Stealing Home - part two
by Callista Echo

As I lie here thinking about all I know I realize I know a lot more about Sentinels than they seem to teach here. I wonder about that. Did I do extra research? It seems unlikely that I would uncover anything that they weren't teaching. Yet, no one has talked about the potential of piggy backing the senses or the Sentinel's ability to catalog information for later identification.

And that woman, my Mom...I guess being apart changes the bond you would feel...Maybe it's me, maybe I don't bond, or I'm such a bad person... I was a bad kid, so bad my Mom brought me here and left me...so maybe not that much has changed. And True and Geoff sure hate me, maybe with reason. Maybe I'm one of those sociopaths who don't have feelings because a normal person would have feelings about their Mom, even if they couldn't remember her. And their best friend. Even if they couldn't remember him. I didn't though. What do I feel? Mostly confusion. Fear. I want to go back to what I had before God sent the lightning to test me. From what I understand, before that I was good. I knew what I was doing. I had a friend, I studied, belonged. Now I am no good to anyone, not as a friend, not as a guide and man, I did so not belong.

I'm ashamed at how much I long to be embraced here. I know this physical plane has no real value, except to serve The Good and that our earthly desires are to be channeled to the higher state. No one here seems to crave touch, or tenderness, or human attachment. I do. Hey, but I did have feelings about my dream friend. Except, of course he's imaginary. So not a sociopath, an out and out psychopath. The one person I have feelings about and who seems to have feelings for me, is an illusion.

What about Jason? Yeah, at least with him I felt something. I felt intrigued and grateful. So maybe I wasn't a total lost cause, maybe I could form a bond. I had to be able to...I would never be an effective guide if I couldn't bond and if I couldn't guide, who would I be? What would I be?

Time to work on this bonding thing. I get up and go to the cafeteria. I hope Jason will about this afternoon. They are not sympathetic but accusatory looks. I don't see Jason or my Mom and I want to turn and go back but I know that would be the very end of ever finding my place here again. I get in line. I can hear mutterings and make out a phrase or two... "Kicked out"... "Assigned the Sentinel"... "Asked for it."

I act as if I don't hear anything and pick out the first food I see. Blindly I head to the usual table. I'm almost there when someone sticks a foot out and trips me. I fall forward, my head glancing off the table and come to lie in the tapioca pudding. There's laughter and backslapping and I slowly push myself off the floor. The pudding is on my face and in my hair. I reach up to wipe it off and my hand comes away sticky with pudding and blood. Great. I so do not want to go see any doctor. I get up and although the room is a little hazy, I am able to walk, which I do, right out the door.

Back in my room I clean the gunk off my face and look at the damage. Not too long, not too deep, just bloody. There's a lump forming there and one of my headaches is returning. Ah, man, can anything else go wrong? I throw myself on the bed and ponder that question. An earthquake could happen, I feel my body shaking. I open my eyes to see Jason, his hand on my shoulder, concern in his gray eyes. "Hey, what happened, buddy?" He's looking at my head and starting to peel away the bloody towel.

"Owe." I must have fallen asleep because the blood has dried and the towel's sticking to my forehead.

"Hold on Eric, I'll have you unglued in a jiff." Jason goes into the bathroom and I hear the sound of running water. He returns with a washcloth and slowly soaks the towel away from the cut. "How did this happen?" He emphasizes the word this and I realize I must appear to be a walking disaster area.

"I, uh, tripped in the cafeteria." I'm torn between telling this slight obfuscation, which makes me appear clumsy and inept, and the truth, which makes me the laughingstock of the entire Center. Neither option appeals but I go with inept.

"You tripped, eh?" He gives me a hard look and I belatedly remember a Sentinel's ability to detect lies. Great, add liar to inept.

"Well, I got tripped." I don't look at him. His eyes will reveal his contempt for someone so incapable of taking care of themselves and his fear that he might be stuck with someone like me to watch his back and keep him grounded.

"Look at me Eric." His voice is commanding and I realize I don't really want to add cowardice to my list of failures. I look.

He looks stern and I wait to hear what he has to say. "We are not going to let them get away with this Eric."

We. He said we. Odd the power of certain words. The gratitude I had felt before expands. I grab on to it, it's a feeling, a feeling that is other than confusion and fear. He'd said we, like we existed.

I look at him and he has to see the tears in my eyes, hear the hitch in my breathing. I expect him to move off the bed and put space between us. I still have pudding in my hair. I'm once again on the verge of tears. There's something about me that alienated people, as demonstrated by the pains everyone at the Center took to keep their distance.

So when he dosen't move away but in fact, moves closer, I nearly push him away in a reflexive protective move. I don't and he continues to dab at the blood on my head.

"I don't think you need stitches but I'll see if I can hunt up some butterfly bandages. I'll be right back." At that he did get off the bed, moving away. I feel the conflicting emotions of relief and loss.

His scrutiny makes me uncomfortable and yet the removal of his attention leaves me bereft. I watch him leave the room and shiver from a kind of sensory overload. Jason, being so close, touching, looking at me, really looking...I have been so long without touch, without anyone seeing me that I almost can't bear it. I feel naked, exposed and frightened at what Jason will discover about me.

He comes back so quietly I don't realize he's in the room until he's reaching for my head. I jerk back before my mind registers it's Jason. "Hey, it's okay." He says it the way you'd talk to a spooked horse.

I hold still while he carefully pushes the edges together and places the bandage on the cut.

"There. You'll be good as new in no time, if we can just keep you upright for a while."

He's said the magic word again. He'd said we.

"Here, I brought you something to eat." He hands me a sandwich. He has a bottle of water too and he sets that on the table. "I'll let you eat and get some rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day, what with the contract signing."

"Contract signing?" He can't be talking about that contract.

"Yeah, our contract. Tomorrow we sign on the dotted line. Sentinel/guide. United for Life." He comes back to the bed, put his fingers under my chin, and pushed my mouth closed.

"Unless you're not ready? Unless you don't want to?" He looks worried. A Sentinel, worried?

Entering into the contract is voluntary but no one's ever refused a Sentinel's request for union. I wasn't about to be the first. "Yes, of course I'm ready, of course, I want to."

He nods once, satisfied and says, "Good. Tomorrow then we sign. After that we take on the world." He leaves the room. For some reason I note how completely he fills the doorway as he passes through it. I'm gaining a formidable ally tomorrow. What will he gain?

I leave the sandwich untouched and take a shower. The Band-Aid came off but washing the pudding out of my hair is more important. Tomorrow I signed a lifelong contract with a Sentinel.

The least I can offer is pudding free hair.

As it turned out I'm not the only one with doubts about the appropriateness of me as Jason's guide. When Mr. Spencer hears that Jason has chosen me, he calls me in.

"Kendall, I hear that Jason Rarick has made a decision about who will guide him. I heard that he chose you." Mr. Spencer looks at me with narrowed eyes. I guess he thinks I cast a spell on Jason or something. As soon as I think that I wonder where that thought came from. You just don't joke about the Darkness.

"Um, yes, he said something to me about it last night."

"You don't really think this is a wise choice at this time, do you? I mean, perhaps before your accident...but now, well, you are hardly the best we have to offer in a guide."

I have to agree and yet I want this. I know that I am less than I was...less than some of the others...but already I feel the stirrings of the bonded relationship. No one would look out for him the way I would.

Still, what I want and what I feel are not important here.

I have to put Jason's well-being first

"I guess you have a point there, Mr. Spencer. I'm not good enough yet to be his guide."

For the first time Mr. Spencer looks pleased with me. "Your turn will come. Soon you'll be back on the path of Righteousness."

"I hope so." There are tears forming in the back of my eyes and I want to get out of here before any fall. I wonder again about who I was before the accident. Did I always cry this easily? Perhaps before the accident, this loss wouldn't feel as big. Right now it feels like something irreplaceable has been taken from me. Something that would have made this post-lightning world make sense. Yet to try and hold on to this would do Jason a serious disservice. He deserves so much more than what I have to offer.

"Go back to class, Kendall."

"Yes, sir." I leave his office, passing through the waiting room, where Jason lounges. He gives me one of his grins and a thumbs up and I manage to smile back.

I am late for Doctrine and something tells me even a note from Spencer won't change the punishment that comes with that sin. I kneel at the back and try and to pull myself together. My personal feelings have no place here. I kneel to submit all that I am to the service of the Good. It takes nearly the entire three hours to regain any sense of peace and acceptance of the decision.

