by Beth Manz
She gazed ahead, being extra careful on the muddy road, and continued to sing, melding her rich contralto voice into perfect harmony with John Denver. But suddenly the words she was singing died in her throat, all thoughts of the song vanishing from her mind. Ahead, she could see a car coming toward her. She tensed as it took a turn too fast and fishtailed slightly on the slickened road. "Slow down," she coached as the vehicle drew nearer. But the driver of the car didn't slow down; if anything, he seemed to be accelerating.
Stacie gasped as she watched the car that had just swept past her swerve off the road, slide across the dampened grass, spin 180 degrees and slam sideways into a large fir tree. Heart pounding, she stopped her car and looked back over her shoulder. No one emerged from the crumpled sedan.
She bit her lip, wishing she'd remembered to bring her cell phone. Her husband was always telling her she should carry it everywhere, but the thing bulged out her purse and weighed her down. She could picture it sitting at home on the kitchen counter, doing her absolutely no good.
When another minute passed and the occupant of the car still had not emerged, Stacie turned off her own car and got out. Hesitantly, she approached the accident site, worried about what she might find inside the crumpled vehicle but needing to offer help if she could.
The rain had stopped but the ground was still wet and her sneakers slid on the damp grass as she moved, her breath fogging out before her. "Hello?" she called out as she drew near. She moved around the car, needing to see in the driver's side, the side that had hit the tree so hard. The window on that side was broken out, the glass scattered on the ground all around the car. She could see traces of red darkening the glass. Her stomach churned with fear. "Are you all right?"
"Please," a weak male voice called out. "I need help."
Stacie moved closer. She could see a man inside now, his long curly hair matted with blood where his head had connected with the broken window. "I'll go for help, bring back an ambulance."
"No," the man inside the car called out. "I can't...I can't stay here." He began to move, to shove weakly against the bent door.
"You shouldn't move," Stacie instructed, inching even closer. "Just stay put and I'll get help."
He looked up her then, deep blue eyes locking with hers. There was a profound desperation in those eyes. Desperation...and fear. "You have to get me out of here," he said weakly. He pushed at his door again, his face contorting as he winced in pain.
"You'll get out of there when the ambulance arrives," Stacie said gently. "Until then, I really think you should stay still."
"No...can't wait...have to leave now." He pushed at the door again, crying out in pain this time.
"Stop doing that!" Stacie ordered. "You could have internal injuries."
"I don't! Please! Just get me out of here. He's coming for me and if you don't get me out of here right now, he'll get me again."
Stacie opened her mouth to protest but just then the wind whipped up, sending a chill through her. She glanced around quickly as a strange, foreboding feeling settled over her. She didn't understand how she knew it, but in that moment she was absolutely sure...Someone is coming. Someone who wants to harm this young man. And as the conviction settled over her she knew that as much as she wanted to leave the injured driver, as much as she just wanted to get back in her car and drive away...she couldn't. Because if she did, she knew that when the ambulance came for him, he would be gone.
The injured man's voice broke through her thoughts. "We have to get out of here, both of us. Now. Please."
Stacie made her decision. Without saying another word, she moved around to the passenger side of the car, opened the door and reached in toward the young man, moving him slowly toward her. As his stockinged feet hit the ground, she noticed the shackles on his ankles. Stunned, she looked at him again, into his gentle blue eyes-and again that same sense of conviction settled over her. Somehow she knew this man was no escaped convict. Whatever had happened to him, he was the victim of a crime, not the perpetrator.
"He's coming," the man urged. "We have to hurry."
Stacie clamped an arm around his waist and began helping him toward her car. The more they walked, the more she could sense his panic and fear. It caused her to pick up the pace slightly as her own terror rose. She didn't believe her fear was a result of the injured man's terror being transmitted to her. Rather, she felt-knew-somehow that something was wrong, gravely wrong. And she wanted to distance herself from this place as quickly as possible.
