by Beth Manz
He also knew his friend believed he was leaving the hospital too soon. A day and a half is not enough recovery time, Jim had lectured that morning while Blair had dressed. Your doctor doesn’t even think this is a good idea.
But Blair couldn't sit in that hospital bed for another day and do nothing. He needed to get to the station and begin trying to find the men who were responsible for putting him in the hospital…and three young men in their graves.
He closed his eyes, his throat tightening at the thought of the three boys. I’m going home, where I'll sleep in my own bed, relax on my own couch. And they’re dead. He swallowed hard past the lump that had formed in his throat. And in that moment, he knew what he needed to do.
Opening his eyes again, he glanced over at Jim. “I need to see the boys' graves, Jim” he announced softly.
Jim nodded, his eyes never leaving the road. “You will. As soon as you’re stronger, we’ll--”
“No, you don't understand,” Blair cut in. “I need to see them now.”
The detective glanced at him, his brow furrowed in concern. “Blair, Dr. Holland only agreed to your release because you promised her you’d take it easy. I don’t think--”
“I want to go to the cemetery,” Blair ground out, an edge of agitation working its way into his chest and evidencing itself in his voice. He lifted his chin in firm resolve and looked over at his partner. “Either you take me now or when we get home, I’ll take the Volvo and drive myself.”
“Sandburg, they’re not even buried in the same cemeteries,” Jim reasoned in an obvious attempt to discourage him.
“Then I'll go to each cemetery." He saw the sign of Jim's displeasure--the clenched jaw, the rigid posture, the eyes fixed forward. He had to make his partner understand how important this was to him. Softening his tone, he spoke again: "Please, Jim.” Reaching out, he touched lightly at his partner’s arm. “I need to see them. Today. Now. I…I can’t go home until I do.”
Jim sighed audibly, but his posture and jaw relaxed perceptibly. “All right," he acquiesced. "I’ll take you.” The sentinel patted lightly at the hand on his arm, then made a U-turn and headed in the opposite direction of the loft. Minutes later, the two men drove through the gates of Our Lady of Peace Cemetery, the burial park where both Stanley Gillman and Peter Meade had been laid to rest. Stopping only briefly in the office for directions to each grave, Jim drove to the appropriate area and pulled the truck to the side of the gravel lane.
The boys had been buried within sight of each other and the new graves were easy to spot, both covered in an array of brightly colored flowers and fresh wreaths. Blair stared out the window at them, his heart pounding heavily in his chest, his breath coming in short pants.
“Let’s just go home, Blair,” Jim pleaded from beside him, his voice low, concerned. "We can do this later, after you're feeling better…."
“No, I need to do this.” Blair looked at Jim, searching for understanding in his partner’s eyes. “Please.”
The sentinel looked past his guide, toward the graves in the distance, and the expression on his face softened. “Okay,” he relented, returning his gaze to Blair. “But we’re not staying long. It’s damn windy out there.” He reached for the handle of his door.
Blair caught his arm, stopping him. “No, Jim. I need to do this alone.”
“Blair--”
“Please, Jim. Don’t argue with me. I’m too tired to argue. Just let me do this my way.”
Jim forced out a long frustrated breath. He lifted his hands in surrender. “Fine. Alone.”
Blair opened the passenger side door and lowered himself to the ground, pushing the door closed behind him. He’d put his hair in a loose ponytail before leaving the hospital and as the wind whipped over him, he was glad for it. Hunching his shoulders, his arms crossed over his chest, he started walking toward the first grave.
Behind him, he heard Jim exit the truck, knew the sentinel was watching him. But Jim wouldn't listen or get too close. He would give Blair the privacy he had requested.
Reaching the first grave, Blair slowly knelt down, mindful of the tenderness in his side. His gaze shifted to the small place card at the head of the grave. "Peter Joseph Meade," it read, with the date of the young man’s death printed beneath the name. The card would remain only until the headstone was ready.
Blair touched lightly at the flowers atop the grave. He knew now that Peter was the one the men had shot that day. It was Peter who had been the first to die.
He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened. But he would not cry. He had promised himself at the hospital that he would not cry again. The tears were selfish, garnering sympathy he didn’t deserve.
Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes again and looked at the small marker. I swear to you I won’t rest until the people who did this are found and punished, he promised Peter silently.
Standing, he set off on foot toward Stanley Gillman’s grave.
“Sandburg!” Jim called impatiently from the road. A moment later, the truck engine fired to life, the Ford keeping pace with him as he walked the short distance across the grounds to the second grave. The small exertion left him panting, his body covered in a fine sheen of sweat.
"Stanley J. Gillman," the place card read. Blair didn’t kneel this time. He wasn’t sure he would be able to get back up if he did and he didn’t want Jim refusing to take him to see Andrew Rehse because of it. So instead, he stood and gazed down at the fresh grave at his feet.