At the end of Doctrine, Ruth dismisses everyone but me. I join her at the front of the room.

"You were late to Doctrine."

"Yes." I know better than to try and excuse my lateness. "I am deeply sorry"

"Goodness doesn't want your apology. It wants your service."

"Yes, I understand the need." This is part of the dogma. "I accept your will."

She sends me to Mr. Mueller. I wait in his office as she confers with him. He looks at me frowning. "Kendall, this is inexcusable. You will report to Mr. Smith immediately."

I hold back my groan. I don't think I can bear another week of retraining. There's something infinitely more terrible about going to Mr. Smith without an escort. That I must go of my own free will and submit...I wish there was a hand on my back, pushing me. I acknowledge to myself that it would simply feel good to have some human contact, even hostile human contact. But mostly it would feel better to have something to resist. Something to identify as the bringer of pain.

I am the bringer of pain. I do this to myself.

I reach the door of the room I occupied before. It doesn't take long before Mr. Smith appears. "This is your second offense in less than a week. It calls for some serious measures to counter the stubbornness of your unholy soul."

I shiver at the lack of tone in his voice. The man is well suited to this job. There is no passion, no personal satisfaction in the disciplining. He fulfills the need for directing wayward souls. I am not just wayward, I am now unholy. My shivering increases. I don't know what it takes to reclaim an unholy soul. I wish I had protested that it was not my fault I was late. I want him to understand that my being late was not a willful act.

A voice in my head asks, what about the man in your dream? Your continued thoughts of him are a sin. He is not one of us, he is not of The Good and yet you give him great power. Greater power than The Good, for was it not his face that got you to the top of the cliff? "I understand the need, Mr. Smith." Perhaps another week in that room will break the hold that the man has over me.

Mr. Smith leads me away from the door and down the hall. He opens the door to a room that is dimly lit. There is a big metal room inside the room. It has a stairway leading up to a small door with a round window next to it.

"Take your clothes off." He says this as if he is telling me to eat my peas.

I look at him, not daring to question but unprepared to get naked. Mr. Smith looks at me, waiting. I start to pull my T-shirt out and stop. I shake my head.

Mr. Smith comes close to me and grabs my hand. He applies pressure to the same point the doctor did, only harder and I gasp and fall to my knees. The pain radiating up my arm threatens to make my brain explode.

"Take your clothes off or I will shift my grip just a half an inch and you won't have the use of your arm for weeks."

He shoves me away and I land on my back. He stands over me, waiting for my compliance. He kicks me in the ribs and I yell and roll away. He's coming at me with his leg poised to kick again. I get up and take my shirt off. He takes it from me and neatly folds it. I take my jeans off and he folds those also. He looks at me and I don't know what is coming next but boxers won't stop it, so I take them off. He walks over to the wall and retrieves something and then motions to me to climb the stairs. I climb. He comes up behind me and places goggles over my eyes, and plugs in my ears.

He opens the door and I see that it is filled with water. It's a SDT. A sensory deprivation tank. I feel a wave of relief. I can do this. I slip into the water. It is body temperature and comfortable. I lie down in it and float. There is the sound of the door shutting close with a clank and the lights going off and I am alone. My initial euphoria that I wasn't about to be raped or tortured in some way deflates as I am left in this void.

For awhile I relax, almost sleeping. My ribs ache but there is a peacefulness that I think of as a manifestation The Good. I recite the Doctrine. I hope it will fill up my head and drown out my rebellious spirit. At the end of reciting the Doctrine a third time I think I have been in the tank for nine hours, maybe longer. Lucifer is a cunning foe and tries to lead me astray over and over. I often found myself drifting away from the recitation.

I'm hungry, as my talk with Mr. Spencer took place before breakfast. The real deprivation is water. I'm so thirsty I'm tempted to drink the salt water that surrounds me.

I know that hunger and thirst are powerful forces that exist to show me the emptiness of my life without The Good. The silence and lack of light are starting to weigh me down. Even though I realize it is counter to the whole point of this punishment, I pinch myself. I pull at my hair, I splash with my feet. I start to hum a song. The sound of my voice echoes eerily in my metal prison. For no reason at all I start to cry. I feel my mind crumbling and once again I am glad that Jason will not depend on me. Me, who falls apart because of nothing, just the lack of something.

At some point I fall asleep, waking when I hear the door being opened. Mr. Smith stands there. The light behind him gives him a glow. I feel a tendril of fear.

"Get out, Kendall." I struggle to my feet. My legs feel heavy and as if my nerve endings no longer have direct communication with my body. Once on my feet I almost topple over from the small wake my movement has made. I'm trembling, the shock of sound and sight and movement overwhelming me.

I make my way to the side of the tank and Mr. Smith puts the ladder down and I climb up. He steps aside and I go through the door. The light in the room, though dim, is blinding and I shut my eyes against it. This must be what it's like for Sentinels when their senses spike. Mr. Smith takes my hands away from my eyes and pushes me down the stairs. He points to a room I hadn't noticed and says, "You can take care of things in there." It's a bathroom and there is a bathrobe hanging up. I put it on and savor not only the warmth but the texture. I drink from the faucet until I think I may walk out of this room with a waddle. Then I run the warm water over my hands, soaking up the heat. After I relieve myself, I hear Mr. Smith at the door.

"Get out here, Kendall." I leave the room of little delights and see that Mr. Smith has set up a table and chair. There is food there, a sandwich, an orange, milk. I sit down and eat almost without manners, afraid that there might be a time limit. When I'm done Mr. Smith puts out his hand. He wants the robe. I hug myself and then untie the belt and hand it over. He points to the tank and I make the ascent. He puts the earplugs in and watches as I resume the position. He stands there for a Moment and then closes the door, shutting out the light and all sound.

I float, I begin The Doctrine but falter almost immediately. I want to thrash around in the water, make noise, feel a pillow under my head, have a conversation.

I see the face and I say, "Hello."

" Chief, where've you been?" My imaginary friend is talking to me. He sounds worried.

"I'm here with The Good."

"Then how come you don't look so good?" He asks, clearly a pragmatist.

"I have an unholy soul and must be led back to the path."

"You, Chief? Unholy? Who told you that crap?" Now he sounds angry. I'm not sure how to react to that. A part of me feels delighted at his defense. Mostly I feel afraid. In every sentence to me he shows me he is not one of us. I must try and convince him that our way is right. Perhaps he will join us if I do.

"You don't understand. I'm a guide and it's my destiny to serve."

"I know you're a Guide."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're my Guide." He sounds very sure of this blasphemy.

Now I am very afraid. Lucifer was seeking to seduce me. I had allowed him into my heart and now he taunted me with its desire.

"NO!" I scream" NO! NO!" I don't realize I that I haven't stop screaming until Mr. Smith yanks the door open and yells, "SHUT UP!" I quiet.

"What in damnation is the matter with you?"

"B-bad dream." I want him to take me out, to banish Lucifer, but I am afraid to tell him what happened. As much as I fear Lucifer, the idea of losing the man is unbearable. I keep my mouth shut.

He stares down at me and I try to shield the man from his scrutiny as bizarre as that sounds. Mr. Smith finally leaves and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"That was close."

I yelp.

The man is back.

"What's your name?" I need a name and yet fear the naming. How close to lunacy am I ?

"I'm Jim."

Jim. A tension leaves me. The tension of holding the space where his name went empty. That space is filled now and I breathe in his name.

Jim.

"Tell me where you are Chief, so I can come get you."

"No." This time I whisper instead of scream. "No. If you come here they'll take you away from me. I'll lose you. Stay away." "Blair, I am coming to get you. Tell me where you are."

Blair? A spike of pain shoots through my head. He called me Blair. Oh God. He thinks I'm someone else. This has all been about someone else. It's not me he is looking for, not me who is his guide. I feel shame flood my body. Shame that I thought he was my friend, that I would allow Lucifer access to me if only I could be with him.

I begin The Doctrine. Far away I hear his voice, trying to reach me, trying to reestablish his hold on me but I recite and recite and recite and eventually his voice fades away and there is nothingness.

I wake to darkness and vertigo. I try to reach out to something that will steady me, tell me where I am. There is just warm silky water and nothingness. Am I born yet? I don't think the unborn ask that question.

I'm standing in the tank and I desperately want to be on dry land where sight and sound exist. I scrabble at the wall jumping, trying to reach a ledge, a foot hold, something. It's smooth as glass. I fall back over and over again and finally lie still in the water. Soon the little waves stop lapping and all is calm.

