For the Disclaimer and Author’s Notes, see Darkning Storm title page.

Author’s note: Despite reasonable searching on the internet, I wasn’t able to find out anything I needed to know about the Hollywood Hills area. So, even though I didn’t want to, I made that stuff up.

THE DARKNING STORM: PART TWO

THE LION AND THE HUMMINGBIRD

By Denise Engi

I

Tuesday, 7:00 a.m.

          “Oh, man, what a night!” Blair had moaned to Jim when he emerged from his apartment that morning (They still rode to the precinct together unless there was a specific reason not to, so Jim now met Blair at the latter’s door on the way to the elevator). “I feel like the morning after the night before, except there wasn’t any night before. Man, how fair is that?” He asked. “I mean, at least the fun would have been worth the hang-over!”

          Jim, snorted derisively. He hadn’t had a good night, either, but hadn’t really wanted to talk about it. As it turned out, however, Blair unknowingly changed the detective’s mind with his next words.

          “I had the weirdest dream, man.” He’d told his partner. “About this far-out storm.” Blair was a little reluctant to talk about his dream, but only because Jim was disquieted by this sort of thing. Blair, having been raised by his flower-child/New Age mother to believe in the supernatural, had taken the mystical aspects of the Sentinel/Guide duty in stride, and had tried to make light of it with Jim, knowing that the older man was uncomfortable - to say the least - about anything having to do with anything outside the physical realm. Only the unbearable loss of his Guide had driven Jim to deliberately accept and even seek out that other world in order to bring Blair back from death, and, later, to settle the differences between them. He’d even, if pressed hard enough, grudgingly admit that Blair might be right about his sixth sense being heightened along with the rest - several trips to the spiritual plane, and solving a murder with the help of the deceased victim’s ghost left little room for doubt about that. It still wasn’t something he liked to talk about, though, even knowing that Blair’s death had been due in part to Jim’s refusal to talk about the vision of him killing the wolf which had morphed into Blair. He’d pushed Blair away, then, even kicked him out of the loft in the mistaken belief that it was the younger man’s proximity to his Sentinel which was placing him in danger. Instead, he’d realized only too late, it was his rejection of his Guide that had put the anthropologist in peril. Only then had Alex Barnes been able to get to him and kill him, and Jim had been forced to utilize his own spirit animal, a great black panther, to bring him back. Then, a few months later, he’d realized that he was still rejecting his Guide, and had been forced to take drastic measures to resolve the issue. The resulting merging of their souls then had bonded them soul-deep. Blair had afterwards told Jim that the soul-bond was something they probably should have had in the first place. That bond might have changed the outcome of the Alex Barnes problem. Certainly, Jim wouldn’t have rejected his Guide so quickly, practically driving him to Barnes before Blair himself had realized that he could guide only one Sentinel, and Jim was that Sentinel - not Alex. Since then, Jim, at last understanding the risks of misinterpreting his visions, had reluctantly promised his Guide and Shaman that he’d reveal any future ones.

          But he still didn’t like that mumbo jumbo weird-shit.

          Jim’s attention was jerked from the painful memories by Blair’s mention of a storm. Could he have–? Blair continued before Jim could finish the thought, but the older man had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew what Blair’s dream had been about.

          “The wolf and the panther were watching a storm come in.” Blair told him. “But there was something weird about it, man.” Blair continued, running a hand through his unruly hair. “It was like a film negative, or something. The clouds should have been black, but they were white, and the lightning should have been white, but it was black.”

          “And the storm was bringing death and destruction.” Jim finished quietly, reluctantly, almost as if speaking the words might bring it to pass. Blair’s head jerked up to stare at his partner, open-mouthed.

          “What–how...?” Blair blurted.

          “I...uh...had the same dream last night.” Jim told him, not meeting the younger man’s eyes.

          “Oh, man.” Blair whispered. “Two people can’t have the same dream at the same time unless...uh...” Blair trailed off, knowing Jim wasn’t going to like this at all, but also knowing that it couldn’t be helped. “Man, this has to have been a shared vision. And it has to be something really serious to trigger it.” Jim sighed and ran his hand through his short, slowly-thinning hair.

          “Something serious...”

          ******************************************************

          That had been early that morning. By early in the afternoon, however, the foreboding engendered by the shared vision had pretty much faded in the face of everyday living. Blair had speculated that the storm was still a ways off, so they still had quite a while to figure it all out, anyway.

II

11:00 a.m.

          The voices in the ER at Los Angeles’ Community General Hospital broke over and crashed into one another like converging waves in a lake.

          “...Losing blood from a deep laceration in the chest...”

          “...Hit and run, and someone said...”

          “...Blood pressure dropping...”

          “...crossing the street and his friend was...”

          “...green pick-up truck...”

          “...Pulse weak and thready...”

          “...Victim is crashing...”

          The on-duty ER doctor, Jesse Travis, was a short, slight, blond-haired man with great intelligence and an eager manner. He trotted alongside the gurney, trying - vainly - to stabilize the condition of the man on it. But that man had been struck full-on by a pick-up truck that not only didn’t stop, but didn’t even slow down from the plus-fifty-miles-an-hour it had been doing on the straight-away. It had been clear enough that the truck wasn’t slowing or swerving; why hadn’t the pedestrian tried to avoid it? In fact, if witnesses could be believed (and that was never a sure thing, most of the time; if you got five witnesses to a single incident, you’d get five different stories), the man had just stood stock-still in the middle of the street, as if hoping to be hit.

          No one noticed the tall, burly, black-haired man who ran through the doors and followed the gurney at a discrete distance.

          Dr. Travis worked feverishly to save the man on the gurney. The average-sized, brown-haired man had what looked like several broken ribs, a crushed arm, the still-bleeding laceration, and, by the increasing rigidity of his abdomen, was obviously bleeding internally. He was already in “compensated shock”, in other words, he’d lost so much blood that his body was compensating by closing down blood vessels to everything but vital organs in an attempt to preserve the organs. Any more blood loss, and he’d go into “uncompensated shock”, where the body was unable to keep the vital organs supplied with blood and they began to die. Once a patient reached uncompensated shock, there really wasn’t anything that could be done to save him.

          “I need four units of whole blood here and X-rays...”

          Jesse knew the damage was just too severe. But he couldn’t stop trying to save him anyway. He cared deeply about his patients. But he also knew that sometimes, caring wasn’t enough. Sometimes, technology can’t triumph over trauma.

          Sometimes, you lose one. Like this one.

          Reluctantly, Jesse pronounced him deceased at 11:37 am.

          The instant that he did, an anguished scream split the air. Jesse started to whirl around, but long arms wrapped around his upper body, pinning his arms to his sides. The tall man screamed again, only this time, he managed a word.

          “GUIDE!!” He cried, and, grief-maddened, he pulled a gun from somewhere, and held it in front of him and Jesse. He swept it from side to side, daring anyone to come too close.

          “Hey...What..?” Jesse stuttered, startled. “Now hold on here, take it easy.” He tried to sooth the man as he dragged Jesse out the door and into his car, which was parked next to the ambulance that had brought the brown-haired man. He got in first and slid across, into the passenger’s seat, dragging Jesse after him behind the steering wheel.

          “Drive!” The taller man snarled between clenched teeth.

          All the time, Jesse had been trying to gently talk him into surrendering, but it hadn’t worked. The other man hadn’t acknowledged anything he said; hadn’t seemed to hear him at all. At least, not at first.

          “Ok, ok,” Jesse tried again, soothingly. “But if I’m driving, I need to know where we’re going.”

          “Alone.” The man said. “Going alone. New guide.” Somehow, this seemed to make sense to the other man, but Jesse was stumped. ‘Going alone?’ But he was taking Jesse with him. And what did he mean by ‘New guide?’ Jesse pondered the questions as he carefully started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

III

12:10 p.m.

          Detective Steve Sloan barreled through the door like a freight train. He had not had a good morning. First, he’d had a strange, half-remembered dream about a lion and a storm, then, his alarm clock had nearly deafened him when it went off, even though he didn’t remember turning up the volume on it, and then he’d ended up throwing out most of his breakfast because it tasted funny. So the big, muscular, ruggedly handsome, red-haired man was not in a good mood as he scanned the gathered people until he found his father, Dr. Mark Sloan. Mark was chief of internal medicine at Community General Hospital, and, along with Steve, was a good friend of Jesse’s. Steve trotted over to him.

          “Dad, what happened?” Steve demanded. “Where’s Jesse?”

          “Steve, I’m sorry.” His white-haired, gentle-featured father told him in a choked voice. “I was on rounds and just found out a few minutes ago, myself.” Mark ignored the other man’s anger; he knew Steve well enough to see the fear for his closest friend lurking behind that gruffness.

          “Well, then, who was here?” Steve demanded impatiently.

          “Detective Sloan, I presume?” A male voice said behind Steve. Steve whirled with surprising agility for a man his size.

          “Yeah,” Steve answered, “and who are you?”

          “Detective Michael Anhurst.” The man said as he held out a hand. “I’ve just transferred in from the Twelfth Precinct.” The detective was a brown-haired, brown-eyed man of medium height and build, wearing a blue suit. Behind him, Steve now noticed, was his captain, Police Chief Masters. Steve ignored the hand Anhurst held out, and spoke to Masters, the cragged-but-still-handsome older man with the still-dark hair and deep eyes.

