightly. "Listen, if you can tell me you can't breathe, then you're breathing, right?"

  Damn his logic, it hurt! Blair nodded, but the fear stayed, and the blackness was bursting in spots before him. Jim's voice remained level, steady, something to hold onto.

  "Blair, listen to my voice. Block out everything else." Jim began to massage Blair's hand again, slowly, rhythmically. "Block out the pain, the room, everything. Just concentrate on my voice."