Progression Series 19 Last Call for Marcus Grant

by Beth Manz

  "Why don't you tell me everything that happened," Eli prodded gently. "And when you're finished you can let me know how much you want kept just between us. Can you do that?"

  His only answer was a slight nod. Blair was silent, moving only to wipe at the tears that moistened his face.

  Sandburg breathed out a long, rattling sigh, his gaze shifting from Eli to the balcony windows that overlooked the city. "When Grant showed up at the loft with the tape, the tape that would clear Jim," he began softly, "he said that all I had to do was go away with him for one week. He wanted to be able to show me what a good friend he could be. He told me that if I wanted to return home after that week, I could." He shook his head. "I was actually naïve enough to believe that if I just played along and went with him, he'd really let me go when the week was up. That all of this would end if I could just get him to see me, really see me for the first time. I honestly didn't think he'd...he'd hurt me."

  Eli tensed but remained silent, letting Blair talk, letting him get it all out.

  "The first day," Blair continued softly, "he put shackles on my ankles to keep me from running away. He kept talking about everything we were going to do together and I knew right then he wasn't really planning to let me go." He bit at his trembling lower lip, pausing briefly. "Later, he asked if I wanted to take a walk and I agreed, thinking it would be good to become familiar with the area. But he didn't take off the shackles and I ended up falling. I wrenched my shoulder, got all these cuts and bruises and Grant...he took care of me. Cleaned me up, fixed my shoulder. I...I was even a little grateful. But then...." His voice trailed off and he closed his eyes, shaking his head.

  "Then what?" Eli prompted when he didn't continue.

  "That night he made me soup and a sandwich for dinner, said I needed it to get my strength back. I started feeling sick before I was even halfway done." Blair shuddered slightly. "That's when it hit me." He looked over at Eli, his eyes haunted. "He was doing things to hurt me-on purpose."

  Eli blinked several times; it was difficult for him to wrap his mind around what Blair was saying. How could anyone do such a thing... "Blair," he questioned, "why would he do that?"

  "So he could take care of me," the young man finished softly.

  Eli stared at Blair in stunned silence as the words settled over him. Horror welled up within him at the thought of Marcus Grant hurting Blair just so he could care for him. He thought about all the times he'd sat with Blair when he was sick or injured. During those times, more than anything, all Eli had wanted was for Blair to be okay. He would have given anything if he could have taken his place, been the one who was hurt or sick. To know that Grant had made Blair ill on purpose....

  "He kept telling me that he would always take care of me, that that's what friends did for each other.... But the whole time, he was the one hurting me."

  "I'm sorry, Blair," Eli whispered, unable to imagine the utter feeling of helplessness Blair must have experienced at this man's hands. Trapped, sick...and at the mercy of a madman. "I'm so very sorry."

  "Through the whole thing," Blair continued softly, "he called me 'Champ'." His eyes closed as he said the word, his body shivering slightly. "That was the worst part, I think. Grant must have heard Jim call me 'Chief,' and thought he'd call me by a nickname as well." He sniffed and pushed a shaky hand through his hair. "Believe me," he muttered bitterly, "it was not the same."

  "Well, of course it wasn't," Stoddard sympathized. Hoping to bring a bit of brightness into the solemn conversation, he squeezed at Blair's knee and said, "I remember the first time I heard Jim call you 'Chief'. It was the first time I came to the loft for dinner, the first time I met Jim. The nickname kind of caught me off guard, but neither one of you seemed to even notice it." Again, he squeezed the knee beneath his hand. "I knew then that Jim must call you that all the time."

  Blair sniffed again as fresh tears tracked down his face. "He called me that the very first time he met me," he whispered, looking over at Eli and offering him a small smile. "At the time, I thought it was a name he used with everyone, like a habit, you know?" He dropped his gaze, letting out a shuddering breath. "I...I never really thought all that much about it. That was just what Jim called me." He shrugged one shoulder. "But when Grant started calling me Champ...." He shuddered again. "It was like that time I was with him in Crittendon...he was trying to be like Jim, to treat me the way Jim does." He shook his head, a look of disgust lining his features. "I couldn't stand him saying that to me, calling me that."

