Author’s notes:  A very special thank you goes to my alpha reader, DawnTwilight whose feedback and steadfast friendship motivated me to finish what I’d started in 2005. Thank you beta readers, LilyK, and Hombre.  Your assistance was so greatly appreciated.  Thank you W6C.  Your generosity of spirit and expertise in specific areas where I had none, greatly enhanced the quality of certain scenes.  Last but not certainly not least, a VERY special thank you to Nancy Taylor - I owe you one.   All remaining mistakes are mine. 

Disclaimer:  Jim, Blair, Simon and company belong to Paramount.  I took them out to play and have already returned them.

Under the stars and shadows

I give to thee a gift

most excellent and fair.

And yet a dim reflection of

the Gift once bestowed with loving care.

Joyeux Noel

S. Roman

For the tenth time that day since they had been propped next to the front door by their owner, Jim Ellison eyed with a mixture of resignation and amusement, the care-worn duffel bag that had long since passed its better days, and the familiar sturdy backpack that Blair Sandburg carried nearly everywhere. Jim had hardly said a word all day; there was little need to as his roommate merrily chattered away nonstop about his upcoming two-week visit with his mother, all the while darting in and out of his little room under the stairs, alternating packing with cooking and cleaning chores. Blair was on cloud nine, and Jim didn't need his Sentinel vision to see that.

Sandburg gave a quick stir to the pasta sauce he had simmering on the stove. “…and pow wows are not just an important contemporary expression of American Indian heritage, you know, Jim...” Blair's words trailed behind him in an endless flow as he abandoned the sauce to bop back into his room to get yet one more item of clothing to pack into the burgeoning bag.

Jim sniffed the air. “Sandburg,” he called, still watching Blair from his vantage point on the couch.

“...the key is not letting those reports pile up...” Sandburg moved from his room into the bathroom and began clearing his hair from the shower stopper before picking up his damp towels from the floor.

“Sandburg,” Jim tried again.

“... check out the sound system on the Expedition? I can't wait to break open my new Angie Ferris CD...”

“Sandburg!”

Jim’s raised voice startled Blair into halting in his verbal and physical tracks. He turned wide blue eyes on his friend, all the while looking like a little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar. “Did you want something, Jim?”

Jim smirked in amusement. “Your sauce is about to burn if you don't turn the stove off.”

“Really?” Blair sniffed then as well. “Wow, I don't smell a thing, man. Thanks.” He hurried to turn the stove off.

The sauce was saved, Blair's clothes were packed, and his cleaning chores completed. There was nothing left for him to do then but say his good-byes and get on the road. He grabbed his coat and hat from their hooks near the front door and began putting them on.

Sandburg turned and found that Jim was no longer sitting on the couch. The Sentinel had silently gotten up and was now standing right in front of him. Blair jumped in surprise and an awkward silence descended, as for the first time in so many hours, Blair's seemingly endless flow of words dried up. Suddenly, it occurred to the young man that he'd had enough experience saying good-bye to raise it to an art form. “Detach with love” had always been Naomi's well-lived philosophy, and one that Blair himself had been forced to adopt out of necessity.

It made no difference to Blair now that he was only leaving for two weeks, not forever. However, this ‘goodbye for now’ seemed harder to say than any ‘goodbye forever’ he'd ever said. There was a fleeting look in Jim's eyes that Blair caught a glimpse of before it disappeared, that stopped him dead in his tracks. It was the look of some dark and unexpressed emotion, and the young man was baffled, unable to decipher its meaning. Suddenly, the clue bus came to a halt in front of Blair. He's afraid I'm leaving and not coming back. Why?

The young anthropology grad student leaned up against the door with his hands in his jean pockets and casually inquired, “So, Jim, ah – you know I'm coming back, right, man?”

“Of course I know that, Darwin, why wouldn't you?” Jim clapped Blair on the shoulder and looked him straight in his eyes. There was no remaining trace of whatever Blair had glimpsed in Jim’s eyes a moment ago. Only warmth and caring emanated from his Sentinel’s eyes now. It warmed Blair's soul in a way that he had scarcely ever felt while growing up in a nomadic lifestyle that had left little room for forming long-term attachments.

Now it was his turn to play, ‘hide the emotions’.  Blair shrugged noncommittally, grabbed his duffel bag and slung it up and over his shoulder. Then he picked up his trusty backpack and waited expectantly, like a child awaiting instructions from a parent.

“Drive carefully, Chief,” was all the sage advice the detective imparted. He smiled, but his ice-blue eyes were serious.

“I will. Take care of yourself, Jim. I'll be back on Christmas Eve.” The softly made promise was  received by the Sentinel, if the warmth in his eyes was anything to go by.

Then Blair turned and walked out the door and was gone.

The Previous Week

For the first time since Detective Jim Ellison had occupied apartment number 307 at 852 Prospect, festive signs of the holiday season adorned the interior. Even when Jim had been married briefly to Carolyn, the couple had not seen fit to decorate their dwelling. This year, the

iron railing running alongside the loft bedroom was festooned with an artificial garland made from what passed as a decent representation of fresh-cut pines. An equally artificial, but life-like Christmas tree decked out with white lights and colorful Victorian-style decorations stood in one corner of the open living room. A small Menorah had been lovingly placed on the dining room table. Ornamental objects they were, yet the decorations all served as outward signs that an extraordinary change had taken place in the inner heart of one Sentinel.

There were, of course, still those among Jim’s colleagues in the Major Crime Unit who would insist first on seeing the apartment before believing that Detective Ellison had actually permitted, if not actually hung, decorations himself. But those who knew him best had no doubt that Jim’s roommate, a young man whom the detective had embraced as a brother, had fundamentally changed the ex-Army Ranger, turned cop, and that such a transformation in Jim’s home was entirely possible. Up until Sandburg's advent into Jim's life as a civilian police observer and unofficial partner, he’d been a man who had habitually ignored the holidays, shunned the extended hands of friendship, and been perpetually uptight and focused only on getting the job done.

The young, long-haired doctoral student was about as far from anyone’s idea of what a best friend for the detective would act and look like, but anyone who spent any time with the two of them quickly realized that Sandburg walked in confidence where other mortals feared to tread. The man Ellison’s associates knew now was approachable, warmer – more human and less like the cold hard-ass he’d been for so long.

Those years when Jim volunteered to work extra shifts because the holidays were like any other lousy day filled with crime, were over. Other officers had either wives, or husbands, and or kids, to spend the holidays with. Back then, Ellison was newly divorced and had no kids. Consequently, he saw no reason why those who had families should be unhappy at having to work on Christmas when he had no one and preferred to work alone anyway.

All that was in the past. Pigs really did fly, and the devil needed a blanket. Jim Ellison had Blair Sandburg now, his free-spirited friend, his guide and younger brother in heart. The changes wrought in Jim Ellison’s life by his association with Sandburg had taken place gradually, but steadily. The big detective had at first been somewhat disconcerted to feel bits and pieces of his emotional fortress crumbling in the face of Hurricane Sandburg, but that was then, and this was now. However reluctant Jim had been to embrace some of the changes in his life, celebrating the holidays for the first time as an adult was a change he had been looking forward to – far more than the usually perceptive Sandburg even realized.

Jim’s low-key attitude toward having mutually agreed with Sandburg on a plan to celebrate the holidays together, especially Christmas Eve and Day, was a finely tuned façade. Jim had carefully hidden the deep personal importance of having Blair there in their home to share in the traditions of Christmas. Jim was a man whose deeply felt, and long suppressed need to have

Now it was his turn to play, “hide the emotions.”  Blair shrugged noncommittally, grabbed his duffel bag

and slung it up and over his shoulder.  Then he picked up his trusty backpack and waited expectantly,

like a child awaiting instructions from a parent. 

someone in his life to care and be cared for, had been awakened by Sandburg’s presence in his life. Even the shadows of his soul still remembered what it was like to share joy and love during

the holidays. The holidays of long ago were times for family gatherings, giving and receiving gifts, singing, and eating one's fill of special foods. The Sentinel had once done those things – when his mother had been in the Ellison home, making it an intact family. But then Mrs. Ellison abandoned them one day and never returned or contacted her family again.

Grace Ellison’s family desertion had left the father bitter and the two young Ellison brothers bereft of their mother's tenderness. The holidays were henceforth stripped of any real joy and meaning for the boy who grew into the repressed, intensely focused man that he had been for so long. Even then, every fiber in Jim’s being longed to simply stop being that lonely outsider looking in. He didn’t know it then, but the day Sandburg moved into the loft, Jim had taken a giant step towards that goal. Because of Sandburg, the building where Jim lived was no longer just an apartment; it was a home. Consequently, Jim looked forward to spending Christmas with his Guide with an inner intense zeal that only the similarly deprived could appreciate. On top of Christmas, Jim was also looking forward to participating in the observance of the Jewish holiday, Hanukkah, in honor of his young roommate’s Jewish heritage.

The week before, it had suddenly appeared that all of the carefully laid plans he and Sandburg had made, the secret desires Jim harbored in his heart for a normal holiday experience, were about to be dashed to pieces – all because of an out-of-the-blue phone call from Blair’s mother, Naomi. In an instant, Jim had become a very unhappy man. Naomi had announced that she was flying in from India for a two week visit in the States. With all her unique brand of beguiling enthusiasm, she had invited her only child to come and join her at a holiday retreat being held at the Mission Mountain Resort, in Polson, Montana, before taking off again to parts unknown, for an unknown length of time.

Blair had been torn over the idea of leaving Jim and his first real home so suddenly, but there was no real question that he would go to Montana to visit Naomi. After all, the young anthropologist had not seen Naomi in close to two years – the longest he’d ever gone without a visit. In his mind, the only problem had been how to convince Jim that he would still be there to celebrate the holidays with him, despite the fact that he would be gone for two weeks right up until Christmas Eve.

Blair realized Jim still didn’t feel entirely comfortable handling his Sentinel abilities on his own, and that Jim still had not let down his walls enough to admit it to himself, much less Blair. He also knew that Jim was looking forward to the upcoming holidays; after all, they had made plans together and gone out to buy decorations for the loft. But despite Jim’s apparent willingness to observe the holidays with Sandburg, he had not seen fit to share with the younger man the deeper significance of having his friend there to celebrate with him. Sandburg then had no idea of the true degree his friend was looking forward to, and the significance of, spending the holidays with him.  Consequently, Jim’s young guide was oblivious to the hurt feelings and irrational fears of abandonment that his decision to go had stirred up in Jim.

When Blair had excitedly broken the news to Jim, Ellison’s face had maintained the smile, even as it disconnected from his eyes. A dull ache mixed with the sour wine of old, bitter memories drew down like a curtain over his soul. His ears heard “two weeks”, but his heart registered “I’m bailing out on you.” His reaction had been a typical reflection of old, in-grained habits. Initially, he was angry, but his pride and self-control would not permit him to reveal his wounded heart to Sandburg. Days later, Jim was very glad of that. He came to realize that his fear and anger were irrational; that Sandburg wasn’t gleefully abandoning him in favor of a better offer. Sandburg had broken neither their plans, nor his word. They would still celebrate Christmas and Hanukkah together. If his unofficial partner had promised to be home by Christmas Eve, then he would be there.

Having settled the matter in his heart to his satisfaction, the Sentinel did what he did best: he moved into Blessed Protector mode and proceeded to make arrangements for his Guide to have a rented SUV, a black Ford Expedition with four wheel drive and studded tires, to take on his trip through the mountains in winter. Sandburg had at first protested; he didn't have the extra money to spend on a rental vehicle. His sporty baby blue Corvair would have to do for a trek though the mountains. Jim wouldn't hear of it though. He wore down Sandburg's defenses until they reached a compromise wherein Blair set up a timetable to pay Jim back. Once the matter of securing safe transportation for his friend had been settled, Jim, with Blair, brought out their collection of road maps and together, they devised a travel plan that would keep the younger man on the larger, four-lane interstate for as long as possible; the theory being that it would be safer for him – and Blair would be safe if Jim had anything to say about it.

Present Day

In another realm, Fate watched as plans were made, bags packed, and two men, one Guide to one Sentinel, said good-bye to each other. Fate, in accordance with her capricious nature, took no notice of the holiday season of peace and goodwill towards men as she tossed the dice in the air. The dice landed and as she looked, her lips curved ever so slightly upwards.

*******

It would have been an act of strict self-control for Jim not to have tracked his roommate’s departure down the hall, into the elevator, down to the street, and out to the car. Since no one was there to see his self–indulgence, Jim allowed himself to extend his hearing until Sandburg started up the big engine of the rented SUV and rolled out down the street. He listened to that sound until it merged with the noise of a thousand other Cascade city sounds that even Jim’s enhanced hearing could no longer separate. Not wishing to induce a zone-out, Ellison turned his attention to enjoying some pasta with the sauce Blair had made especially for him.

******

Monday morning, Jim walked into the bullpen of Major Crimes and was nearly blinded by the garish string of red, white, and green lights strung along the outer edges of Detective Rafe's desk. The corners of his mouth, which had begun listing downward ever since he woke up that morning, began to droop down even further. Then Detective Henri Brown came into his view. The sight of Detective Brown's head, which apparently had spontaneously sprouted a pair of felt reindeer antlers, was a sight too much for the grouchy Sentinel. There was no doubt now that Jim's mouth had gone from a hint of a frown to an all out snarl in response to Rafe and Brown's too-cheery good mornings.

Brown and Rafe just looked at each other, shrugging their shoulders. The partners knew from experience that sometimes it just made good sense to stay the hell out of Ellison's way rather than approach him when he got like that.

Jim had no more than claimed his morning cup of coffee and sat down at his desk when he heard the voice of his captain calling him into his office. Jim sighed, picked up his coffee cup, and grabbed a seat in a chair across from the captain's desk.

“So, Jim, you finally got the kid out of your hair, huh?” Simon Banks smirked and leaned back in his chair. “You look like a man who’s set to enjoy some peace and quiet for a change – not that I blame you.” The Captain of the Major Crimes Department didn’t wait for a response from his number one detective. Banks took a swig of his specially-brewed gourmet coffee, chuckled, then added, “Might want to keep it that way and have the locks changed before he gets back.”

The chuckle died and the grin on the dark face faded as he observed for the first time, the expression on Jim Ellison’s face. Jim didn’t look amused at all. In fact, thought Simon, Jim was doing a most remarkable imitation of the pissed-off looking man he'd met in this very office five years ago. What the hell’s wrong with him?

Simon cleared his throat. “Uh... is everything all right, Jim? Sandburg’s okay?”

To his inner horror, Jim realized he had telegraphed his bereft state to Simon and God knew who else since Sandburg’s departure two days ago. By an act of sheer will, Jim’s features smoothed out as he allowed the muscles in his face to relax. “Everything's fine, Captain.” Jim looked at Simon’s face, which clearly showed that he wasn’t buying what Jim was trying to sell. Jim gave a short, sheepish-sounding laugh before revising his answer. “Look, I’ve sort of gotten used to Sandburg’s weird food, his non-stop chatter, and his wet towels on the bathroom floor. It’s just not the same with him gone.”

Simon wisely refrained from poking fun at Jim’s surprisingly candid revelation. “But you have heard from the kid since he left, correct?” he asked instead.

“Yes,  Sir.  Of course, he called to let me know that he had arrived in Montana okay. I haven’t heard from him since, and I suspect he’s enjoying himself visiting with Naomi and sneaking in ‘field research’ with any available single woman he can find.”

Simon and Jim both laughed out loud at how right that sounded for the young police observer. “Listen, Jim, next time you talk to the kid, tell him I said to be careful up there.”

Jim raised an eyebrow and teased back, “Careful, Simon, if someone else hears you, they might get the impression that you actually miss him.”

Simon snorted in reply. “Believe me, Detective, Sandburg hasn’t been gone nearly long enough for me to even contemplate missing him.”

Boss and subordinate again laughed. It was the genuine easy laugh that came from years of mutual respect that had blossomed into a deep and abiding personal friendship. Now that the earlier tension had been thoroughly banished, Jim turned to business. “So, what did you really want to see me about, Sir?”

Simon reached over his desk and handed a brown case file over to Ellison. Jim began to flip through it casually while listening to his boss brief him as to the contents.

“According to the coroner’s report, two years ago, one Andrew McNair, 14 years old at the time of his demise, died of cardiac arrest. While tragic, it appeared to be an open and shut case, due to the fact that the boy had a bad heart.” Simon clicked his tongue in sympathy. “The boy was next on the transplant list to receive a new heart. He died just three days before they got the call that a compatible heart had been identified.” Banks paused as if to collect his thoughts. “I can't imagine something like that happening to Daryl,” he added in a low voice.

Jim nodded his head in understanding. Simon's son, Daryl, was the light of Simon's life. Daryl was all the good he had left out of a marriage that had lasted nearly 15 years before ending in a bitter divorce. “So who’s saying the boy didn't simply run out of time?” Jim asked.

Captain Banks gestured toward the stack of papers in Jim's lap. “The medical examiner’s report that came out two days ago does.”

Ellison flipped through the file until he came to the report. “Damn,” Jim swore under his breath. “It says here that Andrew died of arsenic poisoning.” Jim flipped to the next attached page. “The medical toxicologist's report indicates that once arsenic is ingested, it's quickly absorbed into the body, attacks cell structures and among other things, causes heart failure.”

“That about sums it up, Jim,” Simon replied grimly.

“Okay, so why did it take having the boy's body exhumed nearly two years after he died to find this out?”

“Well, a couple of things, Jim. One being the obvious: the boy was very ill. He had a very serious heart condition, and without the transplant, he would have surely died. The fact that his heart suddenly gave out three days before they found a heart was taken at face value as simply being a medical tragedy. Two, his parents, who, by the way, are high society and very wealthy, used their influence to get things moving along quickly as far as taking possession of their son's body. There never was an autopsy to determine the cause of death and there didn't seem to be a need for one. A mere two days after the boy died, he was six feet under the ground.”

“And the reason there finally was an autopsy?”

Simon leaned forward on both elbows. “Well, that's where things get interesting. Mrs. Barbara McNair has been Mr. Geoffrey McNair's ex-wife for just under two years now. Mr. McNair used to be the CEO of HealthTech Pharmaceuticals. His company lost millions of dollars by making unprecedented and foolish investments in an unusually high number of experimental drugs and technologies that the FDA later refused to approve. To make a long story short, the company went belly up and Mr. McNair went from a man who was making millions, to a man barely making it at his current job salary of a mere $125,000 per year.”

Jim's “hmmf” showed just how much sympathy he had for the man surviving on that kind of money.

“Now, according to Mrs. McNair, her former husband began having an affair with a certain well-known supermodel from Hungary about three years before his son became ill.”

Jim looked curious. “Who is she?”

“Alize Szabo,” Simon replied, looking expectantly at Jim.

Jim shrugged. The name meant nothing to him, though he was appropriately impressed when he came upon her photo in the case file. The Sentinel emitted a low whistle at what he saw. The photo was a glossy eight by ten modeling headshot that showed a young woman in her mid-twenties, with high, sculpted cheek bones and full lips. Alize Szabo was an international beauty with stunning green eyes and very dark, almost jet black, long hair.

“Beautiful woman,” was the extent of Jim's comment.

“She was a hot commodity in the modeling world about five years ago. By the time she met Mr. McNair, she wasn't much on the covers of American magazines anymore. She's all but faded from the spotlight now. Anyway, Mr. McNair was on the verge of leaving his wife to marry this woman when his son developed heart problems after a severe illness,” continued Simon.

“She knew her husband was having an affair?”

“According to Mrs. McNair, she found out about the affair shortly before Andrew fell ill. She stated that her husband stayed in the marriage for the boy’s sake. Shortly after the boy died, Mr. McNair filed for a quickie divorce, and six months later, he had a new wife.”

“So she was pissed at her husband for dumping her and she accused him of murdering their son?” Jim asked, unable to hide his incredulous tone.

Simon looked heavenward as if looking for patience. “No, Jim, that's not what happened. Mrs. McNair is currently in a relationship with one of her son’s former physicians. He began telling her from the get-go of the relationship, that while he never had any proof that Andrew died of any other cause than heart failure brought on by his illness, he felt that there was something medically off about the boy’s sudden demise. He believed that an autopsy should have been performed to find out exactly what and how things went so wrong that fast. It took a while, but he was persuasive enough, and the mother had enough money and influence to get the courts to grant her request for her son's body to be exhumed.”

Jim closed up the file. “So you think Mr. McNair had both motive and means to get rid of his son?”

Simon shrugged and lit a cigar. “Somebody killed this boy. It wouldn’t be the first time a spouse removed an obstacle that was in the way of getting what they wanted.”

Jim grunted his concurrence, then closed the case file and stood up. “Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me, Sir.”

“Best get to it then. Oh, and Jim?”

“Sir?” Jim paused at the door and looked inquiringly at Simon.

“Take Taggart with you when you go out to talk to Mr. McNair.”

“Joel? Is he leaving the Bomb Squad?” Jim asked, genuinely concerned for the other detective, who he knew well and respected.

Simon sighed. He knew Jim wasn’t going to be pleased that he had asked the Bomb Squad captain for the favor of borrowing Joel Taggart. After that, his nerves failed him and he took a demotion to Major Crimes as a detective for the two weeks that Sandburg, Jim’s unofficial partner, would be gone. “No. He’s just getting some refresher skills for two weeks in Major Crime.”

“Uh, Simon, I don’t think it will be necessary for him to come with me.”

“I do. Take him with you, and that’s an order.” Simon used his firm, authoritative voice to end any further debate.

*******

Turned out that Detective Ellison’s and Detective Joel Taggart’s trip out to Mr. McNair’s home in an upper-middle class suburb of Cascade was a bust. The former HealthTech CEO was on the East Coast attending a business conference on behalf of his newest employer. The company had confirmed that he was not expected back until that Thursday, thus the two detectives headed back to Jim’s SUV to regroup. Undaunted, Jim turned to Taggart. “The day’s not entirely wasted, Joel, let’s go and talk to Mrs. McNair.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jim’s mild-mannered, heavy-set partner said in assent. Once in the SUV, Jim switched directions and headed out to Barbara McNair’s mansion. On the cross-town drive over, the two men chatted casually about the case, the upcoming Jags game, and Jim’s absent partner, Sandburg.

One traffic jam and thirty-five minutes later, the detectives arrived at the former McNair family home where the ex-Mrs. McNair still lived. It was an impressive estate with high, thick white columns in front, and a wide circular driveway with a scenic fountain in the center. The house was just one of the many things Mr. McNair had forfeited in the course of his costly divorce.

Jim rang the front door while Taggart stood looking about with an expression on his face that clearly showed how impressed he was with the McNair estate.

Within a minute, a matronly looking, middle-aged woman clad in a crisp, traditional maid’s uniform opened the door. “May I help you, gentlemen?” she asked in a reserved, but courteous tone.

The detectives took out their credentials for the maid’s perusal. “I’m Detective Ellison and this is Detective Taggart. We’d like to speak with Mrs. McNair, please.”

The woman’s warm brown eyes widened. “Come in. Follow me, please.” The maid led the way past the foyer, down a hall, and into a room that looked like a small, tastefully decorated study. She quietly shut the double doors behind her, leaving Jim and Joel to await Mrs. McNair’s arrival.

Taggart walked over to the antique mahogany desk and stared down at a gold-framed picture of a laughing, freckled-face young boy playing in the sand at the beach. The detective seemed mesmerized by the joyous innocence of the healthy looking child. Joel Taggart certainly was an experienced, seasoned police officer, yet the years of seeing the worst of humankind had not worn away his sensitive nature. The man’s compassionate brown eyes reflected the sadness of the tragedy of a young life cut short. “And you must be Andrew,” he said softly, too low to be heard across the room by anyone with normal hearing.

Jim heard him clearly and came over to the desk to look at the professional photograph. Before he could open his mouth to make a remark, the double doors opened inward and a blond woman, who looked to be in her late forties, walked in. It was clear she had been a very attractive woman when she was younger. She was still beautiful, but the cruelties of life had left her face with a bitter hardness. Her fine clothes, perfectly coifed hair and her makeup did little to hide the fact that she was grieving, angry, and under tremendous stress.

“Mrs. McNair, I'm Detective Jim Ellison and this is Detective Joel Taggart. We've been assigned to investigate the death of your son. We’re sorry to come here unannounced, but your ex-husband is out of town, so we were unable to interview him. We thought we'd come by and talk to you about Andrew and your ex-husband.”

“Thank you for coming, Detectives. I'll answer any questions I can. My son was murdered and I want his killer brought to justice,” Mrs. McNair said bitterly.

Jim and Joel had no problem discerning from Barbara McNair's tone and facial expression that she meant her ex-husband.

Joel cleared his throat subtly. “Mrs. McNair, do you have any idea when Andrew would have ingested the arsenic? What was he doing in the days leading up to his death?”

Mrs. McNair’s face lost a bit of its hardness and something akin to a hint of guilt crept in.

“Andrew died on a Monday morning. The weekend before, Geoffrey and I had some very important social events to attend, so we didn't see much of Andrew.” Barbara looked away from the detectives, as though she believed she would see condemnation in their eyes. “I'll never forgive myself for not being there to know that something else was wrong with him,” she continued softly. “Friday afternoon, Andrew complained that he was tired and had a headache.”

Mrs. McNair's voice had a tinge of desperation to it when she said, “You have to understand something, Detectives, that wasn't unusual for my son. He needed a new heart, but he demanded that life be as normal as possible for him. Andrew worked hard to keep up with school projects and his friends when he could, but when things got to be too much, he just wanted to rest in his room.” Mrs. McNair shrugged her shoulders slightly. “Not that I blame him,” she murmured. “He loved his room so much; it has every conceivable video game, home theater system, and computer set-up imaginable.”

“Has?” Jim asked, not missing the woman's use of the present tense.

An odd flush came over the grieving mother's face. She walked over to the desk and picked up the gold-framed picture of her son. She began to explain herself, keeping her eyes fixed on those of the dead boy, his joyful eyes frozen in time forever. “I was in shock when Andrew suddenly collapsed and died. I just knew that a heart would be found for him in time. I believed that with all of my being, but... but when Andrew's heart gave out, I was just so angry.” Only Jim's Sentinel hearing picked up what Mrs. McNair softly added next, “I was angry at Andrew.”

“Is that why Andrew was buried almost immediately?” Joel asked sympathetically.

“Yes, Detective Taggart. Perhaps my being angry doesn't make sense, and I certainly realize how wrong I was now, but I was the one who insisted that Andrew be buried immediately.” After a brief silence, Barbara placed the photograph down tenderly and turned to face the detectives. Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears as she continued, “Death stalked my son relentlessly. First we fought it; then we ran, then we just hid and waited. In the end, death won and we lost Andrew.” A sigh full of longing and regrets escaped from the mother’s lips.

“There didn’t seem to be any point in delaying the funeral.” A single tear spilled from one of the woman’s eyes and trailed down her face. She brushed it away brusquely and took a deep breath. “We couldn't change what happened. Andrew needed to be buried, so Geoffrey and I buried our son. But I refuse to touch anything in Andrew’s room. I don’t care if other people think it’s sick – my son’s things are here just as he left them, and that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

Jim and Joel simultaneously glanced at each other before Jim asked, “May we see Andrew’s room?”

“Of course.” Mrs. McNair seemed to pulled herself together and led the detectives up to Andrew’s room.

Jim approached the room with a large degree of curiosity and a tiny amount of trepidation. His mind was sifting through the myriad possibilities of what he might find. Would being in the room feel like being in a bizarre, perfectly preserved shrine to a dead boy, or would it have a lived-in feel, as though its owner had simply gone to get a snack and would be coming right back? Ellison knew all too well about a house that had rooms like a cold museum, having grown up in one. Thinking about the frozen-in-time room stirred up ghosts of memories better left undisturbed and had Jim feeling slightly uncomfortable. Still, the Sentinel shrugged it off as he stepped through the door. He had a job to do and he needed to use his Sentinel abilities to help uncover any clues that might reveal who had robbed a member of his tribe of his young life before his time.

Mrs. McNair went up to the door of Andrew's room and no further. She watched with sorrowful eyes as Ellison and Taggart proceeded to step inside and look around. Joel couldn't seem to help himself; he let out a low whistle. From the look on his face, he was overwhelmed by the room.  Never in his life had he imagined a 14-year-old boy's room to look like what Andrew's did with it's multitude of genuine, full-sized arcade games, a mini theater-style movie screen, and modified home-style vending snack machines. Everything in the room was wired for sound and entertainment. As for Jim, the Sentinel was silently grateful that nothing that could have triggered a zone-out was turned on. This kid was never bored, he mused silently.

Jim went to the center of the room and began to perform a visual sensory sweep. His keen mind took in and catalogued the contents of Andrew’s entertainment paradise while Joel began to look through the drawers and on top of the shelves. Hanging on the walls were several guitars that had been autographed by various rock stars, and full-sized movie posters hung in between. Jim had no problem reading the signatures on the items with his Sentinel vision. Stacks of comic books and sports trading cards warred for space on the boy's desk, along with textbooks and volumes of classic literature. Abandoned sports equipment remained as keepers of the memories of Little League victories, skateboarding hang-tens, and unrealized hoop dreams.