This was a zone out like none I'd ever experienced. The world had narrowed to one sound. I had heard Blair's heart beating. I heard it as if I were listening to it through a stethoscope, loud and echoey. I followed that sound, the bullpen fading away as I tracked it. Finally I knew Blair was before me though it was dark. I dialed up my sight and there he was, floating in water. If not for the continuing comfort of the lub-dub of his heart, I would have freaked out right then. I never want to see Blair floating in water again, even if he is face up. It's dim, even with my eyes at max and the place he's in made no sense. Have I entered his dream? His nightmare, more likely. He shines pale and delicate in the dark water, his arms outstretched. He's naked and his sturdy frame looks fragile. He seems to see me, though I knew in this dark that was impossible.

"Hello." He says hello with no surprise in his voice, as if he expects me.

"Chief, where have you been?"

Now he looks surprised. His eyes seems to lose focus.

"I am here with The Good."

That didn't sound like Blair. "Then how come you don't look so good?" He is scaring me, the passivity I hear in his words, the submission to this godforsaken place.

"I have an unholy soul and must be lead back to the path."

Oh, man, they are fucking with his mind here. Drugs? Brainwashing? Cult tactics?

"You, Chief? Unholy? Who told you that crap?" I want to pull Blair out of this pit and surround him with light. I want to know who is doing this to Sandburg so I can reduce them to a bloody pulp.

"You don't understand. I am a guide and it's my destiny to serve." He's pleading with me to understand, as if this explains everything.

"I know you're a Guide."

"How do you know?" How do I know he's my Guide? What kind of question is that? Blair looks puzzled and I'm starting to wonder what floating in water does to you.

"Because you're my Guide." He has to know that. If he knows he is a Guide, whom else would he be a Guide to? Instead of reassuring him, a look of stark terror comes into his eyes.

"NO!" He screams." Nooooooooo!" The sound is awful in this enclosed space and I can't seem to dampen my hearing fast enough. He just won't stop.

"Chief, please, please, it's okay, shhh, shhh, take it easy." I can't get through to him. Because of the way his voice reverberates in this space I am unprepared for the man at the top of the tank, yelling, "SHUT UP!"

Blair quiets immediately. I can tell he is even more afraid of this man than he is of me.

"What in damnation is the matter with you?"

"B-bad dream." I can see that Blair is trying to back away from the man even though he is making no move to come down. The guy stares down for a minute and I think he's going to come down here. Sandburg must think he is too, because he's trying to stand up and back away. Finally the guy leaves and the door clangs shut.

"That was close."

He yelps. Oops, I guess he figured all that screaming would drive me away.

"What's your name?" Oh, Chief. Somehow I thought you'd always know me. I've been wiped out of your memory.

That complicates things and somehow makes me feel even lonelier, knowing I no longer exist for him. But I do exist for him, he's talking to me. I am simply unnamed and I can fix that.

"I'm Jim."

He visibly relaxes. My name must mean something to him and that gives me hope.

"Tell me where you are Chief, so I can come get you."

"No." This time he whispers instead of screams. "No. If you come here they'll take you away from me. I'll lose you. Stay away." Blair has tensed up again, his fear hitting me like a force.

"Blair, I am coming to get you. Tell me where you are."

At the sound of his name he gasps and moans. I watch as he shuts down, as he shuts me out. He starts to recite some mumbo jumbo. "Blair! Blair! Come on, talk to me. Please, you're scaring me here." His chanting gets louder, he's drowning out my words. "Blair! Dammit. Don't do that. Listen to me. Come back to me, Blair."

Every once in awhile I can tell he hears me because he moans. I realize I am causing him pain but I can't just leave him. It's taken out of my hands when he leaves me by losing consciousness. As his voice fades, so do I and I find myself back at my desk. Simon is crouching at my knees, talking to me in his best imitation of Blair.

"Jim, Jim....come on back, Jim." I look at Simon and it's clear I've been out of it for awhile. "Glad you made it back." Simon lets sarcasm express his annoyance. I love Simon like a brother but right now, I'd like to deck him for being the one in front of me.

"I saw Sandburg."

"What? What the hell are you talking about Ellison, you've been sitting here for the last two hours."

"That long? I wonder if I was seeing him in real time then." I wish I had Sandburg here to discuss this with. He'd be formulating the possibilities in no time.

"Yeah, two very long hours. I just let you be, thinking you'd come out of it on your own but when you didn't...I really thought I'd lost you."

"I saw Blair. I was with him. He is in a metal room full of water, floating, I don't understand it, he doesn't know me. There was a man, he yelled at Sandburg and Blair was afraid. He doesn't look good, Simon." I know I'm rambling but I need to get this out, I need this to be real. Megan is standing next to my desk, listening.

"Metal room, full of water, floating...sounds like a Sensory Deprivation Tank."

"What in the world is he doing there?" Simon actually seems to believe in what I'm saying.

"I don't know, Simon. I don't know what the hell is going on." On the one hand I'm just grateful to have seen Blair and to know he's alive. On the other I feel an almost uncontainable rage that someone has taken him away from me. From us.

"Was there any clue as to where he was? Could Sandburg tell you anything?"

"No, there was nothing there and I don't know if Blair even knew himself where he was but he wouldn't tell me. He said to stay away, that they would take me away from him if I went there."

"Any idea what he meant by that?" It is a measure of the strain Simon has been under that he is taking what I say seriously.

"I have no idea, Simon. He was afraid and at one point, he was afraid for me, and yet he didn't know my name."

I'm exhausted. I'm going on very little sleep these days anyway and being in contact with Blair this way has left me wiped out. I want to go back, but I don't know how I got there.

"Go home, Ellison. Get some sleep. There's nothing you can do for the kid in the shape you're in."

For a change I don't argue.

I am nothing and nothing is me. I am blind and deaf, without sensation. I am the anti-Sentinel. I hear a sound, it's me, giggling. So not deaf.

I hear another sound, the door is being opened. I look up but instead of Mr. Smith, Jason stands there. He pauses and I can see he is adjusting his sight. "Eric! Are you alright?"

"Yes."

"I've been looking for you for three days. No one would tell me where you were, just that you were in training." I can hear him tugging at the ladder. "C'mon kid, climb out of there."

"Uh, no, I'd better wait for Mr. Smith." As much as I long to get out of this place, I don't dare. I can't bear the thought of what the next level of training would be.

"It's all right. I cleared it with Spencer." He's climbing down and waiting for me on the stairs.

"Trust me, kid. This place is giving me the heebie jeebies. Let's get out of here."

I put my feet underneath me but the water seems to have drained the strength out of my legs and I fall back. I push myself to the wall and gain my feet by leaning against it. I slowly wade to the ladder. It feels like I am walking through corn mush, the density of the water thick and gritty.

Jason waits patiently and holds out a hand to me. I grab it and he pulls me up onto the ladder and then climbs out ahead of me. I don't know how long I've been in here, how long it's been since Mr. Smith came and let me out, how long since Jim...I don't finish that thought. At the last step Jason reaches down and hauls me out into the room. I shut my eyes against the light and hold on tight to the rail. I can hear Jason reach the bottom of the steps.

"It's okay Eric, really. I fixed everything."

I squint down at him. He has the robe and he's holding it open, waiting for me to come down. I get halfway down when my legs give out and I tumble the rest of the way into Jason's arms.

He's rock steady. "Easy there, bucko." I'm helped into the robe and he gently pushes me toward the door. I'm not ready to go anywhere and I resist his push.

"C'mon Eric, I told you, I don't like this place. Let's go." Firmly he propels me out the door.

The lights burn my eyes and the sounds buffet me. I stop and turn towards the wall, ashamed of my weakness, ashamed of being dripping wet and in a robe as everyone scurries by, clothed and directed.

"Hey, now, Eric. It's just a little ways to your room. You can do that." His voice is warm and blankets me with his concern.

I put one foot in front of the other. It takes a while but eventually I'm back in my room. Although it's only been three days, I am struck again by how unfamiliar everything is. I hone in on my bed and fall in to it, hugging my pillow.

"How did you fix it?" I know Sentinels are the highest manifestation of The Good but they aren't God.

Jason sits in the chair, his elbows on his knees. "You never should have been there in the first place. For the love of all that is Good, I told them you were my guide. Nothing they had to say... heavens, nothing you have to say, would change my mind"

He stands up and comes over to the bed. I've started to shiver. I still feel naked though I have the robe tightly wrapped around me. He pulls out the blanket and covers me and crouches down beside the bed.