          “What’s going on here, sir?”

          “You’re personally involved, Detective, that’s what’s going on here. Therefore, Detective Anhurst has been assigned to this case.” Masters told Steve coolly. And before Steve could protest further, Masters continued, more gently, “I know damn well how you feel about this, Sloan. But you could put Jesse in danger if you let your feelings control your actions.” Masters’ expression turned hard. “Don’t let me catch you doing anything on this case, Detective, or I will bring disciplinary action down on you. Am I clear on this?”

          “Yes, sir.” Steve ground out between clenched teeth. Mark put a compassionate hand on his son’s shoulder.

          “Steve, you know he’s only acting in everyone’s best interests on this.” The elder Sloan said gently. But the look his son turned on him told him that Steve wasn’t interested in logic right now. Steve pulled out of his father’s hold and stalked away.

          Steve stalked around a corner, not really going anywhere in particular, but just feeling the need to move. Down the hallway, he saw an ER nurse he was acquainted with, Myra Crandall. Steve didn’t even think about it. He just approached the short, chubby, blue-eyed brunette automatically.

          “Hi, Myra.” Steve hailed her. Myra looked up, startled. She was still, obviously, a bit shaken by what had happened to Jesse.

          “Hey, Steve.” She relaxed only slightly upon recognizing him. “You’re here because of what happened to Jesse, huh?” But it wasn’t really a question; everyone at the hospital who knew either Jesse or Steve knew what close friends they were. Since something had happened to Jesse, of course Steve would be there.

          “What happened?” Steve said, not disabusing her of the notion that the questions were asked in his official capacity.

          “Some guy was brought in, a Robert Garvey, victim of a hit and run. Guy was too badly injured, though, and Jesse lost him in the ER.” Myra took a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair. ER personnel knew they couldn’t save everyone, but it wasn’t something they ever really got used to. Steve could understand; he didn’t like not being able to prevent every homicide . But you dealt with it and went on or you went nuts. Steve dealt. Jesse and Mark dealt. Myra dealt. Not easily, but eventually.

          Myra continued relating that morning’s incident, “Then this guy, a friend of Garvey’s I guess, who’d followed the ambulance in, just kinda lost it. Screamed something, grabbed Jesse, dragged him to the guy’s car, and drove off with him.” She shrugged helplessly. “That’s all I know.” She finished.

          “He yelled something?” Steve latched onto that. “Do you know what it was?” Myra bit her lower lip, thinking about it. She ran her hand through her hair again, then looked up.

          “It sounded like, ‘guide’.” She said on a rising note of uncertainty.

          “Guide?” Steve asked the world at large. “Hmmh.” He murmured. “Uh, thanks, Myra.” He handed the brunette his card. “If you think of anything else, call me right away, ok?”

          “Sure, Steve. I hope you find him soon. Jesse’s a really good guy and we’re all worried about him.” She glanced at her watch. “Sorry, Steve, but I’ve gotta go.” She patted his arm and left.

          Steve prowled the hospital corridors just as aimlessly, but now more slowly, as his mind batted various ideas back and forth. However, they all came back to one thing.

          ‘Guide?’ He wondered. ‘Just what does that mean, and what does it have to do with Jesse?’

          Steve looked up to find himself outside the office of forensic pathologist Dr. Amanda Bentley. The pretty African-American woman was another friend of his, his father’s and Jesse’s. Steve decided to see if she could shed any light on the subject.

          He walked in to find that his father had had the same idea.

          “Dad.” He greeted his father ruefully, knowing he couldn’t hide from him his involvement in trying to find Jesse.

          “Steve.” Mark replied, slightly scolding. He knew darn well why Steve was here, and, on a professional basis, he didn’t like it. However, he also knew that Steve was a man of action, and couldn’t just stand idly by while who knew what was happening to Jesse. He understood the sentiment very well, in fact. That’s why Mark was here...

          “I talked to Myra Crandall, the ER nurse.” Steve said, deciding to just come clean and spill. He realized he could use any help he could get. He also knew that both Mark and Amanda would help. They were friends. “She said that the guy who grabbed Jesse yelled something when he took him.” Steve continued.

          “Yes.” Mark told Steve. “He screamed ‘Guide’, whatever that means.”

          “Yeah,” Steve said absently, thinking out loud. “I wonder, did Robert Garvey and Jesse know each other, or have anything in common that has anything to do with this guide thing, maybe?” Mark and Amanda exchanged glances.

          “Don’t know.” Mark said. Amanda pursed her lips, thinking.

          “Maybe.” She speculated. “If we understood what ‘guide’ meant, that would tell us why this guy took Jesse.”

          “Can I use your computer, Amanda?” Steve asked, distractedly.

          “Sure, Steve, what for?” The big man crossed to the dark-skinned woman’s desk in three long strides and seated himself in front of the computer.

          “I want to run a make on Robert Garvey, but I don’t dare try it from the squad-room, because I’m not actually on this case.” He told her.

          Mark and Amanda gathered around him as he typed in his request. Since he was using an outside computer, Steve had to go through a longer verification process to get the information he was looking for. And then, of course, he also had to hide his tracks - not easy to do, and Steve wasn’t the most computer literate person around, but he’d picked up a few things from some friends of Jesse’s, and figured he could hide what he was doing long enough for his purposes, anyway. When the information came through, he sat back so they could all read the computer screen.

          According to police records, Robert Garvey was a mob accountant, suspected for years, but the police couldn’t pin anything on him, and he refused to make any deals with the DA for placement in the witness protection program in exchange for testifying. Which was all well and good, but didn’t tell them what they needed to know - who his friend was, and why his death would precipitate Jesse’s kidnaping. Steve scrolled down through the file. He was about to give up, when something caught his eye. There was an attachment to his file.

          “What the hell?” Steve wondered absently. Surprisingly, the attachment was password protected at a higher level than the regular file, and Steve ended up using a military access that he’d kept active for just such an occasion. What he found surprised them all.

          Robert Garvey was a Mutant. Something called a Sentinel’s Guide.

          “What’s that?” Amanda wondered aloud. “I’ve never heard of that type of mutation before.”

          “Neither have I.” Mark put in.

          “Don’t know.” Steve replied grimly, “There’s no explanation in this file, but I’m sure gonna find out.” First he started with a file cross-referenced with Garvey’s which at last gave them some information about Garvey’s Sentinel, a mob hitman named Marshall Cahill. As with Garvey, the police hadn’t been able to get anything on Cahill, and the military, despite having some information about them both, for some reason had not pursued any kind of experimentation or attempts at recruiting them - unusual, as Steve knew the military had experimented with Mutants of various kinds before, although no one had been able to prove anything. Cahill’s and Garvey’s file, however, indicated unsuitability due to the two men’s unstable personalities, but anything further was classified too highly for Steve to get into, and Steve, impatient, felt that it would be a waste of time looking for any more information on the men. He felt that finding out about Sentinels and Guides would be more fruitful, and said so.

          “But at least now we know who kidnaped Jesse.” Amanda stated philosophically.

            Then Steve grimly jumped on the Net to get any information he could on Sentinels and Guides.

          It took awhile, but he finally managed to come up with a Master’s thesis by Blair Sandburg.

          “Ok, according to this Sandburg person, a Sentinel is someone with greatly enhanced senses. So much so that they need a Guide to help control them.” Steve summarized. “In fact, a Sentinel without a Guide apparently eventually goes insane or dies from sensory overload.” He looked up gravely.

          “So,” Mark speculated, “This Sentinel’s Guide dies in the ER, and he needs another one or he’ll go insane. So why pick Jesse?” He wondered.

          “Because he was the doctor who let Garvey die, therefore, he should replace him?” Amanda theorized.

          “No.” Steve contradicted. “That wouldn’t do it; remember, the Guides are Mutants, too.” He shook his head, confused. “But didn’t I read somewhere that mutations manifest at puberty?” He asked no one in particular. “Jesse’s never shown any signs of being a Mutant.”

          “Some of them do become active at puberty,” Mark answered. “However, the Sentinel or Guide mutations aren’t like most other mutations, if I’m reading this right. Most of the mutations we’re seeing nowadays manifests from what we used to term “junk DNA”: genetic code with an unknown function; one that we thought was useless, or, at most, left over from far more primitive stages of our evolution. The Sentinel and Guide mutations seem to be more like the ones responsible for albinism or hemophilia. In other words, a rare, recessive but ‘mainstream’ genetic mutation or trait.”

          “In other words,” Amanda said, trying to see if she was understanding correctly, “the Sentinel and Guide mutations are ordinary alleles. It’s not an additional genetic trait coming from “junk DNA”, but traits that replace the usual ones that control how the brain interprets the information received from the senses.”

          “Right.” Mark told her, “And the Sentinel and Guide traits manifest right from birth. However, according to Dr. Sandburg, there really wouldn’t be any outward signs of the Guide mutation. It may only be activated, if you want to call it that, in response to the presence of a Sentinel.”

          “So,” Amanda thought aloud. “Jesse may have been a Guide all along, there just wasn’t anything we could see to indicate it. But a Sentinel would know, so when Garvey died, his Sentinel grabbed Jesse to replace him.” Mark scrolled further through the information provided by the thesis, but didn’t find anything useful. In other words, nothing that would help them find Jesse. And, for some reason, Sandburg’s doctoral thesis pertained to a different subject altogether.