Finding nothing of any evidentiary value, Ellison, followed by Taggart, proceeded to inspect Andrew’s huge, walk-in closet. As expected, Barbara McNair had not disposed of her son’s clothes. The closet was full of the dead youth’s shoes, jeans, shirts, as well as shelves filled with old souvenirs, action figures and other toys and mementos from an earlier age in Andrew’s life. Having found nothing, it was beginning to feel like a fool’s mission.

It was Joel Taggart who, at the last moment, found something that might yield some clues as to who and how Andrew might have been poisoned. Joel’s shoe came in contact with an old Nike shoebox in the corner, partially obscured from view by a pile of unwashed clothes. When he’d lifted the lid, he’d discovered Andrew’s journals along with the boy’s discreetly stashed magazines of ‘questionable content’.

Joel called Jim’s attention to the journals while simultaneously, tactfully, replacing the shoebox lid over the magazines. Joel began to leaf through one journal, while handing another over to Jim. As he took the proffered journal, Ellison couldn’t help but be reminded of Blair. For almost as long as he had known his absent partner, the young man had religiously kept a journal to record his innermost thoughts. On quieter evenings, Jim would enjoy reading the latest best seller while Blair quietly wrote in his journal. Jim refocused his attention and began to thumb through one of journals from the month preceding Andrew’s death.

“We’re gonna need to take these journals with us, Ma’am, would that be all right?” Jim asked Mrs. McNair.

Mrs. McNair nodded. “Yes, of course,” she murmured.

Ellison and Taggart gathered up the journals and quickly took their leave of Mrs. McNair and the shrine to her dead son. The detectives were eager to return to the office and begin combing through the journals for any possible clues.

Except for one brief exchange, the drive back was mostly accomplished in silence, each man lost in his own thoughts. Five minutes into the drive home, Joel had turned to Jim. “That was kinda creepy.”

“Yup,” came the taciturn reply.

*******

The next morning, Jim arose rather reluctantly from his warm bed. The alarm clock had jarred him awake seemingly minutes after his head hit the pillow and he’d closed his eyes. Ellison felt tired still. He’d stayed late at the precinct working on a few of his other cases before grabbing a bite to eat at Wonderburger. He’d enjoyed his double burger, guilt-free in the absence of Blair’s lecturing on the evils of death-on-a-bun. Finally, with Andrew’s later journals in his safekeeping for some late night reading, he headed home towards the silent loft. Truth be told, all Jim wanted to do was check the answering machine to see if Blair had called and left any messages.

There had been a message waiting for him, one where Blair talked a mile a minute about Naomi, the weather, and something about an obscure Indian birthing practice. Jim had chuckled to hear the enthusiasm in his young roommate’s voice. The Guide had, at least temporarily, gifted his Sentinel with a lighter heart as he prepared to read through the dead boy’s journals into the early morning hours.

When Ellison finally ambled into the station, he found a message on his voice mail from District Attorney Beverly Sanchez. The attractive DA had called to remind Jim that he needed to come to her office in order to go over his testimony he was to give the next day in one of the many high-profile criminal cases scheduled in Cascade.

Jim proceeded to spend his day with the lovely, but driven, Ms. Sanchez, being grilled and prepped for long hours on the testimony he was to give. Thus the Sentinel passed another long day without the companionship of his Guide, only to return again to the silent, empty loft in the evening. The lonely man looked at the calendar and silently cursed the number of days remaining until his roommate’s return.

*******

Wednesday came and went with mind numbing, excruciating slowness. Of all the things Jim Ellison hated, sitting in the witness box all day long, observing the legal machinations of the lawyers was right at the top of his list. The theatrics may have provided some amusement, but the waiting around all day, and then having to sit on the uncomfortable chairs did nothing but aggravate Jim’s short temper. Jim was therefore relieved when finally he was called to the stand to testify.

The cross-examination was as grueling as Beverly had warned him it would be, but Jim was unflappable under pressure; his calm, cool demeanor increasingly frustrated the defense attorney. Jim could see from looking at the smug expression on Beverly Sanchez’s face that all was going well with his testimony, until...

Frustrated that he had been unable to shake Jim’s testimony, the high-priced defense attorney snatched up one of the gruesome, full-color photographs of the brutally murdered victim; a toddler girl who had been sacrificed on an altar of depravity. In an impatient fit, the attorney turned around and shoved the grisly photograph in Ellison’s face. Taken by surprise, almost immediately, the color images of blood, pain, and death began to swirl and merge into a kaleidoscope of pixels until Jim was pulled into the murky depths. The Sentinel saw red, the color of jelling blood; white, the color of jutting, ragged bone; and blue, the color of big, expressive, pain-filled eyes. Those eyes were the same color as Blair's. All else faded away, even the persistent, insistent, needling voice of his cross-examiner and the angry hammering of the judge's gavel.

Jim came to awareness quickly, but judging by the odd looks from those in attendance, and the laser-like gaze Sanchez was leveling at him, his zone-out had not gone unobserved. His head ached dreadfully. Inwardly mortified at his loss of control, and fervently wishing that Sandburg had been there, Jim dropped his head to his chest and covered his eyes with one hand. Just great, he muttered inwardly.

******

The next morning, Jim, accompanied again by Joel, made an early visit to Geoffrey McNair’s modest, suburban home. Neither detective had uncovered anything incriminating in Andrew’s journals, and, so far, the only suspect had been conveniently pointed out by an angry, ex-spouse. Jim knew things had to proceed carefully – Mr. McNair had been kept in the dark regarding his son’s exhumation and subsequent discovery that the boy had, in fact, died of homicide. If the father were innocent, this would be the first time he had an opportunity to hear about the new reality. On the other hand, there were no other apparent suspects who had both means and opportunity to poison Andrew. As the former CEO of a pharmaceutical company, he could easily access the plants and laboratories where some of the medicines being manufactured, contained arsenic as an ingredient.

As for motive, Jim and Joel theorized that if the father’s devotion to his family were an act, he could have taken the coward’s way out of his promise to remain in the marriage for his son’s sake. Either way, the Sentinel was committed to finding the person who was responsible for Andrew's murder, and bringing that person to justice.

******

As luck would have it, Mr. McNair was just on his way out the door when Detectives Ellison and Taggart arrived at the home.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Taggart mused aloud.

Mr. McNair's home, while upper middle class, was nowhere near the mansion he had given up in order to marry Alize Szabo. It was a red brick, colonial-style, two-car garage home with beautiful landscaping that, even in winter, looked highly maintained. The garage door was open, giving the men a clear look at the two vehicles parked inside. One was a Toyota sedan parked next to a traffic-stopping, rare classic car. Jim took a moment to look with an appreciative Sentinel eye at the mint condition, candy red ‘69 Corvette ZL-1.

Jim nodded his head toward the muscle car and asked, “She’s a rare beauty. I bet you restored her yourself, didn’t you?”

The wary look on McNair’s face was overtaken by one of pleasure. “Why yes, I did, and she just happens to be the third rarest muscle car in the world.”

“Must have been a real chore to take that dent out on the side the way you did.”

Joel’s curiosity was raised by Jim’s casual remark since there was not the slightest mark on the side of the car that he could see.

Mr. McNair barely seemed to cover his surprise at Jim’s comment.  The autoshop had highly skilled-technicians and not even an expert could tell that there had once been significant dent on the side of the car. “Not as much trouble as you might think,” is what he managed to say. 

“’69 right? That’s the one with the 427 V8 engine?”

Geoffrey McNair’s lips curved upwards in a pleased, yet hesitant smile. “Yes, that’s right. But you gentlemen aren’t here to admire my car, are you?”

“No, we’re not,” Ellison replied. Jim and Joel simultaneously, dutifully, flashed their badges. “This is Detective Taggart and I’m Detective Ellison. Could we come inside and ask you a few questions?”

“Questions about what?” The wary look returned to McNair’s face.

“Please, Mr. McNair, let’s not do this outside,” Joel intervened.

After a moment’s hesitation, Mr. McNair stepped back through the open door and gestured the two men inside. He crossed his arms in front of him and waited expectantly.

“Uh, is your wife at home?” Joel inquired a bit awkwardly.

“My wife?” Mr. McNair’s voice held an odd mixture of contempt and confusion.

Jim threw a sidelong glance at Joel before breaking in smoothly. “Alize - that is your wife’s name, isn’t it?”

Mr. McNair emitted a short, bitter laugh. “Gentlemen, you need a more up-to-date source of information. Alize has not been my wife for over a year now. In fact, if you want to talk to her, you can give her newest husband my deepest condolences – she’s his problem now.”

Jim mentally filed that piece of information away for later. Right now, he wanted to gauge Mr. McNair's reaction to the news of Andrew's poisoning. “Mr. McNair, there's no easy way to say this. It's been determined that your son didn't die of heart failure as a consequence of his illness. He died of arsenic poisoning.”

Jim and Joel both watched Mr. McNair closely, but only one of them had the immediate ability to monitor his heart rate. Mr. McNair's face blanched, and he backed away from the men, eyes wide with shock. “Wh - What did you say? Is this some kind of a sick joke?”

“I assure you, Mr. McNair, this is no joke,” Joel stated. “Your son's body was exhumed at the request of your former wife. Andrew’s mother,” Joel hastily clarified “A medical examiner performed a thorough autopsy on Andrew and the results conclusively prove that your son died of arsenic poisoning.”

There was a moment of stunned silence in which Jim and Joel continued to scrutinize Mr. McNair. “Oh, my God!” McNair gasped out before collapsing into the nearest winged-back chair. “How? I don’t understand. How could this have happened? Who would want Andrew dead?” Geoffrey looked genuinely lost and bewildered at the revelation.

“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”  Jim’s voice was deliberately hard. In the next few moments he hoped to at least satisfy himself that he was dealing with a grieving father and not a murderer.

“But Andrew didn’t have any enemies, he was just a child, for Christ’s sake!” McNair looked totally stunned.  “The very day after Andrew was buried, the hospital found a compatible donor. How ironic is that?” he asked, his eyes filling with tears.

“Mr. McNair, isn’t it true that just before Andrew got sick, you were about to ask your wife for a divorce?

“Yes, I’m not proud of that fact, but that’s not a secret either.”

Jim continued on as if he hadn’t heard Mr. McNair. “But because you’re such an honorable man, you promised your wife you’d stay in the marriage for Andrew’s sake?” The word “honorable” was said with dripping sarcasm.

“My son was very ill. How could any father leave his family at a time like that? Wait a minute…?Just wait a minute.” McNair shook his head as if trying to awaken himself from a bad dream. “You said Barbara had Andrew exhumed? Why would she do that without even talking to me first?”

“Your wife had her suspicions about your son’s death. She has reason to believe that you had ample motive and opportunity to kill Andrew.” Jim was carefully monitoring his subject’s heart rate. So far, after the initial elevation upon hearing the news of Andrew‘s poisoning, Mr. McNair’s heart rhythm had indicated no deception.

Mr. McNair stared speechlessly at Jim before finding his tongue. “I don’t believe this! She’s lost her mind!”

Jim’s voice was low and deadly as he got right in Mr. McNair’s face. “Did you figure with Andrew as sick as he was, he wouldn’t have long to live, then you‘d be free to leave your wife, and your reputation would remain intact? Only maybe you miscalculated. Andrew’s name went to the top of the list for a new heart faster than you thought, and that would have meant sticking around for another four years until he turned 18.”

Joel leaned in and threw out a ‘good cop’ comment: “Hey, I can understand with a woman like Alize, that maybe it got a little tough to wait it out.”

“No. No, you are so wrong. I didn’t poison my son! I don’t know who could have done that, but whoever did, I want you to catch them and make them pay!” Geoffrey’s voice was husky from a mixture of anger, shock and grief.

The former high-powered CEO looked straight up into the face of Detective Ellison. Ellison’s ice-blue eyes bored into McNair’s, seemingly with the power of lasers possessing the strength to skewer him alive.

“I did not poison my son and I don’t know who did,” was all McNair managed to get out in a whisper.

It was enough to satisfy Jim that Mr. McNair had told them the truth. His heartbeat had remained steady and the anguish and confusion on the man’s face was too deep, too profound to have been an act. But if Mr. McNair had not murdered his son, who had?

*******

Friday Night

The men gathered around Jim’s table for the monthly poker game, loudly guffawing at the funny story the boisterous Henri “H” Brown told at his partner, Rafe’s, expense. The normally suave detective was red-faced at the good-hearted ribbing, but that didn’t keep the youngest member of the Major Crime Unit from enjoying the feeling of camaraderie that came with membership in the elite group. H raised his can of beer in a mock toast towards Rafe. “Don’t worry about it, baby, you know I got your back.”

This set off another round of laughter in the men, including Jim, who hadn’t wanted to host the poker night in the first place. The others had resoundingly rejected Jim’s lame attempts to cancel, and instead had become determined to make Jim hold up his end of the rotating host duties, Sandburg or no Sandburg.

Simon puffed on his cigar while eyeing his cards with ill-concealed delight. At seeing that, Joel who was up next, prudently called, “Check,” while H popped a piece of popcorn chicken into his mouth and chased it down with swig from his beer.

The game continued on until Rafe leaned back and addressed Joel. “I hear you’ve had the rare privilege of acting as the stand-in partner for Jim “Kick Ass” Ellison? What’s it really like working with him?”

Joel glanced briefly at Jim. No one caught the speculative look that passed over Joel’s face and was gone in a split second.

“It’s okay, considering the case we’ve been working. It’s a two-year-old murder that no one but the murderer knew about until a few days ago. You never know how a murder case is going to pan out. Jim and I both thought we had a solid suspect in the murdered boy’s father, but now we’re pretty sure he didn’t do it.”

When Joel didn’t say more, Rafe prompted him to continue. “So who do you think killed the boy?”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Simon interrupted, “don’t you know it’s bad form to talk shop during a poker game?” Simon was well aware of the current status of the case and wasn’t keen on hearing the details again. Before Jim had departed for the day, he had briefed Simon about the latest developments, starting with Mr. McNair’s interview.

Captain Banks had poured Jim a mug of coffee while he himself enjoyed a stogie before his number one detective brought him up to speed on the case. Turned out that Jim and Joel had gotten some interesting information from Mr. McNair about his second wife, Alize. The ink had not even had sufficient time to dry on their divorce decree before Alize became engaged to another wealthy businessman. As bitter as Mr. McNair was about her apparent flight to greener pastures, he was adamant that she had not harmed his son. Jim had gone on to report that Mr. McNair was clear on the point that he had never introduced Alize to his family, nor ever brought her over to the house, thus he was certain that she would not have had access to either Andrew’s food or drink to poison him.

Joel shrugged. He was reluctant to say more, deferring to Jim’s choice as lead detective as to whether or not to continue discussing the case.

Jim chuckled.  “Well, since you don’t have enough unsolved cases of your own, I’ll tell you this much: Alize Szabo McNair Anderson is either one unlucky woman, or she gave Joel and me an Academy Award performance of a lifetime.” Jim went back to studying his cards.

“Don’t leave a brother hangin’ like that. What’s up with this woman?” H asked with exaggerated interest.

“All right, all right. Apparently, when Alize married Geoffrey McNair, the part about ‘’til death do us part’ didn’t include bankruptcy and a home in a middle class suburb.”

Looking intrigued by Jim’s comment, H and Rafe kept one eye on their respective hands as well as an ear out for Ellison’s tale as the men pressed on with their poker game.

Jim’s mind started to turn over the events of earlier that day, and as he began to explain what happened, he was drawn into his memories ....

Earlier That Day

Alize Anderson’s new digs were as impressive as the ones Barbara McNair currently occupied. Jim and Joel both experienced a weird sense of deja vu as they once again rang the doorbell to a prestigious home, and were subsequently ushered inside by a maid in uniform.

That’s where any similarity to the Barbara McNair home visit stopped. The maid standing before them now seemed to be mentally preoccupied with something, and yet she behaved as though she had been expecting them. Neither detective had even had time to flash their credentials or introduce themselves before the maid threw out a hasty, “Thank you for coming,” before quickly turning and gesturing for them to follow her rapidly retreating form.

Puzzled and curious at the maid’s odd behavior, Taggart shrugged and Jim merely tilted his head slightly to the side. Joel made a sweeping ‘after you’ gesture with his arm and Ellison proceeded to use his long legs to his advantage in catching up to the scurrying woman, while the heavy-set Taggart lumbered down the hall after them.

A minute later they found themselves in what could only be the family library, judging by the expensive bookcases filled, top to bottom, with hardbound books. There were six individuals inside the room, four women and two men. Most were dressed in black or other dark clothing. Three of the women appeared to have been crying. One of the women not crying was none other than Alize Anderson, Jim observed. Other than the fact that she was dressed in somber, solid black, which was suggestive of mourning attire, she looked calm and collected. She was also one of the most stunningly beautiful women Jim had ever seen.

Alize’s detached coolness not withstanding, the air in the room felt heavy as if weighed down by an oppressive, tangible grief. Clearly, the detectives had landed themselves in the midst of some sort of family tragedy. Six pairs of eyes turned towards the newcomers.

Alize arose gracefully from her seat and glided over to the detectives in stiletto heels and with an eager expression on her sculpted face, that immediately made Jim feel uncomfortable. She resembled some kind of predatory cat about to pounce on a meal. Her head never moved as her green eyes first swept down Jim, stopping only a second at his empty hands before moving over to Joel. Upon seeing that Joel’s hands were equally empty, a sour expression came over her face. “Why don’t you have the papers with you?” she demanded in a haughty, annoyed voice.

Jim smoothly took out his credentials and Joel followed suit. “Mrs. Anderson, I don't know who you think we are, but I’m Detective Ellison, and this is Detective Taggart. Now, obviously we’ve come at a bad time. Would you mind telling us what’s going on?”

Alize’s eyes remained cold like glaciers, but her voice trembled with feigned sadness. She was good, very good, but she was no match for an intuitive man like Jim, who also happened to be a cop with enhanced senses. “My husband suddenly passed away two days ago. The doctors said it was acute heart failure. I'm expecting my husband's attorneys and I mistook you gentlemen for them. Now, if you have no business here, I suggest that you leave.”

Jim and Joel exchanged glances that silently communicated to each other how interesting they found that bit of news. Jim realized the very fact that Alize Anderson’s newest husband had died suddenly of heart failure, just as Andrew McNair had, did not suggest in any factual way that her husband had actually died of something else, or that she had had a hand in it, but it did raise an odd similarity and the possibility of a link that required further exploration.

“As luck with would have it, we do have business here. We’d like to ask you a few questions about the McNair family.”

“The McNair family?” Alize asked, her face never changing expression. “I never met my ex-husband’s family. I can tell you nothing. Louisa,” Alize Anderson beckoned to a maid who had been discreetly standing by in a corner, “show these gentlemen out. Now.”

“Mrs. Anderson, we’d be happy to invite you to come downtown to the police station with us to answer some questions, or we can do it here, in another room where you can have some privacy.” Jim’s tone was coolly polite.

Alize raised an imperious eyebrow. “Am I under arrest?”

“No. No, you’re not,” Joel quickly replied, ready to mediate. “We won’t take up much of your time at all, we just want to find out what we can about who Andrew was with, and what he was doing in the days before he died.”

“And how would I know? I’ve already told you two that I never met him.” She shrugged and added, “He had a bad heart, and then he died. End of story.”

“Not quite.” Jim gave a chilly smile. “Seems that somebody had it out for him. He died of arsenic poisoning.”

“That is terrible, but hardly my concern since I had nothing to do with it.” The spoken words were calm, bordering on coldness, but the heart within her that was now beating like a trip hammer told the Sentinel what he wanted to know. The beautiful former model was lying. “This interview is over,” she declared.

While Alize Anderson stood before the men, proud, regal – a perfect specimen of cruel beauty, the Sentinel’s subconscious was busy sifting through and discarding the whispery memories of other beautiful and deceptive women he’d known, trying to find the one of whom Alize reminded him. At last his mind recalled the name and face: Laura McCarthy, AKA Jane Cunningham, the pyrotechnics expert who hid her criminal mind behind her stunning outward beauty. I got your number now, lady.

The Loft

“So what are you going to do now?” Rafe asked curiously, just when the phone started ringing.

Jim smirked, “Right now I’m gonna answer the phone. It’s probably Sandburg.”

And it was.

Blair was exuberant and slightly out of breath. “Hey, Jim! Let me guess – Simon made veiled threats about putting you on foot patrol, H said he’d serenade you to death, and Rafe swore he’d give you a fashion makeover if you tried to back out of hosting the poker game tonight?”

Jim grinned sheepishly, slightly embarrassed at how well Blair had read the situation. “Got it in one, Chief. And guess what?”

 “What?”

“Next time we’re up for hosting duties, Junior, you’re buying all the beer and snacks!”

The perpetually nearly broke Sandburg laughed, “Whatever delusions make you happy, man.”

Jim’s company looked on with growing curiosity at the sight of Ellison grinning while talking on the phone with Sandburg. They didn’t even try to hide the fact that they were trying to follow the conversation. Though the men had been around Jim in many a social setting, there was something quite altogether different about Jim’s very appearance now as he spoke to his vacationing roommate. The former Army Ranger and crack detective looked incredibly relaxed, happy – oddly, emotionally transparent.

“Hey, Jim, say hello to the guys for me, will you?” Blair chuckled, “I know they’re trying to follow this conversation.”

“Sandburg says ‘Hi’, and he said stop listening in, too,” Jim obfuscated for good measure with a seldom seen, Ellison grin.

More than one of Jim’s poker-playing friends stared slack-jawed in amazement at him. All the while Ellison looked at them, looking at him, before he cheekily flipped them the bird and turned around, presenting his back to them.

The modicum of privacy created allowed Jim to turn serious as he inquired after his guide’s general welfare and that of his mother. Blair cheerfully filled him in on all the goings on until the Sentinel was satisfied that all was well with his Guide.

Then it was the Guide’s turn to inquire about the welfare of his Sentinel. “So how’ve you been, Jim? Any trouble with your senses?”

“I’m fine, they’re fine, we’re all fine, Sandburg. Taggart’s been temporarily assigned to work with me on a murder case.”

“That’s good, Jim. I’m glad to hear you’ve got someone watching your back while I can’t be there. Umm... so does that mean you haven’t had any zone-outs?” the young anthropologist persisted in his original line of questioning.

“No.” Jim’s answer was deliberately ambiguous, and Blair seemed to let it go, apparently realizing that if Jim had zoned, now was not the time that the older man would want to discuss the details – not when so many of his friends were within earshot and no doubt, making him feel on the spot.

“Well, I’d better let you get back to your poker game now, Jim, and I’ll just get back to... well, whatever I was doing before I called you.”

Jim chuckled softly. “I don’t even want to know, do I, Sandburg?”

When Ellison hung up the phone, he didn’t turn around right away. His soul had just received an unexpected gift of liberation from an unknowing Sandburg, and he was reveling in the sensation. The last stubbornly clinging, subconscious, irrational fear caused by the many hurtful abandonments of the past, which had been resurrected upon Blair’s announcement that he was going away, had melted away and been banished from his heart by the power of the simple last words spoken by his Guide: “I’m having a great time here, Jim, but, man, I can’t wait to get home!”'

*******

The weekend came and went in a controlled blur for the Sentinel. He’d planned out his days so that he’d take in a movie, spend some time in the gym working out, and do a bit of deep cleaning in the loft before preparing himself for his real mission: braving the noisy, crowded shopping malls looking for gifts to buy for those on his list, short though it was. There was Simon Banks who was not only his captain, but his friend. There was Rafe, whose name Jim had drawn in the annual Major Crime gift exchange, and of course, there was Blair.

Jim had at first thought it would be fairly easy to buy a gift for his young friend. Sandburg was, after all, only a low-paid teaching fellow, living in a little room under the stairs. But the more Jim thought about it, the more he realized that he wanted, no, needed, to give his Guide a gift that showed how much he really did appreciate the fact that Blair had literally saved both his career and his sanity at a frightening time, when his senses had been spiraling out of control. Truth was, the young man had continued to selflessly watch his back, providing unconditional friendship and genuine brotherly love, far more than any other person in his life had.

The Sentinel dressed for battle: jeans, comfortable low-cut boots, and a soft, black sweater to start. He armed himself next: his cell phone, an old mall store directory, his American Express card, checkbook, debit card, and two tablets of Excedrin were his weapons of choice.

Before leaving, he paused in front of the mirror and practiced affixing a pleasant expression upon his face. The stern visage gazed stubbornly back at him. This is gonna take more work.

Monday Morning

Detective Jim Ellison’s early morning entrance into the Major Crime Unit's bullpen was much like last Monday’s, with one marked difference: Rafe’s desk was still bedecked with garish lights, but in fact, an additional set had been added, as if its owner feared that some deprived soul would fail to see the display. Last week’s set of felt reindeer antlers sprouted no more from Henri Brown’s head. Instead, someone had thoughtfully photocopied a picture of Jim’s police identification badge headshot, enlarged it, and pinned it and the antlers above the head, to the wall behind Jim’s desk.

While Alize Anderson stood before the men, proud, regal – a perfect specimen of cruel beauty, the Sentinel’s subconscious was busy sifting through and discarding the whispery memories of other beautiful and deceptive women he’d known, trying to find the one of whom Alize reminded him.

Henri and Rafe, along with Vera from Records, sauntered over to greet Jim. Ellison shook his head at the office antics as he took a seat behind his desk. “Cute, guys. Lucky for you, it’s too early in the morning to kill anyone and hide the bodies,” he deadpanned.

“The man do look good this morning, don’t he?” H asked with a conspiring wink.

“I enjoyed my weekend. What can I say?” Ellison quipped back.

“Not you – him!” H pointed to the picture of Jim adorned with the felt antlers.

In a move that took them all by surprise, even himself, Jim plucked the reindeer antlers from the picture and set them upon his head, which caused the gang to burst out laughing at Jim‘s exceptional display of good sportsmanship.

The jovial mood quickly dissipated and Jim yanked the reindeer antlers down from his head when Captain Banks stuck his head out of his office and unhappily thundered, “You people do have reports to file and cases to solve, right?” He went back into his office and shut the door loudly.

The group disbanded, each person except for Jim, silently going back to their respective desks and turning attention towards work assignments. Ellison stared after the shut door of Simon’s office and frowned. He had a strong sense that his Captain had been upset by something out of the ordinary and that’s what had led to the gruff rebuke, rather than the brief moment of boisterous laughter from the troops.

After a moment’s more hesitation, Jim got up, went over to Simon’s door and knocked on it – ostensibly to discuss something work-related.

“Come,” Simon barked.

Jim leaned casually against the wall as he gazed at his boss. Simon no longer tried to hide the fact that he was upset about something personal. It showed in his dark eyes in a mixture of sadness, anger, and frustration. “You want to talk about it, Simon? Maybe I can help?” Jim was treading carefully. There was a certain irony in the situation at hand.

They were both strong men, not accustomed to examining emotional vulnerabilities in the light of day. Last week, it had been Jim who had let down the stoic mask to reveal his private emotions to his boss. Would his boss feel free to reciprocate? Did he trust in Jim’s friendship to allow him to listen and to help if he could? Within minutes, the Sentinel had his answer.

“Joan called me just before I left the house this morning.” Simon began with a heavy sigh. “Even though it’s my year to have Daryl for the holidays, it seems as though she neglected to tell me that his Gifted Student Program is involved in some sort of international academic competition, and that Daryl was one of three students selected to participate.”

“Well, that’s great, Simon.”

Simon spared Jim a look that conveyed all the annoyance and frustration he felt. “In Mexico. Over Christmas.”

“Oh.” Jim let a brief silence settle while he contemplated how he could have let himself step right in the middle of that which would require him to come up with something wise and comforting to say to his boss. Though not a parent, Jim could relate to Simon’s situation and the hurt feelings that inevitably followed. When he’d thought Blair was skipping out on their holiday plans in favor of a better offer, he had felt angry, sad, abandoned into an aching void. Clearly, Simon’s feelings were pretty much on the mark in regards to Daryl’s similar news.

The solution, when it came to Jim like a flash of lightning, was one that the detective was willing to offer, and yet was one undeniably heavily rooted in the premise that surely Simon would decline and thus negate the need for making additional arrangements – chiefly  those that would involve Jim having to socialize with his Captain in a totally different setting than the few he was accustomed to, according to the well-defined parameters of their friendship.

Parameters be damned; Jim resolutely took the plunge. “Sir,” reverting back to more formal language, “there’s no need to spend Christmas by yourself. Why don’t you come over on Christmas Eve, have a glass of wine, and watch some of the old classic Christmas movies with Sandburg and me? On Christmas Day we’re going cook a nice dinner – we’ll have more than enough food, I guarantee that.” There, the invitation was out and now it was Simon’s turn to gracefully decline. Jim waited expectantly, an ‘It’s ok, really,’ already on his tongue, poised to issue forth.

Much to Jim’s inner horror, the next words out of Simon’s mouth were not those of regretful begging off. On the contrary, Simon sounded suspiciously like he was touched and grateful for the invite, which he promptly accepted.

After confirming the times, Jim departed Captain Bank’s office with the distinct feeling that he had just played the shell game and lost to a pro.

*******

Jim spent the rest of the morning getting information about Neil Anderson, Alize’s newly married, and newly dead, husband. A wealthy man who moved in high social circles, it wasn’t hard to locate pictures of him with members of his immediate family. One particular photo caught Jim's eye. Three demure young women stood together with arms entwined, and open, innocent faces looking out upon the world. He easily recognized the women as the three who had been present at Alize’s home when he and Joel had stopped by to interview Mrs. Anderson. A newspaper article about the young women indicated that they were the daughters of the deceased.

