The Burleigh Town Sentinel

Chapter 4 - In which not a lot happens for awhile, and then stuff really does. You'll see.

"Ok, so what did you think of my playing? Am I ready for the match?" Blair asked, as the sentinel and guide walked past the shops toward home later that day. Or rather Jim walked, deep in his own thoughts; Blair looked like he was performing some sort of folk dance, darting up to Jim and circling around him two or three times, rushing off a few feet to complete the intricate hand gestures, and then pacing the width of the street before starting again.

"Not bad, Chief, not bad - especially the way you steal the ball right out from under their noses. I don't think your teammates know where you are half the time." Jim playfully swatted Blair on the back of the head as he darted past. "Still, I don't know how I feel about you playing for the town. What if you got hurt; have you thought of that?"

"C'mon, Jim, I'm short… but mighty." Blair made a muscle.

"Uh huh," Jim said, giving his guide another tap, this one to keep Blair from wheeling straight into the path of an oncoming wagon. "What I meant was you have to think about the other team - the poor lad from Burford End who does you an injury - - breaks your leg, for example. I'm not saying you're not as tough as the other players; these things happen all the time in football. But even if it's purely accidental, do you think your teammates will just shrug it off an injury to their guide? Not to mention the rest of the town -- you know the good people of Burleigh aren't exactly the 'turn your other cheek' crowd, and then there's, well… me. Hell, if I were that kid I'd be on the first horse out of the county, maybe check into emigrating. And what if it's not the other team? What if it's one of our own lads? Let's say he accidentally runs over you because you're so short - I mean fast."

"Har har, Jim. Real clever." Blair's current gesture said otherwise.

"I know it's just as likely to happen in practice," said Jim to Blair's back as the guide paced off, " but in a match with outsiders watching? The kid would be a laughingstock, and that's only if he got lucky and didn't do any real damage. I'm sorry, Blair, but you've got to consider these things now."

"Oh, man…how can I be so stupid?"

Jim looked over at his guide, now dragging his feet. "Yeah, well, we both have responsibilities."

"Sorry, Jim, I just thought this was one thing that I could keep from my past. They wanted me because I'm good, not because I'm a 'Very Important Person'." Blair lowered his voice at the title and did a surprisingly good impression of Mayor Bodmer. Jim had to laugh despite himself.

"Have you considered becoming their coach? The boys are playing a whole lot better since you joined the team. "

"Noticed that, have you?"

Jim was relieved to see the twinkle return to Blair's eyes as quickly as it had left, but the feeling of relief brought the sentinel right back to one of the things he had been pondering during their patrol, in between Blair's interruptions --- the question of why he cared so much about this kid and what, if anything, he could do about it. It wasn't that Sandburg wasn't doing his best - the kid was obviously trying his heart out - and maybe he himself had the wrong idea of what a guide should be, given his altogether different experience with Thomas.

Next on his mental list -- Jim had thought that, given enough time, he could make himself learn to fit in here, even with the threat of his father hanging over all their heads, but he had been the Burleigh sentinel for months now and the realization was finally dawning on him that he was just too different from these people and this guide. He might not be cut out to be a town sentinel anywhere, but certainly not here.

Take temperament. Sandburg could easily converse with practically anyone in Burleigh - laugh at their jokes, sympathize with their sorrows -- the common touch and all that. Such public displays of emotion had always been distasteful to Jim. Why couldn't people just keep their feelings to themselves, like gentlemen? Like he had done…before Sandburg. The scenes Jim had made this morning - running around like a madman and then throwing a fit in the High Street - were simply unacceptable… humiliating really… but now that he had time to consider his actions in hindsight, were they really all his own fault? Were the intense highs and lows he had been feeling more and more often his own emotions -- or Blair's? That was problem number three.

He had never asked his first guide, Thomas, to spell out the details of the bond, mostly because he didn't want to find out for sure that a sentinel was nothing more than a life-sized puppet, but also because Thomas had known his place, staying in the background and making life easy for his master. With Blair - a much stronger empath and nobody's servant - Jim didn't know who held the power, and it had suddenly become vitally important to find out. If his dad - or the townspeople - made things too hot, could he force Blair to leave Burleigh? Could Blair make him stay against his will?

"Uh, Jim, you in there?"