          “Maybe we should contact Doctor Sandburg?” Amanda suggested. “He seems to be the only extensive source of information around.”

          “Good idea,” Mark agreed. “Maybe he can tell us where Marshall Cahill would take Jesse.”

IV

2:00 p.m.

          Blair’s desk sat beside Jim’s, even though he wasn’t a detective. In fact, officially, Dr. Sandburg was a consultant registered as an “expert witness” in forensic cultural anthropology, sociology, and psychology. In other words, he was a profiler. And, even though he was technically on call for any case in the Major Crimes division of the Cascade, Washington Police Department (or any other department that needed him), in practice he worked mainly with Jim. None of the other detectives resented this, however, as it was well known that Blair and Jim were a practically unbeatable team as well as close friends. It was also a closely guarded secret, known by only six others in Major Crimes, that Jim and Blair were a Sentinel and Guide, deeply soul-bonded and dependent upon each other for their well-being.

          It was two o’clock in the afternoon, and Jim was out getting them both more coffee, when Blair’s phone rang.

          “Sandburg.” Blair answered absently, his mind more on the report he was typing.

          “Doctor Sandburg, I’m Doctor Mark Sloan of Community General Hospital in Los Angeles.” The deep voice of an older man came over the line. “You don’t know me, but I could sure use your help on a problem I have here. A problem of a...well, an unusual nature.”

          “Unusual nature?” Blair said, interest piqued.

          “Well, yes.” Mark replied. “We seem to have had a Sentinel’s Guide die in the ER, and the Sentinel kidnaped one of our doctors as a replacement.”

          “What?” Blair blurted, startled. Then he gathered his wits about him. “Sorry, but there aren’t any Sentinels or Guides around today.” And he started to hang up the phone. Jim, just returning, heard Blair’s end of the conversation, and immediately, shamelessly, dialed up his hearing to listen in. Blair had looked up at Jim’s approach, and knew what the taller man was doing by the familiar tilt of his head. He gave Jim a look that told the Sentinel that his Guide agreed.

          “Wait, Dr. Sandburg, please wait!” Mark said, hearing the dismissal in Blair’s tone that he figured would precede disconnection. “The military says these two were for real, but unstable, and now the Sentinel has kidnaped one of my doctors. Please, can you help us figure out where this Sentinel would take him?”

          Blair almost hung up anyway, but something Doctor Sloan said caused him to hesitate.

           “You said the military said they were for real?”

          “Yes.” Sloan told him. “But they rejected them because of what they called ‘unstable personalities’. So I’m afraid of what he’ll do to Jesse.”

          “Aw, hell!” Blair said, more to himself than to Dr. Sloan. “The military!” He spat.

          “I take it you object to that.” Sloan chuckled.

          “Damn right I do!” Blair told him, hotly. “Do you know what kind of experiments they’re rumored to do on Mutants, man? Would you want to be a guinea pig for the rest of your life? And god knows what kind of super-soldiers they’re probably trying to create.”

          “You’re right.” Mark replied grimly. “But that’s not our problem right now,” He reminded the younger man. “Right now, I’m just worried about what this Sentinel will do to Jesse.” Blair sighed...and surrendered. He couldn’t bear to not help. And if the military already knew about this other Sentinel, and had let him go - well, the reference to “unstable personalities” did not bode well. A glance at Jim showed the older man agreed with his assessment. An insane Sentinel was bad enough. Kidnaping a Guide to try to force a pairing demanded action; a Sentinel’s strongest instinct was to protect Guides - and not necessarily just his own, either. And since the local police would have no idea what they were dealing with, it fell to those who did to take action.

          “Jesse? That’s your missing doctor?” Blair asked, running a hand through his hair.

          “Yes, Doctor Jesse Travis. The Sentinel, a man by the name of Marshall Cahill, grabbed Jesse just after his own Guide was pronounced dead in the ER after a hit and run this morning. Do you have any ideas what Cahill will do with Jesse, or where he might have taken him?”

          “Well,” Blair said thoughtfully, “Cahill won’t hurt Jesse, not at first, anyway. The strongest instinct a Sentinel has is to protect the Guide, since the Guide is so important to a Sentinel’s control and general well-being. The problem is, a Sentinel can’t pair up with just any Guide. There are compatibility factors that make it possible for each Sentinel to have only one Guide in their lives, as far as can be told.”

          “Only one?” Mark asked.

          “Yeah,” Blair replied. “It results in a life-long bond. And if one of the pair dies, well, a Sentinel that loses a Guide will eventually go insane or zone out and die.

          “Zone out?” Mark asked. “That’s when a Sentinel concentrates on one sense to the exclusion of all else, right? Your Master’s thesis said when that happens, he loses touch with everything, including the outside world.”

          “Yeah. A deep enough zone-out and the Sentinel could stop breathing.” Blair told him.

          “If Marshall Cahill zones out,” Mark speculated thoughtfully, “Will Jesse be able to escape?” He wondered.

          “Well, yeah,” Blair said. “But the strongest instinct of a Guide is to protect a Sentinel, so even if Cahill did zone out, Jesse may not be able to just leave him there unprotected. After all, you did say Jesse is a medical doctor, someone who took an oath to save lives. And that’s only if Cahill zones anytime soon, which isn’t a sure thing. It depends on Cahill’s own level of control.” Mark sighed.

          “So where would Cahill take Jesse?”

          Blair thought about it for a moment. “Sentinels seem to have an affinity for wilderness areas.” Blair told him. “Probably something to do with their ancient roots as tribal protectors, or how clean the environment is as opposed to the pollution and noise and stuff of cities.”

          “So he would take Jesse to the nearest rural or wilderness area.” Mark muttered thoughtfully. “ Would the Hollywood Hills area do?” He asked.

          “Maybe.” Blair said. “Just remember this, if Cahill was truly paired to the Guide that died, then Jesse won’t be able to do a lot of good helping him control his senses, so by the time you find them, he could be insane or dead. And if he’s insane, he could do anything, maybe even including killing a Guide.”

*************************************************

          Jesse licked dry lips and visually scanned the inside of the abandoned mine shaft again, looking for a way out. His captor wasn’t in at the moment. He was out hunting for food. He had left Jesse handcuffed to a support beam, with water within reach. Insane he might be, but he’d tried to take care of Jesse to some extent. And, Jesse had to admit, the jury was still out as to the state of the other man’s sanity. Although the taller man had at first been a little...lacking...in explanations, he’d slowly calmed down on the drive into the mountains. Since their arrival at the mine, the man had told Jesse his name, and a little - a very little - about his purpose in taking Jesse. Unfortunately, Jesse had known nothing about Sentinels and Guides, forcing Cahill to try to at least explain the basics. If nothing else, Jesse realized, it would buy time for Steve and Mark and Amanda to come to the rescue. And he knew they would come for him, if only Jesse could keep Cahill calm. He’d stopped trying to convince Cahill to let him go because of Cahill’s complete sureness that Jesse really was a Guide; from what Jesse could tell, a Sentinel was unlikely to make a mistake like that no matter what his state of mind.

          Jesse tried his bonds again, but with no luck. And there wasn’t anything within range that he could use to pick the lock, or break the chain; the support beam he was chained to looked too sturdy to break - even if he was inclined to, which he wasn’t. Bringing down what might be the only thing supporting the tons of rock above him didn’t sound like a real good idea. And the water was contained in a soft, collapsible plastic jug and the cup was Styrofoam - no help there. ‘Didn’t even know they made cups out of Styrofoam anymore.’ He thought idly...

***********************************************************
          Steve was becoming more and more agitated. He paced restlessly as Mark spoke to Dr. Sandburg in Washington. They were, in fact, still talking when Steve suddenly blurted,

          “What the hell are we waiting for? If they’re in the Hollywood Hills, then let’s go, damnit!”

          “Calm down, Steve.” Amanda said, puzzled. She understood that Steve was anxious about his friend, but this...this extreme, feral agitation was unlike him.

          “Steve,” Mark said, his hand covering the phone. “It’s going to be alright. Dr. Sandburg says it’s unlikely that Cahill will hurt Jesse. A Sentinel’s instinct is to protect Guides. Especially if he wants Jesse to be his Guide.”

          “Well, he can’t have him!” Steve snarled, as he continued pacing like a caged animal.

          “Steve, what’s gotten into you?” Amanda asked, her voice pitched to the same soothing tone she’d use with her young son, C.J. It helped - slightly, but only enough that Steve didn’t bite her head off at the question. In fact, he stopped pacing altogether, and stood, puzzled.

          “I don’t know.” Steve said, looking worried. “Hell, first I had this weird dream about a storm with black lightning, then my alarm was deafeningly loud, then food tastes funny, then this...this absolutely desperate need to find Jesse.” He exhaled deeply, as though to blow the anxiety out. “Dad, I think I’m cracking up, here.” He finished, a bit of desperation in his eyes. Mark started to go to him, but was held up by the phone still in his hand.