Another old family photograph clearly showed the relationship of one of the two men who had also been present in the home. Jim’s continued search yielded the man’s name in short order. David Anderson was the only son of Neil Anderson. The other man was apparently Paul Gordon, husband of Elizabeth, the eldest daughter.

Before long, Jim had collected addresses and telephone numbers for Neil Anderson’s children only, having learned that the wife and mother of Neil’s children had passed away eight years before.

The detective now turned to another task: reaching out to some contacts within Interpol. Eventually, an agent got back to him and smoothed the way for Jim to talk to some local Hungarian authorities in and around Alize’s hometown.

It was nearing the end of the day when his local source got back in touch with him via email. A thoughtful expression came over his face as he read the contents. Dark possibilities paired with scant evidence to dance a bizarre tango in the detective’s mind. The Sentinel had questions for which he had no immediate answers. But unsolved mysteries could be solved. One door closed could open another. The information provided therein was like a thread dangling tantalizingly from a spool. Jim knew that all it would take was one good pull and the entire bobbin Ellison believed Alize had so carefully wound would unravel.

Jim made a few phone calls. His last call was to the Medical Examiner’s office, where he spoke briefly, but urgently with Dan Wolfe. Then he got up from his desk, grabbed his coat and headed rapidly out the door.

******

Four more days. Just four more days and Sandburg will be back and I’ll stop feeling so... alone. And if there’d been a time when even the hint of any such sentiment would have sent him reeling, he had no longer had such a machismo reaction. He was beyond that now. Sometimes his senses flared suddenly and he felt like he was going down that slippery slope of lost control, into the valley filled with the shame and the fear of those terrible months before Sandburg arrived with both enlightenment about his condition and friendship.

Jim hung up his jacket, placed his keys on the hook by the door and just stood still, looking around the loft at the tree and the various decorations that now seemed to subtly mock him. Jim tried to shake off the uncomfortable thoughts and feelings. After all, it had been an interesting day, that had brought him one step closer to knowing who had most likely murdered Andrew McNair.

He should have felt satisfied by the way the case was progressing. Lately, his life seemed to revolve around ‘should haves.’ Jim contemplated the irony of the situation. He should have felt content to come home to the sanctuary of the loft, blessedly clean and tranquil, sans Sandburg. There were no unusual science experiments disguised as food taking up space in his refrigerator. There were no unsightly piles of papers and books perched precariously on places that had spontaneously turned into shelves. There were no wet towels to contend with, and above all, there was no thing, no one, not even a Barbary Ape in sight that would require him to make responses to intrusive conversation. As much as Jim enjoyed his friendship with Blair under the same roof, it did not come without cost to his enjoyment of solitude and need to maintain an ordered life.

The solitary detective of old should have been happy with the prospect a few more days with the loft all to himself. That was the life Jim Ellison had before a week long favor of room and board to an almost virtual stranger had turned into a permanent living arrangement for someone he cared about.

Jim, the man, missed his adopted brother. Jim, the Sentinel, missed his Guide. Though not a cop, Blair could help solve a case with the best of them and oftentimes, his uncanny insight and amazing breadth of knowledge not only helped Jim use his unusual abilities more effectively, they produced key pieces of the puzzle needed to solve a perplexing crime.

Well, Jim just happened to have one of those perplexing crimes now – a two-year old one at that. He wished Sandburg was around to bounce ideas off of. Still, even without the anthropologist’s observations, his own intuition and perseverance had gotten him steps closer to finding out if Alize had murdered Andrew.

When Jim had taken off very late in the afternoon, he was a man on a mission. The detective had learned via one of his phone calls, that Neil Anderson’s body was still at the hospital morgue, having not yet been released to the funeral home. That was good news to Jim who, together with Simon, worked the system with lightning speed to obtain a court order for an autopsy.

Hours later, Ellison quickly shut down his computer, and made ready to head over to the hospital. But first, he had had an important side trip to make. Once in his vehicle, he’d hastily pulled out his cell phone and left a message for Joel to meet him at the residence of Paul and Elizabeth Gordon.

Having met the current Mrs. Anderson, Ellison had guessed that there had been no love lost between Neil Anderson’s children and Alize. Meanwhile, Taggart hoped that asking Elizabeth to accompany them to the hospital would not strain the reserved detective’s diplomatic skills.

It turned out that Jim’s intuitive guess regarding the state of things among the Andersons had proven true. Taggart and Ellison had spoken to Elizabeth, and right away gotten confirmation that the marriage between Alize and Neil had been opposed, and that there was an intense, mutual dislike between Alize and Neil’s children.

More importantly, when asked, Elizabeth had willingly accompanied the detectives down to the hospital morgue where Dan Wolfe was already standing by. Once there, Neil Anderson’s daughter grimly observed the serving of the court decree upon the hospital pathologist, thus permitting the Cascade Police Department’s Medical Examiner to easily obtain from the body, the necessary samples in order to conduct the medical tests capable of detecting arsenic. The mission had been accomplished. Dan Wolfe would conduct his tests and relay his conclusions to Jim the next day. There being nothing else left for Jim to do, he had headed home, closed the door behind him, and locked out the world. By the door was exactly where the weary Sentinel still was when he finally came out of his musings a full ten minutes later.

Jim finally moved away from the door and went into the kitchen to fix himself a sandwich and a bowl of soup for dinner. Eventually, the lonely Sentinel moved to the couch and kept one eye on the ballgame, and another pointlessly on the phone as if willing it to ring. He knew it wouldn’t – Sandburg had already told him that this was the day that he and a group of Naomi’s friends were going night skiing.

That night, long after the ball game had played out to an audience of one on the soundless TV, Jim climbed the stairs to his bedroom and lay down on the bed. Outside, the moon gave off a generous light that illuminated a swatch running from the window, across to the head of the bed. Jim watched with Sentinel eyes, the rain mixing with sleet as it fell sideways out of the sky, and the disquiet in his heart was soothed sufficient unto sleep.

Tuesday Early Afternoon

A shadow fell over Jim’s desk causing the engrossed detective to look up in surprise. He found Dan Wolfe looking down at him, a file in his hand and an inscrutable look on his Native American features. Ellison couldn’t help the frown that pulled at the corners of his mouth. Though the Medical Examiner most certainly had news pertaining to Jim’s investigation that he was eager to hear, the Sentinel was not happy to know that he’d not heard Dan’s approach at all. What the hell’s going on, here?

“Something wrong?” Dan asked solicitously.

“Nothing.” Twin ice blue eyes looked intently up at Dan. Jim leaned his tall, well-shaped frame back in his chair and waved his hand casually at the file in the examiner’s hand. “So... was I right?”

Now, something akin to admiration shone from Dan’s dark eyes, giving his face a rather approving look. “You were right, Ellison. The tests I ran indicated high enough levels of arsenic in the body to conclusively prove that Neil Anderson died of arsenic poisoning and not natural causes. Here are copies of the toxicology reports where you can read the tests and results for yourself.”

Alize’s haughty face came into view in Jim’s mind. Knowing that he had most likely correctly identified the dead man’s opportunistic wife as the murderer would have had him feeling elated under normal circumstances. But any feelings of professional glee he might have had were considerably tempered with the knowledge that this woman, whom Geoffrey McNair had loved to distraction, had also most likely murdered an innocent, helpless child.

Then there was the matter of Ellison’s years of experience in law enforcement, combined with what his gut feeling told him, versus his current lack of concrete proof that it was Alize who had administered the poison.

There were three places he needed to revisit in search for that proof. His brow furrowed in thought, the Sentinel sat still for a moment in quiet contemplation. Then he reached for the phone.

*******

Two hours later, an anxious and curious Geoffrey McNair arrived at the station and was escorted up to an interview room on the building’s seventh floor where he waited for Detective Ellison. He didn’t have to wait long. Within five minutes, the door opened, admitting the Detective whom he remembered as being tall and imposing – not to mention, possessing a quality that was unnamed and yet just a bit the wrong side of normal.

Jim spared McNair a nod and penetrating stare from his glacier-blue eyes, then he took a seat across the table from Geoffrey and began speaking. “I believe I know who killed your son, and I need your help to prove it.” Short and to the point, Geoffrey was taken by surprise. His face registered the shock of the news and then his eyes took on an eager glint.

“Who, Detective? Tell me the name of the sonovabitch who murdered Andrew!” he demanded coldly, every inch the former high-powered CEO.

Jim ignored the question and asked instead, “I need you to think very carefully. This is important. Did Alize at anytime have access to anything that Andrew and only Andrew would have eaten or drunk?”

McNair at first looked at Jim with an incredulous expression – right before a look of sheer anger came over his face. “You asked me to leave work, come across town in that god-awful traffic to ask me the same damn question you asked me before? I told you, Alize never met my son, or my wife for that matter!” he all but yelled.

“That’s not the question I asked you,” Jim replied in a cool, low voice. “I know something that concerns Alize that I’m not at liberty to divulge yet. But you have to trust me – it’s vital that I know if it’s possible that Alize could have poisoned your son. Now think, did she have access to Andrew’s food or drink?”

Silently, Jim watched the anger leech out of McNair’s face until the man lowered his head to his chest, almost as if he had fallen asleep. Jim continued to watch and wait – and was rewarded when McNair abruptly raised his head, a light dawning in his eyes, mingled with what looked like a healthy dose of grief and denial. “Oh my God! She wouldn’t?????She didn’t!” McNair looked helplessly at Jim before getting a grip on his emotions.

He began to speak slowly. “For a long time, Barbara and Andrew didn’t know that I had been having an affair. There came a time when I was finally ready to leave my family and marry Alize. I told Barbara and eventually, Barbara told Andrew. You can only imagine how hurt and angry Andrew was, but he was still an adolescent boy. You understand what I’m saying?”

Jim caught the ball. “Even though he was mad about what you were doing, there was some part of him that thought his dad must be a pretty cool guy if a world-famous supermodel like Alize Szabo wanted to be with him.”

McNair sighed. “Yes, that’s right. He was mad for a little while and then he started asking to meet her. I still couldn’t bring myself to introduce her to them, but things looked like they were going to turn out okay. Then Andrew got sick and I just couldn’t leave him – not like that.” He paused and his shoulders drooped with the weight of old guilt. “Alize asked me repeatedly to leave, but I just told her no.”

Jim cleared his throat and leaned forward. “This is all very interesting, Mr. McNair, but so far I’m not hearing what I need to know.”

“I’m getting to that,” McNair mumbled as he closed his eyes for a moment. “Andrew was still sick, but there was a time when he wasn’t getting any worse. He seemed to be holding his own. Alize was unhappy, and she was pressuring me. Finally, I told her that I would accompany her on a trip back to Hungary as a way to make her feel better about not being able to leave my family to marry her.”

Long used to hearing the seamier side of humanity, Jim still found Geoffrey McNair’s tale distasteful. Nevertheless, Jim carefully maintained a neutral expression as he listened. McNair continued, “Alize and I had a great time in Hungary. I admit, I just wasn’t thinking about Andrew on that trip. It wasn’t until we had landed back in the States when I realized that I hadn’t brought back a gift for him.”

His next words were steeped in the bitterness he had helped to fashion with his own hand. “Alize came to my rescue.” He shook his head in residual disbelief. “She handed me a box of Hungarian chocolates and told me they were for Andrew. She must have but I don’t understand – the box was wrapped. I took it from her with my own hands!”

“A box can be rewrapped,” Jim grimly noted. “Mr. McNair, how did Alize know that Andrew wouldn’t share that candy with other people?”

“She knew.  Oh, she knew all right.” The guilt in the grieving father’s voice was palpable and his eyes that stared out from his pale face were shadowed. “Barbara was always somewhat of a health food nut. She never ate sweets herself. After Andrew got sick, she became darn near fanatical about it. There was no junk food allowed, and God forbid, any candy in the house. There’s no doubt in my mind that after Andrew got sick, if she’d have seen him with a box of chocolates, she would have confiscated it immediately.”

Much to Mr. McNair’s astonishment, the reserved detective with the chiseled features sitting across from him abruptly stood up, thus signaling an end to the interview.

“Mr. McNair, thank you for coming in. You’ve been most helpful.”

“Wait! That’s it?” Mr. McNair quickly stood up. “Where are you going?”

The answer he received dumbfounded him. “To find a box of chocolates.”

Wednesday Morning

Standing in the middle of the perpetual shrine to the dead boy for the second time was no less disconcerting to Detectives Ellison and Taggart than the first time they’d been there. The abandoned high-tech toys, the untouched books, rumpled bed and scattered clothes in their untouched states, all served as standing monuments, giving mute testimony to the fact that they had once served a boy who’d once lived, but lived no more, save in the heart of his mother.

Jim wished that he had been able to search Andrew’s room the previous day, but due to the exceedingly inconsiderate actions of a group of thugs who had begun a string of incidents involving the beating and robbing of tourists down in the waterfront district, he’d been called away to investigate the crimes and interview the victims – two of whom were hospitalized in serious condition. The detective had taken the interruption of his plans in stride; after all, this was the nature of police work. His skills were needed elsewhere immediately and so he went and did what he had to do with his usual thoroughness and bulldog tenacity, knowing that if the box of chocolates was indeed there in Andrew’s room, it would be there the next morning as well.

When he’d arrived at work that morning, he’d gone in search of Joel to see if the quiet detective could make time to accompany him over to the McNair residence again. Joel had readily agreed, and despite the fact that Andrew’s mother had preserved her son’s room as if he’d never left, the portly detective had his doubts that they’d actually find the remnants of a two-year old box of possibly poisoned chocolates. He’d wisely kept his doubts to himself knowing that Jim had well-earned his reputation as the hard-ass detective with the extraordinary crime solve rate  – even if he did occasionally hear his fellow brothers-in-arms talking in hushed tones about certain “funny” aspects of this or that case that Jim and his odd little partner had managed to solve.

Now the detectives set about the task of looking for a half-eaten box of chocolates, with Barbara McNair looking on skeptically. Though neither one could recall seeing a box of candy in the closet, the first place they looked was in the same location Detective Taggart had found Andrew’s secret stash of Playboy magazines, just to be sure and thorough. As expected, the men came up empty. It was time to look elsewhere.

Though Joel had a corpulent frame, the big detective didn’t hesitate to stretch his bulk out upon the floor and begin his search by looking underneath Andrew’s bed with a flashlight. Busy with his task, the man didn’t see Jim standing still in the middle of the room with his eyes closed.

Jim stood calm and relaxed, just as Blair had taught him to do, before ratcheting up his senses. Ground yourself, Jim. Filter out all those smells and odors that aren’t chocolate. Concentrate on finding the smell, and not so much on guessing where you think a teen might have hidden a box of contraband candy. Jim heard the voice of his absent Guide as surely as if Blair were standing right next to him.

Okay, Chief, if this box is here, I‘m going to find it! Jim dialed up his sense of smell and began to inhale deeply through his nostrils. The Sentinel’s hypersensitive receptors sought out the various odor molecules traveling through the air. Immediately, his olfactory nerve endings were bombarded with a cornucopia of life smells, emanating from a variety of sources in the boy’s room. He began to turn ever so slowly to circle the room as he began to sift through the various layers of smell, cataloguing them, not stopping too long on any single one to reduce the chance of zoning out.

The aroma of residual cleaning chemicals, dry and acrid to Jim’s senses, permeated the drapes that had been dry cleaned and re-hung some five months ago. His nose wrinkled and Jim narrowly avoided sneezing as he continued to filter through the plethora of additional smells, ranging from that of clean and never worn clothes, to odors from Andrew’s pile of dirty, unwashed clothes in the dead boy’s huge, walk-in closet.

The aromas emanating from well-worn sneakers, as well as the rich smell of leather of never-worn shoes warred with the scent of old toys, objects made from plastics and metal, and... something else. Jim sniffed at the new smell wafting its way up his nasal passages and quickly found its source. The cop as well as the Sentinel in Jim grimaced at the smell that was coming from a very small stash of weed tucked away in the heel of a balled up old sock.

By now, Joel had given up his fruitless search of the underside of Andrew’s bed and was now taking curious notice of his partner’s actions, while simultaneously moving his efforts to a new area. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Joel looking his way. With a tilt of his head, he indicated for the large man to come over and have a look at what he‘d uncovered. Joel ambled over and cracked a slight grin at what Jim was pointing towards. The pot was another one of Andrew’s youthful indiscretions uncovered. Without words, Jim and Joel communicated their concurrence as to what should be done, thus Jim left the stash undisturbed as before.

Joel stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, looking for all the world like he was resigned to an unsuccessful outcome. But that was appearances only. Jim’s temporary partner could not have said why – he certainly didn’t know about Jim’s extraordinary sensory abilities, but he knew without consciously knowing that it wasn’t over until Jim said it was. Judging by the bloodhound look on Jim’s face, things were far from over. Joel quietly moved out from the closet doorframe to let the senior detective out past him.

Jim walked out, and once again, stood in the center of the room. Ellison no longer saw Joel, even though he walked right past the rotund man. The phantom voice Ellison heard, the face he saw belonged to another, in a different time, in a different place.

“Hey, Blair have you seen that Lotto ticket I bought last night?”

“Me?” Blair looked up from his book in surprise, his long curly hair framing his face like a halo. “No, man, where’d you leave it last?” he‘d asked innocently, blue eyes wide.

Jim looked around in mild frustration. “If I knew that, I’d know where I left it, and then I’d have it now, wouldn’t I?”

Jim kept looking, lifting papers, moving objects fruitlessly. “I looked everywhere for that ticket – I was gonna check the numbers in the paper.”

Blair shrugged. “I know one thing for sure, Jim.”

“What’s that, Chief?”

Blair’s wry grin preceded his next words, “Well, you didn’t look everywhere ‘cause you didn’t look in the place where it is.”

The incident with the misplaced ticket came unbidden to Jim’s mind. His offbeat roommate had been annoyingly, logically right.

Clearly then, he hadn’t looked in the place where the box of candy was, if it was there at all. He couldn’t say how he knew, but his own innate sixth sense told him it was. So where had he not looked? His gaze drifted around the room, and the crystalline, glacier blue eyes came to rest on an object hanging at eye-level, above Andrew’s bed. It was a vintage acoustic guitar, long ago separated from its strings. Jim stepped up close to the decoration, then closer still until he inhaled the scent of fine-grained spruce and rich mahogany mingling over a faint scent of something that smelled like??like cocoa butter and chocolate!

Jim immediately put on a pair of rubber gloves and gestured for Joel to bring over a plastic evidence bag. Then he reached up and put his hand as far as he could into the guitar’s sound hole – and pulled out a small box of Hungarian-made chocolates. The weight of the box instantly told Jim that some contents remained. Elated, the detective held the box aloft triumphantly.

Ellison was too relieved to note the almost comical expression on Joel’s face. Upon seeing Jim effortlessly pull the box out the guitar, the big man’s mouth gaped open as if overcome by the weight of his jaw. Joel quickly closed his mouth and rushed over with the bag. “I don’t believe you man, I just don’t believe it,” Joel’s voice trailed off. “You just walked right up to it like you knew it was there! How’d you know, Jim? How?”

Jim shrugged casually. “We looked everywhere but where it was. That’s all, Joel.”

*******

Hours later, a slightly harried Serena Chang from Cascade PD Forensics opened the door to the lab and called out to the detective pacing outside like some stalking beast. “Well?” Jim pressed with neither ceremony nor patience.

Serena put her hands in her white lab coat pockets and leaned wearily with her back against the wall. It was lucky for Jim that Serena actually liked him. She was a real professional who understood that sometimes, detectives just had to have the answers right away. When she was new and making her way up the promotional ranks at the police department, she’d had plenty of experience dealing with cops who were used to demanding answers in rude and overbearing ways. She’d quickly learned the fine art of effectively halting that kind of behavior in its tracks and she refused to take any crap from anyone.

“The remaining chocolates all tested positive for enough trace elements of arsenic to conclude that if all were consumed, there’d have been enough to kill or make a person seriously ill. I understand the victim in this case was an ill child with a defective heart. Out of the box of twenty-four candies, fourteen were missing. I presume your victim ate them.”

“I’m afraid so,” Jim grimly replied. “Could I get a copy of that report, Serena?”

“Of course. Be just a minute.” Serena went back into her office inside the lab and put the finishing touches to her report before making a copy and passing it off to the detective.

It was well after 6 pm, but Jim was certain that Simon would still be behind his desk working. Armed with all of the evidence that linked Alize to not one, but three murders, Jim immediately went up to see his boss to get the ball rolling on obtaining an arrest warrant for the serial killer.

******

Simon chewed the end of his cigar and remarked gruffly, “It’s all pretty circumstantial, Jim.”

“This woman has killed three times Simon, I know it. The evidence may be circumstantial, but it’s good enough for an arrest warrant and a conviction. Alize poisoned her first wealthy husband back in Hungary because she didn’t need him anymore for the ride up to international model superstar. She murdered a fourteen-year-old boy because she couldn’t get his rich father to leave his family and marry her. She poisoned her latest rich husband so she could have his money! Are we starting to see a pattern here, Sir?” Jim exclaimed passionately.

Simon looked up at Jim sharply, his warm brown eyes taking on a decidedly piercing appearance, dividing truth from B.S. “You’re rather personally spun up about this, aren’t you, Jim? What’s really going on here?”

Jim’s posture stiffened for a moment before he allowed his body to relax as he mentally conceded that Simon was right. Something was off, but he had no idea what. He’d had no weird dreams, no unexplained occurrences to serve as warnings of imminent disaster. He’d gotten the break he needed to solve the case, courtesy of his enhanced senses. He’d get his warrant for Alize’s arrest – he had enough evidence to convince a judge that there was probable cause to believe that the woman had murdered three people. On the personal side, he’d recently spoken to Blair and all was well. Besides, tomorrow was Christmas Eve and his young roommate would be back then.

Simon, perceiving a change in Jim, moved on without waiting for a response. “You’ll get your arrest warrant, Jim. Do you want to do this thing now or wait until the morning?”

Jim’s lips curved up slightly. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, Captain. I don’t know about you, but for once I’m glad I have better things to do than go out and try to snatch up Alize.”

“So you say, Jim.” This time it was Simon’s mouth that turned up in a slight grin. “What time did you say Sandburg would be back?”

“Five o’clock, Sir. Feel free to come by earlier.”

Simon nodded his head and lifted his coffee mug to his lips. “I’ll call the DA’s office right now and get things moving. You and Joel go and get your warrant, and I’ll see you and the kid tomorrow.”

Jim was out of the office before Simon’s mug touched the desk again.

******

The arrest of Alize Szabo McNair Anderson was accomplished with the former model indulging in all of the dramatic display of a wronged celebrity diva, complete with demands for her lawyer and a stinging slap to Jim’s face. Joel looked on with a look of pure disgust on his full face.

“You incompetent fools!” Alize snarled as her painted red lips bared her super-white teeth. “I’ll have your badges for false arrest!”

Jim never batted an eye as he coolly added an assault charge to the list of offenses before cinching the handcuffs on her and reading her her rights. Then the detectives handed the perpetually manicured and coiffed woman off to the two uniformed officers who had met them at the residence.

Ellison stood still a minute in the wake of her departure, rubbing his face gently where red marks remained from Alize’s handprint.

“You okay, Jim?” Taggart asked.

The other turned ice-blue eyes on Joel. A member of his tribe had been ruthlessly cut down, a young, defenseless boy. Now his death would be avenged. “I’m fine, Joel. Just fine.”

*******

Simon Banks paced the small interior of interrogation room number six while waiting for Jim and his number one murder suspect to arrive from booking. For some hours now, he’d wanted nothing more than to get the sorry affair over with so he could go home, eat, and fall into a dreamless sleep. A hopeful look crossed his dark face when, moments later, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, one of which was the distinct sound of high-heels clicking on the wood floor.

The door swung open and a burly booking officer, with the suspect in tow, entered the room, followed by Detective Ellison and a no-nonsense looking middle-aged woman. Her crisp gray suit spoke clearly of her status as a ‘high-priced lawyer’ and the Major Crime captain couldn’t resist wondering at the speed in which Alize must have lawyered up.

“Nice of you all to join the party,” Simon said as he eyed the suspect with a great deal of curiosity.

“We won’t be staying long, Captain… uh…” the expensive-looking lawyer fished for the name.

“Banks,” Simon smoothly supplied. “And you are?”

“I’m Maxine Driver, and I’ll be representing Mrs. Anderson. Why don’t you start by telling me what this is about so I can get onto the business of arranging bail for my client.”

“Let’s start by talking about how your client murdered a 14-year-old  boy,” Jim replied harshly.

Before Maxine Driver could respond, the door to the interrogation room opened and the large frame of Joel Taggart appeared in the opening. Joel firmly beckoned Jim to step outside. Something was up. Jim respected the other detective and knew that Joel would not come looking for him in the middle of an interrogation unless it was an urgent matter. He had no idea what it was, but he swallowed his natural urge to snap an impatient response in his eagerness to get back in the room.

The big man was clearly excited about something. His brown eyes were sparkling and he couldn’t quite suppress the urge to break out in a wide grin. “Santa may be a day or two earlier, Ellison, ‘cause he just delivered a gift-wrapped present with your name on it!”

Puzzled, Jim frowned. “What are you talking about, Joel?”

“You are not gonna believe this, but I’m talking about an eye-witness – the person who supplied Alize with the arsenic!”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Solemnity settled upon Taggart. “No way. Would I kid you about something like that?

“Tell me,” Jim responded.

“One hour ago, there was a huge bust by Narcotics. They had a sting operation that went down, involving some major sellers and distributors of cocaine. One of the fish that got caught in the net was a small-time distributor by the name of Harvey Steiner. Turns out Harvey liked to sample the goods from time to time and developed his own little habit.” Joel shook his head at the stupidity of it all before continuing.

“According to Detectives Schmall and Bruner, Steiner started babbling right away about making a deal in consideration for some info he had on the death of a person he recently heard about on the radio. Now here’s the good part, Jim – up until a month ago, Steiner was employed at HealthTech Pharmaceuticals as a chemist. He met Alize one of the few times she was there. He didn’t know why, but every time she’d come there, she’d behave particularly friendly towards him. It got to the point where one day she was ‘lending’ him money. In actuality, she was working up to the day when she asked him to obtain some arsenic for her. The son of a bitch stole arsenic and gave it to Alize so she could poison her husband!”

An eyewitness – and one who couldn’t possibly know what Mr. Anderson had died of unless what he’d said was true. The case was no longer built purely on circumstantial evidence. It didn’t get better than that. Jim clapped Joel on the back in congratulations. “I’ll be damned,” Ellison responded in an appreciative tone, “there really is a Santa Claus!”

Three and half hours later, in the presence of the DA and her attorney, Alize confessed to the murder of her husband, Neil Anderson, but refused to discuss either her first husband’s murder back in Hungary, or that of Andrew McNair.

Simon silently breathed a satisfied sigh at knowing that Alize was guaranteed to go down for at least one of the murders. Jim, on the other hand, couldn’t help but fume knowing that there was still a chance that after a trial, Alize might escape responsibility for the killing of young Andrew.

“You and Joel did everything that could be done, Jim.” Simon voiced conciliatory words as if he’d read his detective’s mind. “She’s going in a cage for a long time and God willing, she’ll never hurt another person as long as she lives.”

Jim nodded at the truth of his boss’s words. He and Joel had solved the case, and Alize was almost assuredly going away for murder. Mentally, Jim acknowledged Blair’s part in bringing about that outcome. Ever since Jim had met Sandburg, he had, with great patience and unbridled enthusiasm, taught Jim the skills necessary to harness his incredible talent to aid him in performing his job. The younger man had given him both the will and the courage to embrace his gifts. His deeply ingrained need for justice temporarily satisfied, Jim wished Joel a Merry Christmas and then bade him and Simon good-bye before heading home at last to start his holiday break.

That night, Jim slipped effortlessly into a deep sleep, but it was not a dreamless slumber. In the darkest heart of the night, the Sentinel dreamt of fire, ice, and a mournful howl of a wolf in pain.

When morning came, he recalled nothing of it.

Christmas Eve

Blair Sandburg steered his rented Expedition into the sparsely populated parking lot of Trucker Mike’s Diner and Rest Stop, located off the beaten path of I-90. Sandburg was just about halfway through Idaho, and with one state and only two and a half hours between his mid-morning farewell kiss for Naomi and a round of hearty hugs and handshakes from a most interesting collection of people he’d had the pleasure of spending two weeks with, he was ready for some coffee and food. He’d driven out of Montana with the memory of those good times fresh in his mind and yet, the overwhelming desire and thought utmost on his mind was getting back home to return to his Sentinel’s side as he needed and had promised to do.

The building that housed Trucker Mike’s Diner was an old, run down-looking structure that stood in mute testimony to a bygone era of better days. Since the late fifties, it had provided cheap, greasy food, and an arcade room that now boasted rows of video poker machines. For those rough and ready old-time truckers in the know, there was a backroom containing a bed and a washstand – and if money happened to exchange hands between some of the more hard up waitresses and a horny trucker or two, that was their business. An ancient jukebox was currently belting out the latest tunes from the 1970’s.

The young man hurried inside. Blair hated being cold, and even with his sturdiest winter coat on, the chill outside winter air was an uncomfortable shock to him after having been cocooned in the warmth of the Expedition.

