by Beth Manz
"Night movement and sounds, most likely. Chances are slim we'll actually capture Bigfoot."
"But there is a chance?" Darryl asked. There was no mistaking the hope in his voice.
Blair laughed and reached over to slap the younger man on the back. "There's always a chance."
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Jim lay on his back staring up at the roof of his tent. His throat hurt, his head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and he found himself longing for his soft, warm bed back at the loft. Sighing deeply and determining to make the best of the situation, he extended his hearing, hoping to be able to discern the different night sounds of the forest-sounds that he had always found relaxing. But rather than night sounds, his attention was captured by low voices and an occasional chuckle from the tent next to his. Pleased that his hearing seemed to be cooperating for the time being, he tuned in easily to the sound of Blair's voice....
"There are a lot of reputable people who believe in the existence of Bigfoot," his partner was saying. "Dr. Grover Krantz was an anthropologist at Washington State University who reconstructed the skeletal structure of a Sasquatch foot from prints found right here in Washington. When he'd finished the reconstruction, he found that the ankle was positioned further forward than in a human foot. He used physical anthropology and the reported weight and height of Sasquatches to calculate exactly how far forward the ankle was set. That was when he decided Bigfoot was real."
Jim smiled at the excitement he heard in the young man's voice. The kid was in his element and on top of his game with this one. He'd gotten them out here without getting lost even once, he'd done a good job of explaining why he'd brought each piece of equipment, and he'd assigned them all tasks for tomorrow's "hunt." Jim couldn't help but feel a little pride. He'd come out here to make sure Sandburg didn't end up at the bottom of some ravine, but it was clear that the kid knew what he was doing.
Jim cocked his head to the side as Darryl's voice reached him....
"So do you really believe, Blair? In Bigfoot, I mean."
Blair laughed lightly. "All I know, Darryl, is that I've seen some pretty incredible things over the past few years, things that have opened my mind up to just about anything. At this point I'd have to say there isn't a lot I wouldn't believe!"
Jim smiled fondly. He knew exactly what Blair was referring to-the journey they had taken together as sentinel and guide. His thoughts drifted back to the spiritual walk, then scrolled forward to the vision of the wolf he'd had recently-the vision that had directed him to Blair when he thought his partner was dead.
"There's a lot more to this world than just what we can see and feel, Darryl. The physical senses aren't all there is. If we open our minds to the possibilities, they're endless."
"So, what's he talking about, Jim?"
"Hmmm? What?" Jim looked over at Simon, the captain's voice having pulled him away from the conversation in the next tent.
"Sandburg. What's he talking about?"
"What makes you think I'm listening to Sandburg?" he challenged.
"Because you have the same look on your face that you always get when you listen in on him." He glanced over at Jim. "You do it all the time."
"I do not."
Simon chuckled. "You do! If the kid is out of sight but within earshot, you listen. I don't think you even know you do it. You just do it."
"Simon-"
"Relax, Jim. I'm not saying you do it because you're nosy or you don't trust him. It's just that when it comes to that kid, well...you tend to hover a bit."
Jim exhaled a derisive breath and glared at Simon. "Why does everyone keep telling me that?! I do not hover!"
The captain was unperturbed. "So you're only out here because you want to help search for Bigfoot, is that it?"
Jim turned his gaze to the roof of the tent again. "You're out here, too," he reminded Simon lamely.
"I have a son out here," the captain countered. "I want to make sure he comes home in one piece."
"That's all I want, too. For both Blair and Stephen."
"Fine," Simon relented. Then, after a moment's pause, he added, "So, what are they talking about?"
"Possibilities of finding Bigfoot," Jim admitted.
Simon let out a soft chuckle. "How far gone is Sandburg, really?"
"Actually, Simon, he's making a lot of sense. When I think about everything that's happened with us the past few years...well, anything is possible." He glanced over at Simon but the captain looked unconvinced-and a bit uncomfortable. "It's going to rain," Jim added a moment later, willing to change the subject for Simon's sake.