          “Oops!” He said, realizing suddenly that Blair was still hanging on the line. He brought the receiver back up to thank Blair and disconnect, but as he came back on the line, the other man said,

          “Um, who’s that?” Blair said, stiffening, having heard a few words - enough to concern him. He glanced at Jim. The other man was looking as worrisome as Blair figured he probably was.

          “Sorry, Dr. Sandburg. That’s my son, Steve. He’s a police detective, and a good friend of Jesse’s. I can understand how he’d be worried, but, well, you’ve been very helpful–“

          To Blair’s surprise, Jim suddenly grabbed the phone.

          “Dr. Sloan, did Steve say he had a dream about a storm with black lightning?” Jim asked intensely. Blair’s jaw dropped. Black lightning? Oh, no...

          “Uh, well, yes, why?” Mark said, confused.

          “Put him on.” Jim demanded.

          “What?”

          “Just do it, please, sir.” Jim said, resorting to his ‘trying to control his temper by being overly formal’ tone.

          Mark shrugged, and handed the phone to Steve.

          “Steve, he wants–“

          ”Yeah, I heard.” Steve practically snarled, as he grabbed the receiver from his father. “Who’s this?”

          “Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade PD. Tell me about this storm you dreamed about. Were the clouds white? And did the storm bring death and destruction?”

          “Yes.” Steve said, heart sinking with a sudden foreboding. “And I was a lion, looking down on it all from in the Hollywood Hills.”

          “Was there anyone or anything else there with you?”

          “Uh.” Steve floundered a moment, trying to remember. The dream seemed to slip through his mind, but finally, a couple more images came into focus. “Yeah, there was some guy in native costume. He said something about the storm. And there was a bird. Voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.”

          “Anything else you can tell me?” Jim demanded.

          “No.” Steve answered, becoming more and more annoyed at the seemingly inane questioning when he could be out looking for Jesse. “Look, what does this have to do with Jesse, anyway?” Steve demanded.

          “It explains what’s happening to you.” Jim told the other man. “Hold on a minute.”

          “Chief.” Jim said as he punched the hold button on Blair’s phone. “You remember when you said the shared dream means something big and nasty?”

          “Yeeaahh.” Blair replied, drawing out the word as his heart sank.

          “Well, what does it mean when three people, one of whom never met the others, has the same dream?” But the tone of Jim’s voice indicated that he already knew what the answer was - and that he didn’t like it.

          Blair looked horrified. “Oh, man, this isn’t good.”

          “And it gets better, Darwin. From what I was hearing, it sounds like he’s a Sentinel, too. And he’s awfully possessive of that Dr. Travis.” Blair’s eyes widened.

          “Wow, man.” Blair said, running his hand through his long hair. “So we aren’t the only Sentinel and Guide who’ve been warned about this storm?”

          “Sounds like it, Chief.” Jim replied. He locked eyes with his Guide. Over the past three years, ever since the trip to the Spirit Plane that had resulted in the permanent soul-bond, they’d developed a mental rapport that allowed an almost telepathic communication between them. It wasn’t true telepathy (although they did have a strong empathic link) but they’d discovered that the empathy gave them - Blair especially - the ability to think enough alike in some ways that they seemed to read each other’s minds. It tended to freak out the uninitiated. And even the initiated. In this case, they both agreed that maybe they needed to “come out of the closet” as it were, and reveal themselves to these people. If there were others out there who had the same dream at the same time, they could be in big trouble. They might need all the allies they could get. At least, someone or something seemed to think so, anyway, and Jim wasn’t stupid enough to ignore the obvious nudge. Reluctantly, he nodded. Blair nodded agreement in return.

          Blair took back his phone, and got back on the line.

          “Detective Sloan? I’m Blair Sandburg, and there are some things you need to know...”

V

11:23 p.m.

          After Blair Sandburg had explained about the storm, and about Sentinels and Guides, he’d e-mailed copies of all the information he had. Both Mark and Amanda had spent the rest of the afternoon and a goodly part of the night reading it. They’d also spent hours on the phone with both Jim and Blair, asking questions and getting clarifications. It had been fascinating and informative. At least, to them. Steve, on the other hand, had mostly paced restlessly, the need to get Jesse back throbbing through him relentlessly. However, he had agreed with his father and Amanda that to go off half-cocked, not knowing anything about what he’d become or having even the most basic of control, was only inviting disaster. It could also get Jesse killed, and Steve was not willing to risk it. However, that didn’t mean he had to like it.

          Finally, however, both Mark and Amanda had gotten tired of Steve’s nervousness, and had banished him from the beach house.

          He’d first contemplated going to BBQ Bob’s, however, he’d decided against it. The last thing they needed there was him pacing like a caged animal and making everyone nervous. Besides, he really didn’t feel up to facing people right now; his senses kept spiking at random intervals, although Blair’s suggestion about mental dials to control his senses seemed to help some. Still, only Jesse’s presence would provide any permanent relief. After driving aimlessly for a time, Steve finally ended up at Jesse’s apartment. Not knowing what else to do, he let himself in with the key Jesse’d given him months before.

          The minute he set foot in the door, he knew he’d been right to come here. As he wandered aimlessly about the small, neat apartment, he began to feel a little better. Not much, but some. Not surprising, really. They were all pretty sure Jesse was supposed to be Steve’s Guide, so to be here, surrounded by Jesse’s scent and possessions, was sure to make him feel a little better.

          Hours later, after Amanda had gone home to see to her son and to get some much-needed sleep, Mark had gone looking for his Mutant son.

          “Mutant.” Mark deliberately said the word aloud as he drove towards Jesse’s apartment, knowing almost instinctively that that’s where Steve would have gone. “My son is a Mutant.” He’d seen some of the results of run-ins with Mutants. Some had been deliberately malicious - Mutants using their powers to take from weaker humans. More, however, had resulted when a Mutant - for whatever reason - lost control of his or her powers and ended up hurting others. Some of these Mutants, unable to live with what they were and what they’d done (and could do again, if they lost control sometime in the future), had committed suicide. Either way, there had been too much death and destruction, and would continue to be. And it could only get worse, Mark realized. Already, Senators and Congress-people were contemplating passing laws designed to control Mutants. How long would it be before they voted to outlaw Mutants entirely? And if that happened, how many people would die, not only real Mutants, but non-Mutant humans caught up in a witch-hunt? Until now, Mark had been opposed to such legislation (genocide was murder, plain and simple), but on the outside of the situation. Now, however, his own son was “one of them”. And, he realized, he only felt stronger about his opposition to legalized murder. Many parents, confronted with the fact that their child was a Mutant, had rejected them. Mark couldn’t do that. Steve was his son. A part of him, and of his long-gone wife. The best part, Mark had always thought. And it was no different now. All he wanted for Steve - all he’d ever wanted for either of his children - was for them to be happy, and to be decent people. And they were. And the fact that Steve was now a Mutant didn’t change either Mark’s feelings about his son, nor his son’s basic decency. In fact, if Blair Sandburg was correct, then it was Steve’s own morals - his own need to help and defend others - that had led to his accepting the offered Mutation in the first place. Which only led to another question: did he believe in a supernatural battle of “good” versus “evil”? Well, most religions did, and, while Mark had never been that devout a practitioner of any faith, that didn’t mean he didn’t believe. And, in this case, it would be sheer stupidity to ignore what was happening. Three people (that they knew of), one of whom hadn’t known the others, had all had a similar dream at the same time. The next day, Steve had awakened a Mutant. Possibly Jesse had, too (if he hadn’t already been a Guide, something they probably would never know, now). And they had to deal with it.

          Finally, Mark sighed, and got out of his car. All he knew at this moment was that Steve was still his beloved son, and Jesse an adopted one, and whether this all had to do with a battle between good and evil or not, Jesse still had to be rescued, and Steve’s senses dealt with and controlled.

VI

Wednesday, 9:45 a.m.

          “You realize what bull-shit this sounds like?” Police Chief Masters asked the next morning, still leery of the whole situation. Steve nodded, jaw tense and teeth clenched as Masters continued to scan the sheets of notes about Sentinels and Guides that his detective had given him.

          “I know. Believe me, I know.” Steve told his supervisor earnestly. “I wouldn’t believe it either if it wasn’t for the fact that I can tell by the smell that you had a bagel with veggie cream cheese for breakfast this morning.” Both Masters and Steve’s partner, Detective Tanis Archer, looked up in astonishment. Archer, a pretty, sharp-faced woman, was a tough, intelligent officer, and Steve liked working with her. Upon Blair’s advice, Steve had decided to tell them both about the Sentinel business. He had been reluctant, of course; Mutants weren’t exactly anyone’s favorite people, but trying to hide it - especially if Jesse had to be around to help control this - would have been worse. So he’d opted to tell just the two of them. He’d also figured he’d have to demonstrate, and this seemed as good a time as any. It was a running joke that no one had ever seen Masters eat. Various theories ran rampant throughout the station as to what he subsisted on instead - everything from the emotion of fear to the heads he chewed out. And now, whether he wanted to or not, Steve knew for sure. And it made a good demonstration of his abilities, too. “And you, Archer, spilled milk on your blouse this morning, and used dish soap to clean it off with.”

          “Huh.” Masters said, not yet ready to admit to anything. Instead, he handed The notes on Sentinels to Archer, picked up a sheet of paper out of a closed file, and held it so the printing was away from Steve. “So what’s this say?” He asked. Steve rolled his eyes in exasperation.