He barely noticed his surroundings as he a made a beeline for the nearest wooden booth with its discolored and cracked vinyl-covered seats. Sandburg kept his coat on, but took off his hat and gloves. Then the young man began rubbing his chilled hands together and looking longingly around for a waitress bearing a pot of coffee.

Almost immediately, his curiosity got the better of him, and soon the young anthropologist was looking around in amused interest at the seamless blend of relics of the past and the group of tough-looking, loud swearing, blue jean wearing, beer-bellied men – apparent representatives of trucker subculture. Sandburg correctly surmised that Trucker Mike’s Diner hadn’t changed much over the last forty-some odd years it had been in business. It was part tourist trap, part keeper of time and days gone by, either way, there was something about the place that made the police observer glad that he had chosen to tie his long, curly hair back into a discreet pony tail.

A too-thin waitress with a red beehive hairdo suddenly appeared at his booth, blocking his view of the group of burly truckers gathered at the opposite side of the room. “Can I get you a cup of coffee, sweetheart?” she asked while eyeing Blair with an appreciative eye.

Sandburg gave a friendly smile. “Yes, and leave the pot, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem, hon.” She smacked her gum noisily as she set the coffeepot down. The group of men congregating across the room erupted suddenly in raucous laughter. At the sound, the waitress glanced around sharply, a worried frown crossing her care-worn face.

Blair tried to peer around the waitress to see just what had disturbed her so. “Is everything okay?”

Startled, the woman looked into the widest, bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Those are honest eyes that need to stay far away from that rowdy crowd of truckers gettin’ shit faced just as much as that down-on-her-luck pregnant gal over there now should have.

For the most part, Margie Henderson knew the men gathered across the diner. There were two or three she didn’t recognize. Most were simple truckers who played hard, but worked harder. Occasionally, they could get rowdy and every once in a while, a bad element or two could make serious trouble. Margie had worked there long enough to know that this particular group of men had no families to speak of and had driven as far as they were going until after Christmas. Too much beer, too little sex, too many rowdy personalities – it meant trouble, that much Margie knew. “Everything’s fine.” The reply was curt and to the point. Margie whirled around and walked off, the sound of her gum trailing after her departing form.

Blair took a sip of his coffee and let the strong, hot beverage warm him from the inside out. He was just about to take a second sip when he heard it – a soft, feminine cry of distress followed by rough laughter coming from amidst the wall of flannel shirts and ball caps. He grew concerned. Then he distinctly heard the sound of a tremulous voice saying, “Please just let go of me, I??? I don’t need help with my car.”

A rough whiskey-voice steeped in lechery called out: “Baby, we’ll all be glad to take a look under that hood, if you let us take a look under that skirt of yours!” Crude laughter broke out again.

The wall of flannel shirts moved and gave way, opening up for Blair to get a brief glimpse at the source of the amusement in the center of the crowd of truckers. The open, friendly expression on Blair’s face disappeared completely, only to be replaced by one of growing outrage at what he saw. As if on autopilot, the young man rose to his feet and began walking over to the crowd. There was no help for it. He was no longer thinking about the many ways his face could get rearranged in the course of his untimely interference. Squaring his shoulders, Blair took a deep breath and plunged into the circle – and into what he hoped was not his inevitable doom.

*******

Jim’s internal clock had gotten him out of bed early in the morning. He had no memory of the strange dream he’d had last night. As a result, he felt well rested and light in spirit due to his Guide’s imminent return. He had most of the day to kill since Sandburg wasn’t expected home until five pm. During those hours he’d take on his list of holiday errands he needed to accomplish as part of the Christmas plans he’d made with Blair and Simon.

After a quick shower and shave, Jim dressed warmly and consumed a quick breakfast of cereal and coffee. Now he was ready to head out to take care of the first order of business – picking up the rather expensive organic turkey he’d specially ordered from the nearby specialty store, Cascade Gourmet. He had split all the expenses for the food with his roommate, except for that one – he’d insisted on paying for the turkey by himself because his sensitive pallet could taste the difference between an organically raised bird and one that was not.

From Cascade Gourmet he needed to stop by their favorite bakery and deli and pick up a couple of other food items he’d specially ordered. Jim was a decent cook, but he knew and respected the limits of his culinary skills. Once his secondary errands were done, Jim headed back to the loft, eager to begin the task of cleaning, seasoning, and putting the bird in the oven. In addition to the bird, he’d purchased a medium-size roast to cook for the actual Christmas Eve meal, and that too, he was eager to begin preparing.

Jim steered his SUV into an open parking space in front of the loft. Once parked, he gathered up his purchases and stepped outside. The Sentinel breathed deeply of the clean but bitterly cold air. Winter in Cascade, Washington was always a miserable affair, but at the moment – not to Jim. To Jim, the cold, cold biting air was perfect Christmas weather, and better yet, just right for a Guide driving home to his Sentinel. He looked up at the gray, snowless sky and thought, He’ll make good time in this weather. Content, Jim dared to hum a Christmas tune under his breath as he made his way inside the building.

******

Blair said a prayer to all the gods he knew as well as the ones he didn’t as he shoved his way through the wall of flesh and flannel, and began yelling in the most pissed-off sounding voice he could muster. He knew full well his immediate, continued state of good health depended on a convincing act. “Damn it, Sis!” he yelled in his best imitation of a pissed-off brother. “I told you to change the fuel pump on that car, but nooo... you just couldn’t listen, could you?” Blair looked neither to the left nor to the right but walked right up to the object of his rescue – and nearly choked with shock and genuine anger.

The woman at the center of group of truckers was clearly distressed. Wide frightened green eyes stared out from a tear-streaked face, half hidden by a mane of long, brunette hair that had come loose from the confines of a ponytail. The beleaguered woman wore a shabby brown coat that didn’t quite go down to her knees. She was desperately clutching the edges of her skirt close to her body to prevent one lecherous trucker in particular from lifting it up. She was clearly having a difficult time doing so; the prime reason for that also provided the greatest, most offensive shock to her would-be-rescuer’s sensibilities: the woman’s belly was enormous – greatly swollen from obviously late-stage pregnancy. She looked to Blair as if she could give birth any day. Sandburg’s rage stamped out any traces of initial fear.

The young grad student hastily grabbed the woman by the arm and proceeded to drag her out, praying desperately that she would have the presence of mind to play along. Whether from sheer fright or relief, the woman said nothing and she allowed herself to be manhandled out from the center of the harassing truckers. The truckers too, seem to have been left speechless by the sudden furiousness of the young stranger’s entrance and subsequent actions. Blair continued to berate his charge loudly as the two determinedly headed for the door. The two reached the diner’s doors and pushed them open urgently. A second later, the cold outside air rushed into the diner with the sounds of boisterous laughter and obscene catcalling drifting out on the wave of escaping warm air.

Please don’t follow us, please don’t follow us. Blair fervently repeated the mantra as he and the woman continued to close the gap between them and the rented SUV.

In his haste to make good their escape, Blair had not even stopped to collect his hat. Thus the warm Fargo hat, along with the heavy-knit gloves, remained behind as farewell tokens to Trucker Mike’s Diner and Truck Stop. Sandburg could not have cared less about his abandoned hat and gloves at that moment. His heart was still beating at triple time as he unlocked the doors to the Expedition and shouted for the crying, pregnant woman to get in on the passenger side. Much to Blair’s relief, the woman did so as she settled her small body with the cumbersome belly into the front seat.

Blair revved the engine of the SUV, pulled out of the parking lot, and out towards the exit ramp that would take him back out to the highway. Having successfully made their escape, Sandburg’s wildly beating heart began to calm as the waning adrenalin rush slowly leeched the energy from his body. He drove for a full five minutes in silence, at least as much as the sound of the woman’s soft weeping allowed. Blair worried his lip as he glanced at her from time to time with eyes full of sympathy and compassion. The grad student continued to drive on, determined to put as much distance between them and the truckers  as possible.

Finally, spying a safe place to pull over, Blair did so and cut the SUV’s motor. Taking a deep breath, he turned a concerned face towards his unexpected companion. The woman’s stressed, pale face and swollen green eyes could not hide the fact that she was a mature, attractive woman. Blair guessed her age to be somewhere in her mid-thirties and he wondered if this was to be her first child.

What did one say to an upset, very pregnant woman who had just barely escaped the clutches of a group of cruel men, only to end up sitting next to another total stranger as a passenger in said stranger’s vehicle? Almost without thought, the words quickly propelled themselves from out of Blair’s mouth. “You’re safe now. Miss... Mrs...” Blair quickly corrected himself when he spied the plain gold wedding band on the mother-to-be’s left hand.

By now the slow, steady stream of tears had ceased to leak from the woman’s eyes. Still, Blair’s passenger only managed to turn her gaze, frightened and leery-looking, onto Blair, assessing him – appearing for all the world as if she were ready to leap from the car if necessary. As if he’d read her mind, Sandburg continued on in a friendly, soothing manner. “My name is Blair Sandburg and I work part-time as an observer for the Cascade Police Department. I’m also a graduate student at Rainier University working on my Doctorate degree. I’m sorry to have met you under these circumstances, but I promise you, nothing bad is going to happen to you here.” Blair finished his little speech by extending his hand out for her to shake.

After a moment of silent regard, the woman took a deep, cleansing breath and took the proffered hand in hers, giving it a gentle shake. “My name is Emily Kojack. Thank you for what you did back there... If you hadn’t come along when you did...” Emily shuddered and looked away. Blair was sure that when she next raised her head, he would see that the tears had returned to her eyes. He was wrong. When the green eyes looked up at him once more, they had fire and ice in them. “My car broke down and I asked for help... that’s all,” she continued. “They acted worse than a pack of wild animals, grabbing me with their filthy hands, saying crude things. I tried to walk away, but they wouldn’t let me. Bastards!” She spat out the last word angrily, still bitterly frightened by the disturbing incident.

“I’m so sorry about what you went through,” Blair said softly. Having just spent two wonderful weeks with the mother who had so devotedly raised him on her own, Blair could easily envision a much younger Naomi in Emily’s place, a lone flower child, pregnant with him, stranded without a ride and at the non-existent mercy of cruel strangers. “I just couldn’t believe that those men would treat any woman that way, much less a pregnant one.” The contempt in Blair’s voice rang through loud and clear and oddly enough, the tone served to soothe the pregnant woman’s stressed emotions more than Blair‘s friendly words had.

Suddenly there were more important things to focus on – like how she was going to get back to Cascade now that she was broke and without a car, much less the means to fix it. Then she remembered that the younger man with the beautiful, curly hair and honest, wide blue eyes had said he worked and studied in Cascade. Surely he wouldn’t mind if she rode the rest of the way with him? Her beloved husband, Ed, knew nothing about her traveling misfortunes and she’d had no means to contact him. All she knew for certain was that he was expecting her home in less than ten hours, and if she failed to show up, he would become greatly worried about her and their unborn baby. We’ve lost so much already....

“Blair,” Emily said slowly, “I don’t have any money now and I don’t have any at home right now either, but I swear to you, if you let me ride back with you to Cascade, I’ll figure out a way to pay you back.”

Abhorred at the idea of taking money from his charge, Sandburg shook his head vehemently, and then pushed the chestnut curls back from his face. “It’s okay, Emily. I’m more than glad to give you a ride home.” Blair gave a wry grin. “Besides, when it comes down to having company, with you, it’s two for the price of one, and I’m always down for company on a long trip.”

For the first time, Emily laughed – a genuine light-hearted sound that indicated she’d fully accepted the safety the young man with the long, curly hair and startling blue eyes had freely offered. A comfortable silence settled gently on them as Sandburg steered the rental vehicle down the beautiful, scenic mountain road that stretched before them while the car’s motion gently lulled the tired pregnant woman to sleep.

*******

Blair was fiddling with the radio station dial, trying vainly to get a station that would not fade in and out. Montana and the early morning farewell to Naomi were already a distant memory for the young man. Not very long ago, the two travelers had traversed Idaho into Washington State. There was still nearly 300 miles left until they reached Cascade, but Blair was confident that he’d arrive back home fairly close to 5 pm.

It was nearing 12:30 pm and it seemed to him that the sky was looking more and more like an impending snowfall, despite the fact that the weather forecasters had all predicted dry, clear, but cold weather. Not that he was worried about a little snow, should it come. His SUV came equipped with four-wheel drive and he was a good driver. He really had no concerns about safety. Instead, his overwhelming thoughts were of quickly dropping off Emily to her home and getting back to the loft and his best friend so that they could enjoy Christmas Eve together as he’d promised they would.

Sandburg glanced over at Emily. She was still sound asleep and he noted with satisfaction how the peaceful look on her face bore testimony to her relaxed state. His stomach rumbled as the hunger pains he had managed to soothe with a granola bar about an hour ago reasserted themselves.

“Ah, perfect timing!” Blair exclaimed when at last he saw his passenger begin to stir from her slumber. Sleepy eyes opened and regarded him with a warm expression. Sandburg smiled. “I’m thinking the three of us could really use something to eat right now, and I don’t mean granola bars.”

Emily came fully awake then and struggled to sit up straight under the bulk of her pregnancy. Blair caught the look of dismay that crossed his companion’s face when he’d mentioned his intentions to stop at another roadside eatery. Naturally, the young man perceived the source of her disquiet and his next words were intended to reassure the tense woman. “We won’t stay and eat. We’ll just order up something quick and easy, and take it with us. Okay?”

“All right,” Emily replied rather sheepishly, and avoided looking into Blair’s earnest blue eyes in the process. Sandburg deftly steered the car into a parking space, close to the entrance of the little burger joint. He cut the engine and came around to assist his passenger down from the SUV.

The two travelers entered the greasy spoon and immediately, the aroma of cooking French fries and burgers on the grill set Blair’s mouth to watering. Though not his normal fare of choice, he was famished enough to scarf down whatever the heart attack special was. So intent was he on studying the menu that he barely noticed that Emily’s face was starting to turn a sickly shade of green – but still, he did notice. The young Anthropologist grimaced in sympathy as he watched Emily suddenly clap a hand over her mouth and run in the direction of the restrooms.

When it was his turn to order, Blair asked for a grilled chicken sandwich and fries for himself, and a garden salad and fruit smoothie for his pregnant charge. Initially he’d asked for the food to go, but suddenly the idea of forcing a nauseated, pregnant woman to ride in his rental vehicle with the stench of oily fries and a greasy burger permeating the air of the enclosed space, did not seem like a good idea. With a wry grin, he’d switched the order to ‘dining in’.

The food was ready in short order and the famished police observer took the tray burdened with its meals of dubious consumability and sat down at the nearest table. He was well on the way to having consumed half his food when Emily finally emerged from the restroom, looking better, but slightly embarrassed. Blair’s companion sat down heavily and stared disinterestedly at the food that he had selected for her. “Sorry about that,” Emily muttered, her face flushed with embarrassment.

“No apology’s necessary,” Blair replied sincerely. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine – and thank you for this.” Emily indicated the food with a wave of her hand. “I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

Blair just laughed. “This is nothing compared to the meal that Jim and I are going to fix for you and your husband once the baby comes.”

The pregnant woman looked up at her rescuer with interest, glad to have a conversation topic that would to turn the spotlight away from herself. “Who’s Jim?” she inquired.

The blue eyes sparkled with an inner joy. “Detective James Ellison. Jim for short. He’s my roommate, my best friend, and the best darn detective in the entire city of Cascade. Oh, and he’s also kind of like the big brother I didn’t have when I was growing up – you know – he’s a great guy but he can be an over-protective pain sometimes.” Emily smiled at her rescuer‘s pronouncement. There was no mistaking the genuine affection that accompanied that description of the relationship.

Minutes later, the two rose from the table. Emily dumped their trash while Blair ordered a cup of coffee to go. In short order, the two headed back to the SUV for the remainder of the long haul. For the next hour or so, Blair entertained his guest with tales of his travels to exotic places, the unusual people he’d met along the way, and his untraditional upbringing. The stranded woman found his voice soothing and she was intrigued by the cerulean eyes that shone with constant humor and good will. Indeed, those eyes were uncluttered windows to the bright, resilient soul within; a soul that had seen much and learned to embrace that which was good and unique in the world. And however bright those eyes shone when they spoke of adventures and remarkable acquaintances, those eyes never shone as brightly as when the topic was one Jim Ellison.

Blair chattered away about his position as a grad student and as Jim’s unofficial police partner. Then there was a natural lull in the conversation and Emily, curious, ventured forth a question: “So tell me, Blair. How is it that you came to live with Detective Ellison?”

Sandburg grinned, “Well, that’s a story! See, I was living in this really big warehouse. The rent was cheap, I had all that room.” He laughed softly. I thought I had it good – it was like the ultimate poor grad student’s bachelor pad, ya know?”

Emily grinned back. “I think I know what you mean. So, what happened?”

Sandburg’s mood turned serious at the memory that had never quite lost its power to horrify him in the wake of how close both he and Jim had come to being killed in the warehouse, and the subsequent loss of most of his personal belongings. Blair cleared his throat and pushed a loose curl back behind his ear. “There was an explosion and I lost nearly everything, including my life. I had no idea, but some people were operating a drug lab in the second story of the same warehouse I was living in.” He laughed grimly. “I guess they needed a better chemist.”

Not wanting to explain too much, he deliberately left out the fact that Jim had been there too, and it was only through the use of his enhanced senses that he’d acted quickly enough to spare them both from being killed or seriously injured. Sandburg visibly brightened then. “Every cloud has a silver lining they say and mine was that when my back was up against the wall, Jim was there. I needed a place to live and had almost nothing to my name, and he let me move in with him.”

Blair glanced over at his pregnant passenger and was startled to see a morose, stressed look on her face, as if something he’d said had recalled to mind some unhappy circumstance. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked, concerned.

A sigh escaped from Emily’s lips as she rubbed her stomach distractedly. “You didn’t say anything wrong, Blair. I just…” She paused and appeared to be arranging her thoughts. “Things are kind of hard right now for me and my husband, Ed. Ed is an elementary school science teacher – at least he was until last year when he was laid off from his job,” she clarified. There was bitterness seeping out around the edges of her tone. “We had just bought our first house six months before. Things were going so well back then, I had a little store in the mall – it was my first real business, you know.” Clearly upset, Emily stopped speaking.

“What happened?” Sandburg gently prodded while keeping his eyes on the road.

“The mall owners doubled the rent after my contract ran out. Business slowed to a crawl and I couldn’t pay the new amount. We ate through our savings after Ed’s unemployment ran out and he couldn‘t get another teaching position. Ed’s been working odd jobs and we’ve barely managed to hang on to our house.”

“This can’t be easy for you guys with a little one on the way.”

Emily’s face lit up, obviously from an inner joy. “It doesn’t matter. Ed and I tried so hard for the first eight years we were married to have a baby. We’d almost given up.” The woman sighed at the painful memory. “The specialists all said the only way I would be able to conceive would be by artificial means. Even with help, it took a long time for me to get pregnant. When we finally did, we were so ecstatic.” Emily stared out the window. “We lost two babies and after that????Well, I said to Ed, enough is enough. I can’t go through this again. We left the clinic and never went back. And now look at me. Surprise!” The joyous look returned to Emily’s face as she patted her belly.

“And look at you,” Blair echoed with a grin. “So may I ask how you came to be stuck in Idaho?”

“We had gotten word from the hospital that my mother had a massive stroke. I took the only car we had and practically flew up there. Unfortunately, my mother died before I could get there.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Blair said simply and sincerely. He had shaken his head upon hearing his passenger’s tale of woe. He wasn’t even surprised to feel the anger he’d felt at how badly the truckers had treated the pregnant woman rising in him once again. Sandburg gripped the wheel just a tad bit harder, pressed the accelerator a bit farther, and like the fading daylight, the car sped down the high mountain pass.

The Loft

He positively hated it whenever Jim did that. Captain Simon Banks stood outside the door of apartment 307 at 852 Prospect Street. His cigar was hanging from his mouth, his left hand balanced gift bags and a tray of food. In vain, the other hand was poised to strike the wooden door, which had sprung open without warning. His best detective stood in the doorway, grinning at the well-worn joke and looking nervous. Naturally, Simon knew that Jim, with his enhanced senses, had no problem discerning his presence at the door without him having to first knock. The pungent smell of his cigars was something that Ellison could easily detect even when he was still in the elevator down the hall. That didn’t mean he had to get used to feeling like a fool as he was left standing in front of the door whenever Jim chose to open it before he could knock.

Simon harrumphed grumpily and debated the merits of changing his plans from spending Christmas Eve with Ellison and Sandburg, to spending it in the pleasure of his own company.

Having read his boss’s dark look accurately, Jim skillfully took the decision out of Simon’s hands when he relieved him of both gift bags and the tray filled with gourmet finger foods, and put them away.

Jim hurried back to Simon’s side. “May I take your coat, Sir?”

Simon took off his London Fog trench coat and handed it over to Jim as he stood looking in admiration at the transformation that had taken place in the interior. He was impressed with just how tasteful and festive it was for a bachelor’s pad. Jim himself was casually dressed in slacks and a sweater.

“Something to drink, Sir?” Jim oversolicitously inquired.

Simon’s upper lip curled slightly up in amusement. His best detective didn’t just look nervous – he was nervous. This will never do, his conscience and good sense told him. He had no deSire anyway to spend an awkward Christmas Eve, making uncomfortable small talk with a man he both liked and respected. “Jim, can we dispense with the Sir bit? I’m just here to hang out with you guys and judging by the surprisingly tastefulness of the decor, I’m going to be celebrating the holiday with you and Sandburg in style. In other words,” he continued, “Simon will do just fine.”

Ellison looked relieved. Simon observed how Jim’s posture changed and he assumed a more relaxed air. “That’s fine with me... Simon.”

Simon proceeded to serve himself a drink and make himself at home on the couch while Jim went into the kitchen where he busied himself with food preparations. “So, speaking of Sandburg, I take it from the quiet around here that he’s not back yet?”

Jim shook his head. “He should be here, oh, in about an hour or so.”

“You talked to him?”

“No. When I called to touch base with him this morning, he’d already checked out of the lodge and so had Naomi. I tried his cell, but there’s just no getting a signal up there in the mountains.”

“He’ll be here soon enough, Jim. In the meantime, let’s just savor the tranquility while we can, shall we?” Simon’s warm, chocolate eyes sparkled with good humor, though he was only half-kidding.

Jim conceded the point. “Stay right there, Simon.” Jim turned and went up the stairs leading to his loft bedroom. A second later he started back down the stairs, this time with a chess set in his hands. “Care to be taken to school on this?” Ellison threw out the challenge to his boss, which Simon, interpreted as Jim’s desire to enjoy a few relaxing games before Blair arrived home.

Simon laughed incredulously at his host. “School’s in – and I’m the teacher.” He leaned back and a wide, toothy, white grin graced his face.

*******

Fate, which had been benignly idle far too long, stirred. Seeking to relieve her boredom, she set in motion that which would amuse her.

******

“Drop kick me, Jesus, through the Heavenly doors....” Billy “Scooter” Jackson was as tone deaf as the day he was born, but he never let that deficiency get in the way of howling loudly along to one of his all-time favorite country-western tunes currently blaring on his eight-track player. He hadn’t heard that one in a long time, and as the weary, long-haul driver steered his full-to-capacity gas tanker up the mountain, he cranked the song up along with the tanker cab’s heater.

Scooter was quite the happy trucker. He’d stockpiled his favorite brand of chew for the job, he had his favorite country music, he was warm and most of all, he didn’t have to listen to the constant nagging of his toothless wife, Gertrude. He wasn’t concerned about the snowstorm his CB buddies had warned him was brewing; he had time to reach his stop-over place before any significant snow started falling. So into his creature comforts was he that Scooter Jackson was oblivious to the initial innocuous mist of fine rock particles that had begun filtering down from above until the fine mist rapidly turned into a shower of rock and dirt pouring down on the tanker’s windshield. Because the music was blasting so loudly within the confines of the enclosed cab, Scooter felt rather than heard a deep rumbling. The startled trucker gripped the wheel tighter and looked nervously around, but saw nothing but the front of an approaching Ford Expedition heading towards him in the opposite lane.

Suddenly, small size rocks began to skitter across the other lane and into his. The rumbling grew steadier with malevolent intensity. Larger rocks came rolling down the high towering mountain walls; some rolled out past the approaching tanker, still others struck the sides and front as Scooter kept his foot on the accelerator of the big rig and fought the urge to dodge the tide of falling rocks. Forty-five seconds after the initial downpour of rock and dirt, a horrific volley of large boulders the size of elephants came tumbling down the mountain side, hurling death and destruction to anyone and anything in its path. Terrified, now Scooter was operating on pure instinct when he tried desperately to evade the crashing boulders without losing control and causing the tanker to fishtail and eventually jackknife.

The last vestiges of daylight fled the purple sky as the air became thick with swirling, choking clouds of dirt, rock particles, and other debris. The hapless trucker could hardly see in front of him now – not the approaching car, not the largest size boulder yet, that rolled with deadly, unerring accuracy towards the tanker. There was no time for pain, fear or panicked good-byes from Scooter when the boulder struck the cab. The enormous boulder plowed into the side of the cab with such force that it separated from the gas-filled tanker, rolled over it, crushing steel and metal until the blood, flesh, and bone of the human within meshed into a gruesome mixture that could not be separated easily.

The tanker, brutally severed from the cab, continued moving. Totally out of control, the rear of the tanker shuddered and swung around until, like a dangerous missile, it careened sideways across both lanes of traffic. Rocks of every size and shape continued to rain down, noisily crashing and tumbling in the road with horrific speed. The tanker’s independent journey came to a violent, final end when it flipped over some boulders and landed with such force on a particularly high-jutting one as to puncture a large hole straight through the metal hull. Exactly 90 seconds after first shower of dirt and rocks started falling, the ill-fated tanker with its several thousand gallons of fuel exploded in a brilliant, red-hot fireball of hell.

******

Earlier, when Billy “Scooter” Jackson began driving his rig up the mountain and unknowingly to his doom, Blair and his pregnant passenger were heading down the mountain. “Man, is this beautiful!” Blair said aloud for the second time since he’d started the trek down the elevated pass. His comment went unheard since Emily was leaning back in her seat, head tilted against the door, snoozing again. Blair smiled and went back to enjoying the spectacular sunset.

Later, the sun had set completely and the moonlit, nighttime view from the mountain pass was magnificent. On one side rose the high-towering rocky walls and on the other, steep embankments and in some areas, sheer cliffs lined the drive. Signs periodically placed along the way warned of the potential for rockslides, but the young anthropologist was not concerned; he saw only nature’s creative beauty as evergreens and other trees jutted out and over huge boulders like an abstract sculpture. Even with his fear of heights, and knowing that nothing more than a fragile guardrail separated him from some of the steepest ravines he’d ever seen, he’d still admired the fantastic, expansive view.

Blair saw the approaching tanker truck and mentally prepared for the two vehicles to pass each other. His mind automatically noted it, simultaneously tracking the lumbering tanker with his eyes while thinking of something else in the typical way drivers process information.

There was no warning of the horror that was about to engulf them. No unexplained psychic feeling of impending doom to give notice that the perfect union of man-made highway and nature’s majestic beauty was about to morph into a nightmare scene of fire, death and destruction. Suddenly, a fine spray of dirt and pebbles began to rain down upon the Expedition’s windshield and an eerie rumbling noise erupted, spread out and got louder. “What the heck?” Startled, Blair leaned over the steering wheel and looked up and to the side. Then his gaze snapped forward and what he saw made his face drain of all color and his heartbeat race wildly with surprise, shock and horror as he desperately began pumping the brakes. In seconds, huge quantities of rocks of all size and shape were rolling, sliding, crashing down the mountainside with amazing speed. Enormous boulders were hurled through the air, landing with pavement-cracking force, carving jagged craters deep into the road.

Emily, who had been propelled violently out of her nap, let out a mindless, high-pitched scream of pure terror. Blair didn’t look at her – his eyes were riveted on the approaching tanker, which was now less than 30 yards away. His mind screamed, Oh my God! in soundless horror at the sight unfolding before him. He’d had only one moment to glimpse the terrified face of the man behind the wheel before a gigantic boulder slammed into the side of the cab, sheering it from the tanker and flattening it into a pancake of human gore and metal. Bereft of the cab’s control, the tanker kept moving like a chicken whose head had been severed from its body. The deadly missile was now turning sideways and closing the gap between it and the Expedition.

Twenty-five yards.

For Blair, time seemed to momentarily hang in suspension before the world began to slow down and move in silent, slow motion.

Twenty yards.

Sandburg, eyes impossibly wide with terror, watched the kaleidoscope of colors, sound, and movement until the picture coalesced into the tanker flipping in the air and exploding upon impact upon a sharp boulder. Red-hot heat saturated with the sickening smell of burning gasoline spread out and upward in an oppressive wave. Smoke and fire turned the area into a sweltering, deadly inferno, and the vision of it was all Blair could see, taste and smell.

Less than twenty yards and the burning tanker was still closing in. There was no time to stop, no chance that the flames would die out before the SUV reached them. Blair realized with a certainty that he and Emily would be engulfed in the flames and be burned alive, stripped of their charred flesh until nothing remained but smoking ashes. Blair’s hands looked bloodless and white as he unconsciously held the wheel with a death grip. Two choices remained: either leave the road or drive into the fire. Sandburg, running purely on instinct wrenched the wheel towards the left and closed his eyes tightly as the car tore through what remained of the broken guardrail.