  Eli nodded in understanding. When Blair remained silent, the professor moved closer and, slipping an arm around his shoulders, pulled him close. "All Grant could do was provide a cheap facsimile, my boy. No one can replace what you have with Jim. No one. You have to remember that."

  "I know," Sandburg agreed softly. "But every time he called me Champ...it was like he was making fun of me and Jim, making fun of an aspect of our relationship that I never realized was so important to me." He shook his head. "That nickname...Jim doesn't even know he says it, Professor. It's so natural to him. I...I don't want that to change."

  He looked at Eli, his eyes imploring. "That's one of the reasons I don't want Jim to know about any of this. I don't want him to feel uncomfortable, afraid he'll do or say something that'll remind me of Grant. I don't want things to change between us because of Grant."

  Eli moved back from him slightly. "All right," he acquiesced. "I can understand that part of it. But Blair, why keep the rest from him? Why not at least tell him what Grant was doing? He's your partner, your friend...."

  Blair stared up at him, his eyes wide, afraid. "Yes, he is. And that's why I have to keep it from him, Dr. Stoddard. Because Jim is my partner and my friend. If he finds out what Grant did, he'll want to kill him."

  Eli huffed out a humorless breath. "I'd say he feels that way already."

  "Maybe so. But right now he's more worried about me than he is about finding Grant. If he knows what went on in that cabin, that will change. I know him, Dr. Stoddard. He'll kill Grant and if that happens then Grant will have taken everything from me. So I don't want Jim to know."

  "He's going to ask."

  "I know he will, but he'll also respect the fact that you can't tell him. It's my choice and I'm not telling him."

  "Very well. But one day, after this is all over, I think you should tell him, Blair. I think he needs to know how much Grant hurt you...not only physically but emotionally. He's your friend; he'll want to help."

  Before Blair could say anything more, the loft phone rang. Pushing himself slowly to his feet, Blair crossed to the kitchen counter and picked up the receiver.

  "Hello?"

  And as Eli watched, Blair's face crumpled. What little color he had quickly drained from his face and he closed his eyes. Dropping his chin to his chest, he leaned heavily against the counter. And in that instant Eli knew...it was Marcus Grant on the other end of the line. He stood and made his way to Blair's side, watching silently as he listened to the other man talk.

  "I'll be there," Sandburg said at last before hanging up the phone.

  Eli stared at him. "You'll be where? What's going on? Was that Grant?"

  Blair stood still for a moment, his hand covering his eyes, his head still lowered.

  "Blair?" Eli said, grasping his shoulder. "What's happening?"

  "That was Grant," Blair confirmed, dropping his hand and looking up at his mentor.

  Eli shuddered at what he saw there. Gone was the fear and uncertainty, and in their stead was cold, detached anger. "Blair...."

  "He has Jim," Blair stated flatly.

  "He what?" Eli blurted out. "How is that possible? How could he--"

  "He knows about Jim's enhanced hearing. He used that knowledge to get a jump on him. Now...." He paused, letting out a derisive laugh. "He said that he's not angry with me. That he understands why I left him."

  "Why?" Eli whispered when he didn't continue.

  "Because I can only have one best frie
nd. And as long as Jim is alive, he can't be that to me. So he plans to kill Jim."

  "No," Eli breathed.

  "He only called because he said he wants to give me the chance to say good-bye before he kills him. He said this should show me how much he really cares about me," Blair bit each word off and spit it out.

  "Blair, you can't do what he says. You can't meet him. This man is sick, deranged!"

  "And he has Jim!" Blair shouted. "I really don't see how I have any choice." With that, he moved toward the staircase that led to Jim's room, climbing the steps with slow determination. "I'll tell you this Dr. Stoddard," he said, glancing over his shoulder, Eli right behind him on the steps, "I'm going to meet him, but Jim's not going to be the one to die."

  "Blair, what are you talking about? What are you planning on doing?" As Stoddard watched, the anthropologist crossed to Jim's dresser and began pulling open drawers, searching through Jim's things. "Blair?"

  "I know he still keeps it here," Blair was muttering to himself. "He has to."