Stanley had lived the longest, finally succumbing to exposure late the second day. Blair shivered, wrapping his arms tightly around himself as he thought about those days and nights, remembering his own fear and loneliness. He would have given anything if he could have somehow gotten help to Stan, could have saved the life of just this one boy.
Closing his eyes, he silently offered the same vow he had made to Peter -- The men who did this will be found.
Turning away, he started across the grounds, back to the truck and his partner.
“Are you all right?” Jim asked once Blair was settled into the passenger seat. “You shouldn’t be doing this, Chief. You still have congestion in your lungs and that wind isn't good for you.”
“I’m fine,” Blair assured him. “You don’t have to worry so much.”
“Comes with the territory,” Jim argued softly as he steered the truck toward Blue Hills Memorial Cemetery.
Blair knew Jim just wanted to go home, that he still felt this was a bad idea, that Blair was simply not well enough to be traipsing around like this. But the sentinel didn’t argue with him this time; he simply drove to Blue Hills and watched silently as Blair got out of the truck and crossed to the grave.
Now, as Blair stood beside Andrew’s final resting-place, the cold wind whipping over him, he realized he felt warm, too warm. Even as the thought went through his mind, a high-pitched ringing sounded in his ears and a sudden dizziness swept over him.
Closing his eyes, he raised a hand to his forehead. The ringing in his ears intensified and he began to sway where he stood. Almost instantly, there was a strong hand on his arm, another at the center of his back.
"Okay, Chief,” Jim said close to his ear, “that’s it. I'm taking you home.”
/
Jim glanced across at Blair as he steered the truck out of the cemetery. The kid’s eyes had slipped closed almost as soon as he'd settled himself into the passenger seat. His heart sounded good but the congestion in his lungs still bothered the detective. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought Blair might be running a slight fever again. He planned to make damn sure that he took it easy from here on out.
They drove toward the loft in silence, Jim happy to let Blair rest. But as they drew closer to home, Jim finally broached the subject he’d been thinking about all morning.
“Sandburg,” he said softly, not wanting to startle him. “I think you should call your mother when we get home and let her know what’s happened.”
Blair’s eyes snapped open, a panic flashing across the blue depths. “You didn’t call her did you? You promised me--“
“I didn’t call,” Jim cut in. “But I think you should. She’s your mother. She'd want to know.”
"I can’t deal with her right now. I just can’t.” He stared down at his hands where they lay fisted in his lap. “Not now.”
Jim reached out and squeezed gently at his shoulder. “It’s your decision, Chief. I won’t push this.”
Parking the truck in front of their apartment building, the two men made their way inside. As they rode up in the elevator, Blair’s heart began to pound heavily in his chest. Instantly, Jim moved closer, touched lightly at his arm.
“You okay?”
Blair looked up at him. “It’s weird. I mean, we’re just going home but I feel...nervous. Like...like something’s going to be different. Changed.”
“Don’t worry, buddy.” Jim smiled down at him. “The loft is just like you left it. Nothing’s changed. You're being hit with a lot of conflicting emotions right now, that's all.”
Blair nodded. “Yeah, I suppose you're right.”
Jim unlocked the door and ushered Blair inside first. As he hung up their jackets, the red blinking light on the answering machine caught his eye. “Got a couple of messages,” he announced, nodding toward the counter.
Blair walked over and hit the button on the answering machine. Instantly, Eli Stoddard’s voice filled the apartment.
“Blair? I called the hospital and found out you were released today. Could you call me? I’d like to come and see you if you’re up to it.” There was a slight pause. “I just need to know you’re all right,” the chancellor finished softly.
Blair rubbed unconsciously at his side as the machine beeped and moved on to the second message.
“Jim, you were right about the surveillance tapes," Simon's booming voice sounded out. "Taggert drove out and picked them up this morning. We plan to go through them today. Give me a call later and I’ll let you know if it panned out.”
“What surveillance tapes?” Blair asked as the tape rewound in the machine.
“When you told us that you went to a truck stop the morning of the attack, I thought maybe it would have cameras. That's why I needed to know the name of the place--I asked Simon to check it out. If that’s where you picked up your tail, maybe we’ll be able to spot your attackers on the surveillance tapes.”
“I want to see those tapes,” Blair said immediately, his gaze reflecting a new determination. “If anyone can pick those guys out, it’s me.” He grabbed for his jacket. “I want to go to the station and--”
“We’re not going to the station,” Jim stated flatly. He took Blair's jacket from his hands and hung it back up on the hook.
“Jim," Blair protested, "too much time has already gone by. We need to get on this.”
“And we will. Tomorrow.”
“Jim--”
“Blair, look at your hands. They’re shaking. There’s sweat beading on your forehead and I heard you wheezing from that short stroll you took in the cemetery. You really think you’re up to going into the station today? And don’t threaten that you’re going to take the Volvo and go yourself because that’s not going to happen either. You push yourself and you won’t help those boys. You’ll just hurt yourself.”