The police observer barely registered Emily Kojack’s panicked screams as the Expedition became airborne before beginning its wild, bone-crushing descent down the steep embankment. Glass shattered, the roof caved in as parts flew off the vehicle and the metal structure compacted, squeezing and cutting the two helpless occupants inside. The SUV rolled over and would keep rolling over in a terrifying journey before it would finally come to a stop some 85 feet below. Searing pain ripped through Blair’s torn and bruised body, and in his terror, he cried aloud for the one thing in his entire life that had ever meant unconditional safety, warmth, and steadfast friendship before he was flung headlong into darkness: Jimmmmm!

*******

When the mangled pile of steel and metal came at last to rest under a growth of bushes, the two people within were unconscious, still strapped to their seats and hanging upside down, blood dripping down from various places. Many feet above Blair and Emily, the decapitated tanker had at last come to a stop. It was still ablaze, though the flames were not as spectacularly high as before. It was a macabre scene.  Boulders were strewn across the broken highway, looking for all the world like toy marbles, abandoned by giants. The enormous rocks, uprooted trees, and loose dirt blocked the road from both sides. Somewhere amongst the carnage, Scooter’s shattered cab served as a temporary tomb for his crushed remains. For Blair and Emily, there was nothing to mark their passage along the doomed route. There was no sign that an SUV carrying a bright young grad student and a pregnant woman had ever been there at all.

*******

“Checkmate!” Simon sneered in good-hearted triumph while Ellison groaned aloud in mock despair.

“This calls for another beer. How ‘bout you, Simon?”

“Sure, and while you’re at it, bring one of those trays of hors d’oeuvres over here – I’m starving to death waiting for your roommate to show up.” Simon’s voice was light, but it didn’t quite mask his real impatience for Sandburg to arrive home so they could eat. The Major Crime boss hadn’t eaten all day and his stomach was busy reminding him of that fact.

The Sentinel gladly carried over two beers and a tray of meat and cheese; after all, he was a man with an appetite too. Then Jim looked at the clock and noted that Blair was an hour past due. “He’ll be here, Simon. He gave his word and I have absolute assurance in that – besides, I know Blair left the Montana resort this morning exactly as he’d said he would.”

*******

The sounds of someone moaning in pain brought Blair back to consciousness. It was a while before his confused mind registered that the someone was him, and that he was squashed uncomfortably, hanging upside down. Next to him, he saw Emily. She too was held in place by the belt across her lap, but her upper body lay twisted and loose due to the fact that she hadn’t worn the shoulder strap, claiming it was too uncomfortable to wear in her condition. Blood was dripping out of her mouth, splashing fat droplets on the ground below.

“Emily! Oh God, Emily!” Blair wheezed out as he tried with ever increasing panic to find the seat buckle and undo it. The image of the exploding tanker was etched into his mind, and he was very near hysteria as he pictured the Expedition doing the same. A seedling of rationality took hold when he realized he could smell no gasoline coming from their crushed SUV. He calmed himself and forced his hand to resume its task of undoing the seatbelt.

When at last he did, he braced himself for his body to fall unsupported onto what was left of the roof of the car. The young man hissed in pain when he thumped to the bottom and an intense pain flared up his right hip down to his foot. Rich, red blood was gushing out from a deep laceration in his calf and the muscle was starting to spasm painfully. A sick feeling hit the pit of his stomach, and he clamped down tight to keep from vomiting all over himself in the enclosed space.

Emily looked bad, and he knew he had to get her down and see to her as quickly as possible. He also had enough experience with first aid to know that before he could really help the woman, he had to stop the bleeding in his leg before he went into shock and lost consciousness. Desperate to find something to serve as a bandage, he removed his outer flannel shirt and began to bind it tightly around the gaping wound. He groaned aloud with the agony the movement cost him. Though he still had on a turtleneck shirt over his long johns, he was cold and the temperature was dropping drastically. Blair desperately hoped that he would be able to find his coat or at least his duffel bag with his dirty clothes.

The driver’s side door was crushed in and incapable of being opened. He needed to find another way out and it looked like there was a wide enough gap torn near the rear gate to allow him to squeeze by. Sandburg felt like an old man as he painfully crawled over and around the twisted car parts to reach what had been the back of the vehicle. Blair nearly wept aloud with relief when he spied his coat in the back as he crawled. The coat was crumpled up, torn and dirty, but he didn’t care in the least. It was something warm to put on, and it comforted him as he made his way outside to the front passenger door.

Emily’s door was completely mangled into a useless hunk of twisted scrap metal hanging precariously from the Expedition’s severely bent frame. Inside the car, Emily began to stir and whimper softly as Blair struggled to unhook her belt and ease the obviously badly injured woman to the ground. “Easy. I got you.” Blair’s mind was wracked with fear, but he tried to project comfort and confidence as he gently assessed her injuries as best he could. His heart despaired at the damage he saw and he didn’t notice that her dress was wet. Suddenly, terrorized green eyes popped open and Emily let loose a volley of red blood from her mouth as she lay trembling outside of the twisted heap of wreckage. Blair wiped the blood away from her lips and quickly shook out of the coat he had just put on, placing it over the shivering woman. “Emily, I need to try and find my cell phone and call for help.” The fact that the chances of getting a signal out here were slim to none, he kept to himself.

Emily’s head was moving from side to side as she clutched her stomach in pain. Her wide eyes spoke eloquently of her panic and desperation for she realized what was happening: she was going into labor and she was fast weakening. “No...” she moaned in a voice full of anguish at the thought that she might perish and very well take her unborn child with her. “Blair,” she gasped out, “the baby’s coming. No...” She moaned again, clutching Blair’s hand desperately.

It was too much! Too much! Emily was seriously injured and Blair had no idea how to help her. Now she was going into labor – a feat that could very well seal her fate as well as the child’s. Naturally, Blair knew the rudimentaries of how to deliver a baby, but that knowledge was based on TV shows and the rare birthing documentaries he’d watched occasionally. To actually have to deliver a baby was something else entirely. Not even the time when he witnessed a live birth at the age of ten when a woman at the commune gave birth openly in a ‘birthing circle’ could prepare him for what he alone must do now.

Blair, who’d had plenty of experience undressing the female form, blushed furiously at the task of removing a married woman’s underwear and positioning her lower limbs for access to her opening. The young man had to do everything for her for Emily did not have the strength to do it herself. She was too badly injured and getting ever weaker as she fought to both hold on to her life, and bring the one she had inside her into the world.

The sickening realization hit Blair like a freight train: If Emily, in her weakened state, died before she could push the infant out, he would be faced with a gruesome and morally reprehensible choice: would he cut the child out of Emily’s dead body in a grisly operation for which he was wholly untrained to perform, or would he do nothing, conceding defeat, thus allowing the child to perish with its mother? Sandburg knew how much that baby meant to Emily. He knew how much she loved the baby’s father and how the couple had struggled emotionally and financially to conceive the child. If Emily died, then the baby would be all that Emily’s husband, Ed, had left. Blair closed his eyes in despair. He knew what he must do, but he wondered, could he do it? Blair shoved the thought aside as he vowed to do everything in his power to keep both mother and baby alive. Already he could see the top of the baby’s head just beginning to crown, and a fresh wave of fear and doubt nearly overwhelmed him.

Too weak to scream, Emily thrashed feebly and panted with shallow breaths. Her eyes held a glazed far-away look in them and Blair knew if he didn’t do something fast, she wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer through the ever-increasing agony of both her injuries and the labor. “Emily!” Blair yelled. He urgently put his face close to hers for a minute and found himself staring into eyes that were deep wells of endless suffering. “Emily, stay with me! You gotta do this, your baby needs you to push it into the world.”

Not much time had passed, but now the contractions were rolling in like powerful, all-consuming waves of increasing intensity. It was during those times that the unmoving Emily became animated, moaning, eyes rolling like some crazed animal in pain. Blair babbled out nonsensical words of comfort before he resumed checking the baby’s progress. Now the young grad student could see more of the baby’s head. “Emily, I see the baby’s head! Push!” The baby was coming fast, and Blair knew he’d need something to clean and wrap it in to keep it from freezing to death. Sandburg looked wildly about for Emily’s coat, which she had taken off inside the warm car. There was no sign of it outside and with a low moan of pain, Blair staggered up and off to work his way into the twisted wreckage to find it.

He had to proceed carefully inside such a dangerous environment. Sharp, jagged pieces of shorn metal formed a deadly gauntlet – ready to cut into flesh already slick with blood. Broken plastic, electronic parts with ripped wires and shards of broken glass were everywhere. It hurt to have to twist and bend the way he was forced to in order to enter the wreckage, but he gritted his teeth and kept crawling forward, gingerly sifting through the debris until at last, he was rewarded for his efforts. He had found Emily’s brown coat, and if he thought it looked ill-used before, it was now nothing more than a ripped up, blood-spattered rag. Nonetheless, Blair snatched it up with a trembling hand and began his painful crawl out of the wreckage and back to his patient’s side.

When he reached Emily once again, he gave a half sigh of relief to find that she was still alive. He leaned over the stark-white, pained face again and spoke, “I’m back now, everything’s going to be okay.” Blair checked the baby’s progress and nearly gasped aloud at what he saw. The infant’s head had crowned completely. It was evident that birth was imminent – if only Emily could endure the labor just a bit longer.

Blair fought back against the rising tide of hysteria that was threatening to erupt at any minute from deep within. No way was he going to lose it now, not when Emily needed him so very badly. The injured Guide took a deep breath, as well as command of his emotions before quietly speaking. “Push. C’mon, push Emily. You’re almost there.”

The sound of Emily’s long, drawn-out panting was a dreadful thing to hear. Each desperate inhalation was like a ghastly death rattle. The blood trickling from Emily’s mouth was doing so at a heavier volume, and yet it did not obscure the meaning of the words the dying woman was soundlessly forming, even as her eyes began to glaze over.

Blair correctly lip-read her mouthed, “I can’t,” and responded immediately. Almost without thought the young man began screaming, “Don’t you dare leave your baby! Don’t do it! Now push!” The baby’s head and shoulders emerged.

*******

Earlier, when Emily first regained consciousness, she had been nearly overcome with terror.  Somewhere though, from deep within her, Emily found the strength to focus her gaze and comprehend what the young man above her was saying. She found his voice compelling in its earnest desperation. The blue eyes that looked down into hers were wide with anxiety, but even so, it did not stamp out the look of gentle determination in them. The exhausted woman used that gentle voice and those eyes as a tether to keep her soul in the world as she rested between contractions.

Nearly 30 minutes later, Emily heard a voice calling as if from afar, separated from her by time and space. Without knowing why, she knew she had the choice to ignore that insistent voice. What did that voice want anyway? She thought she once knew, but now it was a distant haze. She wondered why she should even care. She was in a better place now. The pain, which had been an all-consuming, red-hot taskmaster driving her to the very brink of insanity had faded, subsumed by a calm ocean of soothing blues and greens. I’m going to let go now.

Suddenly, the urgent words penetrated her fog, making clear their meaning. The voice above her screaming at her not to leave her baby brought back clarity of purpose as well as a regrettable return of the previously abated agony. Emily pushed through it; her baby needed her to live!

Her vision cleared and she saw the young man, Blair, who had been so kind to her. His pale face was all eyes, enormous orbs of cobalt from which she was powerless to tear her gaze. His full lips parted and parted wider still before she heard the words, “Oh my God!” In a single instant, the features above transformed from the stressed mask they so resembled into a visage, which radiated an ecstasy and absolute reverence scarcely rivaled by the most devout, enraptured saint of old.

*******

One minute there were two souls amidst the wreckage, and then there were three. Emily Kojack had given birth to a beautiful baby girl with perfect tiny fingers and toes. Blair held the tiny, squalling infant girl in his arms, fresh from her mother’s body and quickly acted to sever the umbilical cord with a sharp piece of broken glass he had earlier laid aside expressly for that purpose. He swiftly loosed his ponytail from the rubber band and taking it, he tied off the cord still attached to the baby.

Sandburg moved his achingly cold, stiff body with a speed he never imagined he would be capable of as he proceeded to wrap the baby in a cocoon of clothing consisting of first, a spare shirt, and then Emily’s ragged, torn coat until nothing but her eyes showed.

Blair brought the baby over, and with one arm holding the wrapped living bundle, and the other around the dying woman’s back, he assisted Emily to a more upright position. Sandburg’s voice was gentle and still tinged with a hint of awe when he said, “You did it, Emily, you did it.” Proudly, Blair showed the infant off and as he did so, he was conscious of the fact that there were tears streaming down his face. He didn’t care though, he had witnessed a new life coming into the world, and he knew soon he would witness another’s passing.

Emily’s eyes which had been locked on his face, slowly drifted down to the bundle held in Blair’s arm. A hint of a tiny smile appeared on the pallid, almost lucent face. Gently, Blair moved to place the baby in its mother’s arms, keeping his own arms around both mother and baby for support.

One last thing. There was one last thing for Emily to do, and then Blair would ask nothing more of her ever while she remained in this world. “What’s your daughter’s name?” Sandburg softly asked. There was silence and for a moment, Blair despaired that Emily had slipped away. But when he looked again, Sandburg saw there was a startling clarity in the green eyes that were now staring, transfixed on the small life she held in her arms. The voice that issued forth the final gift of the name, came from a place of immeasurable strength and abiding love, so marked in contrast to the grim physical circumstances. Long after the arms fell away and the green eyes stared into eternity, the name, Noel, drifted across Blair’s senses like a soft caress of wind.

*******

Simon watched Jim pretending not to worry that his roommate had not arrived home, though he had been slated to appear more than 90 minutes ago. And while Jim was busy pretending to not look agitated, Simon had no such inclination to hide the fact that he was growing uneasy by Jim’s behavior. Banks tried to reason with the pacing man. “Jim, look, I know Sandburg’s a trouble magnet, but the kid said he’d be home Christmas Eve and he will. That doesn’t mean that he didn’t stop along the way or encounter a detour, or any number of logical reasons for why he’s only an hour and a half late.”

Jim continued pacing as if he’d not heard a word. Seeing how his reasoning skills had fallen short of the mark, Simon ruefully tried a different tack: “Why don’t you try his cell again, Jim? If he’s just a little late, chances are he’s close enough for his cell to be in range for service.” That statement seemed to penetrate Jim’s agitation and he stopped pacing long enough to go into the kitchen to pick up the cordless phone. Meanwhile, Simon reached for the TV remote, hit the mute button and began flipping channels, hoping to find a program that would be interesting enough to serve as a distraction for Jim.

He’d already passed up several channel offerings when something caught Banks’ eye. Evidently from the slew of patrol cruisers, fire trucks and ambulances, some part of the world had experienced a very deadly-looking disaster. With morbid curiosity, Simon stopped to check it out. It looked to the captain like nature’s fury had been unleashed in the form of a spectacular, horrific looking rockslide, causing untold number of deaths or serious injury. The sight of what remained of the still burning tanker was a stark testimony of the reality of at least one fatality. The massive rockslide that had changed both natural and man-made landscapes had left a trail of death and destruction in its wake.

A female news reporter, standing some distance away, was fumbling with her microphone. It appeared to Simon as though she was attempting to overcome a technical glitch in her communications. The scene had switched back to the anchor newsman and woman at the home station right after the camera crew standing in front of the female reporter panned over and beyond her, showing the semi-trucks, pickups, RVs and other traffic waiting out the road closure.

It was the camera pan of the traffic backup that looked to be no more than a mile long that afforded Banks his first, up-close view of the many highway patrol and county law enforcement vehicles, fire trucks and rescue vehicles. Oh no! Simon leaned forward on the couch bringing himself closer to the TV the moment he clearly identified the highway patrol cars as those belonging to Washington State. This was no longer a disaster in some far away place where he could cluck in sympathy for a moment and then move on. This was a disaster in his home state – on a highway that his civilian police observer had possibly traveled on in his way back to Cascade.

But Blair wasn’t here. He was almost two hours late.  Simon was just flipping through channels while Jim was trying to reach Blair on the phone.  Jim hadn‘t been able to reach him via cell phone though he should have been well within tower range by now. A horrible sinking feeling gripped Banks in his guts as he glanced over at Jim who was still standing with his back to him, oblivious to the drama unfolding on TV. This has got nothing to do with Sandburg, Banks thought resolutely. Still… he had no choice but to inquire of Jim exactly what route Sandburg had taken.

If something had happened to the enthusiastic, highly intelligent, unconventional young man who had made such a dramatic change in Jim’s life, he owed him as Jim’s personal friend to stay with him and be of help. Besides, initial reservations aside, Sandburg was an invaluable member of his team and the band of brothers looked out for their own.

Simon cleared his throat at the same time he took the TV off mute. “Jim, you’d better check this out and tell me if you know if this highway was on Sandburg’s route.”

Jim turned around to look just as the two news anchors were announcing that they were going back live to the scene of a massive rockslide that had closed a portion of I-90 in both directions and had most likely taken the life of at least one individual. The austere face paled and Simon watched Jim’s body stiffen as Ellison took in the story and the possible implications for Sandburg. “Oh no, you don’t, Ellison! Don’t you dare zone on me now!” Simon barked out in his strongest commanding voice.

“Simon…” Jim turned towards his boss, the horror in his eyes barely concealed, “That road was on his route...”

“Don’t go jumping to conclusions, Jim. We don’t know yet when this rockslide occurred. He may very well have passed through that way before the disaster. Most importantly, they haven’t said any other cars were involved.”

Simon saw the effort his best and most controlled detective put into analyzing and internalizing his words.

“Can you see anything, Jim?”

“I don’t have x-ray vision, Simon. I can’t see through boulders!” Ellison snapped irritably. Seconds later, Jim issued an apology that bespoke of his shame at losing control.

“You don’t know he’s there,” was all Simon said gently, understanding and yet not, the depth of feeling Ellison had for Sandburg.

“He went that way, Simon, and he’s still there. I don’t know how I know, but I just do. He could be hurt and unable to help himself...” The words, softly spoken, were full of firm conviction and an anguish so compelling that for a moment, Simon believed him fully. He believed that somehow, if Sandburg were in trouble, Jim would know it. Then his stubborn, conventional common sense kicked in and he decided it was time to take a more proactive approach to satisfying Jim’s mind that the missing anthropologist had not been caught up in the natural disaster. Only then could they move on to finding out what had, in fact, delayed the young man.

“Jim, let me make a few phone calls to the station and get some folks to reach out to officers up there at the state patrol detachment in Wolf Lodge. They can at least tell us if there is any evidence that other vehicles were involved.”

Jim nodded tersely. Above the fear, above the horror of the unspoken thought that his Guide could be lying dead, crushed to death beneath the massive weight of a boulder, was the hope burning brightly that Blair was alive and would remain so for Jim to find him. Where are you, Chief? Right now, there was no answer and the not knowing was strangling his soul with an unbearable tightness.

*******

.

Noel was crying out her need for nourishment. The plaintive wails wracked Blair’s nerves as he rocked the hungry baby. The adrenaline rush that had carried him through the birth of Noel had long since faded from his system, leaving him cold, weary, and lightheaded.

He had taken the child from her dead mother’s arms and begun rocking her desperately as he contemplated with repulsion the one sure source of nourishment. He had no choice. He had been entrusted with the life of Emily’s child and he knew deep in his heart that what he was about to do was not really a violation of her dignity or privacy.

Sandburg, still cradling the wailing infant in one arm, gently pushed up the dead mother’s thick sweater, exposing her upper torso, which had clearly sustained serious trauma. The black and blue, bruised skin covered a multitude of internal injuries. He reached behind the dead woman and unhooked her bra to reveal breasts containing colostrum, the nutrient-laden, pre-milk fluid. With a shaking hand and an embarrassed apology on his lips, Blair massaged and squeezed the right breast until beads of the precious fluid oozed from the nipple. “Please, please, please let this work,” he desperately prayed.

With infinite care and patience, and with the bare minimum amount of her face exposed to the air, Blair gently guided Noel’s lips to her dead mother’s breast. When the baby latched on and began sucking hungrily, Sandburg could have whooped for joy.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he noticed a cessation of the movement caused by the baby’s hungry feeding. All he knew was that his body ached dreadfully from the awkward half-leaning, half-kneeling position he was forced to adopt as he held to Noel to her mother’s breast.

Slowly he lifted Noel away and looked down at the child. Her little face was serene in sleep, soothed and satiated. Good. It was time to leave this place and seek help. Sandburg slowly undid his leather belt from his jeans and pulled it from the belt-loops. He then put the belt around the outside of his coat, low on his waist and cinching it as tight as he could. Then, oh so carefully leaving a sufficient amount of breathing room for Noel, he placed the wrapped-up infant inside of his coat and buttoned it up.

Far above and off in the distance, he heard the sound of fire truck and ambulance Sirens. Help was up there, but up there was as far away to Blair as the moon. The road was bound to be closed in both directions, and there was no telling when rescue crews would actually be able to get in there and navigate around the site. Besides, he doubted if, in the wake of all that destruction, anyone would suspect that a car had gone off the side and been hurled off the mountain pass into the deepest of ravines. There was only one person he knew beyond hope and reason who could, with his own eyes, discern that a passing vehicle had gone off the road.

Blair gave a short, despairing laugh. He knew his roommate so well. He knew that Jim had serious trust issues and was quick to anger if he thought someone he cared about had let him down. There was no doubt in Sandburg’s mind that his failure to arrive home as promised could very easily lead to feelings of hurt and betrayal in Jim. If that happened, would Jim even work past it to figure out that his failure to return home as promised was an act not of his own volition?

He’d better. He had no choice but to put his faith in Jim and the friendship they’d forged together. Sandburg made the choice to believe that Jim would not turn his back on him; that even in his anger, Jim would still look towards the welfare of his Guide. Jim, we really need your help here, man.

******

And so it was that Blair Sandburg set out on a dark, treacherous climb with a newborn infant wrapped and tucked safely in the front of his coat. Every step was an agony on Blair’s wounded leg. The makeshift bandage was soaked completely through with blood, but he hardly noticed. There was another perplexing problem that he needed to take care of if the tiny infant was to survive the harsh environment.

He had no idea how long Noel would sleep, but he knew whenever she awoke she would need to eat again and he had no formula, no bottles to accomplish that. He needed a solution, but he was finding it harder to think. Despite the fact that he had on thermal underwear and his coat, he was shaking from the cold and he knew it wasn’t entirely due to the weather, but from shock and the pain from his leg injury.

Sandburg wracked  his brain while looking around anxiously. Nothing came to him and despair settled around his heart. He was overcome with an intense level of weariness of body and mind. He became dizzy, so he leaned his back against a big pine tree. Before long his body slid down until his rear hit the cold ground. The injured man gasped as a bolt of pain flared all the way from his calf to his thigh and he fought desperately to stay conscious.

Ceremonial occasions aside, Sandburg had never been much of a praying a man. It wasn’t that he’d rejected the idea of God and an ordered universe, it was more the idea of a personal God who heard and answered prayers that Blair had trouble embracing. But he needed to believe that now, because he’d come to the end of himself and he hadn’t been able to figure out how to keep Noel fed while he struggled to find help.

In his weakness, a tear slid down his cold cheek as he looked up into the great expanse of the starless night sky and gave voice to the desperate prayer in his heart: “Hey,” he began softly, “I know it’s gotta be pretty annoying when all kinds of people, some who don’t even know for sure that they believe in you, come and ask you for this, that and the other thing. I’m sorry about that, or if you think I’m one of those people, but I really do need your help.” He cleared his throat hesitatingly. “Actually, it’s more like this newborn baby girl named Noel needs your help. See, I don’t know how long it’s gonna take, or even if I can get us out of this side of the mountain we got flung down, but she’s gonna need to eat when she wakes up, and I don’t have anything to feed a baby. I don’t know what to do. Please… please help me.”

There was an answering silence. No angels, celestial or otherwise, appeared to give wise counsel, no disembodied, all-knowing voice intoned instruction. Blair closed his eyes and a stillness that would have otherwise been disconcerting but wasn’t, wrapped around him like a comforting blanket. Slowly, almost without knowing what he was doing, he reached into the inner pocket of his coat until his fingers grasped around the little soft objects nestled there.

Sandburg pulled his hand out of his pocket and stared dumbfounded at what he held. Eight packets of sugar. He’d totally forgotten that he’d stuffed his coat pocket with packets, some of which he’d used to sweeten the cup of coffee he’d bought on the go. The sugar, melted and warmed in his mouth, was substance that could be fed to the infant, sustaining her life and assuaging her hunger pains for a time.

The clarity of the answer had cut a pathway through his formerly muddled and weary mind. So relieved was he, that he began to laugh and he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. But he did – when the tears of gratitude for the unexpected answer began to flow.

Thank you. Thank you.

The Loft

The phone seemed to ring with shrill intensity for Jim, causing him to wince slightly as he snatched up the receiver. “Ellison,” he barked.

“Detective Ellison, this is Sergeant Kim Velasquez down at the station. Your captain asked me to contact him at this number.”

“Just a minute.” Jim wordlessly handed the phone to his captain.

“This is Captain Banks… ”

Jim had no compunction about extending his hearing to listen in on both sides of the conversation. He followed along, all the while feeling dismay rise at what he heard.

Simon concluded the conversation, returned the cordless phone to its cradle, and then turned to face the intense blue-glacier eyes of Ellison. Banks knew what the man in front of him was going to say without him having to speak. “You can’t, Jim,” Banks said firmly.

“Like hell I can’t. Are you going to try and stop me?”

“Jim, you heard what the sergeant said. The geotechnical engineers have said that the slope is still very unstable as a result of the rockslide, and until the slope is secured, emergency search and rescue teams and clean-up crews won’t be allowed in. To make matters worse, there’s a snowstorm moving in. The Department of Emergency Management will be coordinating rescue efforts, but only in the morning after the storm passes. Besides, Jim,” Simon urgently added, “you still don’t even know for sure that Sandburg’s being late has anything to do with that rockslide.”

Simon practically shouted the words after Jim’s retreating back. He watched in disbelief as Jim, not sparing him an answer, took the steps leading up to his bedroom, two at a time. Upstairs, the detective grabbed a bag, stuffing it with toiletries and a change of clothes. Then he hustled back down the stairs in much the same manner as he did going up.

Bag in hand, he stopped in front of Simon, speaking in a low, determined voice. “I know he’s there, Simon, and he needs my help or he may not make it out of there alive. Call it a friendship thing, a brotherhood thing, or a Sentinel and Guide thing. I don’t really give a damn how I know it, just that I do, and nothing’s going to stop me.”

"Jim –"

Jim abruptly cut his boss off. “I could really use your help, Simon, but if you can’t, I understand. Just don’t try and stand in my way, all right?” The words, spoken in a low tone, were matter-of-factly rendered.

There was dead silence as Simon looked at the unmovable mountain of a man in front of him. Jim stood perfectly still under his boss’s regard. Jim’s exterior projected an image of strength and determination, but Simon could clearly see the truth in the eyes the other man wasn‘t able to completely conceal: Jim was scared. The fear was there on the fringes, a soul-deep terror at the possibility of losing the one being he loved above all others.

Simon then came to the only conclusion that he could live with and still call himself a good friend and concerned boss. True, Jim had the training and the skills to go off and find Sandburg on his own, but if Jim was right and Sandburg was severely injured or worse yet, dead, then Jim would need the steadying presence of a good friend more than ever.

Simon quickly reasoned things through. There was the basic logistical concern that needed to be worked out immediately. The location of the rockslide was nearly four hours away by car and no doubt, the road would also be blocked in both directions – as much as a mile on either side. God forbid, if Blair was seriously injured and trapped, then time was of the essence. They had to get to the site as fast as possible. If they had to travel by car, it might take more time than Sandburg had. The reality though, which Simon could contemplate but Jim could not, was that even now, before they could work out what to do, it might be too late and all they would ever find was Sandburg’s crushed remains.

Simon vowed right then and there that if there was anything in his power that he could do to prevent that, he would do it. He owed it to Jim, and most importantly, he owed it to Sandburg who was one of his men, paid or not. Understanding but firm brown eyes met steely ice blue ones in mutual agreement. Jim had received Simon’s unspoken declaration: I’m coming with you.

*******

Blair’s painful, slow crawl up the side of the mountain was the most torturous thing the young man had ever had to endure. Numb from the cold, his unprotected hands were cut and bleeding from having to grab hold of the rough thick vegetation to propel himself forward as he alternated between moving the lower hanging branches of the larger bushes away from his face, and using them to aid in his climb upward.

The first flakes of snowfall began to drift from the night sky, but he had become so dizzy and exhausted from the unrelenting agony of his leg, and the blood he was continuing to lose from the deep gaping wound that ran all the way down to the bone, that he was becoming dangerously disoriented and weak so that he took no notice of it. Sometimes his mind drifted, his thoughts fuzzy as if his mind was shrouded in thick cotton. In those times, he fought the hardest to stay present and moving.

Sometimes he talked out loud, having an imaginary discourse with a student over a subject dealing with anthropology. Other times he talked to Noel. His thoughts, disjointed as they were, naturally drifted to Emily. Then the words he spoke were those of fond remembrance. But the person with whom he spoke aloud the most was Jim. Jim, who had no idea what had happened to him. Jim, who was waiting for him at home, with a ready smile and an open heart, ready to receive the spirit of the season. “Wait for me, Jim.” He found himself repeating those words of promise, but strangely, the ghostly image of Jim that Blair’s tired mind had conjured up had no response for him.