"Not a chance," Banks replied with a knowing smirk, clearly relieved that they weren't going to get into anything...sentinel. "The weather reports said we'd have clear skies the entire weekend."
"They were wrong," Jim replied confidently. "I can smell the moisture in the air and there's rumbling in the distance. I think it's only going to be a passing storm but we're definitely going to get some rain."
And as if on perfect cue, a bolt of lightning lit the night sky, the sudden illumination momentarily outlining the occupants of each tent. A low rumble sounded in the distance, the promise of the storm Jim had predicted.
"Told you," Jim whispered over to the scowling Simon.
The rain began slowly, a gentle and languid drizzle, then quickly progressed into a healthy downpour. And as the first large drops of rain hit their tent, one thing became crystal clear--the tent Jim and Simon had chosen wasn't waterproof.
Part Three
Blair pushed back the flap of his tent and crawled out. The ground was still damp from last night's storm but the air was warming quickly. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned, enjoying the feel of the morning sun touching his skin.
They'd prepare a quick breakfast, gather the equipment they'd put out last night, check the area for any signs of activity, then move on to the next designated campsite. Sandburg's gaze wandered around the quiet campsite, lighting on the figure of his partner, fully dressed and sitting by the campfire. Blair wasn't surprised to see that Jim was already up. His partner was usually an early riser, and this morning was no different.
Jim was placing wood on the small fire, preparing to make some coffee. His back was turned to Blair and he seemed intent on his task. Blair smiled fondly as he watched his early-rising partner, then grimaced in sympathy as a bone-jarring sneeze wracked the detective and was quickly followed by another of even greater magnitude.
"Hey, man," Blair greeted sympathetically as he moved toward the fire. He slapped the older man on the back as he passed him and was surprised when Jim jumped slightly at his touch. Frowning, he sat down beside his partner. "Sorry, buddy. I didn't mean to startle you. Didn't you hear me?"
Jim studied him as he talked, then shook his head. "My ears are plugged up," he said too loudly.
Blair glanced toward the tents where the other members of the small group were still sleeping, then signaled Jim to tone down the volume of his voice. "Why are your ears plugged up?" he asked, pointing at Jim's ears.
"Our tent leaked last night and I got wet. I think my cold is worse. I...I...." But Jim's voice trailed off as he expelled another loud sneeze. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped gingerly at his very red nose.
Blair bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Jim, man, Fritz had extra room in his tent. You and Simon could have bunked in with him."
"I don't need medicine," Jim misinterpreted. "Don't you worry about me."
Blair nodded, working hard to keep an amused grin at bay. "That's good," he went along, the tone in his own voice reminding him of the one he'd heard people use with the very old and very senile. Shaking his head and still fighting the threatening smile, he grabbed some of the wood from Jim and began placing it on the growing fire. "Why don't you relax and I'll make the coffee," he suggested. When Jim didn't answer, he turned to look back at his friend.
Jim returned Blair's gaze, but the blank l
ook on his face told the younger man that the sentinel hadn't heard a word he'd said.
"Chief, how about you make the coffee?" Jim suggested suddenly. "Yours is always better than mine."
Blair reached out to pat gently at Jim's shoulder. "Good idea," he mouthed silently, giving his partner a thumbs up sign.
Jim simply grinned in return and passed the kettle over to him. "Thanks, Sandburg."
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Stephen Ellison watched his brother where he sat on the other side of the campsite. Jim's head was cocked to one side-it was almost as if he were listening to something. He'd been doing that ever since Blair and Darryl left nearly half an hour ago to check the audio and video equipment they'd set out the night before.
He swallowed and dropped his gaze to the half-empty coffee mug he held in his lap. He could understand his brother's concern. He knew that Jim was still dealing with Blair's death, that he didn't want to lose Blair again. Stephen had watched his brother during Blair's funeral, had seen the pain and loss that ran just beneath the stoic outward appearance. Never in his life had he seen Jim in such a vulnerable, lost state. He'd known in that moment-standing silently, watching Jim mourn-that his brother would never be the same. That when Blair had died, so had an essential part of Jim Ellison.