"Thank you," he breathed as she helped him into the passenger seat of her car. Straightening, she looked up the road, trying to distinguish between the gloomy darkness and the shadows. And in that moment she felt it again-that something...someone was coming...and they had to get away. Fast.
Climbing behind the wheel of her car, Stacie started the engine and threw the car into gear. Executing a three-point turn, she pushed down on the accelerator and sped back in the direction from which she had come-back to the main road and safety.
Part Four
Jim dumped the last of the coffee down the drain, then rinsed the carafe and placed it back in the coffee maker. Eli had left just moments before, heading home to "clean himself up," he'd told Jim.
The detective let out a long breath. He'd gotten up this morning, showered, dressed, went through the motions as if this were any other day. But it wasn't. It was the sixth day that Blair was missing. The sixth day that he would spend wondering if and when his guide would ever come home.
Is this how I'll spend the rest of my days? Counting off each one as it passes? Never knowing what happened to Blair? Always wondering where he is, if he's still alive?
Jim shook his head, pushing the thoughts from his mind. This is not helping, he chided himself. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something to find your partner!
Turning, his gaze locked on the answering machine. It still blinked with Simon's message from the previous evening. Maybe it was time to call the captain back, let him know he was okay, try and figure out some new plan of action. But before he could pick up the receiver, the phone rang. Simon's ahead of me, he thought as he answered it.
"Ellison."
"Is this Jim Ellison? Detective Jim Ellison?"
Jim's heart pounded heavily in his chest. "Yes, who is this?"
"This is Sheriff Jack Hayes from up north in Stadler."
Jim's heart slammed against his ribcage. "Is Blair okay?" he blurted out, positive that's what this man was calling about.
"Well now, we do have a young man here who answers to the name Blair Sandburg."
"Is he there? Can I talk to him?"
"Actually, he's over at Doc Brown's clinic. Kid's running a helluva fever. The doc gave him something to help bring it down, but it put the boy right out."
"Listen to me, Sheriff," Jim instructed. "Blair was abducted from his home several days ago by a man who has tried to kill him on more than one occasion."
"Well now, that's exactly the story this young fella told us. Seemed pretty wild to me. But I agreed to call you and check it out for myself."
"He's telling you the truth. You have to believe him...and protect him until I get there."
"I got a deputy posted outside his door right now but I gotta admit, I put him there more to watch this Sandburg character than to protect him."
"Fine. Just make sure he stays there. I'm on my way." Quickly, Jim got the directions to Stadler, then slammed down the phone and raced out the door. He was on the freeway heading in the direction of the Canadian border before he remembered to call Simon.
"Banks," came the captain's curt greeting as he answered his phone.
"Simon, it's Jim. Blair's been found."
"Been found? Where? Is he all right?"
"He's in a town named Stadler, up north near the border."
"How is he? Did you talk to him?"
"No," Jim said, noting the disappointment he heard in his own voice. "I talked to the sheriff there. He sai
d Sandburg's under the care of the local doctor and that he's running a high fever. But other than that it sounded like he was okay. I'll know soon. I'm on my way there now."
"What can I do, Jim?"
"Call Eli for me. Tell him what's going on, that Blair has been found. I'll call you both once I get to Stadler and have a chance to talk to Sandburg."
"Okay, I can take care of that for you. And Jim...bring that kid home."
/
/
/
Jim pulled into the parking lot in front of the sheriff's station and cut the engine. His gaze took in the picturesque town with its brick store fronts and tree-lined streets. If not for the circumstances that had brought him here, he was sure he would appreciate the simplistic beauty of this place.
As he exited his truck, a man in a brown uniform approached him. "You Detective Ellison?"
Jim pulled out his badge, flashing it briefly at the man. "Sheriff Hayes?"
"That'd be me."
The two men shook hands as Jim slipped his badge back into his pocket. "I'd like to see my partner now," Ellison said, glancing down the street, wondering which building was Doctor Brown's.