"Eric, you are my guide. This has always been true. I know this and I am the only one who can know it. Choosing a guide is not an administrative decision that comes out of evaluating the plus and minus columns. It is a decision made with the hand of God and it has been made." His eyes are gray and unfaltering and the strength of his belief is unshakable.

"I don't know why these people seem so intent on punishing you. When I realized that they had told you we wouldn't suit I went to find you and set you straight. You were nowhere to be found." He's up and pacing and all I can do is watch him and listen.

"I confronted Spencer and that man actually thought his decision should stand against mine. I couldn't believe they would keep you away from me. For a day and a half I searched this place and then decided that they must have moved you. I made some phone calls and put the pressure on Spencer."

"Thank you." There is so much more I want to say, need to say but right now I am too numb to formulate anything beyond thank you. Jason seems to understand because he comes back to me and pushes my hair to the side.

"You need anything, Eric? Want to take a shower? Hungry?"

I shudder at the idea of water, even though I feel like I'm caked in salt. I'm too tired to be hungry and I shake my head no to both questions. Jason nods.

"You get some sleep and we'll talk later." He walks to the door and turns. "Sweet dreams, kid."

I lie there and go over all that happened, the magnitude of what Jason said just hitting me. I fix it in my head so that it will all be there when I wake up and fall asleep.

Jason stands in front of the room, fuming. "You shouldn't have kept him in that tank so long."

"We needed to break him."

"Break him? He's so broken he won't be any use to me."

"He will be just fine now. The final link to you has been locked into place."

"You think? Because I need him up and running in one week."

"In one week he will be fit and ready for your use."

"You're sure this kid is worth the trouble? I've had six guides, none of them made it past the second month."

"Yes, we know how hard you are on your guides but none had this one's natural abilities. He was able to take Ellison, who was clueless about his true abilities, from a two to an eight. Think what he will help you accomplish." "I'm a sixteen. Twice Ellison's ability."

"Yes, and twice as likely to zone out. You need Sandburg."

"Okay. This had better work. I hate playing this part."

"If you want Sandburg to function as your guide you will continue to play the part."

"For how long? How long to I have to coddle this guy?"

"Until he is in so deep he is just like you. Then the bond will be unbreakable."

A new era had dawned for me while I slept. I woke to find I was no longer required at Doctrine. I was issued an entire new wardrobe that included a tuxedo. I was moved to the wing that housed the Sentinel/Guide pairs and I began a conditioning program that near killed me. The three days I had spent in the tank had seriously undermined my muscles. Archie had been put in charge of my training. He might have had ambitions for the first day but he scales them back when he realizes what rough shape I was in. Even so I end the day spent and exhausted.

The good part of the intense fatigue is the lack of dreams. The man...Jim, stays away. Perhaps he realizes that he's looking for someone else. Perhaps he's found him. I can't help the pain that shoots through me at that thought.

The second day is better and progress is made in returning me to my normal fitness level. By the end of the week I can see that Archie is disappointed not to have moved me into Sentinel shape. I think it's just great that I'm able to stay awake past dinner. On the seventh day Jason came in to watch the self-defense work out. Half way through he takes over from Archie. He's quicker than Archie and it's all I can do to keep getting up.

"C'mon kid, you're going to have to do better than that if you want to keep up with me. Don't think, react!"

I try doing what he says. It's remarkably difficult for me to bypass my brain. After two hours he calls a halt. I'm soaking wet and having a hard time seeing through the sweat pouring down my face. He looks mildly shiny but otherwise shows no signs of exertion.

"That's enough for now, Eric. I want to do some grounding exercises, get a baseline going."

"Sure Jason, I'll just get dried off and we can get started."

Inducing a zone out on each sense I go methodically through the chi points, establishing a pressure, a tone of voice and an intensity scale that will pull him out. Jason needs a much higher level of intrusion to get him out of a zone than most Sentinels I have read about, and when he does come out, it tends to be violently. The first time he zones and I bring him out, he gives me a bloody nose. The second time, a black eye. After that, I learn to duck.

The next day Jason joins me again in the defense workout. For the first time I find myself able to do what Jason had said.... reacting with my body instead of thinking with my head. Twice I'm able to take Jason by surprise and lay him on the mat. I expect him to get angry but he instead he seems pleased.

"Excellent, I need a who can take care of himself and watch my back. Although be forewarned, you won't get me down again." His words were prophetic. A embarrassingly large part of the rest of the session is spent staring up at the ceiling.

Filing that bit of information away, I realize underestimation can be a powerful weapon. I can see I will need more than that to get along in Jason's world. His welfare is the culmination of my training, my gifts, my life.

The Tessuad has many enemies, for Lucifer was beyond cunning in his ability to recruit allies to battle The Good. I knew Jason and the other Sentinels led the fight against the corruption of The Good and it is a dangerous and sometimes bloody fight.

Jason declares me fit to guide and sets our departure for the next day. I'm pleased. Secretly I worried that when it came time for the real thing, I would fail. I kept those fears to myself. Jason had made it clear that he would accept no other and that meant I had to be what he needed me to be.

My mother had departed while I was still in the Tank. That left only Mike to say good-bye to. I went in search of him only to be told he had been transferred to another Center on the coast.

"He didn't leave a note or anything?"

The guide now occupying his room gives me a quizzical look. "Leave you a note? Why would he do that?"

"To say good-bye, to say..." I didn't know what he would have said, I just felt like a guy's best friend would say something. I walk back to my room trying to understand why I'm feeling so alone. I hadn't seen Mike since the day they put me in the Tank but I thought we were best friends, that he would be there for the send off into my new life. I turn a corner and plow into someone coming my way.

"Watch where you're going."

I freeze. It's Truesdale. They had told me they had kicked him out. What is he doing back here? I hastily step away from him and look up. He looks just as shocked.

"What are you doing here?" We say it almost simultaneously.

Truesdale looked abashed. "I, uh, they're letting me retrain."

"Retrain?

"Yeah." He looks at me defiantly. "You got a problem with that? Take it up with Mr. Spencer if you do." He shoves me aside and walks away.

They were letting Truesdale retrain? This went against all the teachings, against Doctrine. Unless they never believed me? Even if they didn't believe me, they had to have believed Jason. They had said they kicked him out, yet here he was. What is going on?

I decide not to say anything to Jason about my encounter with True. We were leaving tomorrow and there was enough on his mind. Our last night is a celebration. Everyone in The Center is there, although I didn't spot Truesdale anywhere. There weren't actually many faces I recognize. The subdued and thoughtful nature of Tessuad followers did not allow for hijinks but there's a real sense of happiness at the coming together of a new Sentinel/guide relationship.

Ruth stands up and makes a toast. "The Good is well served by you Sentinel Rarick. Go to the glory! Your service praises the Lord!"

Many murmurs of "Here, here," and backslapping accompanied Ruth's toast. I felt a little left out that in all the festivities, no mention of the guide is ever made. Then I felt ashamed at such a selfish feeling. This is not about me. This is about the magnificence of the Sentinel. The abundance that God gave the Sentinel is the mandate for his position and his work.

Toward the end of the evening I could barely keep my eyes open. It isn't that late but it past the usual curfew for guides. Jason must have noticed because he came over to where I was sitting.

"You look beat, kid." He playfully taps my shoulder. I realize it is the only touch I'd had since the Tank except for blows during the workouts, which I didn't think counted.

I smile at him. "Great party, Jason."

"Yeah, well, I think the party's over for you, Eric. We have some serious traveling to do tomorrow. Go get some sleep."

I feel like a kid banished from the big people's party. I want to stay and soak up the warm feelings, even if they aren't directed my way. Still, Jason is right. I'm tired and tomorrow we leave this place.

Jason lightly cuffs the back of my head and I give one last look around at the clusters of people and then walk away from the sound of conversation and laughter.

I'm halfway to my room, when I remember the plaque that I have been given, announcing I am an official guide. I go back to the party but just before I reach it, I'm struck by the lack of sound or noise. What's happened to make them stop talking and laughing? I approach the door quietly, not wanting to intrude if there's a crisis. The room's empty. Not a cup, a plate or plaque was left behind. I had only been gone ten minutes. How did they-why would they-end the party so abruptly?