Coward.
There was no denying the accusation his own mind supplied. For that's what he was. He hadn't known what to say to Jim at the funeral. He'd expressed his condolences but they'd sounded stilted and hollow, like words one would speak to an acquaintance rather than family. He just hadn't been able to talk to his brother about the loss of his friend. He hadn't known what to say.
"Blair, it's obvious Jim thinks of you as more of a brother than he does me."
The words he'd spoken to Blair so many months ago suddenly rushed through his mind.
"I don't resent it. I admit I feel a bit envious sometimes, but I don't resent it."
He'd told Blair that day that he had somehow managed to get through to Jim when no one else could. And that had been Stephen's biggest fear when he had heard about Blair's death--that his brother would once again pull into himself, locking everything and everyone out. But instead of going to Jim, trying to make sure that didn't happen, Stephen had stayed away, hiding behind the excuse that he didn't know what to do or say.
Coward.
When Blair had come by to pick him up at the start of this trip, Stephen had been surprised to find that Jim had come along. Blair had told him on the phone that it would just be him and the captain's son. Seeing Jim inside that Blazer was the first time since Blair's funeral. The guilt he'd felt at deserting his brother during the time following Blair's death had washed through him again at that moment, though he'd been able to somehow push it aside and manage a cheerful countenance for the sake of the four men.
But now, in the silence of the forest, watching his brother, the guilt washed over him again. And this time there would be no pushing it aside. He closed his eyes, dropping his chin to his chest. I'm a coward, he chastised himself. A lousy coward....
"You okay, Stephen?"
He jumped, turning toward the sound of his brother's voice, startled to find that Jim had walked up to him.
"Sorry," Jim said. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"No, it's okay," Stephen replied quickly as Jim sat down beside him. He tried to shake off his guilt and discomfiture. "I...I just didn't hear you walk up." Uncomfortable with Jim so close, accused by his own internal thoughts, he glanced nervously around the clearing, seeking the captain. But Simon had moved off; Stephen and Jim were alone.
"The others aren't back yet?" he asked quietly.
"Should be soon."
"How's your cold?" he asked, the question more of an attempt to make conversation than a sentiment.
"My ears aren't as stuffed up as they were when I first woke up."
"That's good." He glanced down, setting the coffee mug aside and shoving the last of his supplies into the backpack he held.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm supposed to look for tracks or other evidence of Bigfoot. I've got some of that Quik Roc stuff just in case and a camera. Fritz mapped out a route for me to follow."
Jim chuckled lightly. "You know, Stephen, I never knew you had an interest in Bigfoot."
Stephen smiled, finding himself relaxing a bit under Jim's jocularity. "I don't," he admitted guiltily. "But when Blair called and asked if I would go with him, I thought it sounded like fun." He shrugged slightly. "I had fun the last time we went camping together and...well, I kind of wanted to see him. I haven't since before his funeral, you know." He cleared his throat uncomfortably, wishing he'd left off that last part of the sentence. "Um, hey, what do you think this looks like?" he recovered, holding up a baggie with a large mass of dark, matted hair in it.
Jim stared at it evenly. "Looks like the stuff I clean out of the drain every time Sandburg takes a shower."
Stephen laughed before tucking the baggie back into his pack. "I think I'll keep it just the same. Blair said we should keep anything unusual and I think that qualifies." He stood and lifted the pack onto his shoulder. "Well, I should start my search," he said, hoping Jim would opt to remain at the campsite.
He didn't. "I'll join you," Jim said instead, snatching up his own pack and falling into step beside his brother.
They walked in silence, stopping every so often to investigate an odd looking lump or peer under trampled ferns or bushes. Stephen tried to do the job he'd been assigned but found himself failing miserably. He simply couldn't concentrate on the area around him. All he could think about was his brother beside him...and how uncomfortable he felt in his presence.