          “Sir, my sight is enhanced. I don’t have x-ray vision.” He told the other man. “I can do this, though.” And he grabbed a scratch pad off the man’s desk and handed it to him. “Write something down on this, then tear off the top ten sheets.” And Steve turned around so he couldn’t see what his boss was writing. In the meantime, Archer took the opportunity to quickly scan through the pages Masters had handed her.

          “Ok, done.” Masters said after a moment. Steve turned around, took the remaining scratch pad, closed his eyes, and ran his finger-tips lightly across the new top-most page. He dialed up his sense of touch, although not as well as he supposedly would be able to after he got his Guide back. Still, he managed to make out the faint indentations on the paper.

          “I still say this is bull-shit.” Steve recited, then opened his eyes. Masters harumphed, but looked uncertain. He was evidently starting to believe.

          “Ok, so, say you really are a Mutant now.” Masters said. “Say you’re one of these Sentinel people. So what does all this mean?”

          “Well, at the moment, it means I have to rescue Jesse Travis, because without him, I’m going to end up insane.” Steve told him. At that, Master rolled his eyes.

          “Oh, I knew it!” Masters said. “This is some scheme to get me to let you look for your doctor friend. Well, I have to say, Sloan, this is the most creative and elaborate–.”

          “No, damnit!” Steve cut the other man off. Masters raised his eyebrows “Jesse is my Guide, and I need to get him back.” Steve clamped his jaw shut, then, not wanting to say something he’d regret. On the other hand...oh, to hell with it.

          “Fine, you think it’s some sort of put-on, fine. Go ahead. Think what you want. I’m going to get Jesse back. You want my badge for it, here it is. I resign. I have to work with Jesse once I get him back, anyway, in order to control my senses, so I might as well do it without having to worry about the amount of time it takes from my job anyhow. And this’ll save me having to find a way to keep Jesse with me, too.” And Steve angrily tossed his badge and gun onto his supervisor’s desk and stalked out.

          “You think he’s serious?” Archer spoke for the first time.

          “Yeah.” Master said. “I do.” Then he sighed, and surrendered. “You’d better go with him. At least, if he zones out, you can call someone for help.”

          “Call someone?” Archer asked. “Who, if Jesse really is his Guide?”

          “Try his dad.” Masters replied, irritated. “Go on, go.” Archer gave Masters a desultory salute, and was out the door.

VII

12:15 p.m.

          Steve was packed and ready to go. He had a minimum of gear with him, figuring it wouldn’t be more than a couple of days, however, what he did have was comprehensive. He had a two-man dome tent and two sleeping bags - one for him and one for Jesse (who didn’t like being cold, Steve knew), a couple of changes of clothes for each of them, a canteen, and some MRE’s. The pack weighed 65 pounds, but Steve had hefted about as much - and for many miles of rough terrain - in the military.

          Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Sighing, Steve went to the door and opened it. Amanda stood on the door-step, pack in hand.

          “What are you doing?” Steve asked, surprised.

          “I’m going with you, of course.” The pathologist answered.

          “No, you’re not.” Steve stated flatly.

          “Yes, I am, Steve.” Amanda insisted. “What if Jesse’s hurt? You know something about medicine, but not enough. And I have my medical bag with me, just in case.”

          “Amanda–“

          ”Forget it, Steve.” Amanda told him in a tone that brooked no protest. “I’ve got someone to watch C.J. for a couple of days, so I’m going and that’s that.”

          Just then, another car pulled into the driveway behind Amanda’s. As they watched, Tanis Archer exited the car, then pulled a large back-pack out.

          “Hi, Tanis.” Amanda called. “Going, too?”

          “Darn right, I am!” Archer stated. “I see you are, too. Good. We might need a doctor with us - even if you don’t usually deal with live people.”

          “Oh, now wait a minute!” Steve protested. “Look, I can travel faster alone for this, and I don’t need baby-sitters!”

          Both women glanced at each other, then at Steve.

          “Look,” Tanis told him. “We’re not baby-sitters, but you do need someone to watch your back. What if you zone out? What if someone gets hurt? Face it, you need us. And as far as moving fast is concerned, do you even know where you’re going?” Steve opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again, and sighed. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Archer - both women - were right.

          “Fine.” He grumbled. “Just try to keep up.” And he hefted his pack out to the car. Amanda and Tanis followed quickly.

                    *********************************************

          “No, damn it! Pitch your voice lower, you idiot!” Marshall Cahill screamed. Jesse flinched back, expecting a blow. Instead, however, Cahill grabbed the nearest handy object - which happened to be a can of sterno - and flung it against the wall of the mineshaft, where it struck with a thunk before landing on the ground with a big dent in the side.

          “Try it again.” Cahill said between clenched teeth. Jesse gulped, then struggled to comply.

          “Focus on the sound of my voice...”

          Jesse had slept still handcuffed to the support post. He’d been roughly shaken awake early in the morning by his captor, who’d carefully fed the doctor and allowed him to walk around a bit to tend to morning ablutions before beginning lessons in what Jesse, attempting to keep his spirits up, facetiously called “Zen and the Art of Sentinel Maintenance”. Just now, Cahill was trying to teach Jesse to modulate his voice to what he called “Guide-tone”. And, while it was fascinating, and Jesse knew that he needed to know it, quite frankly, Cahill’s method of teaching - alternately screaming and cajoling - left something to be desired. Not that one could expect much of a crazy man, but Jesse was a lot scared and a little frustrated - not the best frame of mind for learning anything.

          The other problem was Cahill himself. He truly believed that Jesse was “his” Guide, and yet, even as Jesse tried to learn what it was to be a Guide, a deep part of him balked. Jesse couldn’t put what he felt into words, only that he knew without any doubt at all, that Cahill was not Jesse’s Sentinel. Jesse didn’t know who was, only that it wasn’t Cahill. Which only made the lessons harder to take. Still, Jesse was making progress...

          “Yes!” Cahill crowed. “Finally! You’ve got it right!” Jesse breathed a sigh of relief. “Now do it again.” Jesse gulped, tried to still the fear, and began again.

          “Focus on the sound of my voice...”

                    *********************************************

          “Oh! Sheriff Truman!” Blonde-haired Lucy Brennan (nee Moran) cried in her little-girl voice as she spotted Sheriff Harry S. Truman of Twin Peaks, Washington step through the second set of the double entrance doors. Truman, tall and lanky with dark hair and a calm, easy-going manner, diverted from his course towards his office, and moseyed up to the bullet-proof-glass-encased cubicle that Lucy occupied. Besides being a kind of receptionist, Lucy also kept the sheriff’s personnel supplied with coffee and donuts, and ran dispatch.

          “What’s up, Lucy?’ Truman asked, cheered, as always, by the woman’s usually sunny attitude. Lucy smiled at him.

          “You have a message, Sheriff.” She replied. “It’s from Blair Sandburg. It’s kind of a strange message. He told me to write it down exactly like he said it. So I did. It doesn’t make sense to me, but he said you’d understand. Do you? Understand, I mean?”

          She slid the message through the slot under the bullet-proof glass. Harry took the paper and unfolded it.

           “Call me. The radio is static-y. Blair.” The message read.

          “Thanks, Lucy.” Was all Truman said. He took the note, and made a beeline for his office, wondering what the energetic young man could want - and why the secrecy - for, “the radio is static-y”, meant that Harry was to ensure a secure line when he made the call.

          Lucy pouted a little as she turned back to her work. She was a little miffed to be left out of something obviously important and hush-hush. She’d never discovered who Sandburg was, or how Truman had met him, and was always hoping that Truman would slip up and reveal something. She hoped the same of FBI Agent Dale Cooper, Deputy Hawk, FBI Supervisor Gordon Cole, and Forensic Pathologist Albert Rosenfeld, all of whom she had long ago figured out knew what was going on, but none of them had ever said anything. Not within her hearing, anyway, even after all these years. And now was obviously to be no different. Lucy sighed and put it out of her mind.

          Once in his office, Truman shut the door firmly, then sat down at his desk. He unlocked and opened the lower-right-most drawer - the deep one usually used for files - and took out a lock-box. Harry pulled a chain from around his neck, under his shirt, and used the key hanging there to unlock the box. He opened it, and withdrew a small, electronic phone-scrambler. The device, which looked like an ordinary phone shoulder-rest, made any ordinary phone into a secure line, forcing anyone on the other end to use a duplicate device to unscramble the call. Harry attached the object, then dialed the Cascade PD on the other side of the mountains, and leaned back in his chair.

          “Sandburg.” The other end said in Blair’s voice.

          “Hey, Blair, how’s it going?” Harry said, knowing his words would be scrambled. However, the sounds that came over the line were distinctive - to Blair, anyway - and would let him know to attach his own scrambler. Blair grabbed the device out of this desk drawer. Simon knew it was there, as did Jim, of course, since he used it when necessary, too. No one else even knew of it’s existence.

          “Harry? Izzat you?” Blair said after activating his scrambler.

          “Yeah, Blair. I was just returning your call. Sorry it took so long, but I just got back from making my rounds. So what’s up? And why the secrecy?”

          “Harry, we may have a really big problem.”

          “Yeah, what’s that?”