I turn back toward the wing my room is in. I hadn't seen anyone walking my way when I was returning. They had all gone somewhere. Where? And to do what? I felt an uneasiness settling in. There were things going on that just didn't make sense.

Truesdale still being here. The party vanishing. Something else that I had shoved to the back of my mind. Oh.

That Jason had searched for me for two days. There was no way a Sentinel of his brilliant abilities could not have located me sooner even in a metal tank. I had worked with Jason. I knew he possessed the most phenomenal range of senses that had ever been recorded. Why allow a perversion like True to remain? Why end a party so suddenly? And why lie about looking for me?

Going to my room I quietly close the door. Sinking down on the bed, I conjure up Jim. I know it's very bad of me but I'm freaked.

My eyes open. It's dark. I'd fallen asleep, still dressed.

"'Bout time you woke up."

I sat up, stifling a scream. Jim was sitting in my chair, watching me.

"How'd you get in here?" I can barely see him but there's no mistaking his presence for any other.

"I don't know exactly. I've been trying to get back to you for a couple of weeks with no luck. Then, all of a sudden, whammo, I'm in this room, looking at my friend."

"I'm your friend?" He doesn't look like someone who would friends with someone like me.

His face suddenly looks sad. "Yeah, Chief, we're friends. We're partners."

"Who do you think I am?"

"You're my Guide."

"No...that's not right, I'm Jason's guide."

I can't see much but I can tell that information comes as a blow.

"Jason, who?" He sounds angry.

"Jason Rarick."

"For how long Chief?" Now he sounds angry with me.

"Since the last time I saw you, since the Tank."

"You've been my Guide for three years."

"What are you talking about? Are you crazy?"

Jim laughs and I have to admit, even with his anger coating it, I like the sound of it.

"Well if I am, then you are. How else can you explain this meeting?"

I fall silent. He has a point. I'm talking to the devil himself and enjoying it. Either I'm mad or perverse. I start to recite The Doctrine.

"Hold up, Chief. We don't have much time. They have me in an altered state for the last eight hours and they'll be pulling me out any minute."

I increase the speed of my prayers.

Jim walks to my bed and looms over me.

I stutter to a stop. "Wha-what are you doing?"

"I'm just looking at you. God.... I've missed you. You look better than when I saw you before. I'm glad. You had me worried."

He looks glad. I realize how often people say," I'm worried", or, "I'm happy ' and the look on their faces don't match. I just stare up at the face, the one that has kept me company, has haunted me and know I don't want him to go.

"Those bastards cut your hair."

His hand is coming toward me like he's going to touch me and I scoot to the corner of the bed.

"I had long hair?' What, I really think this is for real? As idiotic as this seems I flash on the dream where I first saw Jim. The one where he was holding my dead body and remember in that dream I did have long hair. Weird.

"Yeah, Chief, long hair."

"I think you have me confused with someone else, this Blair."

"No, there's no confusing you with anyone else in the world. You are Blair. Blair Sandburg."

At the sound of that name a pain implodes in my head and I must have screamed 'cause I can see Jim wincing and putting his hands to his ears but I can't hear anything over the pain and then the pain is gone.

"Eric?" I can hear again. "Eric? My eyelid is lifted and I see a light coming at me. I try and bat it away but my wrist is caught. "J-" I almost say his name but stop myself just in time.

"Yes, Eric, what is it?"

"Jason?" I finish hoping they buy it.

"No, he's sleeping, as you should be. What happened?" I can see it's Dr. Albright again. "Ah, I don't know. I was sleeping....a dream, I don't exactly know."

"What was this dream about?" He's looking at me intensely and I wonder if he can guess. And if he guesses what he would do.

Quick, what was the dream about, what would make me scream?

"We were up on a mountain and Jason fell, I couldn't catch him and he fell and fell and fell ...I was so...." I hope it sounds convincing. "Well, that's understandable." He's lost interest and flips the chart close with a snap.

"You just go back to sleep, now, tomorrow will be here soon." Dr. Albright pats the blanket and gathers up the Security guard. When I'm sure they are gone I whisper, "Jim? Jim?" Nothing. He's gone I fall asleep hugging my pillow, watching the chair.

"Jim. Jim!" I can hear the fear in Simon's voice and I force myself to come up the rest of the way.

"Oh thank God. Jim you took ten years off my life." Simon is hovering, never a good sign.

"What happened?"

Dr. Hamilton has my wrist in his hand and is taking my pulse. "That's my question. What the hell happened?" He makes a note in a chart. "For over eight hours there's nothing, just normal brainwave activity for someone in the beta stage. Then the monitor shows the kind of brain activity that indicates you are awake but clearly you're not."

Simon's picked up the chart and from the look on his face I can tell it means nothing to him.

"You're in that state for about a half hour and then, jeez, you had a convulsion or something. You arched up and put your hands over your ears and then went limp. Scared the daylights out of me."

"Oh man, it's not me who's had the convulsion. It's Sandburg. When I told him his name his pupil's pinpointed and he clutched his head and screamed."

I grab at the electrodes and shove them in Hamilton's hands. "Get me back there!"

Hamilton takes them from me and puts them aside. "I can't risk putting you under again and in any case, it took us eight hours to make contact the first time. And..." He puts his hand on my chest to stop me from throttling him, "even if you could go back, you can't be of any help."

"Jim, they'll take care of him, he's valuable to them. He'll be all right."

Even though I've been in an induced sleep for over eight hours I'm exhausted. Meeting up with Blair like this wears me out in a way I've never experienced before. The last time I slept for twelve hours, a record, and still woke up dragging. Now I feel like I could sleep for twenty-four but I need to know Blair is all right.

"Just try. Please?"

Hamilton looks at Simon, who looks at me. He shakes his head and I know I have the go-ahead.

"All right. We'll give it a try, but if you don't connect in an hour, I'm pulling you out."

I'm just glad I'm being given a chance.

"Let's get the show on the road."

My head bobs forward and I jerk awake. No Jim. Tomorrow I leave this place and I don't know if Jim will be able to find me. Get a grip, Kendall. You're worried you might lose the Devil? You should be praying for deliverance, not trying to drop bread crumbs. Sighing, I lay down on the bed, my eyes still on the chair.

"Chief, come on Chief. Wake up!"

It's Jim. I scramble out of bed. I can't see him. "Where are you?"

"Here, by the closet." He moves closer, slowly, like he's afraid I'll scream again.

"I had to come back and make sure you're OK. What happened?"

He looks like he's the one who had the bomb go off in his head. His eyes look sunk in his face and his shoulders slump with fatigue. "I'm good, just one of my headaches....worse than usual but I'm okay now."

"That's was one hell of a headache. You had me worried, Chief."

"Jim? I leave here tomorrow. I don't know if I'll ever see you again but...Man, this is weird, you're the Devil or a ghost or the lightning is giving me hallucinations...but-thanks for coming back. I wanted to say good-bye."

"Where're you going?" Jim comes closer but is no more distinct.

"I don't know, guides follow their Sentinels and Jason leaves tomorrow."

"With you."

"With me."

"What will you do?"

"We do the Lord's work, we serve The Good."

"Soup Kitchens, Hospices, Red Cross, that kind of thing?"

I laugh, I can't help it, the picture of Jason serving soup is such a bad fit.

"I don't know what we do exactly." I know as Sentinel to the Tribe Tessuad, Jason patrols and protects, but The Tessuad Nation is scattered. I imagine we'll be on the move.

"Security?" That's a guess but it's all I have. I almost clamp my hand over my mouth as soon as I say even that much. Then I figure, if this is the Devil, he knows way more than I do about all this.

He frowns. "I don't like the sound of this, Chief."

"I'll find you and this time I'll find you for real. I'm getting real tired of this magical mystery tour you and I seem to be on."

"He's not supposed to be able to dream."

"Well, he did, he had a dream, a nightmare."

"What did he dream about? His past?"

"No, thank The Good. He dreamt about Rarick, falling off a mountain. Makes sense; Sandburg's afraid of heights."

"He must be building up a tolerance to the drugs. Increase the dosage."

"That could be dangerous, he's already at a high level."

"First he dreams, then he starts to get some memory back, and after that he's useless to us." "Okay, I'll give Rarick the new dosages in the morning."

"Good."

It's been one week since we left The Center.