“But this is finally something I can do. I want to help.”
Jim reached out and squeezed at Blair's upper arms. “And you will. But right now, we don’t even know if you’re on those tapes. Let Simon and Taggert go through them first. If they find you and the students, then you and I will go in tomorrow and you can view the tapes, point out the men if you see them.”
The phone rang, cutting off any further argument. But Jim knew even without the interruption of the phone that the discussion was over. He could see it on Blair’s face. The kid knew Jim was right. Knew if he had a relapse and ended up back in the hospital, he wouldn’t do anyone any good.
Jim picked up the phone on the second ring. “Ellison.”
“Hello, Detective Ellison, this is Linda Keller. I, uh, I’m one of the hikers who found your partner.”
“Of course. I remember you,” Jim said as he watched Blair settle himself on one of the couches.
“I’m just calling to see how Blair is doing. I called the hospital today and found out he was released.” Her voice was filled with a combination of surprise and relief.
“Actually, we just got home a few minutes ago.”
“Then I won’t keep you,” she said immediately. “I’m sure you have things you need to do. Just let Blair know that we called if you would, that my husband and I are happy he’s okay. And maybe…when he’s feeling up to it, we can come see him?”
“I’m sure he’d like that.” Jim hung up the phone after jotting down Linda’s number.
“Who was that?” Blair asked as Jim strode toward him.
“Linda Keller. One of the people who found you. She’d like to come see you at some point. When you're feeling better.”
Blair nodded, dropping his gaze to his lap. “Yeah, I guess I should thank them, huh?”
Jim settled on the couch across from his partner. “Blair, I’ve been thinking more about what happened on that mountain--about the wolf the Keller’s heard, I mean.” He paused briefly, then shrugged. “What if it really was your spirit guide? What if-“
“It wasn’t,” Blair cut in, the adamant tone of his voice surprising Jim. “And I really don’t want to talk about that right now. I’m tired.” He pushed up from the couch and turned toward his room.
“Chief-“
“Jim,” Blair snapped, his hands fisted at his sides. “I'm sorry, but I can’t deal with this right now.”
Jim pushed to his feet, moving to stand behind his partner. “You’re going to have to deal with this sometime.”
Blair spun toward him angrily. "Would you make up your mind? First you tell me to take it easy, practically forbidding me to go to the station to check those tapes. And now I tell you I’m tired and you want me to talk about some wolf that the Kellers think they heard." His eyes glistened with anger as he looked up at Jim. "What's it going to be?"
"Sandburg, I didn't mean--"
Blair raised a hand to halt Jim's words. His chin trembled slightly and Jim knew he was struggling to remain in control of his emotions.
Tentatively, Jim reached out and placed his hands on his partner’s shoulders. He felt Blair tense beneath his touch but he didn't pull away. “I'm sorry. I was trying to help. I didn't mean to make this worse for you. We can talk later, no problem. Okay?"
The shoulders beneath his hands sagged slightly and he felt Blair lean slightly into his touch. "Okay," was all the younger man whispered out.
Jim stepped closer, looking down at Blair, but his partner kept his face lowered, refusing to meet his gaze. "For what it's worth,” Jim began softly, “I know what you’re going through. I understand the anger you feel. I felt exactly the same way after my crash in Peru. Everyone was dead but me. And I kept asking myself why? Why did I live when they all died? There is no easy answer to that, Chief,” he whispered, his hands tightening on the shoulders he still held. “For a long time, I just thought I was lucky. But it didn’t help my guilt or my anger. Nothing did...until I met you.”
“Me?” Blair looked up at him then, his eyes wide and confused. “We've never talked about how you felt after your crash. How did I help you?”
“When you told me what I was, I knew that’s why I lived. Because I had a purpose, a destiny to fulfill. And,” Jim added softly, “so do you.”
Blair’s eyes narrowed slightly as he stared up at Jim, trying to comprehend what he was now being told. “You’re saying I lived because I'm your guide?”
“Yes,” Jim said simply.
Blair huffed out a disdainful laugh and shook his head. “If I’m so special,” he began, his voice soft yet bitter, “if I was really meant to live, then why didn’t you see my spirit
guide like you did after fighting with Alex in the warehouse? And then again at the fountain?”
Jim blinked several times, taken off guard by the unexpected question. “What?”
“That's the question that has no answer, Jim. If the wolf the Kellers heard was my spirit animal, why did it let me lie on that mountain for all those days?” Blair bit the words out, his eyes now dark with anger. “Why the hell did it let those boys die? Why didn’t it come to you?”
“I don’t know, Chief,” Jim answered honestly. “But maybe--”
“Maybe nothing, man. It didn’t come to you because that wolf was not my spirit guide. I don’t have a spirit guide.” Stubbornly, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “There may be a spiritual side to this whole sentinel thing for you, but not for me.”