"Sure thing." The sheriff began walking south. Jim fell into step beside him. "So this Sandburg, he a cop like yourself?"
"No, he's a consultant to the police force but we've worked together for several years. I consider him my partner."
The sheriff nodded, his brow furrowed slightly. "That explains a lot."
Jim glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I gotta admit when I first saw him with that long hair and those shackles on his ankles--"
"Shackles!" Jim came to a sudden halt. "He was wearing shackles?"
"Yep. Said the man that abducted him put them on to try and keep him from runnin' off. But the kid said he managed to escape anyhow. Attacked the man who was holding him prisoner, stole his car, and took off." The sheriff looked up at Jim. "But he wasn't in such great shape. Ended up running the car off the road. Banged himself up a bit in the process."
Jim's jaw clenched tight as the words settled over him.
"When I first saw him," the sheriff continued, motioning for Jim to fall into step with him again, "I thought for sure he was escaped from some prison somewhere. But the way he talked...he talked like a cop, giving me details, directions." He looked up at Jim again. "Like I said, him being your partner explains a lot." He stopped before a large brick building. "This is Doc Brown's place. I got a deputy still posted inside like you asked."
"Thank you, Sheriff."
"Glad to help. Why don't you go in, see how your partner is doing and then you and I can talk more. We found the car your friend used and ran the plates. They were registered to a local address so we checked out the house. Kind of an isolated spot. Didn't find anyone there but I'd say it fits the description of the place your buddy gave us." Hayes nodded toward the building. "Go see your partner. I'll catch up with you later. See where we go from here."
"Sounds good." Jim stepped into the building, cool air washing over him. Instantly, the sound of Blair's heart reached his sensitive ears. The sentinel felt his own heart rate settle and relax as he tuned into the familiar beat, the sound instantly bringing a calm to him that had been missing since Blair had disappeared.
"May I help you, sir?"
Jim looked toward the voice. A receptionist sat at the front desk, short black hair framing her heart-shaped face. "Yes," he said, crossing to her. "I'm looking for Dr. Brown. He admitted a friend of mine here."
"Mr. Sandburg," she said immediately. "Yes, we don't get a lot of strangers. I can take you to him." Rising, she led the way through the examination area and back toward an area that appeared to be a small infirmary with a few beds set up.
As Jim moved, he sent out his hearing again. Within a second he was able to pick up on Blair's resting heart rate. Another wave of relief spread through him. He knew his partner was alive and safe, but hearing that sound....
"Detective Ellison?"
Jim was pulled away from the sound of Blair's heartbeat by a male voice. Turning, he saw a short elderly man in a white lab coat. "Yes, I'm Jim Ellison."
The man extended a hand. "Dr. Brown. I've been taking care of Mr. Sandburg since he was brought in."
Jim shook the doctor's hand, his brow creasing in worry. "How's he doing?"
"Quite well, considering the condition he arrived in."
"What condition was that?"
"Had a nasty cut on the side of his head that required stitches. Also, he was severely dehydrated, dangerously so. I've got him hooked up to an IV drip to combat that. But it's his shoulder that's causing me the most concern."
"He was shot recently."
"Yes, I saw that. The wound has become infected. It's causing quite a fever and I have him on a very high dosage of antibiotics. I thought this morning about transferring him to a better-equipped clinic down near Leavenworth, but then the sheriff told me you'd called and asked that the boy be kept here, under protection."
"That's right," Jim answered. "But we can move him now if you think it's necessary. Is...is he going to be all right?"
"That boy's a real fighter. If anyone can get past this, I believe he can. And as for moving him, I'm going to wait on that a while. His fever, while still high, has lowered a bit since this morning."
Jim smiled widely. "Well, at least there's some good news. Can I see him now?"
"Of course! How silly of me. You're probably anxious to see him."