The first few days away are especially hazy in my mind. There was a push to get to Texas and then we settled into a hotel. I can remember Jason pulling me into the bathroom. He had me anchor him, my hand on his back, as he looked out the window. Then, movement, noise. I kept my hand steady, talked Jason through and the next thing I knew we were on a plane, flying to Berlin. We stayed there for four days. I slept a lot, jet lag. I remember Jason trying to get me to stay awake, his sharp slaps to my face punctuated by shaking. I tried, I really tried, but I just couldn't seem to do it.

On the third day I wake up, aching. As I start to dress I see bruises along the left side of my ribs and hip. They are a livid purple and I move like an old crippled man as I get out of bed. For the life of me I can't remember when or how I would have gotten them. What happened? Did I get into a fight? is Jason all right? My anxiety pushes me out of my room and I find Jason in the living room area having breakfast. He looks at me accusingly.

"Are you going to of any use today?" His gray eyes look icy in the early morning light.

"What happened? Are you all right?" I look Jason over carefully but he seems unscathed.

"I'm fine, no thanks to you. You've been asleep for two days, Eric Two days! Do you have any idea of the schedule I'm on? Do you have any idea what could happen to me if I'd zoned? I've put off everything waiting for you to get your beauty rest."

"Man, I'm sorry about the last few days, I don't know what happened." I can't understand the depth of the lethargy that held me.

Jason stands up and comes toward me. I try to reassure myself that a Sentinel has genetic imperatives to keep his guide safe. I don't feel safe right now. The look in Jason's eyes is telling me he's angry and frustrated. He grabs my arm in a tight grip.

"I don't care if you are dying of Ebola, you will attend me, you hear!" He shakes me and the guide in me finally kicks in. The Sentinel is scared and needs me to reassure him that he has a guide.

I put my hand over his and look at him. "I'm here, I'm not going anywhere. That won't happen again. It's okay." The look in his eyes fade and the Jason I know is back.

He lets go of my arm and steps back. "Good. Glad to hear it. Get yourself something to eat." He indicates the kitchenette.

I want to ask how I got so banged up if I was asleep the last two days but Jason is deep into study and I can tell my voice would not be welcome. I pour myself a cup of coffee and take a seat. He's studying a map and there are blueprints scattered on the coffee table. I know not to ask any questions.

He finally looks up, making a face. "You stink. Take a shower. Get cleaned up. We'll be leaving here in an hour."

Three hours later we're in a office building. We're dressed like repairman and I'm carrying a heavy case full of tools. We get off on the sixteenth floor and Jason opens an office with a key. None of this makes any sense but Jason has been silent except for clipped instructions since this morning.

He takes the case and opens it. He begins removing pieces and as I watch a high powered rifle is assembled.

"What's that for?" I know I should never question a Sentinel but I can't help asking. I don't understand and I need to know what's going on. Jason doesn't even look up but continues setting up. "Get over here."

I do as ordered. He picks up the rifle. "Anchor me."

I place my hand on his back. Looking out the window, all I see is a thousand office windows. I know Jason has his target as he sites. "Wait. What are you doing? Are you about to take a life?"

Jason puts the rifle down. I am expecting fury but he is calm as he says, "I am the Sentinel of The Tessuad Nation. I protect. You are my guide. You will obey me. You will obey me as you obey The Nation. Is that understood?"

I really want clarification here. "You're going to kill someone?"

Now the fury is there, still in check. "I'm going to protect The Nation. I'm going to kill an enemy. You're going to help me."

"I can't. I can't help you kill someone." I feel frantic, my need to guide at war with what Jason is asking-no, ordering, me to do. Jason takes a deep breath, struggling to control his anger. "Kid, I know this comes as a shock. The man I am about to assassinate is responsible for the death of three of our prime leaders. He heads Level Nine, a group dedicated to wiping out The Tessuad Nation. By killing him, I will save lives. You understand?"

I nod, the urgency is palpable.

He picks up the rifle again and puts it on his shoulder. He looks at me and I put my hand on his back. We stand there, barely breathing and I shut my eyes as I hear the crack of the gun.

Jason turns away from the window There is no fear in his eyes, just quiet triumph. I know we could be as far as three miles away from the target and no one is going to be looking for us here.

He bows his head and recites, "Thank the Good. His will is done."

He looks at me and when I don't give the reply, his hand closes on my throat.

"What do you say, guide?" His grasp tightens. I can't breathe and in panic I try and dislodge his hand. He backhands me, the force of the blow frees me and sends me reeling into the wall. I slide down until I'm sitting on the floor. He comes after me.

"What do you say?"

"The Will be served." It comes out a raspy whisper.

"That's right. The Will be served." He reaches down and grabs me by my hair, pulling me up.

"Get this straight, guide. No more questions. You do what I say, when I say it. Then we might both get out alive." He pulls my hair hard enough that tears come to my eyes and then lets go. "Pack up and let's get out of here."

Jason phones the men who congregate in the room.

"I can't give him those higher doses."

"Calm down, Jason. Why not?"

"Because when I do he's fucking useless! All he does is sleep and nothing brings him around."

"Did you try the rod?"

"Yeah, electricity did nothing. Kicking did nothing. He even soiled the bed, he was so out of it." "This is a problem."

"I'll say. I need him up and running. You have to have something I can use."

"Jason, we'll get back to you tonight. In the meantime is he functioning?"

"Yeah, now that drugs have worn off, he's fine. I just hate surprises."

"Understood."

That night we are in Athens. On the plane I try and reconcile what happened. I helped Jason kill someone. Jason has shown me the files on this guy and hey, he deserved to die. In fact, if Jason let him live it would be a serious breach of his role as Sentinel.

Still, it eats away at me. The sound, the thought...we decided, we killed him. It seems to me that's taking God's place and should be blasphemous. I say as much to Jason. He comes toward me with a look I know and grabs the back of my neck. He forces me to my knees. "What did you say?" His voice is soft.

"I just wondered how we could justify killing someone."

The hand squeezes and he pushes my head to the floor. I feel his shoe on my neck.

"We don't decide, guide. The Council decides. We merely execute their decisions. Do you think you know enough theology to question the Council?"

"No, Sentinel." I have a hard time forming the words and they are muffled in the carpet.

He takes his foot away and I make a move to get up. His hand shoves me back down and he says, "You'll get up when I tell you to get up." I hear him move about the room. He is packing, getting ready for our move tomorrow. I stay on the floor for a long time when Jason orders me to my room and I hear him lock the door. I know it was wrong of me to question his actions, wrong not to recite the response. Did he lock the door because he is afraid I'll leave him?

I sit down on the bed and put my head in my hands. I think I've always wanted to be a guide. This is the one part of my life since the lightning that has made sense to me. But the idea of killing people, of hunting them down and being the cause of their death...no matter how evil they are, how much of a threat-I don't know if I can do this. I must. I've given my vow to Jason in contract. I could never leave Jason. I'm his guide, we're bonded. I may not understand exactly what he does but I do understand it is my life's work to help him make use of his senses to protect our people. He is a Sentinel serving the Good, therefore he is incapable of doing wrong. I wish for some comfort in that thought. None comes.

After a few hours I lie down and try to sleep. There has been something niggling at my brain all day, like a itch I can't scratch. I meditate, hoping it will float to the top. I see the face and realize that I had forgotten Jim. In all the hoopla of leaving and then the sleeping, the memory of him had disappeared. I feel a rush of joy that his face is back in my mind. Then fear at how easily I had forgotten. I get up and write his name on a piece of paper. Jim. Make it real, make it stay. I can't carry a piece of paper with his name on it. Jason might find it. I don't know how I know, but I know that if Jason, or any of The Nation knew about Jim, it would be very bad. Jim. I need to put his name somewhere. Somewhere I can find it. Somewhere it can remind me if this happens again. I can't quite explain why the thought of forgetting Jim bothers me so. Perhaps because I've forgotten so much that every scrap in my head now has importance. I don't even know what Jim is. A memory, a demon, a test, or a psychotic break. I just know I don't feel as alone when he is with me. I feel greedy needing him when I have Jason, who, according to our beliefs, should take care of all my needs.

In the end I put aside my selfishness and don't write his name anywhere. I don't want Jim to come to their attention. And if I can't keep him in my head, well, maybe he doesn't belong there.

Jason unlocks the door in the morning without a word. I come out into the living room and he's finishing the packing. He opens up a box that is on the couch and removes a bracelet.

"Come here, Eric." I'm happy to hear my name once again.

He takes my hand and puts the bracelet on. It snaps shut, tight.

"It's too tight, Jason." I try moving it but it's firmly latched.