The painful journey continued on. Time and again, Blair fell and rose, groaning in pain, struggling to his feet to stagger on and do it all over again. Hands. Knees. Push up. Fall. Hands. Knees. Push-up. Fall. Each time he fell, he curled his body around Noel to cushion her and protect her from being crushed by his weight. Meanwhile, from inside the warmth and safety of his coat, the infant Noel slept on, oblivious to the life and death struggle of her rescuer.

Gradually, it took longer and longer for him to find the strength to get up again between falls. Blair’s brain was issuing commands to his limbs, but his body found it increasingly more difficult to respond. The last time he had fallen, he’d lain on the cold ground panting for breath and looking at the stars while a dangerous lethargy had crept over him. Sandburg was becoming hypothermic and slowly succumbing to its effects.

After an interminable time, he hauled himself upright and shambled forward. But there was a strange roaring in his ears and his perception of reality twisted and lurched in a sickening way. The darkness, when it came to claim final victory over him, called to him like a Siren’s song and he fell headlong into it. This time he didn’t get up again.

*******

It was quiet now; quiet and still, except for the occasional woodland creature who came out to sniff the air and to look about with curious, beady eyes. The gently falling snow fell steadily out of the dark, star-lit sky, covering the ground with a blanket of pristine white that obliterated the signs of the life-and-death journey taking place. The moon, full and ethereal, shone brilliantly upon the scenic landscape. The large but fragile rock walls cast great shadows, and the natural structures themselves loomed over the broken highway like silent, spectral sentries. Nature was obliviously beautiful and deceptively peaceful. It made no difference that death was near for two living beings, for death chased after life just as surely as winter pursued summer.

Even as the pain that had consumed his body so relentlessly began to fade as it merged into a strange, numbing warmth that enveloped Blair, his soul writhed in torment over the sure knowledge that he had utterly failed. The tiny, helpless being that had been entrusted to his care and safekeeping would perish in his arms because he was too pathetically weak, too lacking in inner strength and mental fortitude to accomplish what needed to be done. He had been judged and found wanting, and because of that, the infant girl would never know her father’s love, would not see the wonders of this world, would not open her eyes to see another day.

Noel would die as would he. The pain of knowing that he eventually would be found, his corpse clutching the dead infant weighed Blair down with bleak despair. Noel, wrapped in her dead mother’s coat and tucked tightly inside Blair’s coat, slept on, oblivious to the grief and pain of the man whose body cocooned hers in safety and comfort. Blair was unable to speak aloud the words he longed to impart to Jim. The injured Guide’s eyelids grew too heavy to keep open and with his last conscious thought, his soul cried, “I’m sorry, Jim.” The blue eyes closed.

Noel, wrapped in her dead mother’s coat and tucked tightly inside Blair’s coat, slept on, oblivious to the grief and pain of the man whose body cocooned hers in safety and comfort. Blair was unable to speak aloud the words he longed to impart to Jim. The injured Guide’s eyelids grew too heavy to keep open and with his last conscious thought, his soul cried, “I’m sorry, Jim.”

*****

The blue eyes that had been closed in sleep sprang open suddenly.  Stark terror reflected in their

depths as images of burning flesh and agonized screams held the young man down, swamping him with an oppressive, paralyzing fear. Jacob sat up with a terrified gasp, one hand clenched tightly in a fist over his chest. For a moment, he was there… in that place that held his unspeakable nightmare, and not safe in his little room in his uncle’s house. Then the terrifying images blessedly faded and folded into the reality of where he was. He allowed it to take hold over the sound of his ragged breathing. As Jacob’s widely beating heart calmed, he recognized the sound that had roused him from his slumber was that of his uncle’s voice calling to him.

“Jacob! Jacob, my boy, wake up!” Jacob’s portly uncle waddled into the young man’s little room, holding aloft a lighted lamp to illuminate his nephew’s small but comfortable sleeping space.

Jacob got up from his pallet, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he took notice of the anxious tone of his uncle’s voice.

Jacob, as most members of the household were, was an early riser; however, judging from the darkness outside, it was much earlier than he normally got up. Jacob squinted up at his uncle. “What’s wrong, Uncle Aaron?” he asked as he attempted to tie back the long mane of riotous curls sticking out in all directions around his head.

“A messenger boy arrived not long ago with tidings that a small number of soldiers from the ranks of Herod the Great’s army are heading this way, most likely seeking lodging.” Jacob’s uncle wheezed out, all the while trying to straighten out his outer garments, which clearly, he’d hastily thrown on.

“Herod’s dogs?” Startled, the young man’s expressive eyes widened. “What do they want in a little backwater village like Ira?”

“Nothing good, I’m sure,” Uncle Aaron muttered under his breath, then more clearly, “The messenger said these soldiers were attacked by a marauding band of Bedouin raiders between here and Bethlehem. They may have an injured man or two with them and simply want a place to rest and treat their wounded. May they take their ease here and then leave.”

“But the boy didn’t say what business brought these soldiers so far south, Uncle?”

Uncle Aaron, who looked decidedly unhappy about the prospect of sheltering soldiers from the army of the so-called, King Herod, scratched his balding head and shook his head no. There was no help for it though. He was an innkeeper and this was the only inn for miles.

Jacob regarded his uncle silently for a moment. “Shall I suspend lessons today, Uncle Aaron? What can I do to help?”

“Oh no, my dear boy! Rachel and Samuel will give me no peace if they miss their lessons.”

“But the same cannot be said for Ezra, Asa, and little Hannah,” Jacob replied with a rueful grin.

Uncle Aaron’s quiver had been made full with the blessings of five children; three boys and two girls. His wife, Hannah, had died in childbirth bringing the couple’s youngest child, also named Hannah, into the world five years ago. Jacob, among his other duties, was tutor to his uncle’s children – a position he took seriously, both because of his love for his cousins, and because teaching as well as learning were his true passions in life.

There was a time in his life where he had lived the life of a student-teacher, a life that seemed to Jacob, at times, to have been lived by someone else and not he. The young man had once been a Torah student, studying in the Temple of Jerusalem. That was before his life had been shattered when he was caught up in tragic events wherein his beloved teachers, Matthias and Judas, along with several of his friends and fellow students, were brutally executed – burned alive while he, helpless to save them, was forced to bear witness to their agonizing deaths.

He’d nearly lost his own life too, but Herod had seen fit to exact a crueler punishment on the youngest student: he refrained from killing him, leaving Jacob to live with the guilt and shame of having been spared the nightmarish fate of his teachers and friends.

He’d fled Judea with his mother, Naomi, and sought out his Uncle Aaron who lived in the little village of Ira, a dusty little place just beyond the Judean border. When Jacob had arrived at the safety of his uncle’s house, he’d been but a shadow of the man who stood before his uncle now. Then, he’d been broken in mind and ill in body. In his uncle’s house, Jacob had found a much simpler way of life, yet one that was filled with the daily business of running an inn and serving as teacher to his uncle’s children.

Under the care of his mother, the patient wisdom of his Uncle Aaron, and the unconditional love of his cousins, Jacob had regained his health and some semblance of peace of mind. There were scars on his back still, but they would fade in time. The ones that were deepest were written upon his heart, and only occasionally, did they remind Jacob of their painful presence.

Aaron spoke rapidly, clearly nervous. “Jacob, I want you to go into the marketplace. Buy for me a measure of healing minerals and herbs for the wounded solders, but first, follow Benjamin when he herds the sheep and goats. He is ready to leave now and he waits for you. Where he stops, you will see a small cave with a ledge over it. Place this there and conceal it with stones and brush.”

Upon speaking those words of instruction, Uncle Aaron had withdrawn what looked like a bundle of tightly bound rags and placed it in Jacob’s open hands. Jacob looked down at the bundle, shifting it in his hands in an attempt to discern the contents by the weight. No answer came to him. “You can tell me what this is, you know that?”

“I know,” Uncle Aaron replied gently, seeming much calmer now that he had set in motion a plan to protect something he clearly regarded as valuable. He patted his nephew affectionately on the arm before ending the strange encounter with a gruff, “Be off now.”

Uncle Aaron departed, taking the brighter light with him, thus once again leaving only the small bronze lamp, with its flax wick to illuminate the little room. Though the young man was naturally inquisitive by nature, there was never a question that Jacob would do his uncle’s bidding without discovering the contents of the package. Instead, Jacob hastily rolled up his thick, coarse mattress and redressed himself in his tunic and coat. Then taking a leather girdle, Jacob quickly donned and cinched it around his slender waist before slipping on his leather sandals.

Jacob silently ascended the narrow stairs that led down and out into the lower level of the large house and outside to the court. He quickened his steps when he saw Benjamin, his uncle’s sheep and goat herder, waiting patiently for him amongst the herd of docile animals. Jacob called out a greeting to the tall, lanky youth and was greeted in return with a shy grin and a curious look. But it was not for him to question his master’s will, so instead of assuaging his curiosity, the youth merely handed Jacob a slice of sheep’s cheese with flat bread dipped in spices. “Thank you, Benjamin.” Jacob gratefully accepted the food to quiet his grumbling empty stomach. The two young men set off together in companionable silence, Benjamin herding the animals between them.

Jacob breathed deeply of the fresh morning air in the land that had given him succor and refreshment for his wounded spirit after the terror of Jerusalem. The sky overhead was an expansive canvas painted with streaks of breathtaking dawn colors.

It was sights like the land’s unbridled beauty that often led Jacob to introspection. Most often he reflected upon the One who made such beauty, but other times, he thought of the infinite number of mysteries there were in the world. He thought of the stories he’d heard from foreign travelers, scholars, and other learned men.

Always his mind turned to one story in particular, told to him once by a dark Nubian prince he’d met, and then again by a scholar from the Far East. Fantastic stories of tribal men, living in far off places, who were blessed with miraculous powers of observation, hearing, touch, taste, and smell. The Nubian prince had named such men in the language of his own tongue, but had translated the name for Jacob’s understanding as the word, “Zakif”, meaning Sentinel. Both the prince and the Asian scholar had recounted tales of the deeds of these tribal protectors, and Jacob, like a moth to a flame, had been irresistibly drawn to the idea of such living beings.

While others heard the stories and mocked them as the stuff of children’s fables, Jacob’s intellect demanded that he take a more analytical approach before rejecting the possibility that there were such men who walked the earth. Oh, how he longed to meet one if it were so. There were those occasions when Jacob had reason to consider specific men, men who’d exhibited uncanny abilities to discern things by their sense of smell or touch that most people could not. Inevitably though, Jacob had been disappointed upon realizing that those men were not the beings spoken of by the learned men.

The two young men were now outside the boundaries of Ira. As they herded the animals up the incline towards the grazing land, the hard ground became rockier, and the thorns snagged their garments, while sharp stones worked their way through the thinning leather of Benjamin’s poor-quality sandals. Benjamin, being used to the rough terrain, paid no heed to the rocks. Jacob, though his shoes were better made, was not as accustomed to walking on that terrain as the sheep and goat herders were. Walking over the small, sharp rocks was still a painful proposition for his feet, though he did not complain. A few times, he even slipped and went down on one knee.

And so they went on until, at last, Benjamin stopped in a place that was his usual prime grazing area. The animals spread out and began feasting upon the foliage while Jacob looked around. There it was, just as his uncle had said it would be – a place that looked like a small cave with a large slab of rock overhanging.

The cave was a small enclosed space, not large enough for a man to stand upright in, but perfect for providing shelter to generations of shepherds from the burning sun’s rays or the occasional harshly blowing winds.

After Jacob’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he found a particularly rocky area in a corner and began to remove some of the stones to reveal a crevice large enough to hide the mystery package. Removing the package from his robe, he placed it in the crevice and then carefully concealed it. “Whatever’s in here, Herod’s dogs won’t find you now,” Jacob muttered under his breath.

His first errand accomplished, Jacob bid Benjamin good-bye and hastened away. Long after he could no longer see the retreating figure of his master’s nephew, Benjamin stood, staff in hand, looking on in quiet contemplation.

******

Jacob made his way back to his uncle’s house, walking with a steady pace past the rows and rows of crowded, poor homes with their stone walls and narrow alleyways. He’d just come from the marketplace, which was characteristically teeming with the smell of hot, sweaty people and animals. Insects buzzed about annoyingly, and everywhere, there was the perpetual dust, dust that clung to the skin and got underneath one’s coat and caused chafing and itching.

Jacob was hot and thirsty, and he couldn’t wait to take a long drink of water from any one of the clay jars his uncle kept full at various places around the inn. As he carried the supply of healing ingredients he’d purchased in the market place after leaving Benjamin, he couldn’t help but wonder if the soldiers had arrived, and if so, how many were in need of healing.

“Jacob! Jacob!” Three little children with feet and faces already dusty from vigorous play outside jumped around the young teacher and jabbered eagerly upon spying his return. Seven-year old twins, Ezra and Asa, and their baby sister, Hannah were followed by the more self-controlled, two oldest siblings, eleven-year old Samuel and ten-year old Rachel.

All the children loved their older cousin, sometimes to distraction, for he was unique in appearance and in personality, wholly unlike the other adults they knew. There was much speculation as to who had fathered Jacob, as his eyes were not the unusual but not unheard of green of his mother’s, but a startling shade of vivid blue. His hair was unusual too, for Jacob kept it unfashionably long and curly. Once, after the children had relentlessly asked him why he kept it long, Jacob had replied with a sly smile that he had an oath to keep like Sampson in the scriptures. Awed by the comparison to the legendary fallen hero of the scriptures, they’d never again asked about it.

Jacob was educated, sophisticated and knew so much about many things about the world far beyond the borders of Ira. He never tired of sharing with them the stories of far off lands, and while the children counted it merely as Jacob’s ability to entertain for hours, he was actually effectively using the time and the tasks they had to do in everyday life to instruct them. He diligently taught them Israel’s history and instructed them in the scriptures with utmost seriousness. Oh, but when he played with them, he played with all the wild abandonment of one who had never left childhood.

His young cousins had not always known Jacob to be that way. It had taken the passage of some amount of time to transform the haunted visage with its sad eyes into the open, bright-eyed one it was today.

Jacob grinned affectionately at his cousins while they excitedly showed him two small wooden boats and a flute, exquisitely carved out of cedar. The young man looked with interest at the finely carved toys, wondering at the skill of the hands that made them. Then he spied his Uncle Aaron standing in the doorway so he quickly excused himself and went to the older man’s side.

“It’s done, Uncle,” Jacob hurried to reassure the man before his uncle could speak.

Uncle Aaron in turn, looked relieved. “Well done, Jacob. Have you purchased a good amount of herbs and minerals?”

“Of course, Uncle.” Jacob held out the cloth-wrapped packages, but instead of taking the bundle, his uncle asked him to take the medicinal ingredients inside to Naomi.

Jacob, longing to alleviate his thirst, quickly took his leave of his uncle and went over to first wash the thick, clinging dust from his sandals and feet before stepping inside onto the highly polished tile floor. Then he used the ladle to get a soothing drink of water from the clay jar that sat by the door; refreshed now, the young man went in search of his mother.

He looked first in the room where the women of the household labored long hours, grinding grain into flour, and then tending the ovens to bake bread. It was women’s work preparing the food required to sustain the family and guests of the inn, and this was just one of the many areas in the life of an Israelite woman for which Jacob did not provide instruction to his young cousin, Rachel.

Jacob looked in vain there for Naomi, for she was not there among the female servants, nor was she with Aaron’s mother-in-law who was busy preparing food and sewing clothes. Jacob was not surprised by this, as Naomi had never been completely accepted by the other women and thus tended to avoid spending time in their company.

Though of Hebrew blood, others perceived that there was something different about her, something distinctly foreign. Naomi worshipped God in her own way and not according to the teachings handed down from generation to generation. As a result, the women of the household, though fully accepting of Jacob, were noticeably less so of Naomi. There was constant gossip and speculation about the woman who was said to have shamed her family when, as a young woman, she’d run away from her family in the company of a beguiling, azure-eyed traveler from a barbarian land.

Some two years after Naomi had left with the stranger, she’d returned to her family in Jerusalem with a curly-haired, blue-eyed son in tow. Of the identity of the father, then as was the same now, she refused to speak. In matters of faith, she elected to keep her own counsel. Despite Naomi’s ways that challenged society’s expectations of her as a Jewish woman, and her son’s dubious parentage, Jacob was accepted, well loved, and privileged to obtain an education in some of Jerusalem’s finest synagogues.

At last, Jacob’s search for his mother ended when, after he mounted the stairs along the outside wall up to the roof, he found Naomi sitting cross-legged on a mat with her eyes closed, deep in meditation. Jacob respectfully knelt then sat down quietly in front of her to wait. After a brief time, Naomi opened her eyes and smiled warmly at her son.

“What is it, Jacob?”

“Naomi, have you heard that some of Herod’s soldiers are coming to Ira, and that some of them may be sick or injured?”

“Yes, Aaron told me.” Naomi lowered her eyes. “I was afraid for you, Jacob.”

“I know, but this has nothing to do with me.” Jacob tried to sound reassuring, but only he knew how his body had trembled and his mind threatened to send him back to the terror surrounding the deaths of his teachers and friends when his Uncle Aaron had told him about the soldiers.

Jacob quickly pressed the bundle of healing ingredients into his mother’s hands. “I bought these ingredients to make medicine. If anyone can help them, you can.”

Naomi’s eyes flashed fire as she pressed the bundle back into her son’s hands. “I will not help those pigs! How can you even ask, knowing what they did to you?”

For a moment, Jacob remained silent as he pushed back a strand of hair that had escaped from the confines of the band securing the rest of his long, curly hair at the nape of his neck. Finally, he sighed and said in a low voice, “I don’t know that they did anything to me. It’s Herod who holds the power of life and death, not those who serve him for a coin and a sack of grain. You know that.”

Now it was Naomi’s turn for silence in the face of her son’s words. Seizing the moment, Jacob spoke again, and as he did, he pressed the bundle once more into her hands. “It’s not in your nature to set your back against anyone who is ill or in pain.”

This time, Naomi kept the bundle. With one hand, she cupped the beloved face with its masculine beauty. “You are right.” She got up from the mat and Jacob rose with her.

Together they descended the stairs and when they reached the bottom, the two parted ways. They did not see each other again until later when the soldiers arrived at the inn.

Having accomplished his special errands, Jacob set about rounding up his younger cousins. The young man was determined to resume his routine by beginning an instructional session for his young charges before the relatively cooler mid-morning period slipped past into the afternoon with its oppressive heat. Thus, when the sun climbed to its highest in the sky on its westward journey, the strangers who arrived at the inn saw first a young man sitting under the shade of a tree in the midst of a group of children.

*******

The village of Ira loomed ahead in the distance as the three men approached steadily but cautiously. Two of the men walked next to a horse while the third lay insensate, secured to the an old grey mare by leather bindings. The two soldiers on foot, Martinus and Eitel, had often conversed with each other along the long, hard road, but now a wary silence had fallen upon them as they drew nearer the village.

The two men were grateful to be nearing shelter, food and a safe place to sleep, yet Martinus and Eitel, trained soldiers they were, remained on guard. The exhausted men were unsure of their reception, since technically, they were in a land that lay outside of the jurisdictional boundaries which encompassed Judea, and at the same time, Herod the Great, whom they represented, was widely despised.

The journey of the length undertaken by these men of Herod’s army was always fraught with danger. Roads were poor, and roving bands of vicious criminals waited to rape, rob and murder defenseless, weary travelers. Eitel and Martinus had been neither weary nor defenseless when they were ambushed by marauders, not more than a day and a half’s journeying distance south from the town of Bethlehem. Still, these men, deserters from Herod the Great’s army, had barely escaped with their lives since they’d been forced to fight to defend themselves and protect the third man among them, the son of their sword brother, who seemed to have been stricken with a paralyzing affliction that could not be attributed solely to the side wound he’d suffered days ago.

As it was, they were accosted by no one, neither did any make a move to welcome them as they made their way down the dusty, narrow streets, through the heart of the town with its markets and meeting places teeming with people – people who had known little else but the grinding struggle for survival in the harsh land. Some people glared at them with open hostility, and Martinus and Eitel returned their gazes with measured, non-hostile looks. Others nervously steered their gazes elsewhere while scurrying out of their way in fear.

The soldiers pressed on, until at last they came upon a solitary little boy playing with a ball. Wearily, Martinus looked for a coin of sufficient denomination and when he had found one, he offered it to the lad in exchange for an escort to Ira’s one and only inn. Eyes wide with greedy joy at having come into an unexpected boon, the boy took off with all the speed and boundless energy reserved for the young. Eitel irritably called after him to slow his pace. In response, the youth took to walking at a medium pace as he led them skillfully through the narrow alleys lined with poor homes jammed together. At last they emerged into the open space and in front of the home and inn of the wealthiest man in Ira.

*******

Jacob abruptly left off speaking when he looked up and caught sight of the approaching soldiers. Two soldiers, one tall and dark-haired, the other tall and blond-haired, walked along either side of a horse burdened with the body of a third man. Though there was no change in his facial expression and outward demeanor, Jacob’s heart raced as an unreasonable fear gripped his soul from the mere sight of soldiers from Herod’s army.

Not wishing to alarm his young cousins, Jacob stood up slowly, and with a false sense of calm, spoke to them in a pleasant, even voice. “The lesson is over for today. Go inside now, and see to your other chores.”

Oblivious to the cause of their early liberation, the two eldest cousins groaned out weak-hearted protests, for sitting under a tree being taught by their older cousin was much preferred over the chores awaiting them. On the other hand, the youngest children sprang up and immediately commenced chattering and rough-housing with each other.

Samuel, the oldest, was already walking across the courtyard towards to the house. Only Rachel stood still. She’d sensed that Jacob had perceived something out of the ordinary that had caused him to cut short their lessons. Jacob was standing before her, but not looking at her. His attention seemed to be focused on something over her shoulder. Rachel whirled around and her eyes widened at the sight of the approaching soldiers.

The startled young girl looked back at Jacob with questioning eyes. “All is well, Rachel. Go inside now and take the younger children with you,” Jacob hastened to reassure her. Only after all the children had crossed the courtyard and gone inside did Jacob turn again to face the men, one of whom was clearly injured and helpless.

The soldiers came to a halt in front of Jacob. Jacob alternated between fear and concern as his eyes moved from the stern, weary visages of the two foreign soldiers on foot, to the partially covered, slack face of the third who lay across the horse’s back. Finally, he settled on concern after having looked in their eyes and detected no cruelty there. The soldiers had eyes that were battle-hardened from wars and life, yes, but they had not been rendered cruel from the wickedness of a dark heart. How unlike were those eyes from those belonging to the soldiers of Herod the Great who had joked and laughed at the sight of his friends and teachers being burned alive… Jacob inwardly shuddered and quickly turned his mind away from his old nightmare to address the new arrivals.

“I’m Jacob. My Uncle Aaron has been expecting you. I’ll take you inside, and you will soon have food, drink and a place to rest.” He glanced curiously at the unconscious form of the third. “Your wounds will be tended, and I’ll see to it that your beast is taken care of too.”

The blond one nodded his head in a gesture of thanks and replied in a gruff voice accented with the signature of one who hailed from Germania. “I am called Eitel. This is Martinus.” Martinus, too, nodded his head, but the wary look did not pass from his face.

Eitel placed a rough, callused hand in a surprisingly gentle manner upon the head of the unconscious man. This man needs help. His name is Gaius Felix Justus.”

Jacob peered at the face that was partially hidden by a cloak in an attempt to get a closer look at the man. Once pushed aside, the cloak revealed the face of a warrior whose startlingly strong, striking features bore the look of one whose suffering clearly included a lack of food and sufficient water for some days. Jacob’s genuine concern increased. “What ails him?” he inquired gently.

This time Martinus answered, “We don’t know why he is this way.” Martinus hesitated and looked to Eitel.

“He took a sword-wound in the side days ago in Bethlehem. It was a painful wound, but a simple one. We cleaned and bandaged it, but since then, he’s not moved,” Eitel finished, then looked away.

Jacob got the distinct feeling that Eitel and Martinus had withheld something, that they had not been entirely truthful regarding the circumstances behind Gaius’ current condition. However curious he was about the entire story though, now was not the time for further questioning.

The men made their way across the courtyard until they stopped a few yards from the entrance to the house. Jacob, spying one of his uncle’s servants emerging from the stable off to the left called out, “Mica!” The man trotted over, eying the soldiers with a suspicious look on his face while he awaited instruction. Jacob turned back to Martinus and Eitel. “Untie Gaius from the horse while I summon help to bring him inside. Mica, when this man is free from the horse, see to it that the animal is taken care of.”

Martinus’ and Eitel’s protests that they would carry Gaius inside themselves fell on deaf ears as Jacob, anxious to see to his uncle’s guests, quickly closed the remaining distance to the front door and went inside to find his uncle and two male servants.

Jacob quickly located his uncle in the room immediately off to the left. The Master’s Quarters, as it was otherwise known, was the most handsomely appointed room in the entire house with its raised platform. The richly embroidered couch lining the three walls was used both for sitting during the day and reclining at night. This was the room used for receiving guests.

Aaron looked up calmly from where he was seated reading an open scroll. “They’re here,” Jacob announced quite unnecessarily, for he knew Rachel had already informed her father of the soldiers’ arrival.

“So Rachel told me.”

“They have a wounded man with them, and I need two servants to help bring him inside.”

“How badly is the man injured?”

Jacob shrugged, still uncertain that he had been told the truth about the wounded man. “I don’t know, Uncle. They said he took a stab wound to the side, but I didn’t see for myself. He is unconscious.”

Upon hearing that brief report, Aaron left the room quickly to find two men. He soon found two servants working, Philip and Amos, who were performing some interior repair work. He called out and bade them come over. When they arrived, he instructed them to go with Jacob and bring in the wounded guest.

When Jacob once again stood outside with Eitel and Martinus, he found that Gaius had been unbound and removed from the horse. The weight of his limp body was being evenly held between the two of them. Philip and Amos tried to relieve the ragged-looking soldiers of their burden, but the wounded man‘s self-appointed guardians refused to relinquish their hold. Mica then led away the horse to the stable, while Jacob escorted the inn’s newest guests inside.

Jacob led the men past his uncle’s room to the large airy chambers located at the level of the central court. In doing this, he bypassed the customary rituals that would have been normally observed for greeting newly arrived guests. Under other circumstances, the guests would remove their shoes before entering the master’s chamber for introductions. The master of the house would then, in a formal show of hospitality that included foot washing by servants, offer refreshments. On this occasion though, Uncle Aaron would not be greeting the guests in his chambers.

When the men entered the secluded apartments reserved for guests, Jacob selected a large room and directed the men to place Gaius upon a thick mattress covered with a soft skin. Eitel drew back the cloak that had partially covered the sick man’s face, and Martinus removed his bloodstained tunic.

The entire time that Jacob had observed Gaius, the man had neither made a sound nor twitched a muscle. The young man’s observation resulted in a surprisingly unsettled feeling, the source of which he didn’t understand. It was in his nature, he knew, to be concerned about the wellbeing of his fellow man, but this feeling was inexplicably deeper than the circumstances seemed to warrant.

Aaron spoke to Jacob. “Naomi is in her room, go and bring her.” Jacob nodded and took off, taking the stairs to the upper level two at a time.

Naomi’s room was, of course, located with all of the other rooms set aside for the female relatives of Aaron’s household. As such, Aaron and Jacob were the only adult males allowed entrance to those rooms. Jacob quickly found Naomi and helped her gather the necessary items for tending the injured man before leading the way back.

When Jacob, followed by Naomi, entered the room, he found Gaius’ stripped form lying still, beneath a light sheet. Eitel and Martinus stood up as one to face the newcomer, the one who would heal the son of their shield brother. Naomi stepped forward gracefully and knelt down besides the stricken man. “Where is his injury?”

“He was stabbed in the side with a sword,” Jacob answered her. Whatever reticence Naomi had about aiding the despised soldiers from King Herod’s army dissipated in the face of actually seeing the suffering of the young, handsome, ill man. Though he looked to be a good ten years older than her son, Naomi’s maternal instincts ran strong.

Naomi bent to her work, examining her patient and unbinding the wound while the others looked on. In moments, the wound lay exposed. Naomi touched the flesh, then she lifted up an eyelid until the ice-blue of a vacant eye showed through, before gently letting the eyelid close. Next, she ran her fingers gently through his hair, feeling around the man’s skull. The beautiful, vibrant woman who knew how to set broken bones, treat infections, skin diseases and snakebite was puzzled by what she saw.

The wound that marred the tan skin was approximately the length of her finger. The skin was already beginning to knit together. There was no blood seepage, nor any foul odor indicating infected tissue. The wound was well on the way to healing. Naomi looked up at Eitel and Martinus. “This unnatural sleep was not caused by the wound, yet I see no injury to his head. Did he take a fall?”

Jacob observed Eitel and Martinus exchange another secretive look between them. Martinus gave an almost imperceptible nod to Eitel. Eitel began speaking slowly, as if having difficulty finding the right words. “This man is fearless in battle. He has the heart of a lion, stronger than even his father who is our sword brother, but… he is plagued by a strange condition.”

“Condition?” Naomi arched an eyebrow.

“Strange fits comes over him from time to time. When this occurs, it’s as though his spirit has left his body and all that remains is an empty shell. He can neither move nor speak for a time, though never has it been for so long a time as this.”