One sticking point in this investigation was going to be that Blair, unlike Thomas, had such an open manner that when they were together it was impossible for Jim to decide whether he was being forced to bend to his guide's will or conversely was reacting to emotions that Blair didn't know that he was sending. Often it seemed that Jim himself went out of his way to humor the little fur-ball; it took so little to make Blair happy and the guide was so touched by any interest… Uh oh, Blair was studying him, trying to figure out what was wrong. 'Don't look, don't look, and don't look!' Jim became instantly focused on the display in the confectioner's window, where he could turn his back on Sandburg and still keep track of him in the reflection.

"Is everything ok, Jim?"

"It's a nice display, Sandburg."

"Yeah right, Jim… nice display." Blair peered in, grinning, but didn't see the cute redhead who usually worked behind the counter, just old Mr. Willim and his cat. The guide shook his head at the mental picture he was getting and said, "Do you want to go home now? I can start dinner a little early if you're hungry -"

Jim just shook his head and returned to his thoughts.

Where was he? Fur-ball… needy… oh yes, another thing--- how could anyone be so naïve, at least in some ways? Just the other day during breakfast, Blair had casually mentioned that he could have saved himself some trouble if he had tried using his empathy to check out the council before agreeing to become the town guide. Jim couldn't believe his ears. The rest of the meal had been spent lecturing the guide on the dangers of ignorance and complacency, laying special emphasis on staying alert to one's surroundings and using one's God given talents for one's own personal safety. Obviously it had gone in one ear and out the other. Jim absentmindedly pulled Blair from the path of a horse and shook his head again.

Could a grown man really be that daft? Was Blair secretly pulling Jim's leg -- or was he pulling Jim's strings? Was the kid a wolf in sheep's clothing or a lamb to the slaughter… or just possibly a good shepherd? Jim wasn't sure which one he would prefer. A sheep in sheep's clothing wouldn't have much of a life expectancy around here, but if Blair was the shepherd than Jim was flocked. He liked that, and repeated it aloud, "Flocked… Either way, I'm flocked."

"What, Jim? What did you say?"

He remembered earlier in the afternoon, when his guide had come running around the side of the Town Hall, sweaty and laughing, after Jim had spent the ride back preparing to send out a search party to find Blair's corpse. Jim had been so overwhelmed at the sight of Blair Sandburg still alive that it had been physically painful, like being plunged into ice water and then hauled out and sucker punched. He had never felt anything like it before - overpowering joy and dread - and had suddenly realized that this was what it must feel like to be a father. Not his own, of course, but a real one.

The townspeople had mostly been wise enough to pretend they didn't see anything- except for Bodmer -and Blair had taken one look at the scene and became the total guide, sending the mayor off to arrange for a trial later in the day for the Drury brothers, and informing Jim that he needed his sentinel behind the hall to umpire a scrimmage match. Immediately! By the time the rough and tumble game was over, Jim had had ample time to prove to himself, sense by sense, that his guide was real and safe and well, and now they were ambling their way through town, checking that Jim's territory was just as safe, and Blair had even promised him a steak for dinner. 'Taking over my life? I don't even care right now. Causing scenes in the High Street is definitely hungry work,' Jim thought ruefully. 'Wasn't it just yesterday he said I'm going to turn into a cow if I keep eating so much beef? Well, moo to that, chief; it would certainly be a more peaceful life.'

"Jim man, you're starting to freak me out here. It sounds like you're, uh, swearing and mooing," murmured Blair.

"You're hearing things, Sandburg," Jim said, staring intently at the tailor's shop as if it might harbor a dozen more kidnappers.

"We could just have a nice salad instead," suggested Blair. "Light…cooling." Blair tried to put his hand on Jim's forehead.

"No way, Chief," said Jim, brushing away the arm, "I need to keep up my strength. Bruce is still at large somewhere. Besides, it's cold enough out here."

"Not if you've been running around all afternoon like… uh, sorry, Jim. So you gonna tell me about your visit to the manor? I think I got the gist of it from the boys, but you could fill me in on the details."

"I'll all come out at the hearing this afternoon. Nothing you couldn't guess. My father hired those two yobbos to drop you off at the county line, chastened and warned. You have to admit, he's true to form, my dad."

"Chastened and warned, huh?"

"Very chastened, I should imagine." And well he could.

"Brrr. Did you feel that? How about if we heat up some soup to go with those steaks? It is getting cold."