"You'll get used to it. It's a present from me to you. It's important to me that you never take it off." He smiles warmly at me as he says this and the Jason from The Center is back.

"Uh, okay...thanks." It's beautiful, silver, with intricate scroll work. I touch it and I'm surprised to feel warmth coming from the cool metal. "You finished packing?" He's scanning the room for even the remotest traces of our stay.

"Good, let's saddle up and ride."

I don't know what city we're in. I've lost track. We seem to move almost randomly and then suddenly Jason will have a focus, a vibration of expectancy and vigilance and I'll know then we are close to killing someone.

The third time he sets up by a window, I start to shake. He tells me to anchor him but I'm trembling so hard it doesn't work. He takes out a small box and fiddles with the controls and suddenly a jolt goes through my arm. I swear I can feel it surge into my brain. The next thing I remember, we're back at the hotel and I'm lying on my bed.

Jason comes in with a wet washcloth and puts it on my head.

"What happened?" My words come out slurry, and I think maybe I've been drinking.

"Oh, Eric, don't tell me our little celebration has wiped out your memory of a perfect kill."

"Wha--?" I can hardly focus on him.

"It was one of the hardest set-ups I've ever faced, but with there, grounding me, supporting me, I was able to make the shot. She's dead." "She, we killed a woman?" I can't believe we killed a woman. I can't believe we celebrated.

"Eric, you read her file, you know the kind of torture she used against eight of our brothers. Don't tell me we have to go through all this again."

I shake my head. I don't want to go through all this again.

"We celebrated?" My voice is still shaking and I reach out to put my hand on Jason's arm. Before I latch on he stands up and says, "Let me get you some water."

I'm thirsty, I guess from drinking and gratefully gulp the water down.

"Glory be, we celebrated. It was a great victory for the Good. Well done, Eric!" And he raises his glass of water in a salute. I hastily scramble out of bed and barely make it to the bathroom before I'm heaving into the toilet.

"Kid, you're going to have to learn to handle liquor better than that. Don't worry, I'm a great teacher.

I think that was about ten days ago. I don't know because the hangover never really left. My mind has been fuzzy. Twice more I've stood by a window, sure I'll be unable to control my trembling enough to give Jason the help he needs. Twice more, the jolt, the deed is done, we celebrate, and I can't remember.

The third time I wake up on the floor. Jason is standing there, nudging me with his toe. "I'm a great teacher but you are one lousy student, Eric." He laughs and my stomach pitches. I crawl to the bathroom and vomit, feeling no better at all when I'm finally through. I don't know why Jason is so pleased with me. Often I can barely carry on a conversation. Seems to me I can't be functioning very well as his guide. True, his pleasure with me comes and goes. There are times when the look in his eyes could frost an orange grove. I retreat as best I can at those times. And there are the times I fail him and he shows me the way. I hug myself as the memory of the last time sends a shudder through me.

I still can't come to terms with the killings...although the files Jason shows me are detailed in the crimes against The Nation and the details make me almost as nauseous as the aftereffects of our celebrations. Finally I come to the conclusion that this is the Good we're talking about here. I must accept their wisdom in this as in all things and accept the part that has been assigned me. Falling asleep, I try to remember a dream I once had. I'd like to have it again, but like all dreams it's skittish. As soon as I think I am drawing near, it bolts and I am left holding onto fragments. The longing is intense but it makes no sense to me that I'm unable to name what it is I long for.

"Jim, come on, wake up." Simon is shaking me. I wake and the dread and fear that have come to live with me intensifies. Simon starts to pull the electrodes off my head. Slapping his hand away I say, "I'll do that."

I think Simon is coming to his limits on this. For the past month, I've slept, wired, ready to receive?....commune?...connect? with Sandburg but nothing comes of it. Simon hates this hocus pocus. To tell you the truth, I can't quite believe I'm as willing as I am to keep trying.

Before Sandburg, this sort of new age pseudo science irritated me. The people who believed in it irritated me. Now it's all I have to link me to Blair and I'm not letting go of it. Perhaps it's time to move back to the loft. What had started out as a short-term arrangement now had no end in sight. Simon's been patient but he's a practical man and this search for Blair ceased to be practical many weeks ago. Ceased to be practical, fruitful, or hopeful, but none of that matters. The search will go on.

"You take the first shower, I'll start breakfast." Saying that to Simon makes me hear the echoes of the many times I said that to Blair or Blair said it to me. Why weren't we connecting? I refuse to believe that Blair is dead. There has to be something else blocking us. The station is subdued. Joel, H, Connor, and Brian have been doing all they can to help the search. There is little to do except trail Joyce. We take turns and it's tedious as hell. All of us are played out. Without the adrenaline rush of discovery there is little energy left. The comfort of hope faded weeks ago, when I could no longer find Blair in my dreams. We all go forward because to stop is unacceptable. "Jim." Connor nods a greeting to me. I look at her for some sign of change but her slumped shoulders make it clear, there's no news. "Connor." I nod back and see her take the same inventory of me. She sighs and walks back to her desk.

Simon takes it easy on me, but I still get paid to work for the Cascade PD and I have cases to work. As I'm typing the report on a robbery that ended in murder, I see Rafe, agitated on the phone. I try and extend my hearing but that sense continues in its abandonment of me. Going the old fashioned route, I get up and walk to his desk. He looks up, a big smile on his face and I know he's found something. "Thanks, yeah, great, keep your thumb on that duo and let me know...right. Bye."

"What is it? You found something out? What?" Rafe's smile falters a bit but I can read he's still elated.

"I took a long shot and it's so long it may not add up but I got Douglas at IntelSecurity to create a program to track every Jason and Eric that were traveling together. I'd checked for Jason Rarick and that was a no go, then I thought to check this. So far he's come up with twenty-two pairs. None panned out until today. Today he hit the jackpot. A Jason Rogers has been travelling with a Eric Kendall for the past month. This pair has been hop-scotching all around Europe, never staying in one place for too long. I think we may have a way to track Blair."

I sit down, I can't believe we've finally gotten a break. "Where are they?"

"The last passport entry was into Geneva. So far no exit has been reported."

"Geneva? Can you call and get me a ticket?" I dig out a credit card. "I've got to collect my passport and grab a few things." Simon has to be told, I head to his door. He's standing there, arms folded. "I'm going, Simon."

Simon shakes his head and moves back into his office without a word. I follow him in and wait to hear what he has to say.

"Jim, you just can't go running off to Geneva because 'maybe' Blair is there. Geneva's a big city and they speak, what? German, French, Swiss? A language you don't know and can't use to get your answers. Let's analyze the information coming in and see if we can start to understand what we're up against here."

Simon is making sense but I hate it. I can't describe what it feels like to be separated this long from Blair. I don't know if it feels the way it does because I'm worried, knowing someone is making use of him, maybe hurting him. Would I have these feelings if I still thought Blair was happily ogling the babes in Florida? No. It's worry. It's just worry

"Simon, this as close as we've gotten. I have to follow up on it."

"Follow up on it. Follow up on it here and use your head. These people are smart and cagey and determined. We have two, no, make that three things going for us. One, we're on to Joyce. Two, we may have a way to track them as they move around and perhaps even anticipate where they will be."

"And three?"

"You're sporadic mystical interludes with Blair."

"What? I thought you didn't believe in that stuff, Simon."

"Hey, if 'Jason and Eric" do turn out to be Blair and his new Sentinel, then I guess I have to believe it, don't I? And right now I want to believe it because as you said, this is as close as we've gotten." Simon took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. I know he maintains a tough, professional stance at all costs and I know what those costs are. The man was worried and worn out. He put his glasses back on and said, "Dear Lord, let this pan out."

"I'll hold off leaving until we analyze the pattern a little more, but when we know something, I'm on the next plane."

"Right. Fine. Go see what more Rafe has. Let's call a meeting here in my office in two hours. We need all the brainpower we can get." In two hours, Douglas at IS had been able to create a map showing where Jason and Blair had been in the last month. It's impressive in its scope. "Man, they aren't sparing any expenses, are they?" Rafe is scrolling down the hotels they had stayed at. "Yeah, looks like Hairboy is living the good life."

I look at H. He thinks Blair is on vacation. Some of anger at what's been done leaks out and I grab H by the shoulder, my fingers digging in.