“And you are saying that this… this sleep is what this is?” Naomi asked, gesturing at Gaius.

Eitel nodded and Martinus merely shrugged.

Naomi pulled the sheet up over Gaius’ body, then she stood up. “So the fit came upon him when he was stabbed? It was the pain that brought on the fit?”

“No, Lady,” Martinus spoke up quietly. “It was before. The spirits have touched his mind perhaps. We don’t understand such things, but we do know that Gaius suffers when noises are too loud, lights too bright. Even smells that are too strong overwhelm him and he becomes as he is now.”

Jacob, who had been standing in the corner listening with great interest, suddenly startled. His heart began to beat faster as he turned over in his mind what he had heard. There was something familiar about this story. Jacob shook his head. It cannot be, there is some other reason for this. But the knowledge in his head beckoned to what he believed in his heart was true. Yet, at the same time, his heart warred with his intellect. The young man’s blue eyes stared intently at the man laid out on the pallet while he wrestled internally for a moment more before giving voice to his conclusion: “He’s fallen into The Void.”

All, except Naomi, looked upon Jacob with blank stares. Naomi merely looked expectantly at her son for she knew many things about the healing arts, but her son knew more than most about a variety of things in the world.

Jacob crossed the room, sat down next to the still form. “He’s been lost in The Void for too long – he will surely die if he cannot leave it soon.”

“Jacob, you are not a healer. What are you talking about?” Aaron questioned anxiously. “You don‘t know  the possible consequences should you offer hope where there is none, and when you are in no position to give it.”

“Can you help him?” Naomi asked, looking speculatively at her son.

“I don’t know,” Jacob murmured as he pushed a curly lock of hair behind his left ear nervously. The young man took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Leave me alone with him.”

The others turned to leave, but at hearing Jacob’s request, Eitel and Martinus both advanced, scowls marring their battle-scarred faces.

“Please.” The wide-blue eyes looking up at them were guileless, and hid no evil intent.

After a moment, Eitel and Martinus also reluctantly left the room, leaving Jacob alone with the stricken man. Jacob turned his full attention unto Gaius. He reached into the basket containing the various resins that had been mixed with oil to make salves and poultices. The young man pulled out two jars, one containing the pungent substance called myrrh, the other, the very costly, and equally pungent, opobalsam.

Leaning over the stricken man, Jacob placed a small amount of the salve made from myrrh in the inside of Gaius’ cheek. He then took a small portion of the opobalsam and placed it along the man’s upper lip, just under his nose. Jacob cleared his throat nervously. “Gaius,” he called earnestly into the man’s ear. “Gaius, I don’t know if you are one of those special men – a Zakif, but if you are, you have to listen to me. Hear my voice.”

Gaius remained still, dead-like upon the pallet. Undaunted, Jacob continued speaking. “You’ve fallen into The Void, but you can’t stay there anymore. You must come back.”  The young man took his hand and ran it up and down Gaius’ bare arm. “Come back, Gaius.”

Nothing.

“Come back now.”

Still, there was nothing. No sign that Gaius had heard, no reason for Jacob to believe his voice had penetrated the darkness caused by The Void. Jacob’s heart began to fill with despair. Had he pinned his hope on a myth? Had he been puffed up with knowledge that was nothing more than an illusion? Jacob closed his eyes and called the man’s name again.

Suddenly, the flesh beneath his hand twitched. Jacob’s eyes flew open, and he gasped in shock and surprise. He was looking straight into a set of eyes that rivaled the clearest, sharpest blue of the lightest sapphire gem.

*******

There was no sense of awareness in the black place of oblivion. There was no time or space, only nothingness. But something began to penetrate the darkness and restore self-awareness. He was tired, infinitely exhausted; he preferred remaining where he was, but there was a presence that called to him with strange familiarity. He could not ignore the commands of that voice. The eyelids he fought to open seemed to him to weigh more than stones, and he did not think he had the strength to open them, but for the power of the insistent voice, and the touch that brought with it a tingling sensation that ran up and down his arm.

Darkness became grey, then turned to light. There was sound, and smells of something pungent, and over that… something else that smelled of man, something pleasant. His eyes opened, and then there was sight. He saw the face of a young man above him. The eyes that peered down at him were wide with wonder. Excitement and kindness shone from the deep blue pools. He’d never seen those eyes before, yet they seemed so familiar.

He saw as though a man granted vision for the first time. Everything he perceived through his senses was sharp and clear. Though frighteningly weak, he felt more alive than he‘d ever felt before.

Where he was, and how he had gotten there, he had no idea, but in his heart, he had no fear. The face above him meant him no harm, of that he was sure.

“Who are you? What is this place?” The voice that spoke to Jacob was weak and raspy from disuse. The strong features in the lean face grimaced.

“My name is Jacob. This is my Uncle Aaron’s inn at the village of Ira.” Jacob appeared to be fairly vibrating with excitement as he repeated in an incredulous tone, “I brought you back... I can’t believe I brought you back.”

‘Ira?’

‘Ira?’ He had been in Bethlehem. But why? Gaius closed his eyes as the memories of what had followed in the wake of their arrival came crashing down… Blood, screaming, a grieving mother stabbing him with his own sword, sharp pain like fire and ice. Shame and confusion warred within as Gaius weakly looked about for his sword brothers, Eitel and Martinus. “How did I get here?” His voice barely rose above a whisper.

“Your companions brought you here.”

Gaius made as if to speak again, but Jacob quickly cut him off. “Shh… You need to eat, drink, and take rest – real rest.” Jacob got up and went to the door. He beckoned for Naomi and asked her in a low voice to bring food and drink, then he returned to Gaius’ side.

“Eitel and Martinus are here, they are safe.” Jacob burned with curiosity. Was this man a Zakif? Had he been overwhelmed by sights and sounds perceived through powerful senses, and thus had fallen into that strange state the learned men had spoken of as The Void? Jacob controlled himself as he waited for Naomi to return with the requested meal.

When Naomi returned she had with a pitcher of cool water, dried fish, bread, and an assortment of fruits. She was closely followed by her brother Aaron, as well as Eitel and Martinus, who would not be kept away.

Gaius watched as Eitel and Martinus, looks of joy on their faces, crossed the room and knelt on either side of him. Jacob noted the look of relief on Gaius’ face.

Eitel spoke first, and there was wonder in his voice. “ It is true, the Israelite brought you back.”

“It was no easy journey bringing your lifeless carcass here,” Martinus broke in with a voice made gruff with affection.

A ghost of a smile touched Gaius’ lips. Eitel and Maritnus looked weary and their dirty clothes reeked of sweat and grime. Though they had both tried to remove the blood from their clothing and protective armaments, residual traces of blood remained still. “Are you both well?”

“Ja, better than you.” Eitel looked to Jacob to whom Naomi had handed over the food and drink. He got up so that Jacob could resume his place near Gaius.

Slowly, Jacob assisted Gaius in sitting up, then he handed the older man a cup filled with cool water. In his weakened state, Gaius could barely hold the cup. His hands shook uncontrollably and some of the liquid spilled onto the blanket covering him. Jacob wordlessly placed his sturdy hands over the unsteady, long-fingered ones.

Such a show of weakness would have ordinarily been a source of shame and self-contempt, but it was strangely not so in the presence of this young man with the innocent-looking face. Gaius lacked the strength to contemplate the uncommon effect the Israelite had on him, for his thoughts seemed scattered like wandering sheep. He could only eat what the young man fed him, and drink when he raised the cup to his lips. Soon, his eyes began to droop as sleep came to claim him.

*******

Jacob eased Gaius back down again and drew the blanket up over his shoulders. The young man smiled when he saw that, before his head hit the pallet, the man was already in a deep, natural sleep. He sat still for a moment, watching Gaius’ face as the man breathed gently in and out.

Then Aaron cleared his throat. Jacob stood up and faced his uncle. He noted the expression on his uncle’s face and wondered why his lips were pursed together in a disapproving frown. What he didn’t know was that his Uncle Aaron’s disapproving look had been directed at his mother,

for when Gaius had sat up, the blanket covering the big man had dropped to his hips, exposing his nude, well-muscled torso. Naomi had looked on with an ill-disguised look of lusty appreciation, which had angered Aaron.

“Our guest will be well now, thanks to Jacob.” Aaron looked pointedly at Naomi before continuing, “Naomi, Rachel needs your help with her sewing. Eitel, Martinus, come with me so that I can show you some proper hospitality.” Aaron’s authoritative tone made it clear he would

accept nothing other than acquiescence. One by one, they filed out of the room with Jacob bringing up the rear.

The four men made their way to Aaron’s reception room. Eitel and Martinus removed their sandals before stepping onto the raised platform. Once they were comfortably seated upon the couch, servants bearing rags and bowls filled with steaming water entered and began washing away the dirt and tiredness from their aching feet. Food and drink were brought forth, and

Slowly, Jacob assisted Gaius in sitting up, then he handed the older man a cup filled with cool water. In his weakened state, Gaius could barely hold the cup. His hands shook uncontrollably and some of the liquid spilled onto the blanket covering him. Jacob wordlessly placed his sturdy hands over the unsteady, long-fingered ones.

Aaron encouraged the men to relax and eat and drink their fill.

Jacob and Aaron sat across from the guests, but it did not stop Jacob from observing his Uncle Aaron watching the men with an inscrutable expression on his face. The young man perceived that his uncle’s initial dread and fear when he’d first heard the news that soldiers from King Herod’s army were headed to Ira had all but faded and been replaced by something else, something darker.

Jacob, as surely his Uncle Aaron did, had many questions for which he was certain he would not like the answers. What were those soldiers doing in Bethlehem? Why had they not returned to Herod with their stricken friend? Why did they look as though they were fleeing? Most troubling to Jacob was the question of whose blood was on still on their clothes and weapons. Surely it did not all belong to Gaius. Was it Jewish blood then? Had they murdered his brethren and now he and his uncle were offering them hospitality?

Jacob picked at his food while Eitel and Martinus ate hungrily, each man, one with shaggy blond hair, the other with shaggy dark brown hair, sat with their heads bowed over their bowls of food. They looked up only after they had finished first and second servings, licking their fingers and wiping their mouths on the sleeves of their dirty tunics.

“More wine?” Aaron asked solicitously. The strangers held out their cups, and servants hastened to refill them. The two men drank more leisurely as their hunger and thirst slackened. Aaron stood up then and began pacing silently for a moment. Then he spoke, “Are you fleeing King Herod’s army? Are you deserters?”

Eitel and Martinus immediately sat straighter. Their faces became guarded as they looked silently at each other.

“What business did you have in Bethlehem?” Aaron asked without waiting for an answer.

Jacob, desiring to head off a confrontation from his volatile uncle, cleared his throat. “Uncle, these men are tired. Perhaps after they’ve rested would be a better time to seek answers.”

“No, Jacob. They will answer now. Truthfully, or they will leave immediately.”

Jacob could not hide his dismay at his uncle’s demand. “But what of Gaius? Would you have him leave too when he is still weak and recovering?”

After the barest of pauses, Aaron replied, “Of course not, Jacob. Gaius may recover his strength and then he will leave.” He turned to the men once more. “Will you speak truthfully?”

Some unspoken communication passed between the two foreign-born soldiers. Eitel answered for both of them: “Ja. We will. We are in your debt for the life of Gaius.”

“Then, are you deserters?”

“Martinus and I will never return to Judea, instead we will go back to the land of our fathers. Gaius knows nothing of this.”

“If that is so, then why is Gaius with you? Would he not have returned to Judea with others of your company?”

Martinus spoke up. “Perhaps it was only the three of us who were dispatched to Bethlehem.”

Aaron snorted disdainfully. “When does Herod not dispatch a great number of his army in a show of force to do his evil deeds?”

Jacob nodded his head in silent agreement. His uncle was no fool.

“You are right. Four nights ago, our captain came to our barracks. Eitel, myself, Gaius and fifteen other men were selected to ride to Bethlehem to carry out Herod’s orders.”

“What were those orders?”

Neither man answered.

“Tell me!” Aaron hissed impatiently.

Eitel looked wearily at Aaron and then he answered in a low, steady voice, “For years there were rumors circulating around Herod’s throne… Talk of an old Hebrew prophecy concerning a great and mighty Jew who would arise amongst the people and rule the entire world as king.” Eitel shrugged pragmatically. “For years Herod was not bothered by such rumors. Even in Ira you know of how effective Herod is at taking care of his enemies, even when they are his own family members.”

“Especially when they are his own family members,” Jacob muttered under his breath.

Eitel ignored him and continued. “Things changed. Herod grew more concerned – I don’t know why, it is not for the likes of someone of my station to know, but one day, not long ago, three men from a far away land, men of great riches and mystical powers, arrived in Jerusalem. They made camp outside of Herod’s palace. One night, my captain, Drusus, came to me, Martinus and two others, in our barracks. We were commanded to accompany Herod outside the palace walls. Herod met with these strangers in secret.”

Eitel fell silent, and Martinus took up the tale. “When Herod emerged from their tent, he had a look on his face and in his eye, that spoke of madness. Many days passed and there was nothing, only our training and regular duties.”

“And then?” Aaron asked harshly.

“And then one morning, Drusus ordered myself, Eitel and fifteen other soldiers to prepare to ride to Bethlehem. Our captain told us we were to find this man who would be king and kill him.”

“Bethlehem is a poor little town filled with unarmed Jews. Herod sent over fifteen men to kill some unknown poor man who some rebels claimed would take his place as king?” Aaron’s disbelief and scorn were plain.

Martinus looked closed off, and Eitel ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair, his gaze was fixed firmly on the drink in his hand. It was Eitel who continued this time. “Our captain is a cruel man, and his dark heart serves Herod well. He lied, and when we at last reached the outskirts of Bethlehem by nightfall, he took undue pleasure in telling us the truth of our mission.”

As the story unfolded, Jacob sat, listening intently. When the men spoke of the ancient prophecy, his mind recalled all that he had read and been taught concerning He who would be called Messiah. Not long afterwards, a feeling of terrible unease and dread began to steal over his heart. Then, in one instant, he was ignorant of the truth, and the next, a terrible revelation came to him before Eitel next spoke. Jacob was horrified.

“You sought not a man to kill, but a babe. Your King sent you to murder a defenseless infant!” he cried out in shocked dismay. Jacob’s heart sank. What of Gaius? He was a solider just as they were, sent on the same mission to Bethlehem to murder a child. This man who might very well be the actual embodiment of the proof that there were such beings as Sentinels – his Zakif, was nothing more than a barbarian butcher.

Jacob was nearly overwhelmed by feelings of bitterness. But the tale Eitel and Martinus told was still not finished. This time, there was deep shame in Eitel’s words when he spoke. “The captain ordered us to search every home in Bethlehem, seek out every man-child under the age of two and put them to death with the sword. Fathers rent their clothes. Blood ran in the streets when mothers tried to flee with their infants. Their sons died screaming and the wails and howls of their mothers’ anguish echoed in the night.”

Jacob’s uncle looked beside himself with cold fury. “You murdering dogs!”

“We are soldiers. When told to go, we go. When told to kill, we kill,” Martinus stated matter-of-factly, but his shame was no less than Eitel’s.

Eitel finally looked up at the young man sitting across from him. Jacob’s youthful face was drained of color, his blue eyes huge in his face. As if perceiving part of Jacob’s real anguish, Eitel spoke, “Gaius killed no one.”

But Jacob was too shocked and horrified to hear Eitel’s words. He stood up, swaying slightly. “You have bought great evil and shame to this house. You are murderers, and the blood of Jewish infants is on your hands,” he choked out. Images of babies being run through with swords, bodies twisted in agony and dripping with blood, assailed him.

Jacob’s body shook uncontrollably as the dreadful images swirled, merged and changed into the terror and agony of an other time and place. Suddenly he was no longer safe in his uncle’s home in Ira. He was in Jerusalem, his naked body stretched between two posts. Jacob’s heart pounded wildly and he gasped for breath, his body, jerking as if he felt the brutal lash of the whip tearing his back to shreds, all the while Herod’s laughing face mocked him for being the lucky recipient of his “mercy” while the others, his rabbi and friends, would be executed for their folly by being burned alive.

And when he had screamed and screamed until he could voice no cry aloud any longer, he was untied and allowed to unceremoniously drop to the ground in a bloody, quivering heap.

Jacob, then as he did in the present, saw everything in a red haze of pain. His mind was nearly numb from the agony and humiliation of his ordeal. It was not the fear for his beloved friends, nor the physical pain that was the final blow that sent him deep into oblivion, seeking reprieve from the cruelty, it was the blow to his soul that suffused him with a shame too deep to ever fully recover. Herod’s bloated face loomed close to his as the guards roughly held his head in place. “Do you want to know why your miserable, traitorous life has been spared while the others will feel the kisses of the flames?”

Jacob could only pant harshly from the pain as Herod took hold of his long curls and jerked his head before giving a conspiratorial wink. Then the cruel king said with a whisper meant for Jacob’s ears only, “Your mother whored herself to me to spare your life, again, and again, and again…” Herod allowed his voice to trail off suggestively. “She was quite a fine mount, considering I like them much younger.  You should feel proud.”

The Jacob who had endured the whipping then, and the one who stood in Aaron’s reception room now, moaned, and it was a sound that was nothing less than a soul so wounded and broken that it longed for death. But death did not claim him then, nor did it now. The blackness of unconsciousness enveloped him until there was no pain, only silence.

Aaron watched in paralyzed shock as his nephew crumpled to the ground and lay unmoving.

Present Day

Washington State Patrol, Cascade Detachment

From the warmth inside the small Washington State Patrol detachment, Jim and Simon both could see the chopper in which they would soon be riding. The chopper’s blades were slowly starting up their rotations as the pilot in the cockpit began to warm the bird up and perform his pre-flight check procedures.

The night air was miserably cold. Just looking at the sleet coming down, and hearing the occasional gusty, chilly wind barrel through was enough to make Simon shudder and hunker down in his warm parka despite the building’s heat. The parka was one of the few items Simon had managed to snag during the brief time inside his house in which he had to pack as Jim waited impatiently outside in his SUV for him.

Simon looked over at Jim, observing the other man’s tense posture and determined, intense expression. His detective was pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. He let out a soft sigh of resignation. This wasn’t going to be easy, but he knew Jim was doing the best he could to remember just how much he owed him at this exact moment.

Thank God for that short but important list of people in high places who owed him favors, Simon thought. One never knew when one would have to call in a marker, and boy, was this one a doozy.

Back at the loft, he and Jim had wracked their brains trying to figure out a way to reach the other end of the state as quickly as possible. They needed something fast – a chopper. And as desperate as Jim was to get to the area, even the anxious Sentinel understood that it wasn’t possible for even a man of Simon’s position of power and authority to authorize a Cascade City police chopper to fly them up to the site of the disaster. He had to use another resource, and that’s when he remembered his former college roommate and fraternity brother, Ronald Crawford.

Crawford was well connected in the Emergency Management Division. In fact, he worked within the hierarchy of the State’s Resource Coordination Center – the organization tasked with coordinating the State’s resources for the purposes of search and rescue operations. If anyone could arrange for the immediate involvement and deployment of State Patrol Cascade Detachment resources, he could. The question was, would Crawford remember a 17-year-old vow to be there for Simon, to help him if it were in his power to do so?

He had every reason to hope so. Back when he was a freshman detective, Crawford’s high-school age daughter, Suzan, had been found dead, brutally murdered on the Rainier University campus. The killer went undetected until finally, the case was relegated to the cold case files. It looked as though the killer had gotten away scot-free – that is until Simon had taken up the case in his off-duty hours. His dogged determination to find the killer of his friend’s daughter had consumed his free time until, at last, he’d broken the case. The killer was apprehended, tried and convicted, thus providing a great deal of consolation and closure to his grieving friend and fraternity brother.

And Crawford hadn’t let him down. With the same dogged determination used to find Suzan’s killer, he’d tracked down Ronald Crawford over the phone. After listening to his request, Crawford had been more than willing to get the ball rolling on getting a State Patrol chopper in the Cascade Detachment tapped for the search and rescue efforts.

It was now 9:00 pm, and it was a race against the clock. According to the latest updates, there were now some search and rescue efforts being tentatively initiated at the disaster site before the weather turned significantly more severe, but Simon knew as well as Jim did that Jim’s extraordinary abilities employed now would be Sandburg’s best bet of being found alive, if indeed he was still alive.

Simon continued to watch Jim, as Jim watched the chopper. Jim had stopped pacing and was now standing stock still staring out the window as the sleet fell outside. It looked to Simon as though he were on the verge of a zone-out. Not this again! 

“Jim!” Simon hissed urgently. Nothing. “Jim!” Simon repeated. The Major Crime captain breathed a sigh of relief when Jim tore his gaze away from the window and looked at him.

“What is it, Simon?”

“Looks like we may be leaving soon.” Simon gestured with his head towards the figure approaching them. It was Captain Whitman, commander of the Washington State Patrol, Cascade Detachment. Jim looked impossibly even more tense than he had a minute before, and Simon knew Jim was bracing himself to hear news that the flight had been called off.

As if he’d read the other man’s mind, Whitman said, “Relax, gentlemen, you’ll be out of here in the next five minutes. Robert’s my best pilot, so you’ll be in good hands.”

Simon extended his hand to Whitman. “Detective Ellison and I both thank you. If there’s anything I can ever do for you…”

Whitman gave Simon a firm handshake and addressed both men. “I’ll be sure and give you a call.” Whitman ran a hand through his silver-streaked, dark hair. “You’ve got a powerful friend to make this happen for you, Captain Banks. I wouldn’t be authorizing this flight otherwise.”

“Thank you, Captain Whitman.”  Jim also extended his hand to the State Patrol officer, and Captain Whitman shook it. From outside, Robert gave the thumbs up signal, indicating that his passengers should proceed with boarding.

“Hope you find your missing man.”

With those parting words, Whitman went over to the window, while Simon and Jim grabbed their belongings and headed outside. Jim dialed down his hearing to protect his ears from the loud noise of the chopper’s whirling blades.

Once inside the chopper, the men buckled themselves in and braced themselves for lift off. Robert skillfully guided the chopper into the air and as he did so, Jim leaned close to the window and looked one last time at the building they had just exited. Captain Whitman was still standing at the window, gazing upward at the airborne chopper. His lips moved and Jim, with his enhanced sight, easily read the words uttered: Godspeed.

*******

Ira

There was a strange howling – a sound of some beast in unrelenting agony. That sound sliced through the layers of sound sleep and pierced the soul of the exhausted man upstairs. Gaius’ eyes flew open, and he looked around in a state of profound confusion and disquiet. There was no doubt about what he’d heard.  It was the howl of an animal, but there was nothing in the room that could possibly explain either the sound, or the overwhelming feeling that someone whom he had a duty to protect was in distress and needed his help. Had something happened to his sword brothers?

Driven by an urge he couldn’t understand, but so strong he couldn’t deny it, Gaius rose from his sleeping pallet, wrapped the bed cloth around his waist, and staggered down the stairs. He had no idea where he was going. He was operating on pure instinct, and that instinct led him unknowingly straight to Aaron’s reception room.

The nearer he drew to the room located at the front of the house, the more the instinct to protect grew until it merged into a groundswell of sound that nearly overwhelmed him with its frantic beating pace. Standing in the doorway, Gaius instantly pinpointed the strange thumping beats as coming from a half-hidden body crumpled on the floor, surrounded by Eitel, Martinus, and a man Gaius did not know. The men surrounding the unmoving form looked up in astonishment at the spectacle of Gaius half-naked and swaying in the doorway.

As for Gaius, he knew an instant before his eyes saw, that the man on the floor was he who had called him back from The Void. Gaius remembered that his name was Jacob, and clearly, something had happened to him. His eyes grew hard, and his jaw clenched with tension. The urge to kill and protect was strong and frightening. It propelled him forward on legs that no longer seemed unsteady.

Gaius closed the gap between himself and Jacob on long legs. Then he dropped to his knees beside the young man and with a care never before witnessed by his sword brothers, gathered the unconscious man tenderly in his arms and held him against his chest.

The men looking on were astounded. Eitel and Martinus looked at each other, shocked by Gaius’ sudden entrance into the room, and by the reserved man’s uncommon show of concern for the stranger. Gaius paid them no heed. Instead, he proceeded to check the young man’s body for injuries, though none were apparent. Finding nothing, Gaius finally looked up with eyes that no longer held the killing coldness that Eitel and Martinus knew in battle. “What happened to him?”

Aaron looked both pained and angry. “Take your hands off him. Your friends confessed how you went to Bethlehem and murdered innocent baby boys on the word of the mad-man whom you serve!”

Gaius’ face blanched, but he answered his host’s accusation without letting go of Jacob. “There is no infant blood on my hands, and whatever these men have done under orders, they took no pleasure in it.”

The younger man gave his older companions a penetrating stare, his expression inscrutable. Then he turned his gaze back to Aaron, for he did not need to look in the faces of Eitel and Martinus to receive confirmation of the veracity of his next statement: “These men have risked their lives to save mine. I know Drufus, our captain, would have ordered my death and my body left behind when I... I lost myself after we were ordered to go to Bethlehem.”

Gaius flushed with remembered shame of the times the strange condition had come upon him and the resulting humiliation and punishment Drufus had inflicted on him for something he neither understood nor could help. Gaius pushed back the memories and continued, “They know that they can never return to Judea because they defied Drufus’ orders and left without authority to bring me to safety.”

Gaius turned his attention back to the young man in his arms who, by now, was beginning to stir. Jacob opened his eyes, and it was his turn to see a pair of blue eyes, set in a kind face, looking down at him. Instead of looking reassured as Gaius had hoped, a look of sheer terror crossed the youthful features. Jacob pulled himself up and away from Gaius, and looked shakily and with confusion at his uncle. Aaron took his nephew by the arm and sat him down on the couch while Gaius slowly got to his feet and made his way unsteadily across the room where he leaned heavily against the wall.

Gaius watched the shaken man silently staring at him and clearly struggling to compose himself. The sight of Jacob sitting miserably on the couch disturbed Gaius greatly but he did not know why. Jacob had looked at him in fear. Other men often had. Gaius’ stern face had been the last thing many a man had seen before they’d died, pierced on the end of his sword in battle. But this was different. He had no wish to harm the younger man. He felt fiercely protective of him and he understood intuitively that this man fearing him was wrong.

His mind in turmoil, Gaius’ weakness returned, causing his shoulders to slump forward, and his eyes to close wearily. The darkness was creeping up, threatening to render him just as unconscious as Jacob had been moments before. His limbs trembled, and through his intense weariness, he heard Jacob's words clearly, as though they were shouted, even though his voice was no more than the barest whisper, and too low for ordinary ears to hear from that distance: “You are a murderer of infants.”

With all his will, Gaius held on to consciousness as he forced his eyes open. He held the stricken blue eyes with his own when he replied in a loud voice, “Upon my life, I swear to you that I took no lives that night, nor have I ever slaughtered woman or child.”

Jacob gasped aloud in shocked surprise that Gaius had heard him. There was a measured pause, then a whispered response: “Why should I believe you?”

“I do not lie.”

Another pause, more thoughtful in nature followed, then: “Do you see the embroidery on the wall hanging behind me?”

“Yes.”

“Can you read?”

“Yes.”

“Read for me what it says.”

Somewhere deep within him, Gaius found the strength to look where Jacob indicated. He saw the wall hanging that was no larger than a man’s head, with small words embroidered in Hebrew. His heart was stricken when he read the words, first silently and then aloud. “It is a psalm. It says, ‘He will rescue them from oppression and violence, for precious is their blood in His sight.’”

After a moment that seemed to Gaius to stretch into eternity, Jacob nodded his head in quiet acceptance that Gaius had told him the truth in all things. Overcome with a sense of profound relief, Gaius sagged weakly against the wall and would have fallen down completely, save for Martinus’ brawny arm grabbing him and holding him upright.

Aaron had watched the interplay between his nephew and the soldier in rapt amazement, his face so eloquently communicating his complete bafflement at how it was possible for the other man to hear Jacob’s whispered words from across the room. Now he stepped in front of Jacob and placed his hand protectively on his shoulder.

“Are you all right?”

“I am well, Uncle.”

Relieved, Aaron demanded, “What manner of man is he that he can see and hear so far?”

“He is a Zakif. His senses are superior to ordinary men’s.” Jacob grabbed his uncle’s hand. “Please don’t send Gaius away. He is still weak from his ordeal. He needs food and rest.”

“I have made my decision, Jacob.” Aaron turned around and addressed the three soldiers. “Eitel, Martinus – the two of you will leave this house and Ira tomorrow morning. Gaius may remain.”

“It will be as you wish,” Eitel replied. “Now we will take Gaius back to the room.” The blond soldier took his place on the other side of Gaius and together, he and Martinus all but carried the exhausted man upstairs.

After a while, Jacob rose from the couch, bid his uncle goodnight, and made his way wearily to his own small room. He was mentally exhausted from the day’s revelations, and the trauma inflicted from being ambushed by the terrible memories of Jerusalem. Still, his heart sang for joy. He’d found what he had longed for so long to prove existed: a human being with the extraordinary gift of enhanced senses. He smiled as he stripped off his outer garments until only the inner Kethoneth made of linen remained. When he fell upon his pallet, the smile that graced his face remained even as he closed his eyes and slipped into a deep and peaceful sleep.