Jim was led down a narrow hall to the infirmary. A uniformed deputy standing beside the open door tipped his hat and smiled as Jim showed his badge. As the sentinel stepped inside the small but immaculate room, he saw his guide. Blair lay in one of only four beds in the room, his face turned toward Jim. His right hand lay motionless across his chest, an IV line running into it.
The sentinel could see the gash on the side of Blair's head, closed now with stitches, bruising and a slight swelling marring the area. His skin was pale, ghostly white, except for the dark smudges that formed half-moons beneath his eyes. His shoulder sported new bandaging, covering the infected area around the bullet wound.
Five days. He'd been gone five days yet he looked as if he'd been gone a lifetime. He hadn't been fully recovered from the Golden overdose when he went off with Grant, Jim reminded himself, knowing that his friend's quick deterioration was in part a result of his already weakened state.
"I'll leave you alone," the doctor spoke up from beside Jim. A moment later, the door behind him closed softly.
Jim never took his gaze off Blair.
Moving slowly, he approached the bed and crouched down beside it. Gently, he reached out and brushed a hand across Blair's forehead, stroking lightly at his guide's unruly hair. "Chief," he breathed. "You shouldn't have done this." Jim's fingers traced down to the cut on the side of Blair's head, touching there lightly. "You're too good a friend," he whispered. "Much too good a friend."
Part Five
Blair blinked, his foggy mind refusing to supply the answers to the questions that assailed him. Where am I? What happened? Why do I feel so awful? He lay on his back, staring at the white cement block walls around him. And then he remembered...
Grant!
The name flashed through his mind and he jerked upright in the small bed. Pain flashed through his shoulder and he cried out, his hand coming up of its own volition to cover the wounded area.
"Whoa, Chief. Relax. You're safe."
Blair's gaze jerked toward the voice he heard beside him just as a warm hand curled gently around his own. "Jim," he breathed, swallowing hard against the overwhelming sense of relief that filled him. But an instant later, fear pulsed through him. Is this another dream? Wishful thinking? His gaze traveled over Jim, his heart pounding hard in his chest. "Is it really you? Are you real?"
"Yes, it's really me," the sentinel replied warmly. "Now lie back, buddy. You're going to hurt yourself again
.
Blair rested back against his pillow never taking his eyes off Jim, afraid if he did that the sentinel would disappear, replaced in the blink of an eye by Marcus Grant.
"You want some water?" Jim asked. "You thirsty?"
Blair nodded weakly in answer to Jim's question. A moment later, a straw touched his parched lips.
"Slowly, okay?" Jim prompted.
Nodding again, Blair drew in a small sip of water. The cool liquid felt good going down his dry throat. With each passing moment, the reality of the situation settled over him, became more and more concrete. I escaped from Grant, stole his car and escaped...and Jim is here, sitting beside me, watching over me. He took another tiny sip, then Jim moved the cup away. "Not too much," the detective instructed gently.
Blair stared up at his friend. "How long...have you been here?"
"Couple of days," Jim answered casually as he placed the cup on the bedside table.
"Days?" Blair closed his eyes. He had assumed he'd been out for hours, not days.
"You had a high fever, Chief. The doc here says you were unconscious because your body needed time to heal." Ellison touched gently at his hair, running his hand across it in a repetitive, soothing pattern. "But you're going to be fine now. Everything's going to be fine." And as Jim's hand continued to stroke gently across his forehead, Blair relaxed back against his pillow.
This is what he had missed so much, what he'd longed for. The sound of Jim's voice, the quiet strength and sense of protectiveness he seemed to naturally exude. Those things kept Blair safe, gave him a sense of security that he'd never felt with anyone else in his life. For the first time since falling ill, Blair felt true comfort, security. He felt at peace.
Except for one thing...
"Grant," he said finally, opening his eyes and locking his gaze on Jim. "Did they catch him? Is he in custody?"
Jim pursed his lips and shook his head, his eyes filled with regret. "They found the house where he was holding you but Grant was nowhere to be found."