The next few weeks were peaceful, if you could call it that. No one tried to kidnap Blair or Jim, no suspicious accidents or characters disturbed the peaceful countryside, just the organized mayhem that was the annual Harvest Home preparation. It may have been a little more harried than usual, since Joan Bodmer, who usually ran the show, was not in charge this year. She was officially 'Back from Coventry', but Mrs. Biggs had been given the position months ago and it was too late to switch back now. Really, it hardly mattered, as the ladies called on the Mayor's wife almost hourly to inquire 'the best way to do this' or 'the way we always do that' - arranging flowers, where the verger could had hidden the vestments, how many chickens would be required for the alter - and scores of other details. Joan was more tired explaining to Mrs. Biggs how to prepare for the festival than if she had just done the whole thing herself.

Allan Drury had ended up spending a total of six hours in the stocks as official punishment for trying to kidnap the town guide. The prisoner and his brother couldn't exactly be charged with kidnapping, as Constable Johnson had pointed out to the council, since Blair had been seen playing football with a dozen people during the supposed incident, and even attempted kidnapping charges would have had to be held over for the quarterly sessions, which were presided over by outsiders who might not understand how things should be handled and would certainly ask too many questions. Therefore, the charge was 'Disruption of a Ladies Aid Society Meeting' -- but far from being satisfied, Drury had protested loudly that he wanted to be held for trial, in the jail, behind bars.

After the sentence had been carried out - by nine o'clock that night there was hardly any fresh fruit left in Burleigh - Jim had insisted on providing Allen with a personal escort out of town. The evening was overcast and Jim felt it was his duty as town sentinel to make sure the lad got home safely. Perhaps Jim could have a little chat with Bruce, if he was available when they got to the Drury farm. The fact that neither of the brothers had been seen anywhere in the county since then was just a coincidence. Everybody said so - to Blair - repeatedly. Probably they were just extra busy, what with the harvest.

Certainly, everyone else was. Life in the country was measured from season to season and holiday to holiday, and the October rites were generally considered the third holiest, after Christmas and Easter/Mayday. The combined celebrations of Harvest Home and Samhain lasted for three weeks and included feasts, sacrifices, dances, and bonfires, along with solemn prayers of thanksgiving. The hard work of reaping, winnowing, and storing the crops was almost finished and the hard work of slaughtering animals for winter larders had not yet begun, and it was time to praise God and go a little wild.

Jim wondered how much merriment he would be able to stand.

In actuality, the church services had turned out to be not much more bizarre than he had expected. Blair had warned him about the chickens, and that helped. The feathers were annoying, floating around during the hymn singing, but Blair said it reminded him of the day they met, when James' room at the manor was covered in the things, and advised Jim that if he didn't want that whole story turned into an amusing anecdote for the patrons of the King's Head, the sentinel had better just sit there and smile. Jim only pretended to sing, instead thinking about that first meeting, and it did make him smile for a moment, until he remembered the part afterward. Best not to think of that. - Sigh -

So what bloody hymn was the choir murdering now? Every time Mrs. Toby opened her great maw and let out one of her ear-piercing shrieks, Jim wished he could do Christianity a favor and throttle the woman. Blair patted his hand. Oh, goodie, that made it all better.

---Sigh---

Finally the long service was over. "You'd think a burnt offering wouldn't smell so much like dinner," Jim muttered to Blair. He grabbed an apple off the side alter on his way out of church and took a large bite, so that he wouldn't have to make small talk with his fellow parishioners, knowing that Blair had enough of that particular talent for both of them. Ahhhhh damn, should have moved faster, the sob-sisters had his guide surrounded. That meant at least fifteen more minutes before they could go home, and only the one piece of fruit. He wondered if it would look bad if he went back in and nabbed a few more for the wait. Maybe the townspeople would think he was just getting into the spirit of things - 'Gather in the ripened load, tum te tum as we hath sowed'…and anyway, shouldn't it be sown? Still, there were apples in that song somewhere…and manna… Did you sow manna? Blair would know.

Anyhow, he reminded himself that he didn't care what the townspeople thought - one harvest ritual down and only a half-dozen or so to go. The dancing would involve standing in a dark corner looking menacing enough so that no one would ask him to join in, the feasting was looking a little more promising since his father knew better than to turn up in town, the bonfires would be hard on his eyes but not as hard as today's singing had been on his ears, and his little partner could take charge of all the niceties. Things might just possibly be looking up.