*******

In the morning, the sun’s rays rolled back the night, bringing with it a crisp, refreshing light breeze that blew gently across the troubled land. This was the time when the women of Ira set out to the wells with their sturdy water jugs to fetch water for their respective households. The water wells provided a place for socializing for most of the village women, but not for the women of Aaron’s household. Aaron’s property contained its own cistern thus making it unnecessary for the women to make the trek down to the village well.

Still, the women in Aaron’s household enjoyed fetching the water in groups of twos or threes whenever possible, so that they too could snatch the opportunity for exchanging gossip away from the grind of the indoor work. Occasionally, they were joined by female guests at the inn, who happened to be traveling with their families.

It was Jacob’s young cousin Rachel’s turn, on this quiet, peaceful morning, to fetch water before assisting the other women of the household in starting a fire for the oven and preparing the dough to bake bread. The young girl, much to her delight, was not alone on this morning, for she had been joined by the inn’s lone female guest, a young woman named Maryam who’d been their guest for two days now while her handsome, older husband, who was a skilled carpenter, earned money for the rest of their journey.

In truth, Maryam was only a few years older than Rachel, but the shy, gentle girl who had arrived from Bethlehem was both a married woman and a mother with a baby boy at her breast. Rachel, who had instantly warmed to her, perceived Maryam fully as an adult, so she was especially thrilled that the other wanted to spend time with her. To have her along to talk to while filling and hauling back the heavy water jar was something to which she looked forward to.

Thus the two young girls, completely innocent and oblivious to the drama that had occurred the night before under their very roof, were laughing and smiling, exchanging stories and tales, especially of Maryam’s travel to and from Bethlehem as they made their way across the courtyard and to the inn’s entrance. And it happened that just when Eitel and Martinus, who had said their good byes to Gaius, came around the corner, they heard part of the girls’ conversation.

The ex-soldiers’ attire had been cleaned and repaired overnight, and having no other clothing to fit their large frames, they had no choice but to redress in the uniforms they no longer wanted as they readied themselves to depart Ira to return to the land where they were born. Armed, rested and fairly clean, the two men looked every inch Herod’s loyal soldiers.

Maryam’s eyes met and locked with those belonging to those of Eitel and Martinus. The ex-soldiers in turn, having heard Maryam tell the young girl with her that she and her husband had come from Bethlehem a mere five nights month ago, locked startled eyes with the young woman, alternating their gazes from her to the babe in her arms and back again. In a single moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, Maryam’s countenance changed from young and open to shocked terror with a mother’s intuition of extreme peril. She began to wail aloud in terror as she gripped the child closer still. Rachel’s blood ran cold and though the two men had made no hostile move towards her new friend, she too, let out a yell. “Get away from her!” she cried out, frightened for Maryam and the baby.

The bone chilling screaming and yelling garnered the attention of Mica and some of the other male servants who were going about their tasks outside. They picked up whatever was handy to fashion for themselves weapons, and like a gang of mad dogs, they ran over and surrounded the two men, ready to wield their clubs to maim and destroy the symbols of much that they hated. Eitel and Martinus, seeing that they were about to be set upon by a group of angry, dangerous men, stood back to back and drew out their swords. They had no desire to fight, but they would defend their lives if needs be.

The men continued to advance on Eitel and Martinus. Just when it appeared that a violent confrontation was imminent, there was another loud ruckus as the front door was yanked open and Aaron, followed by Jacob and Gaius, barreled out.

The three men had no idea what had happened, but to a man, they sensed the tension, the depth of hostilities that was on the verge of erupting into violence. Desperate to control his servants, Aaron placed his portly frame in front of the angry men, held up his hands in a placating manner saying, “Peace! Peace! Put down your weapons. Go back to your work.” The angry men lowered their weapons but made no move to leave. “Now!” Aaron commanded sternly.

At the same time, Gaius spoke to his sword brothers standing resolutely before him. “Put your weapons away,” he said in a low, calm voice. Eitel and Martinus slowly lowered their swords, then sheathed them. Aaron used his anger to cover his fear at what had very nearly occurred. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded of the two deserters.

Eitel and Martinus exchanged looks. “They saw us and then they screamed,” Eitel replied simply. “We heard this woman talking to the girl about how her family fled Bethlehem five days ago.”

“So?” Aaron challenged.

“So nothing!” Eitel snapped. “We were ordered to Bethlehem six days ago – you know the rest.”

Jacob, who had been standing silently observing everything, stepped forward. His curiosity had gotten the better of him, and so he turned to the trembling young woman with the baby in her arms.

“Maryam,” he inquired gently in his most soothing voice, “why did you flee Bethlehem five days ago?”

If it were possible, Maryam’s trembling appeared to increase. “It came to my husband in a dream, a warning that our son’s life was in danger. We fled that very night,” she said, her voice little more than a soft whisper.

Jacob looked at Maryam, and he knew without knowing that she had not told him everything. His curiosity increased even more, and he had a nearly overwhelming desire to see for himself, the baby in her arms. “May I please hold your baby?”

Maryam looked into the countenance of the man standing before her. The wide blue eyes set in an exquisite face communicated both innocence and knowledge of suffering. Her trembling slowed, then ceased altogether as she held out the sleeping infant and gently placed him in Jacob’s arms. As she did so, Gaius came and stood behind him, a silent tower of strength.

Jacob stared down in silent wonder upon the child in his arms. In his head, he did not recall ever having seen a more beautiful baby. In his heart, he knew he had not. “What is your son’s name?” he asked gently.

The brown eyes that looked up at him were filled with immeasurable, profound love that had no end. “We call him, ‘Yeshua’.”

Washington State Patrol, Wolf Lodge Detachment

Robert set the chopper down with the practiced ease of one who could do so in his sleep. This far east, there was already a coat of snow on the ground at least two inches thick – a gift from the early stages of the impending snowstorm. Every now and then, a gust of wind blew through, buffeting the chopper and making the snow swirl madly as it fell to the ground.

Jim and Simon made a dash into yet another state patrol detachment building. The two men stood still, looking around and getting their bearings after the flight. Thankfully, this detachment building was just as warm as the last they’d been in. Evidence of good holiday cheer in the form of garlands, wreaths, and a real tree was everywhere in tasteful quantities. All this holiday cheer stood in stark contrast to the somber attitude of the men and women inside, most of whom had been recalled to work on this Christmas Eve, due to the disaster. None had complained though. These officers had each responded to the emergency call with swift dedication. Some of their number were stationed a quarter mile on either side of the rockslide, while the remaining men and women at the station sat playing a wearying game of “hurry up and wait”.

They looked up with great interest the moment the back door opened and two large men, one white, the other black, stepped inside. The two men brushed the clinging snow from their coats, took off their hats, and placed their bags by the door. These were the law enforcement officers their captain, Paul Rolph, had informed them would be arriving via helicopter from the Cascade detachment.

The nearest officer, Sergeant Walton, leapt up, extended a hand and made quick introductions. Then he led Ellison and Banks to his captain’s office. The sergeant knocked on the closed door, and the authoritative voice inside responded, “Come in.”

“Sir… Captain Banks and Detective Ellison from the Cascade Police Department.”

A burly-looking man in his mid-fifties rose from behind his desk, hand extended. “Captain Rolph. Pleased to meet you.” Ellison and Banks, in turn, returned the handshake.

“Same here, though we both would have wished for better circumstances,” Simon replied as he sized the other captain up.

“Coffee, gentlemen?”

“No thank you, Captain. If it’s all the same to you, my boss and I would appreciate that ride up to the disaster area,” Jim stated flatly.

Simon shot Jim a warning look.

As if he’d not heard the Cascade detective, Captain Rolph moved over to his private coffee mess and got out two coffee mugs. “Please, have a seat,” he invited in an offer-you-can’t-refuse tone of voice. Rolph understood these two men all too well. One of their own was out there, possibly injured. Probably dead. If it were one of his people, he’d do no less.

A moment later, Banks, Ellison and Rolph were seated, coffee mugs in hand.

Rolph spoke. “The best we can do for you is to give you a ride up to the emergency road block located about a quarter mile away from the actual rockslide. I’m sure you are aware that official search and rescue efforts haven’t started yet, because, according to the experts, things are still very, very unstable. The snowstorm isn’t helping things either. So... what exactly is it you men hope to accomplish?”

Jim stared straight ahead, his voice firm and unwavering. “I need to find my friend. Whatever it takes.”

Captain Rolph looked into the steely blue eyes of the man in front of him, and he knew that there was nothing over, on, or beneath the earth that would stop him from looking for his friend. Rolph shifted his gaze from the detective to the captain sitting next to him. “Are you saying that you would risk your lives, risk possible arrest, maybe even the loss of your careers, by disobeying police authority to trespass beyond the established safety parameters?”

There was silence while the two captains exchanged measured looks.

Then from Simon came a solid, “Whatever it takes.”

*******

Ira

Rachel, Maryam and the baby had long gone inside the house. Mica and the other male servants had dispersed, sent back to their work by the upset master of the house, leaving Jacob, Gaius, Eitel and Martinus outside. This time, there was a final farewell as well as a warning as Eitel and Martinus spoke with Gaius. “Gaius, our oath to your father has been fulfilled, but if you return to Judea as you say you intend, then Drufus will not stop until he has destroyed you. His hatred of you feeds his soul. Even now, he could be looking for you,” Eitel warned gravely.

“I do not fear Drufus. He does not have the authority to take my life.”

“What he wants, he will do in secret; when the night comes – away from the light of day,” Martinus growled. “Have you already forgotten how he ordered us to abandon you to certain death after the fit came upon you, and you lay bleeding from the wound in your side? He knew those villagers would have torn your body limb from limb to avenge what we had been ordered to do.”

“I have not forgotten, brothers, nor will I ever forget what you have given up to save my life,” Gaius replied softly, with much respect in his voice. But then his voice turned cold and there was no warmth in his eyes when he added, “I must return, then I will expose Drufus’ treachery. Do you think he will escape punishment from those who rank over him for the cowardly act of abandoning his own man?”

When Jacob, who had been standing by listening, heard Gaius declare his intention to return to Judea, he felt his heart sink. He walked away and sat beneath a tree, thinking. His mind was in turmoil. Would Gaius leave right away? But Eitel and Martinus clearly believed that Gaius’ life would be in danger if he were to return to his service in Herod’s army. Jacob pondered why would he want to continue serving the evil ruler in any event. And what about himself? He longed to study this man, to get to know him and understand the strange connection he felt whenever he was near him. Many of the learned men he’d spoken to about Zakifs also referred to a companion. A being called a Madreech – a Guide, whose duty it was to remain at the Zakif’s side to bring him back from The Void whenever necessary. Was that what he was meant to be to Gaius? The terror the idea of returning to Jerusalem, much less any land under Herod the Great’s jurisdiction, evoked rose to the surface far too quickly, and he pushed it away in an attempt to calm his mind.

Just as Jacob made up his mind to take some time later that day to pray and meditate, the young man saw Eitel and Martinus, one after the other, clasp Gauis’<<Gaius’>> forearm in a gesture of brotherhood and farewell. When the two men departed at last, they left behind forever Ira, their bloody service under King Herod the Great, and the son of their sword brother who stood without moving, gazing after them.

*******

“Jacob,” Samuel’s incessant voice called. When he received no answer, the younger children began to giggle, and Rachel sternly hushed them. Samuel again called his older cousin’s name in a vain attempt to get his attention. On the third try, he was successful. The young teacher looked startled, then he blushed with embarrassment at having been caught daydreaming in front of his charges. It had been a long, eventful morning, and Jacob’s mind had been uncharacteristically preoccupied with other matters.

“What did you say?” There was more tittering.

“I said, the answer is Jonathan and David.” Samuel waited expectantly for the approving acknowledgement that he had answered Jacob’s riddle correctly.

“Correct,” Jacob answered vaguely, not even looking at the boy.

Samuel’s face showed his disappointment at his teacher’s lackluster response and when Jacob saw it, he sighed, feeling guilty. “Forgive me, Samuel. I have something weighing on my mind this morning.” He got up from his cushions on the floor and beckoned his younger cousins to do the same. “The lessons are over for today. Go and find your father. He has work for each of you.” The young cousins quickly gathered up their materials and departed, leaving Jacob alone. After a moment, he too departed.

It was midday, and the heat was at its most oppressive, hottest state. It was not the custom to eat at this time, but Jacob, knowing that Gaius was still weak, went in search of a plate of fruit and a cup of water to bring to the recovering man.

Refreshment in hand, he went to the guest apartment where Gaius was staying. When he entered the room, he found the other man upon his pallet in a light sleep. The young man sat down quietly by his side and studied Gaius’ face with a great deal of satisfaction. It had only been one day since the Zakif had come back to himself after having spent three days lost in The Void, but already his face had shed the drawn, ill look caused by days without nourishment and adequate hydration.

As if sensing Jacob’s presence, Gaius stirred and opened his eyes. He quickly sat up when he saw it was Jacob. “Are you well?” he inquired.

Jacob smiled at that. “Yes, but it is I who should be asking you about the state of your health.” Gaius did not immediately answer, but stretched his neck muscles and flexed those in his arms before getting up to stretch his back and legs. He turned a contented face towards Jacob and replied, “My strength has returned.”

“You still need to eat and drink. Here.” Jacob handed over the plate and cup, and Gaius gratefully accepted them. The two men sat in companionable silence as Gaius consumed the food.

When he was finished, Gaius thanked him. Then, Jacob gathered up the plate and empty cup and stood up. “Walk with me?” Gaius readily agreed, eager to leave the confines of the inn. Thus, walking side by side, the young Israelite with the wide blue eyes and the tall, stern- faced soldier from King Herod’s army departed the dwelling, crossed the courtyard and began to negotiate the narrow, twisting streets until the number of closely-packed crude structures along either side started to thin out.

Jacob burned with curiosity, and he could no longer contain his thirst to know more about the Zakif. The first question tumbled from his lips as he fairly bounced alongside the much taller man: “Gaius, have you always known you had these extraordinary gifts?”

“They are no gifts, Jacob,” Gaius answered resentfully.

“But to be able to see the eagle flying overhead and count the feathers on his wing… to be able to hear where the animal you hunt is before it can even smell you-”

“I tell you, they are a curse that have plagued my life since I was a young boy,” Gaius interrupted angrily. He could not help himself. Memories of being beaten as a young boy, ostracized and feared for being different, came to mind all too easily. He’d been called demon possessed, mad. In truth, there were many times, even now when he thought he truly would go mad.

And there were other thoughts that filled him with terror whenever he dwelled on them. Memories of painful spikes and agonizing headaches that came from hearing sudden noises and sounds that were much too loud. Clothes and blankets that felt fine one moment and then the next would make his skin break out and itch until he thought he would scratch the skin off of his body.

To his astonishment, he found himself sharing those painful truths with Jacob. Gaius was an exceedingly private man. He had learned through great suffering to never speak of those things, not even to Eitel and Martinus whom he trusted with his life. The older man was angry, worn down by having to suppress the constant fear of losing control, and of being responsible for the death of another, or of being injured himself. His hatred of what his condition had done to his life and to his relationships burned deep inside.

As always, whenever he talked of his father, Felix, there was the wound on his soul that was thinly crusted over, but never seem to really heal. “My father could not hide the shame he felt when the fits would come upon me,” Gaius confessed bitterly.

“The Void,” Jacob murmured the correction distractedly for he was deeply troubled by the sorrow and anger Gaius was expressing over the way he had and was still suffering for what he believed God himself had given him.

“When I was a youth, I vowed to make myself into a man my father could proudly call his son. I trained hard, and my body grew strong. When the time was right, I left my father and my younger brother and went to Rome. There I served Caesar Augustus in his army. I won respect and rank in battle, first as a leader of a few in a contubernium, and then as a leader of many as a Centurion.” Gaius fell silent, looking far away.

The two men stopped walking, and Jacob took Gaius by the arm and gestured with the other towards a low wall made of stone where they could both be seated. Joseph glanced at Gaius, but the other man remained silent. “What happened?” he prompted encouragingly.

“I dishonored myself, Rome, and my father when I fell into The Void during battle. Men whose lives I was responsible for, died because I could no longer lead them,” Gaius stated tonelessly.

“If you had been killed in battle, your men still would have been without you. Surely what happened was not of your doing and there is no dishonor.” Jacob was quick to intercede, anxious to mitigate his new friend’s pain.

“That was not the opinion of the senior Centurion. He accused me of disobeying orders, and he petitioned the general to have me flogged at the least, beheaded at worst.”

Jacob shuddered.

Gaius gave a grim, humorless smile. “I was not flogged, nor as you can see, beheaded. My men spoke for me and instead, I was ordered to go to Judea and serve in King Herod’s army as a soldier of the lowest rank. I thought I knew what Hades was, but when Drufus became my captain, I knew the true meaning then.”

Jacob stared at him, dreading but needing to hear what Gaius wished to share. “What did he do to you?” he choked out.

Gaius closed his eyes, “What did he not do?” He opened his eyes and this time when he spoke, some of the anger inside had leeched out and was replaced by a profound sense of despair. “Before I left Rome, I went to a temple to pray to the gods of my father. I swore to serve them the rest of my days if they would only deliver me from this curse. The gods did not grant my petition and so I... I began to think of taking my own life. Why should I continue to be alone, feared and made to suffer in this curse?” The shame Gaius felt at making such an admission was obvious.

Jacob was horrified. The revulsion he felt at the idea of ending one’s own life ran deeper than the teachings of his own culture. To know that Gaius’ mind had strayed towards that path, may very well still be inclined towards it, chilled him to the core. His mind desperately searched for the right words to respond. “Gaius, you are not alone. I once sat at the feet of foreign princes and wise men from lands far away. There are others who have such senses.”

“If they suffer as I have, then I pity them.”

“That is what I am trying to tell you, Gaius. They are the tribal protectors, respected, not feared for their gifts,” Jacob replied, his youthful face open and earnest. “Somehow they have learned to find a way to live in harmony with their senses.”

For the first time since the conversation began, Gaius felt a faint stirring of hope in his heart. If what Jacob said was true, perhaps there was a way for him to gain mastery over himself. Gaius found the courage to ask, “What is this way you speak of? How can I…?”

“I don’t know,” Jacob interrupted gently, “but I swear to you, I will find it. Only you must swear an oath to me in return.”

“What oath do you wish to bind me with when you do not know where to find that which you seek?” Gaius asked warily.

“I will find it,” Jacob repeated.

Gaius looked down unto the face that communicated such unquestionable determination, and in that moment, despite all that he had endured, the older man believed Jacob wholly.

“You must promise me that you will never seek to end the life that God gave you. It was given to you for a purpose and He alone has numbered your days.”

Gaius changed the subject without answering, an act that did not escape Jacob’s notice, but he chose to not press the older man. “How do you know there is only one God? If you can’t see him, he doesn’t exist,” declared Gaius.

For a moment Jacob thought Gaius was mocking him, but when he saw the serious set of the other man’s face, he knew it was not so.

“People say that you don’t exist, yet here you are.”

Gaius considered that for a moment, then a slight smile broke across the stern visage and he replied, “Here I am.”

US I-90

45 Minutes ETA

Simon Banks looked back at the face of the sleeping man in the back seat of the patrol car as the trooper, who had been assigned to drive them up to the site of the rockslide, continued to carefully steer the car on the icy road. The car’s rocking motion and warm enclosed space had managed to do what Simon could not: make Jim relax and actually get some rest from the stress. But the sleep Jim was currently experiencing was far from restful as evidenced by the restless way his closed eyes were moving back and forth and from the occasional indiscernible mutterings he emitted.

When Jim had climbed into the back seat and settled in, he’d had no intention of sleeping, but all too soon a warm lethargy had crept upon him, lulling him to sleep. And so Jim dreamed. He dreamed of an animal with lupine eyes limping slowly around a still form of a man lying crumpled in the snow. The animal, which he now saw was a wolf, staggered and lay down next the body, pushing at it with its nose and whining weakly. In his dream, the view shifted and now he was looking into the face of the man lying as still as death. The face, almost devoid of all color save the slight tinge of blue to his lips, was Blair’s. In his warped version of reality, huge buzzards circled about in patient anticipation of an impending feast.

Jim’s eyes snapped open suddenly, panic on his face as he sat up abruptly. “Simon, we have to hurry!” he gasped out. “Blair’s alive, but he doesn’t have much time.”

“The man is driving as fast as he can, Jim, but he has to be careful. It won’t do us any good to end up in a ditch.” Simon wisely kept his doubts about Blair being still alive to himself, but he asked Jim the critical question anyway. “You’re sure about this, aren’t you, Jim? That Blair is there and still alive?”

There was no hesitation in the response whatsoever. “Yes, Simon. As sure as you and I are alive, I’m sure Blair is too.”

Through the rear view mirror, the state patrol officer driving the car dared to steal a look at the intense man riding in the back. Steely blue eyes that seemed to cut like blades met his, and he quickly shifted his attention back to the road. The driver’s foot unconsciously pressed the accelerator and the car continued its journey up the icy road.

*******

Jerusalem

Drufus roughly pushed the warm, naked body of the whore he’d slaked his lust with away from him. Dead to the world from too much wine and exertion, the exotic woman merely sighed and resumed her gentle snoring upon the furs, surrounded on all sides with many pillows and blankets.

Someone had called his name, rousing him from his sleep. The captain looked around fuzzily. When he saw the shadow of a man outlined against the tent, he stealthily reached for his sword, unsheathed it, and rose naked from the pallet. “Show yourself,” he demanded with cold arrogance.

The tent flap was pushed aside and a small, shifty man with a scarred face stepped through. “Eliphaz,” Drufus greeted him. He leaned his sword against the wall of the whore’s tent behind him, and with a casualness that belied his tension, he lifted a sheet from the pallet and wrapped it around his waist. He did not sheath his sword.

Eliphaz leered at the sleeping whore and grinned with broken teeth at Herod’s captain. “How did I know I would find you here?”

“The same way I pay you well to keep me informed of what my enemies are about,” Drufus replied coldly.

“Then I am about to be well paid for what I know.”

“You are about to have your head removed from your neck if you do not tell me quickly why you are here.” Drufus brought the tip of his sword up to the man’s neck, moving it in a dangerous caress.

Before Drufus could react, Eliphaz pulled his own sword, and his eyes flashed with a hint of insanity teasing around the edges. “Put your sword away or I’ll see to it your enemies feast on your entrails.”

The men stood locked in tense confrontation until Drufus grinned nastily. With a grim chuckle, he lowered his sword. Eliphaz quickly followed suit.

With an arrogance unmatched, Eliphaz reclined next to the sleeping whore and began running his hands through her long, sable hair before speaking, his tone mocking. “It is said that King Herod sent you and seventeen men on a simple assignment of assassination in a poor town of unarmed Jews, but when you returned, you were three men short because two became deserters and the third died on his own sword at the hands of a hysterical mother.”

Annoyed, Drufus confirmed the inaccurate report. “The deserters, Eitel and Martinus, will be found, and I will take great pleasure in cutting off a hand from each after they have been flogged.”

“Ah... and the third?” Eliphaz inquired slyly.

“Why do you ask after a corpse?”

“There is the matter of why you did not bring back his body as was proper – a dishonorable act under the circumstances, and a punishable offense by your general, not to mention Gaius’ father, Felix.”

“I left the two soldiers behind and ordered them to see to the body of Gaius Felix Justus,” Drufus lied. “They chose instead to become deserters.”

Eliphaz held up his hand. “Before you utter another half-truth, let me tell you what I know.” He paused to plant a kiss upon the unsuspecting lips of the woman. “You did not order your men to stay behind in order to bring back the body of your dead soldier. You ordered them to abandon your injured, very much alive soldier and see to it that he was killed by the angry mob.”

“And how do you know that?” Drufus savagely inquired.

“You’ve grown careless, Drufus,”  Eliphaz sneered. “One of your men overheard you. His drunken ramblings have reached the ears of your enemies.”

The sight of Drufus clenching his fists in agitation greatly amused Eliphaz.

“What care I about the ramblings of a drunken soldier? Who would take his word over mine?”

Eliphaz’s next words were calculated to both inform and place a barb in the other man’s gut. “Why... no one, Drufus. But when it comes to the word of Gaius over yours, that may be another matter.”

Drufus barely managed to hide his shock behind a feigned veil of indifference, but Eliphaz played him expertly. “Oh, yes. Gaius, the man you love to torment and left for dead is very much alive – apparently kept so by the very deserters whom you ordered to ensure his demise.”

“Where is he?” Drufus demanded, his face suffused with red. The other man merely smiled and held out his hand.

Like a mad man, Drufus reached for his tunic and belt and searched them. When he found the purse of coins, he handed over a generous amount to Eliphaz, who immediately set to counting his gain. Not satisfied with the amount, he held out his hand again.

Frustrated, the captain searched the container where the whore had deposited the coin he had paid for her services. He handed over all of the whore’s earnings to Eliphaz. After the man counted the money, he gave a satisfied nod.

“Now tell me, where he is!” Drufus hissed in a rage.

“Ira,” Elilphaz paused for dramatic effect. “His men, who are apparently more loyal to him than to you, took him to Ira, past the Judean border.”

“Ira,” Drufus breathed out in disbelief.

“And there is more....”

“I have no more money to give you,” Drufus snarled.

“You have been most generous tonight,” Eliphaz conceded. “This news I give you free of charge: King Herod entrusted you to kill the one spoken of by the prophets. He ordered you to kill every man-child in the town of Bethlehem under the age of two.”

“Of my many deficiencies, failing to follow that order is not one of them,” Drufus announced confidently.

“True, and that is why I require no payment for what I am about to tell you. One night before you and your men arrived in Bethlehem, a young couple, a man named Joseph and his wife Maryam, fled Bethlehem.”

“How does that concern me?”

“They left taking their newborn infant son with them.” Then he added with whispered glee, “If you hurry, you can catch them – in Ira.”

Ira

Night fell over Ira. The town slept in peace, much too far away and oblivious to the thundering hooves of the Centurions’ horses closing the long distance between it and Jerusalem.

*******

The next morning the sun rose over the valley. The new day arrived and Ira came to life again. Gaius woke from a sound sleep and found that someone had placed a drink and a plate of bread, fruits and cheese outside his door. Grateful, he took in the offerings and when he had finished his meal, the Zakif sought out the cool waters of the nearby spring in order to cleanse himself. After he accomplished his task, Gaius looked for Jacob, but to his disappointment, he was told that Jacob had arisen with the dawn and gone off by himself for a time.

It was then that Gaius’ path crossed with that of another of Aaron’s guests. Joseph, the husband of Maryam was preparing to walk down to the marketplace where he had found temporary work in an Arab man’s shop, employing his considerable carpentry skills. In two more days he would have earned enough money to take his family the rest of the remaining long way to Alexandria.

Naturally, he had heard about the frightening and tense confrontation that had occurred the previous day. He had been ready to flee with his family that very night, but the urgent assurances of the unusual young man with the wide blue eyes calmed him until he ceased to think about fleeing.

In the end, the next day brought with it a chance meeting between the two men, and now Gaius found himself talking, and walking along with Joseph part of the way to the Arab man’s shop. Then bidding the other man farewell, Gaius turned around and headed back towards the inn.

When Gaius arrived back at the inn, he found the younger of Aaron’s children, twins Ezra and Asa, with their youngest sister, Hannah, in tow, playing with a ball and stick in the courtyard. In Jacob’s absence, the younger children had been allowed to play while Samuel and Rachel worked for a time in the fields with the other household servants.

 The children had seen their older cousin, Jacob, walking with the big man and they were intensely curious about this soldier from a land where they’d never been. They wanted to walk with him too. All too soon, Gaius found himself surrounded by three loud, enthusiastic children. They would not take ‘no’ for an answer to their requests to stay with them, so Gaius found himself alternating between playing ball and telling carefully censured stories of his previous life as a soldier in Rome’s army. For a time, he felt a lightheartedness and a freedom he hadn’t felt since he was a boy playing with his younger brother in the fields behind his father‘s house.

To his peril, the Zakif clung stubbornly to this happy moment in time, refusing to give heed to the presence of the dull headache caused by the shrill shrieks of the young children. Such headaches were oftentimes a precursor to an impending episode wherein his senses intensified to an agony that drove him to the brink of madness.

Much later that day, when the headache was still upon him, he saw Jacob approaching, having returned from his time of meditation and research. Gaius unwisely buried his fear along with the pain and he told Jacob nothing of it.

Present

Blair remained unmoving from where he’d fallen unconscious. The uncontrollable shivering of his body that had inadvertently served as a soothing rocking motion to Noel gradually slowed until it stopped altogether. Wrapped and confined in Blair’s coat, Noel leeched the warmth from Blair’s body, but the warmly insulated environment began to slowly cool as her rescuer’s core body temperature fell closer and closer to dangerously low levels. Feeling the difference, the tiny infant awoke.

Cold, hungry, and with no one else to see to her needs, Noel cried into the night. The wind carried away her plaintive wails, but only the curious predators took notice.

*******

Ira

It was two hours past sundown and as was customary, the men and older boys of Ira gathered for relaxation and fellowship in the designated meeting place under the starlit sky. The oppressive heat of the day was long gone, having gradually been replaced by much cooler air that would eventually give the temperature a sharply contrasting chill.

This was the time of evening when either a blanket or the warmer, hooded simlah would be worn over the lighter tunic. The men reclined or sat in a large circle around a roaring fire, exchanging news, humorous tales, and discussing all manner of subj