"Stephen, hold up for a minute," Jim instructed after nearly an hour of useless searching-and mostly unbroken silence. The older man dropped his pack and moved in front of his brother, studying him intently, his expression one of genuine concern. "What's going on?" he asked softly. "I can tell something's bothering you."
Stephen swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. "I don't know what you mean," he answered as casually as he could manage. "Nothing's wrong."
"There is," Jim persisted. He turned his head slightly, studied Stephen more intently. "You didn't expect me to come along on this trip and now that I have you don't seem to have a lot to say to me. Are you angry that I came?"
Stephen's eyes widened. "No, not at all," he blurted out, anxious to assure his brother that that was not the situation.
"Then what?" Jim pressed. "You've hardly said ten words to me since we started this trip. If I've done something...." The older Ellison's words trailed off as he spread his hands and looked imploringly at his brother.
Stephen's shoulders slumped. He felt thoroughly disgusted with himself. "You haven't done anything, Jim," he said, shaking his head. "It's...it's me...." Stephen stared down at the dirt at his feet, unable to look at his brother. "It's just that...." He lifted his gaze to the forest around him, then-after several long seconds-focused on Jim, who was staring at him, worry clouding his eyes. "It's nothing," he said finally, attempting a reassuring smile. He just couldn't bring himself to admit to Jim what a coward he'd been. He glanced up the trail, cocked his head in the direction they'd been going. "We should go," he said with false brightness in his voice. "We still have a lot of stuff to do before the day's over."
His brother frowned. Stephen could tell that Jim was contemplating pushing the issue, but after a few seconds he sighed and nodded his head. "Fine," Jim said, moving around Stephen to retrieve the pack he'd left on the ground. He settled it onto his shoulders, looked at Stephen again. "But you change your mind and want to talk, you let me know. Okay?"
Stephen blinked against the quick tears that threatened.
Coward.
"Yeah, Jim," he spoke, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears. "Okay."
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Simon leaned down and pushed back the fronds of
a huge fern. He started in surprise at what he saw. His breath caught in his throat and he was suddenly aware of his heart pounding in his chest. There in the mud, plain as day, was a large, deep footprint. The captain stared at it. He'd never seen a footprint that big before! Could it be?
"It's not Bigfoot."
Simon closed his eyes and bit back an irritated sigh. Slowly he straightened to his full height and looked over his shoulder at the man behind him. Fritz Carlyle stood there, casually puffing on the cigar he had clenched between his teeth. Simon wrinkled his nose at the offensive aroma. The man had poor taste in cigars.
"How do you know it's not Bigfoot?" Simon questioned in annoyance, not yet ready to give up on his find. "Look at the thing. It's huge!"
"It's bear," Fritz intoned knowingly. "Thing probably slid in the mud, that's what elongated it." He narrowed his eyes slightly as he studied the print. "But it ain't Bigfoot."
Simon leaned over the print again, squinting hard, frowning as though just concentrating would make the print into something it wasn't. He scowled even harder as he realized that he'd actually been hoping he'd found a Bigfoot footprint. Oh, Sandburg would just love this, he thought to himself. No need for the kid to know. I'll just make the cast, take it to camp, present it to him nonchalantly...let him make the decision as to whether or not it's Bigfoot....
From close behind him, just at his shoulder, came a puff of cigar smoke. He turned his head to see Fritz still leaning close, staring at the print as well, shaking his head in discouragement.
"Do you have to hover?" Simon bit out, straightening again.
But the old guide wasn't about to be intimidated. He stood his ground and peered up at the taller man. "Just watching out for you, Captain, that's all. If you'll pardon my saying so, you don't especially seem like the outdoorsman type to me." Fritz took another long, unhurried pull on his cigar then hooked the thumb of one hand into his suspenders. He stared up at Banks. "Lots of dangers out here in these woods," he lectured. "Poisonous plants, wild animals...."
"I've been in the woods before!" Simon sputtered defensively. "I can take care of myself." Muttering, the captain squatted down and proceeded to pull the Quik Roc from his backpack, determined to ignore the annoying mountain man.