-- Sigh --

By the next Friday, Jim was regretting his optimism. Blair had unaccountably not taken over all aspects of the sentinel-guide united front, leaving him to deal with a score of townspeople who needed help with party preparations, as well as the usual sentinel stuff. How dare the guide not do his share? And by that, of course, he meant his share.

Blair had promised to take on the majority of the holiday work, reasoning that Jim was all-in from dealing with his father and the attempted kidnapping. It wasn't up to Blair's usual standard of obfuscation, but it was kindly meant. Jim knew that Blair knew that the thing with his dad was only part of it- and Jim resented that too, a little, his newfound inability to keep anything private - but the guide hadn't pushed. Much. Yet. Perhaps Jim should consider himself lucky that there was so much holiday preparation; Blair had been too busy to worm the rest of it out of him - too busy and too interested in his new toy, some musty old book he was trying to decipher. Could Jim reasonably be upset that his guide was not attached to his hip twenty-four hours a day, while simultaneously wishing that the same guide was not constantly in his face? Could one really be jealous of a puzzle book? And while in principle Jim decided that he could be as reasonable as the next guy, there didn't seem to be much call for reason in Burleigh. Right now a little old woman was pounding on his front door - even though he had opened it - demanding that he come and get a dead bird out of her tree. She kept insisting that one of her neighbors climbed up there last night and left it on a branch out of spite. No, she didn't see or hear anything, but that didn't mean they didn't do it. She was no fool.

'No… that would be me,' Jim thought, as he followed the nasty little granny down the street.

'Come on Sandburg, you're supposed to be smart!' Blair told himself, as he tried for the hundredth time to figure out the key to the code that Samuels had used in writing his journal - or whatever the hell Blair was holding. He couldn't even be sure that Samuels had written it - not yet - only that the name of the previous guide to Burleigh appeared on the cover and that none of the writing inside was any language that he had ever seen. Unless someone from here had been to the orient and picked up a smattering of Arabic along the way, this was some sort of secret writing.

Simple transposition hadn't gotten him anywhere. Blair knew that the squiggle that appeared most often in the text should be the letter E, statistically speaking, but that cut both ways. He could now guess any number of words that made absolutely no sense. Could it be a cross cipher?

Oh well, there were places he had to be, people he had to try to understand; he'd better get back out there.

--Sigh-

Jim was really worrying him. What with the kidnapping, and the Autumn rites, and whatever it was that was driving Jim nuts that he wouldn't tell his guide, Blair was exhausted. These little breaks with the book were a godsend, a chance to think about something unconnected to his life. Of course, Bijeli hadn't been by to drop any more hints - maybe that would be cheating or something. Blair chuckled. 'Like Uncle Bijel would ever do anything like that…'

Simon, meanwhile, was in an excellent mood. The ride from London, this time, had been one long waking dream - and sometimes sleeping dream, along the flatter roads. No one sat across from him telling stories about horrid relatives, no one complained at lunchtime that the cook was trying to poison anyone, and no one threatened to be sick in his new leather boots, which were lying on the floor of the carriage while Simon stretched out his stocking-covered feet to the seat on the other side. Really, he didn't know why they advertised these things for four people. He just barely had enough room all by himself.

This time was going to be different all around. Jim was healthy, Jim was settled, the townspeople would be on their best behavior to the friend of the new town sentinel, and Simon could finally get in some real fishing. Jim had written to him about the dinner party- damned shame that Stephen had to find out that way - and about the little problem afterwards, but Jim had gone on to assure his old friend that all of that had been worked out and this time Simon's vacation would be perfect. Jim had mentioned something about a Harvest Home festival. Lots of pretty girls. Lots of fish. He wondered if that same barmaid still worked at the Grey Mare; he should get his driver to stop. The one at the King's Head was no ogre either, maybe even prettier than the Mare girl -- he seemed to recall that her name was Trout, but he had been awfully sloshed that day -- but even so, after what he had been forced to say to the 'Head' girl in order to get up to Blair's room that time… no, he wouldn't be getting any smiles from that one. He'd better make it the Mare.

Simon fell asleep dreaming that the rocking of the carriage was a canoe floating on a river that got faster and faster. When he woke up he was in Burleigh.

That night, things did not go exactly as Jim had planned. He and Blair were supposed to take charge of the bonfire. The local young people, as Jim had called them, would be bringing in all of the scarecrows they could find from the farms in the parish and parade them up and down the High Street before tossing them onto a roaring fire set up at the south end of the commons. It sounded so simple.