          “Did you and/or Dale recently have a dream about a storm with black lightning?”

          Startled, Harry sat straight up in his chair.

          “Holy smoke!” Harry blurted. “Yeah, but how’d you know? Did Coop or Gordon tell you about it?” A sigh made it through the scrambler and over the line.

          “No.” Blair replied grimly. “Jim and I had the same dream two nights ago, and so did somebody else. That somebody is why I wanted this call scrambled. I hope you’re sitting down, man, because this’s gonna be a real kick in the ass.”

          “Yeah, I’m sitting down.” Harry said, confused. “So what is it?”

          “The other person who had the dream is a new Sentinel.”

          “New Sentinel?” Harry repeated. “You’ve discovered another Sentinel? Where?”

          “Um, man you don’t understand. Not only have we discovered another Sentinel, but he’s new. As in, he wasn’t a Sentinel before the dream. After the dream, as in, the next morning, he woke up a Sentinel.”

          “What!?” Harry blurted, a remote part of his mind glad that he really was sitting down. “He became a Sentinel because of the dream?”

          “Yeah, man.” Blair insisted. “He said there was some guy in native costume who asked him if he wanted to be a Sentinel, and he evidently said yes. Problem is, his Guide - the guy we’re pretty sure is his Guide - was kidnaped that same morning. The Sentinel - he’s a homicide detective in Los Angeles, by the way, and his name’s Steve Sloan - has gone after him.”

          “Holy smoke.” Harry said, just beginning to recover. “This sounds serious.”

          “Yeah, man, that’s what we thought - me and Jim, I mean.” Blair told him. “Two Sentinels and a Guide, one of whom didn’t know the others, all having the same dream at the same time? I don’t believe in coincidences, man. So we wondered if there were other Sentinels and Guides who had the dream, too. That’s why I needed to talk to you. And Coop, too, if he’s there.” Blair added.

          “He’s getting lunch at the Double-R--“ Harry said, referring to a popular local diner–“but I’ll tell him right away. I can tell you this, though. Dale had the dream, too, although neither one of us remembers it all. Just white clouds and black lightning and a lot of blood and fire.”

          “Yeah, that’s pretty much what we remember, too. As soon as Steve gets back from rescuing his Guide, I want to get us all together on a conference call and see what we can put together out of what we remember. Maybe we can figure this whole thing out.”

          “Sounds good.” Harry told him. “You’ll want to scramble that call, too, I take it?”

          “Yeah, I’m gonna send one down to Steve right away. We don’t want The Organization finding out about them if we can help it.”

          “No, we don’t. Which reminds me, you guys just got back from your three days, right? What’d you think of that new doctor, McCready?” Blair considered for a moment.

          “I like her better than either Stillman or Pani.” Harry chuckled without humor.

          “You’re never gonna forgive Stillman for the problem with the empathic link and the spinal tap that first year, are you?”

          “Why should I?” Blair replied, still a little miffed, even after three years. Spinal taps are excruciating enough for a normal person. For a Sentinel... “He didn’t listen when I tried to tell him about the link. Didn’t warn me that that’s what he was gonna do, or let me try to prepare Jim at all, he just went right ahead with my spinal tap, and put Jim on the floor, screaming with pain. Prick.”

          “That’s why he was replaced right away.” Harry reminded him. “Not that I’m complaining. I always thought he was a cold bastard anyway. Always treated Coop and me like...like things, with no humanity at all.”

          “Yeah.” Blair told him. “Us, too. This new one, though, she might be ok, I guess. Considering we’re her lab rats.”

          “Yeah. Well, listen, Blair, I need to go talk to my Guide. And get some lunch. Let us know when you want to do this conference call thing.”

          “Ok. Later, Harry.”

          “Later, Blair.”

          “Uh, Steve, where are we going?” Amanda asked. “This isn’t the way to the Hollywood Hills.”

          “No, it’s the way to the police impound yard, where Marshall Cahill’s car currently resides.” Steve answered.

          “Really? Where’d they find it?” Tanis asked from the back seat.

          “In the parking lot of a camping supply store on the edge of on of the parks. So they moved the car back here, and started searching the area. My guess is, though, this Cahill guy isn’t dumb enough to leave the car anywhere near where he’s got Jesse hidden.”

          “Why not?” Amanda asked. “He’s not exactly sane at the moment. And he didn’t plan ahead, either.”

          “Exactly.” Steve countered. “So why leave the car at all, except as a decoy?”

          “While keeping Jesse hidden someplace far away.” Tanis continued the thought. “But, like Amanda said, Cahill didn’t plan this, so maybe he came for supplies, then abandoned the car–“

          ”And stole another one to get himself and his supplies back to Jesse.”

          “So did anybody report their car stolen in the area?” Amanda asked.

          “No.” Steve said. “And that’s got me worried.” Tanis thought it through, just as she figured Steve probably had.

          “You’re thinking he stole a car, after killing the driver and stashing the body somewhere.” She stated.

          “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m thinking. I’m also thinking that Anhurst’s people will find whoever it is as they search the area.”

          “So what about us?” Amanda asked.

          “I think we examine the car.” Steve replied.

          “And you think you can find something?” Amanda figured. “But won’t forensics have gone through it already? And what if you zone out or something?”

          “Well, I’m hoping you two can distract me just enough to avoid that. And as for forensics, I’m hoping they left something behind for me to find. See, it’s like you said, Amanda, he wasn’t planning this, so I’m hoping he stashed Jesse first - so he wouldn’t have to drag him around and give him a chance to escape or be spotted - then went for supplies, and that evidence of where Jesse is will still be in the car. Or enough of it, anyway, for me to find. Either way, I don’t think we’ve got much choice in the matter. It’s the best hope Jesse’s got.”

          Ordinarily, Amanda wouldn’t have been allowed into the impound lot, and, under the circumstances, it’s possible Steve wouldn’t either. Therefore, it was Archer who drove in, with Steve and Amanda hidden under tarps and blankets in the back seat. And, just to be on the safe side, in order to avoid someone getting suspicious and notifying Anhurst about anyone else examining Cahill’s car, Archer stated on the sign-in sheet that she was there for a truck used in a jewelry store robbery.

          “Ok, Steve, do your thing.” Amanda told him. Steve rolled his eyes, then opened up the car, kneeling beside it.

          “I figure the best possibility is the floorboards, or the brake or gas pedals.” He told the women.

          “Soil samples.” Tanis nodded knowingly.

          “Yeah.” Steve continued. “I noticed when I opened the door that there are traces of fingerprint powder on the steering wheel and dash board, so forensics has already been over this, but I’m hoping...Yup, I was right.”

          “You’ve got something?” Amanda asked hopefully.

          “Yeah, some soil under the gas pedal.” Steve told them.

          “Well, that would explain how forensics missed it.” Tanis said.

          “Or, maybe they thought they already had all the samples they needed. Either way, let’s hope this helps.”

          “So, what exactly are you going to do with it?” Tanis asked. “We can’t go to the lab, they’d catch us in a minute.” For the first time, Steve smiled.

          “We don’t have to go to the lab. I’m the lab.”

          Steve held the bit of soil in the palm of his hand and examined it closely, visually first. He focused carefully in on it, quickly spotting a metallic glitter. Actually, three different metals, two of them gold-colored, although he realized the difference probably wouldn’t be easily noticeable to the naked eye. Well, not of non-Sentinel naked eyes, anyway. The other metal was tarnished, but had started out steel gray in color. In order to confirm what he thought he was seeing, Steve lifted his hand...and licked the piece of dirt. Yup, he tasted gold and iron and something very gold-like.

          “Eww!” “Steve, what are you doing?” Both women voiced their objections at once. But Steve ignored the objections, instead, he smiled.

          “Just what I thought!” He told them both, hope lighting his expression for the first time since Jesse had disappeared.

          “What, what is it?” Amanda asked.

          “Gold, Iron Pyrite, and Sylvanite, which is a gold ore in the telluride subclass.”

          “So?” Tanis asked, not understanding the significance.

          “So, there’s only one place around here that has all three metals mixed like this - the old Bronston mine. It’s been abandoned for years, and nobody’s allowed up there. I think that’s where Cahill must’ve taken Jesse.”

          “Well, ok, then, I guess that gives us a place to start, anyway.” Amanda said.

          “Let’s go.” Tanis said.

VIII

2:00 pm

          Tanis pulled the car into the parking lot and parked in a space as close to the woods as possible. Steve had the passenger door open and was out of the car almost before it had stopped moving. He’d been getting more and more agitated, although he’d been trying to keep it as much under control as possible. But the need to get Jesse safely back was throbbing relentlessly through him. Tanis and Amanda had realized what was going on, and had both spoken calmly to him, discussing a preliminary “battle plan” for finding Jesse and getting him safely away from Cahill. Steve had already become grateful for the two women’s presence, helping to keep him calm - or focused, at least.

          As he walked around to the trunk of the car, he was suddenly assaulted by sounds: birdsong and wind rustling and insects chewing and...Steve went to his knees, his hands clapped over his ears, trying to shut out the cacophony.