  "What, Blair? What are you...." But his words trailed off as Blair withdrew a gun from Jim's third dresser drawer. Eli's eyes widened as he watched Blair deftly pull out the magazine and check the clip for bullets. "What are you going to do with that?" Eli breathed out.

  Blair slammed the clip back into the weapon. "I'm going to protect my partner."

  "Not like this!"

  "I didn't make it like this! Grant did!" He started back toward the stairs but Eli moved in front of him, blocking his way.

  "I can't let you leave, my boy. Not like this."

  "Professor, please," Blair pleaded, reaching out to touch at Eli's chest. "You have to let me go. Jim is as good as dead unless I stop Grant. So that's what I'm going to do."

  "Call your captain," Eli suggested. "He can help you--"

  "Grant will kill Jim if anyone except me shows up."

  "He'll kill him no matter what!" Eli blurted out. Stepping closer, he put his hands on Blair's shoulders and stared evenly into his eyes. "Blair, you're in no condition to go one on one with this man. He knows that! Right now, he's using Jim to lure you out, to gain possession of you again because that's really all he wants! He's obsessed with you, Blair. You do this and he'll kill Jim and have you. He'll win."

  Blair's eyes misted and he shook his head. "That's a chance I have to take."

  Part Seven

  Blair pulled the Volvo to a stop in front of the dilapidated building, his hands gripping the wheel of the small car. His body ached with exhaustion and his shoulder throbbed from the exertion caused by the drive across town. But he pushed his pain aside, took a deep breath and willed himself to concentrate on finding Jim.

  Leaning forward, he peered up through the windshield, his gaze raking across the old building where Grant was holding his partner. A feeling of remembered panic swept over him. He hadn't been back to this place since Eddie Rostin abducted him a year ago and chained him to a pipe....

  "This is where I slept," Eddie was saying, and Blair watched as he crouched down on the far side of the room and swept his hands over the dirty flooring. A small, rectangular-shaped portion of the floor where Eddie was crouching was lighter in color than the flooring around it, and it was obvious that a smaller room had once existed there, its walls and support timbers torn away long ago.

  Blair's gaze held at the second floor. The floor where Eddie had lived. That's where Grant was holding Jim, where he'd told Blair to meet him-at the place where this ongoing nightmare with Marcus Grant had begun. Fingering the weapon in his pocket and pushing back the terror that pulsed through him, Blair exited the car and moved toward the building.

  As he stepped inside the rotting building, the familiar smell hit him immediately-- excrement mixed with the smell of damp decay. And then a sound reached him, a sound he wished he'd hoped to never hear again....

  He could hear the rats moving around on the other side of the room, feasting on the tuna sandwich he'd tossed there hours earlier

  The memory came back in a flash-the rotting food Eddie had brought him, the sickeningly sweet Kool-Aid. And the rats. Blair closed his eyes, relegating the images to the back of his mind. He couldn't afford to think about those things now. He had to concentrate on Jim...on saving Jim.

  Arriving on the second floor, Blair could see the door to the old apartment at the end of the hallway. It stood open and a faint sound reached him, like the tinny, muted sound of music. He moved forward stiffly, his breath coming in harsh gasps. Stopping just outside the door, he pulled out his weapon, gripping it in both hands.

  Okay, Sandburg, you can do this.

  Raising the weapon, he stepped around the open door, his gaze sweeping the room and coming to stop on....

  "Jim!" The name burst from his lips. The sentinel sat in a chair in the center of the room, his hands locked behind his back, his body slumped forward. A thin line of blood ran down the side of Jim's face, evidence of whatever violence Grant had used to get him here. But it wasn't the blow that was keeping Jim slumped in that chair.

  A set of earphones had been placed over the sentinel's ears, the muted sound of music Blair had heard earlier emanating from the device. The continuous blaring noise had obviously forced Jim into a deep zone.

  Blair swallowed hard. The placement of the chair in the room, the obvious display of Jim told him one thing -- Dr. Stoddard had been right. Jim was here to serve only one purpose for Grant-to lure Blair here, to get him to enter the room.