Blair knew there was going to be trouble as soon as Jim announced to the 'young people' - they were not much younger than Blair, most of them, and mostly roaring drunk - that he, the town sentinel, would tolerate no monkey business and that he expected to see them all proceed in an orderly fashion to the commons and go up one at a time to the bonfire and deposit their straw man. Even Simon looked doubtfully at Jim for that one. The revelers guffawed - their sentinel was such a wit - and used their scarecrows to salute their commander. Simon guessed you could call them salutes - in the loosest sense of the word. One inventive wag pulled the arm off of his poor Mr. Crow and used it like a drum major's baton. "You heard our fearless leader, you miserable lot! Altogether now ---- hup two, fall in, hup two, three four…"

They marched away up the High Street with their rude scarecrows, singing --- "Why was he born so beau-ti-ful, why was he born at allllllll? He's no #### use to anyone, he's no #### use at alllllllll…"

The crowds lined up on either side of the main street cheered the parade and joined in the verse.

"You just needed to show those kids who's boss, didn't you, Jim? Whipped 'em right into shape."

"Shut up, Simon."

"That's it, Jim. A little more of that! Next time you might even get them to slow down for a half-second."

"And you! Quit that god-awful sniggering."

Blair tried; he really did. But it had been a long couple of weeks.

An hour later the three had loosened up quite a bit, or rather Jim had, and so Blair could. Nothing horrible had happened just because the revelers had not upheld Jim's high standard of bonfire etiquette. The marchers staggered along to the top of the High Street and then on a signal from the mayor, turned the parade into a footrace to see who could throw their 'man' onto the fire first - the same as they always did. Most people agreed that Jim's suggestion for a pre-race promenade was a stroke of genius and the town council decided to add it to all Harvest bonfires in future.

"There now, don't you feel special?" joked Simon again, "You've made it to posterity!" He grabbed a beer from one of the passing servers, and handed it to his old friend. "You look like you could use this more than me."

"I could use this more that anyone. Just look at them. It's like babysitting a couple of hundred four-year-olds. And they want me to be grateful for the job. "

"There's yours, right over there."

Blair was dancing a Morris with a group of men, shaking pikes and leaping around the Marion, while musicians piped and drummed off to the side away from the fire. Marion was always a man dressed as a girl, and this was a good thing not only because of the general hilarity that ensued whenever one of the big strapping farm boys twirled around in a dress, but because the job was slightly dangerous. Some of the 'male' dancers got a little carried away showing off to their sweethearts and the swirling pikes were quite sharp.

"Your Blair would make a good Marion."

"Not you too, Simon. I don't want to have to go into this-"

"No, I mean he's good. Look at him. He's the only one out there who can really dance."

Jim saw what Simon meant. Blair was dodging and weaving through the circle, pretending to thrust his pike into the other men, darting up to the 'fair maiden' for a kiss and then somersaulting over the backs of crouching dancers.

"He could make a living at that, Jim."

"For all I know, maybe he did."

He realized that Blair had never told him much about his past. Come to think of it, he hadn't told Blair much either. Maybe they should have a talk… soon.

"Well, he's a cut-up, that's for sure. And the ladies are eating it up. You might have to find yourself a bachelor's hall one of these days, Jim, unless you start making some time of your own. Why don't you go out there and show them how a real gentleman does it?"

"I assume you mean dancing."

"Whatever, Jim, whatever. He's stealing your thunder."

Jim didn't take Simon up on his challenge to show off his own dancing skills. He could do all right with the ladies without any help from his friend and he detested showing off. Not that he thought Blair was doing that; his guide appeared to be playfulness itself, running around all covered in bells and ribbon. ---Uughhh--- Not what he would consider fun, but 'chacon a son gout' --and speaking of which, he wanted another beer. It was pretty good tonight. He wondered who had made it.

A few minutes later, Blair rejoined them, sweaty and laughing, and then he suddenly stiffened and leaned in to Jim. "It's ok, Jim. It's not then, I'm not missing. You rescued me ---or rather you would have if the ladies hadn't beaten you to it. Oh, man, I thought we were past this. Ok, I want you to smell me -'

Simon grimaced and raised an eyebrow.

"Simon, you might want to take a little walk. Jim and I need a moment."

Simon wasn't sure that this was such a good idea, but he did as he was told - surprised that he was actually taking orders from someone who currently looked like a marionette -- and jingled.