          “Steve?” Amanda, exiting from the rear seat, went to him. She spoke softly, almost whispering. She desperately wanted to touch him - to grab his hand or shoulder - but she didn’t dare, not wanting to make matters worse. “Steve, try to focus, ok,?” She spoke in as soothing a voice as she could manage, finally laying just her fingertips on the big man’s upper back and stroking with a feather-light touch. “Come on, Steve, try to focus on my voice. You’ve got to try to dial it down.”

          As Amanda spoke, Steve managed to sift her voice from the din, grabbing onto it like a lifeline. It was difficult - more difficult than Ellison had assured him it would be with Jesse, but Amanda was beginning to think she had a thread-thin connection with Steve that would allow her to help him at least minimally. Sandburg had assured her it wasn’t impossible - Jim seemed to have the same faint connection with Megan Connors. It helped in situations where the Sentinel’s True Guide couldn’t, for whatever reason, be present.

          Finally, the sensory spike faded to a headache. Steve finally relaxed a bit, and managed to get to his feet.

          “Thanks, Amanda.” Steve breathed, although he rubbed his forehead over his right eye, trying to relieve the headache. It didn’t work, but Steve tried to ignore it.

          “S’ok, Steve.” Amanda said with a sympathetic smile, lightly running her hand reassuringly down his arm.

          Assured that Steve was alright, Tanis was taking in her surroundings. Because it was a weekday and the school year had not yet ended, there was only one other car in the parking lot. Remembering back to their earlier conversation about the possibility that Cahill had stolen another car to replace his own, the detective wandered over to the other vehicle.

          It was a late model, dark blue Toyota Tercel. Tanis bent to look in the driver’s side window of the car. Nothing. She walked slowly around it, scanning the car visually. As she got around to the back, she thought she saw something. Tanis crouched down to get a closer look. Yes, that was a smudge of red on the dirty chrome bumper. There was also one on the edge of the trunk lid.

          “Hey, Steve, can you tell the difference between human blood and other red stuff?” She spoke back towards her partner.

          “Shouldn’t be difficult.” Steve called back. “I’ve dealt with it enough through the years.” He strode over to where Tanis was still crouched down at the rear of the car. Steve knelt on the gravel and looked where his partner pointed. This time, Steve scanned it visually, and smelled it at the same time.

          “Yeah, that’s definitely blood. Human blood, too.” Steve confirmed. “Amanda, grab the crowbar out of the trunk, would you?” Steve yelled back to the pathologist. Amanda nodded, and reached in through the window to open the trunk of Steve’s car using the button in the glove compartment. She grabbed the crowbar and trotted over to the others.

          Steve took the metal bar from her and slipped it under the lip of the trunk lid. It took two hard downward blows using all his strength, but the trunk finally popped open.

          They all stared, dismayed, at the body of the young woman staring sightlessly up at them. There was blood all over the top of her head.

          “Damn.” Tanis breathed. “That’s why no one reported a car stolen from the camping supply store.”

          “Yeah.” Steve turned away, the smell of the blood sickening him as much as the thought of Jesse a helpless captive of a man who could kill so easily as this.

          “I’ll put in an anonymous call to the PD.” Tanis said.

          “Wait.” Steve stopped her. “I don’t want them to find my car in the lot. Let me move it to someplace else. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

          “Right.” Tanis agreed, as she brought the trunk lid down, but did not attempt to re-latch it.

          The three got their backpacks out of the trunk of Steve’s car, then the big man got in, and pulled the car out of the lot. The two women didn’t have to wait long for Steve to return; a green pick-up truck dropped him off at the entrance to the parking lot. Steve waved a goodbye to the helpful stranger, then trotted back to where Amanda and Tanis waited with their gear.

          They shrugged into their backpacks, checked each other’s packs to be sure all pockets were closed and all straps secured; only then did Tanis call the police to report the body in the car.

          The Bronston Mines were relatively large, actually comprising six mines in a five-square-mile area. And Steve had no intentions of wasting time searching every square inch of that area. But after the last time Jesse had been kidnaped, he and Steve had discussed how finding the younger man could have been made easier. The number one thing they’d come up with had been a method now being taught to school children by police officers visiting the classrooms - specifically, dropping things and/or touching stationary objects, in order to give search dogs a trail to follow. And Steve, while not too pleased by the thought, was now, in essence, one of the smartest bloodhounds in the world. And, while he didn’t really like being compared to a dog, he was not about to discount out of hand his greatest advantage in this situation. In other words, if it came down to sticking his nose to every damn tree in the forest in order to find his friend and Guide, Steve would do so. Therefore, at the impound yard, Steve had carefully locked Cahill’s scent into his memory. Then, before coming up here, the two detectives and the pathologist had made a quick trip to Jesse’s apartment, where Steve had done the same with the shorter man’s scent.

          Now all he needed was the beginning of the trail. Steve took a few minutes to determinedly scan the area both visually and by scent, walking slowly parallel to the first line of trees.

          Finally, he had it, though not the shortest distance from where the stolen car had been parked to the trees, but off towards the far side of the parking lot and headed at an angle - directly towards the Bronston Mines. They started off into the woods.

                         *****************************************

          Jesse was afraid, although he did his best not to panic. Cahill was in a rage, stomping around the campsite, yelling incoherently, kicking at any object in his way, and breaking branches off of trees to be used to hit other things with.

          Jesse couldn’t figure out everything that was going on. About an hour previous, Cahill had dragged Jesse out of the cave and tied him to a log that sat beside their small campfire. He’d then taken what looked to be a home-made, ceremonial knife, and placed the point to the ground. He’d then drawn a circle in the ground all the way around Jesse, the log, and the campfire. Cahill had then sat beside Jesse, and chanted something under his breath, in a guttural language that Jesse didn’t recognize.

          Then, the taller man had waited.

          And waited.

          And waited.

          When nothing continued to happen, Cahill’s puzzlement had turned to intense confusion, then anger. Finally, Cahill had stood up.

          “Where are you!?” He’d yelled generally towards the surrounding forest. “Why won’t you come!?” Nothing answered him, and Cahill had become enraged, and had gone on his rampage.

          Finally, however, Cahill’s anger burned itself out, and he sat down on the ground. He stared off into the forest for quite awhile. Suddenly, he’d brightened.

          “Of course!” He’d yelled to Jesse. “You’re a mage! You can do it!” And Cahill ran off into the forest once again.

          The taller man gathered several plants from the surrounding forest - sometimes being gone for quite awhile before returning with whatever he’d been searching for. Finally, he seemed to have everything he needed. He dug a second firepit, smaller than their main one and off to the side. He then untied Jesse, dragged him close to the second firepit, and tied Jesse to a rock. Cahill used a stripped branch to draw a crude circle around the fire, Jesse, and the rock he was tied to, while mumbling in that same language Jesse didn’t recognize.

          He then performed some sort of ritual as he lit a small fire using only natural methods. When he had it burning to his satisfaction, Cahill pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, and shoved it into Jesse’s hands.

          “Read this!” He snapped at Jesse. “And read it exactly as it’s written. If you change anything, you could get us killed. At the same time, you have to visualize a special forest - one that allows spirits to come into it.”

          “Spirits?” Jesse asked, frowning.

          “Yeah, you know, Spirit Guides, Higher Beings. Mine’s a Weasel, your’s is a Hummingbird. Now do it!” Cahill finished, yelling.

          Jesse flinched, not just at the sudden shout, but also because Cahill’s assertion that Jesse’s Spirit Guide was a Hummingbird triggered a sudden memory: a dream he’d had just a couple of nights ago. He didn’t remember it all, but he did remember a hummingbird and a lion. And suddenly, as if a gate had been opened, Jesse knew his Sentinel was the lion - and he had a pretty good idea who the lion was. And he knew Steve would be looking for him. If only Jesse could delay long enough, he knew his True Sentinel would come for him.

          “Do it now!” Cahill yelled again. Jesse jumped. His heart sank; Cahill was too volatile to risk messing with, and too impatient to stall for long.

          With trepidation, Jesse looked closely at the piece of paper. There were words written on it, in a language Jesse didn’t recognize. However, the words were written phonetically.

          As Jesse spoke the gutteral words and tried his best to picture the hills and cliffs he’d picked up the Lion at in his dream, Cahill carefully, one by one, dropped the plants he’d gathered into the fire making sure to breath in the smoke.

          Mindful of Cahill’s warning not to change any of the words, Jesse figured stopping in the middle might be dangerous, too, so he read them out once before stopping deliberately.

          “I can’t picture it.” He told the Sentinel cautiously, not wanting to anger the other man. Cahill clenched both fists and jaw, but managed not to scream at the younger man.

          “Try again.” And his quiet voice frightened Jesse more than any shout could have. By it, he could tell the Sentinel was barely holding his temper. Jesse didn’t want to cause him to lose it. So the young doctor tried again, this time genuinely trying to visualize the place Cahill was looking for. He spoke the words again. Cahill dropped more of each plant onto the fire. After a few minutes, he rose, moved to Jesse, and forced the younger man to breathe in the smoke, too. Then he’d sat back on his haunches and waited.

          He didn’t have to wait long.

          Jesse thought he heard something. He looked up from the piece of paper, and started. They were still in the forest, beside the small fire, but, where it had been bright daylight just a moment ago, now it was night, with a blue tinge to the twilight that surrounded them.

          In the distance, a lion roared. Jesse grinned in response. Steve!