  But even with that knowledge, that fear, Blair could not walk away, could not leave his sentinel this way. Shoving the weapon into the top of his jeans, Blair rushed forward. He crouched down before his partner and reached for the headphones.

  "Don't take those off."

  Blair jerked to his feet, pulling his gun as he moved, pointing it toward the voice that came from behind him.

  Marcus Grant leaned against the wall just a few feet away, arms crossed casually over his chest, his arrogant gaze locked on Jim. "I put the headphones on Detective Ellison for control purposes, but I must say they've had quite an unexpected...and interesting... affect on him. He seems almost...catatonic." He shifted his gaze up to Blair and smiled smugly. "You know, if I weren't planning on killing him I'd study this phenomenon."

  "You son of a bitch," Blair ground out. "That's all any of us ever were to you--rats in your little maze. Well, not anymore!"

  Grant pushed away from the wall, moving indifferently toward Blair.

  "Don't come any closer!" he ordered, raising the weapon, pointing it directly at the doctor.

  Grant raised an eyebrow. "And what do you plan on doing with that, Champ?"

  "Don't call me that!"

  Grant chuckled and held out his hand. "Come on. Just give me the gun, buddy."

  "I'm not your buddy!" Blair screamed. "I'm not your friend! I never was. I was your hostage, your victim." He fidgeted nervously, wrapped his hands more firmly around the gun he held. "But not anymore."

  Grant stared at him evenly, his expression indulgent. "After everything I've done for you, this is how you show your gratitude?"

  "Gratitude? You abducted me, locked me away in a mental institution, in a crypt, buried me alive! All you've ever done is terrorize me!" Rage emboldened Sandburg and he took a step closer, the gun still leveled at Grant's chest. "But you know what, man? None of that compares to what you've done this time." He shook with anger and resentment. "You shouldn't have touched Jim. You wanted me, fine. But you should have never touched Jim!"

  "Such loyalty," Grant intoned smoothly. "Too bad it's misplaced. But you'll see that in time...once I've had the opportunity to show you what real friendship is all about."

  "Shut up! Just shut up! I don't want to hear anything else you have to say." Blair took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You're not getting away this time, Grant. You're going to jail. Now turn around and lock your hands behind your head."

  Grant laughed. "You're joking--"

  "Just do it!
"

  Shrugging, Grant turned his back to Blair then slowly reached up and locked his hands behind his head. "Like this, Champ?"

  "I told you not to call me that," Blair ground out. Keeping his gaze on Grant, he moved to Jim and pulled the headphones from his ears. Classical music blasted out as he dropped them on the floor.

  There was no change in the sentinel. He remained slumped forward in the chair, unmoving.

  "Doesn't he like Mozart?" Grant quipped as Blair turned off the portable player beside the chair.

  Blair glanced up at Grant, hatred throbbing through him. The doctor still stood with his back to him, his hands laced together behind his head. Blair licked his lips as he turned back to his partner. Leaning around him, he looked down at the sentinel's wrists. They were bound together with Jim's own handcuffs, the chain between the cuffs locked through the slats of the chair. "Where's the key to these things?" Blair demanded.

  "In Ellison's pocket, I assume," Grant answered smoothly.

  Blair turned back to Jim, studying the situation. The way the detective was sitting now, there was no way Blair could get at the key. Crouching down beside his partner, Blair used his free hand to push Jim backward on the chair. The sentinel fell back, his head lolling to one side.

  "Jim," Blair called, keeping his voice low, even. "Come on, man, don't do this." He reached out to touch Jim's cheek, but as he did so he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Before he could even register what was happening, Grant slammed into him, knocking him on his side, away from Jim. He let out a grunt of pain as he fell hard against his still sore shoulder. The gun slipped from his hand, slid away across the debris-littered floor.

  Blair pushed himself up and scrambled on all fours after the gun, gritting his teeth against the surge of pain that raced from his shoulder and down his back. Immediately, he felt hands on him as Grant grabbed at his clothes, yanking and pulling, trying to stop him. Blair shoved him away, using his feet to keep him at bay. Crawling forward, his efforts against Grant seeming to work, he desperately scanned the floor. Just ahead, half hidden under a box, was the gun.