From his vantage point by the food table, he saw Sandburg put his arms around James and give him a hug, in full view of the crowd. Jim would hate this. Of course, he would have to be conscious to hate this… Simon sighed in relief as he saw his friend blink, shake himself, and then look around uncertainly, as if he didn't know for a moment where he was.

Simon made sure to be smiling at a handsome serving wench when Jim looked his way. Then he walked back toward the pair as if he had just stepped away for a bite to eat.

Blair now moved a few feet away, giving Jim back his personal space now that the zone-out was over. Blair could feel Jim's embarrassment, and that a lot of it was directed outwards as if Jim was concerned about what everyone would think. Didn't Jim know that this was perfectly normal behavior for a sentinel? --sigh - Of course Jim knew; he had told him over and over. It just wasn't sinking in.

"How 'bout we get something to eat, Jim? Simon, how's the food?"

"Just tell me there's nothing funny in here, Jim. I was coming over for your expert opinion." Simon hoped that Ellison wouldn't catch his and Blair's little attempt at playacting. Sometimes it was a real pain having a sentinel for a friend.

"I think you'll live," Jim said dryly. "Come on, you two prats, I could use something to eat."

It was while they were in line for cream cakes that all hell finally broke loose. Jim knew it was too good to last. One moment the three men were standing there wondering why the line you got into always moved so much more slowly than the line you hadn't chosen, and the next moment everything happened almost all at once. Blair started talking to thin air - quite loudly and agitatedly. A moment later the top of the bonfire fell over, barely missing the Morris band. The crowd scattered and screamed and laughed. And out from the scattered ashes and rubbish where the fire had collapsed, a charred scarecrow rolled out - only this scarecrow had hands.

"Don't go over there, Jim," Blair said, turning aside for a moment from his imaginary foe.

Jim wondered if his guide was having a fit, or if he had actually known in advance about this horrible sacrifice and the guilt had driven him mad. He knew what a horrible accusation he might be making against his guide, but Blair wasn't the least bit surprised at the sudden appearance of the smoking corpse, and he hadn't even glanced at the body, as if he knew what he would see there. No, he was too busy arguing with nobody.

Jim ignored Blair's warning and walked over check out the body. Wasn't this whole harvest home thing supposed to be fairly civilized now? Chickens instead of people… scarecrows instead of real people…Blair looked so sad… Who the hell was this? It was going to be nearly impossible to tell from what was left.

"Blair. Blair! Do you know anything about this?" Jim shook his guide to get his attention.

"I'm sorry, Jim. So, so sorry. If I had known before just this minute -"

"---------"

"Jim… It's your dad."

Turning back to his imaginary playmate, Blair hissed, "What did you want me to say? Ok, ok…"

Turning back to Jim, he added, "It's your dad's remains."

Back to the thin air, Blair muttered snidely, "Better?"

Jim was really worried now. He put himself in the middle of where he thought Blair's voices were coming from, and slapped Blair hard across the face. Then, wrapping his arms around the obviously overwrought guide, Jim whispered, "Don't worry, Blair. I don't care what you did. He probably drove you to it. We'll work it out."

From the depths of Jim's overcoat, Blair let out a muffled growl. "What I did? You just hit me, you nutcase!"

"You were talking crazy. Someone else might hear it."

"Ok, Jim. Let me out of the stranglehold and I promise to explain quietly." Jim tentatively loosened his hold just enough that the guide could breathe a little easier but not enough so that Jim couldn't quickly muffle an insane confession.

Blair spit a piece of fuzz out of his mouth and glared dourly up at Jim. "The body in the bonfire is your father's; he just told me so. Too bad his timing is so bad."

Seeing the look of disbelief on his sentinel's face, Blair added, "Didn't the council tell you that sometimes I can speak with the dead? Oh brilliant, they didn't. Of course they didn't. I must have scared the shit out of you, Jim… I'm so sorry; you must have thought I was insane. And, well, you know, about your dad, I'm sorry about that too. I really did just speak with him, if it's any consolation. He's not exactly here anymore of course, but he's not really gone either."

Reverend Haley and Mayor Bodmer had sidled up during the conversation and were both vigorously nodding their heads in agreement with what Blair was saying, so whether it was possible or whether the whole town had gone mad, at least it didn't look like his guide was about to be arrested for murdering his father…oh, God.

When he stopped crying, somehow he and Blair had exchanged places and now the guide was holding him, and Jim didn't care one bit who saw it.