******************************************

          Steve Sloan had set a brisk pace, at first, but the two women had forced him to slow down so that they could keep up with the longer-legged man without running.

          They’d been traveling for a couple of hours before Amanda had asked for a break. Steve had chafed at the delay, but realized only after he’d stopped that he was thirsty. Chagrined, knowing that, on his own, he’d probably have kept going until he was exhausted and becoming dehydrated - which would have done Jesse no good at all - he became thankful for Amanda’s presence - and presence of mind.

          However, the rest break also gave Steve the opportunity to think too much - about his missing Guide. Steve was becoming more used to thinking of his younger friend that way, but was still a little scared of the whole situation - Sentinels, Guides, harbingers of doom in the form of dreams about a storm... But there was no time for that kind of thing right now. Steve was a man of action, so he locked the whole thing back up into the box he’d been keeping it all in. He’d have his nervous breakdown later - after Jesse had been rescued. For now, Steve closed his eyes and focused on his Guide’s scent. It clung to trees spaced at wide and irregular intervals - obviously, Jesse hadn’t wanted to be touching every tree he passed and therefore alert his captor to what he was doing.

          Steve kept following the trace with his senses, unable to resist the urge to try to find him with more than just smell. Without realizing he was doing it, Steve piggy-backed his other senses on the smell. There were too many trees for Steve to see the other man, so that was ruled out immediately. He switched to hearing, instead. Ranging outward, he listened. Jim Ellison had told Steve that Blair’s heartbeat was something the Cascade detective found easy to focus on. Steve knew from his father that, aside from the size of the heart, and unless there was something unusual - like a heart murmur or irregular beat, for instance - then all adult’s heartbeats pretty much sounded the same. But Ellison had assured Steve that the sound of his own Guide’s heartbeat was distinguishable somehow, anyway.

           They were no more than a couple of miles from the Bronston Mines, now - probably less - and so Steve listened. He stretched his hearing out to it’s limit...and then...there! Faint, but welcome, were two adult human heartbeats, in the direction of the Bronston Mines. And Steve knew that the slightly smaller and more rapid of the two just had to be Jesse. Relieved, Steve continued to listen to the faint beat that existed just on the outer limit of his awareness. Lub, dub...lub, dub...lub, dub...lub, dub...lub...

          Steve started, and opened his eyes. And startled more violently. For, when they’d stopped for their break, it had been broad daylight out, and alive with wildlife. Now, the forest around him was blue-tinged, and there was a peculiar and unsettling silence. A memory was triggered - this was like the dream, only in daylight, instead of night!

          Ahead of him, a reddish-gold lion growled. Steve stared at it. It stared back with pale blue eyes, then turned and bounded into the forest. Steve just stood there for a moment. The lion came back, and growled at him again. Suddenly, it looked around, focusing somewhere ahead, and roared what sounded very like a challenge. Then it took off at a loping run. Steve, galvanized by the roar, followed.

          He ran easily, realizing only belatedly that he now wore, instead of jeans and a t-shirt, the OD greens of his long-ago military service. After the initial realization, however, he paid it no mind, caring only that the lion was leading him to Jesse - or so he hoped.

          Soon, he came upon a clearing. The lion had disappeared, so Steve cautiously approached the clearing on his own. In the middle, a small campfire - it’s flames strangely blue-white - burned. Beside it sat...Jesse! Steve took note of his Guide - he seemed well enough, if frightened. Then Steve noticed the other denizen of the clearing, a burly, black-haired man who was pacing.

          “Where are you?!” The Black-haired man - certainly this was Marshall Cahill, Steve figured - yelled.

          Suddenly, a hummingbird appeared, just over Jesse’s right shoulder. Steve recognized it from his dream. Somehow, the hummingbird was connected to Jesse the same way that the lion was connected to Steve, he understood it, though what the connection was he didn’t know.

          Then, a movement off to the left and on the other side of the clearing from Steve. Looking closer as it came out of the trees, Steve could see that it was a weasel or ferret. Cahill saw it, too, and smiled.

          “There you are!” He greeted it impatiently. “Well,” he told it, “here’s my new Guide.” And he indicated Jesse and the hummingbird. “Bond to him!” Cahill ordered.

          “No!” Steve yelled, without knowing why, and was leaping out of the trees before he realized his was moving. And only belatedly realized he was no longer in human form. He roared again, and leapt at the Weasel. He didn’t realize Cahill’s human form no longer stood in the clearing, nor that Jesse’s human form wasn’t sitting by the fire, that only the hummingbird hovered there, anxiously waiting.

          The Weasel - Cahill - didn’t wait for the Lion to reach him. He leapt, landing on the Lion’s face, and started clawing. He managed to dig long, narrow furrows into Steve’s furred flesh before the Lion managed to fling him off with the toss of a head. But the Weasel was determined - and maddened - and rolled to a stop against a tree stump before climbing up the trunk. Steve gathered himself, and jumped, leaping up to swat the Weasel off the tree. He missed by a hair as the Weasel climbed farther up. Steve dug his claws into the treebark and started to climb, however, the Weasel jumped down onto Steve’s face again. Steve fell back to the ground, but this time, instead of merely shaking Cahill off, the lion batted with both huge front paws. He dragged the Weasel off, pinned it to the ground, and tore out it’s throat!

          A sickly, yellow light flashed from the Weasel, then vanished. The Weasel vanished, too.

          Roaring his triumph, the Lion turned to the Hummingbird, which now perched on a rock close to the campfire. Next to Jesse, who sat there once more, in human form. Steve, back now in human form himself, watched as the Lion stalked over to the Hummingbird. The great cat sat down facing the tiny bird. Steve switched mental gears, then, and went to Jesse.

          “You ok?” Steve asked solicitously. Jesse smiled in relief.

          “Yeah, and boy am I glad to see you!”

          “What is this place, anyway?” Steve asked, not knowing if Jesse himself knew, but hoping anyway.

          “I think it’s some sort of Spirit Realm, Steve.” Jesse answered excitedly. “These animals are our Spirit Guides!” Then he sobered. “I’m not sure why we’re here, though or how to get back. I read something that I guess was a spell...” Jesse searched around him frantically, and finally found the piece of paper that he’d read from earlier. Thank God! There was a second set of words on the page, underneath the first set that Jesse’d read earlier.

          “Hey, I think this’ll get us out of here!” Jesse told the other man, waving the paper at him. But before he could read it, a roar sounded.

          Steve and Jesse had forgotten all about the two Spirit Animals. But they had the two human’s attention now. The Lion stared into the Hummingbird’s eyes. The Hummingbird opened his mouth, and a golden light pour out of it. The Lion opened his mouth, and accepted the light, which then flowed from his eyes to the Hummingbird’s eyes. Thus they fed the golden light to each other, their essences flowing as one.

          Steve felt a stirring deep inside himself; an energy and lightening of spirit. Jesse felt a stirring, also, a power beyond his own, calming him and giving him the strength to handle anything. Steve felt something inside anchoring itself to Jesse, and both men knew that they were bonded now as one.

          Steve felt something hit him, hard.

          “Steve!” Amanda’s voice yelled. Steve opened his eyes, not knowing when he’d closed them. “Oh, thank god!” Amanda said, relieved.

          “What happened?” Steve asked.

          “You were zoned out, big time.” Amanda told him.

          “Are you ok?” Archer asked. Steve frowned, and mentally took stock. Yeah, he was ok; not only that, but now there was, deep inside him, a “thread” that led straight to Jesse. Steve smiled then.

          “Yeah, I’m fine, and I found Jesse. Come on, let’s go!” And Steve grabbed his pack and marched off into the woods. Amanda huffed, exasperated, and quickly grabbed her own pack before running to catch up. Archer rolled her eyes and followed.

IX

5:00 p.m.

          Steve approached the clearing cautiously for the second time. Only this time, it was in the real world. There was the campfire beside which Jesse sat, tied to a rock. Another, larger campfire had burned down to glowing embers. And, between the two fires, a figure lay, curled up on the ground and sobbing.

          Startled to recognize the pitiful figure as Cahill, Steve stepped boldly out of the forest.

          “Well, it’s about time you got here!” Jesse huffed. Steve sighed in exasperation as he knelt to untie the younger man.

          Amanda, meanwhile, approached Cahill. Before she got there, however, Cahill raised his head to look at Steve and Jesse. Rage transformed his face into an ugly mask, as he rose to his knees. The others watched, startled, as Cahill surged to his feet, and raised a knife over his head. He started towards Steve, who immediately adopted a defensive stance in front of his Guide. However, before Cahill could move further, a voice rang out.

          “Police, freeze!” Archer yelled, gun raised. But Cahill only roared incoherently, and continued on towards Steve and Jesse.

          Two shots rang out.

          Cahill’s lax fingers dropped the knife to the ground before his dead body followed it.

          The others relaxed in relief.

          “Let’s get camp set up.” Steve said, as he finished untying Jesse.

          “You got it, Steve.” Archer replied as she re-holstered her gun, and Amanda checked Cahill for - and didn’t find - a pulse. But she knew she wouldn’t. Both of Archer’s bullets had ripped apart the man’s heart.

X

          It took all the next day for everything to be straightened out - calls to local law enforcement, forensics, statements, paperwork, etc.