"Blair has been stripped of his identity, I don't think he'd agree with you about how good the life is he's leading." H's hand come up to mine in an attempt to get me to let go "Ow, Jim, come on, I'm sorry. Sometimes my mouth gets engaged before my brain. I was way out of line." I think H is actually blushing and I realize how I'm overreacting.

My fingers relax and I withdraw my hand. H would sport a bruise there tomorrow.

"No, I'm sorry, I was out of line. I know you were just trying to lighten things up." H nods at my apology and we go back to studying the printouts.

"Is there a pattern here that can tell us what they are doing or where they might go next?" Simon's head for military maneuvers comes into play.

"There doesn't seem to be any pattern to where they go, it sure as hell isn't linear. They've back-tracked at least twice." Rafe has been studying the map.

The guy's a Sentinel and yet he's taken his Guide and left the tribe, unless the tribe is scattered all over Europe.

"Joel, what have you got on the members of The Tessuad Nation? Do they have people in all these cities?"

Taggert pages through the papers on the desk. "Not much here in way of population disbursement, but from what we know this group has members all over the world. So yeah, probably."

"Damn, this group is a phantasm. You almost would start to think God is on their side, the way they've been able to stay hidden and gain recruits." Simon is voicing a thought I've had but hearing it out loud gives it weight and reality and I really, really wish he hadn't said that. "No group can be this well hidden. There is something very wrong with the intel we've been getting." Douglas has been flipping through screens so fast I start to wonder if he's really Clark Kent.

Douglas continues, "Nope, guys, much of what we've got here is a false." Douglas shakes his head, I think in admiration. "These guys are the best, and I mean the very best, I've ever seen. From what I can tell, the whole thing is a racket, designed by some of those perverse minds behind Escabar. Remember them, back in the eighties? Very successful in their recruitment and in their ability to remake whole belief systems."

Douglas brings up a screen. "Look here. There's no church called The Tessuad Nation. There's no nation. It's just doctrine that can be used to convince gullible fools to dedicate their lives. It's like an elaborate shell game, very hard to tell which group believes and which group creates the beliefs."

Douglas runs his hands through his shaggy hair. He's quintessential geek morphed into professional consultant. "Take Joyce Sunjata. I don't know if she's a true believer or one of the puppet masters. What I do know is she's not really Joyce Sunjata."

"Whadya mean? We checked her out every which way from Sunday." Rafe was on that detail.

" Yup, every which way you checked up on her she came up clean.... computer search, in person interviews with grade school teachers, old boyfriends, FBI files, the works. Turns out, eight months ago, Joyce went on vacation. She'd won an ocean cruise and she went by herself. I think Joyce went and somebody else came back in her place."

"What makes you think that?" Simon is looking at Douglas's current screen and sees no hint of a switch.

"I got to thinking about Sunjata and the impossibility of hiding your Moment of Attachment to a group like this. So I checked out her last year and when I saw the vacation, I checked on that. There was no contest. Her trip was paid with cash. The real Joyce, smart cookie though she probably was, fell for the 'You've won!' trick and went off to her death. Joyce number two with plastic surgery so expensive, even Liz couldn't afford it, steps into her shoes."

Oh, man, that actually makes sense. "I felt the surgery scars. I never asked her about them, didn't think it was the gentlemanly thing to do. Damn! How could I have missed that?" I'm start to pacing, thinking of all the times I've run my hands down her false and beautiful body. I'd like to have my hands on her now, right around her neck.

"Even her fingerprints checked. Douglas? How'd they work that?" Joel has a checklist going on the many ways we'd tried to crack Joyce two months ago.

"That was easy, they just hacked into the FBI and replaced the real with the false. But because we bought her identity, hook, line and sinker, we never pursued her fingerprints beyond the FBI. Her prints may be on file somewhere. I'm waiting for the query I sent out this morning."

"Another long shot."

"Yeah, sorry, unless she was convicted of something or in the military, it's unlikely." Douglas shrugs, he's thought this all through, "And let's face it, these guys have enough computer savvy that even if her prints had been on file, they aren't any longer."

He's right and it makes tracking down 'Jason and Eric' in Geneva that much more necessary.

"Bingo, exit visa issued earlier today...they're on they're way back to the States-to Cleveland, to be exact." Douglas throws down his pencil in satisfaction.

"What time? What time will they land?" I'm looking at my watch.

Douglas studies the screen. They land in an hour and a half."

"Dammit. There's no way to get there in time. Rafe, can you book me on the next flight out?" ""You got it."

I gather the files and start putting them away.

Simon comes back from his office. I hadn't even noticed he'd left.

"Okay, I contacted Captain Robbins in Cleveland. He's agreed to post some men at the airport."

I interrupt Simon. "Good men? Men who know how to blend in, stay hidden?" "Yes, Jim, Robbins is well aware of the delicacy of this operation and he assured me that he would have his best team on it."

"Good." Not good, not nearly good enough, but all we have. I need to get to Cleveland, I need to be in on this hunt.

I get into Cleveland at 8:30 and I'm met by some of Robbin's team. Roy seems to be the senior member and he starts to fill me in. ""Jason and Eric" arrived at 2:10. They picked up their luggage and were met at the curb by a limousine. They went to a private estate in Woodbury Hills and have been there ever since."

Julio shows me pictures. My stomach clenches at the sight of Sandburg. He's walking behind the guy who must be Jason. He keeps his jacket wrapped tightly around him as if he's cold. I can't see his face very well because his head is bent. There's something not right about him and I zoom in on the picture, looking for infinitesimal details that will tell me what's up. There's darkness under Sandburg's eyes and a pinched look around his mouth, like he's in pain. Then I notice the arm. Actually, I can only see the wrist. He has a silver bracelet on and the wrist is red and swollen around it. I can make out by the shape of the sleeve that the arm is swollen also. Jesus, the kid's got an infection, take the damn bracelet off.

Jason is about my age, bigger than I am, built like an athlete, power evident in his stride . He's dressed in quiet elegance. Paying no attention to Blair trailing behind him, his focus seems to be on getting out of the airport. He has a handsome face, strong lines, Roman nose, thin patrician lips. It all screams aristocrat. An entitled man descended from a long line of entitled men. I want to rip his patrician lips right off his handsome face. I want him to look back and notice that Blair is in pain. That something is wrong with Blair. Whoa, time out. If you'd taken a snapshot of Sandburg and me at any given moment, would it have looked like this? How many times did Sandburg get banged up and still follow me? How often did I look back? I, who was always so focused on answers and details. How many details did I miss about Blair?

Roy and Julio take me to Woodbury Hills. There's a van set-up four blocks away, with a view of the driveway. Simon was right, this team knows how to stay hidden. Not much is happening. There's a rear exit being watched. Harlan Nyberg, a local bigwig with ties to just about every organization known to the rich and powerful, owns the place. His money origins are murky, rumors about him, tasteful and hushed. Since Sandburg and Jason entered, there's been no activity.

I can hardly believe Sandburg is this close, he's a stroll away, in that mansion...sitting down, maybe eating dinner...the normalcy of those images makes me angry. Now that I know just where he is I want to know what the hell is Sandburg doing with them? It's not fair, I know. I know Sandburg's memory has been fucked with and they've filled his head with gibberish, but Blair's smart, way too smart to fall for this. I can't believe he couldn't have figured out some way to fool Jason. I know if he set his mind to it he'd be able to fool me. Of course to do that would require some resources, some freedom of movement, some place to go. None of which Sandburg has had.

The jet makes a smooth landing but still the soft bumping sends pain up my arm. I think something bit me. Maybe a spider. My arm has been getting worse for a week now. At first Jason dismissed it. The day I was so weak and dizzy I couldn't stand by his side, he took it seriously. He got me some antibiotics and they helped but the swelling hasn't gone down and the pain is worse. Finally, Jason decided I needed American doctors and we came back, landing in Cleveland.

The doctor has looks at my arm. He examines the bracelet. "How does this come off?" He's asking me, as Jason is in with Mr. Nyberg. "I don't know, it was a gift from Jason and I've never taken it off." I bite my lip as the doctor presses and probes at it, looking for a latch. "You never tried?" He's incredulous, it's clear to him there's a problem with the bracelet.

I shake my head. I know better than to tell him how I asked Jason to take it off when my arm started to ache and swell. Jason had flown into a rage, accusing me of betraying his friendship and our contract. It was apparent then that he saw the bracelet as being deeply symbolic of our union. He said if I ever asked again, he would kill me, knowing the devil had seized my soul and that I had become a threat to The Nation.

As crazy as that sounds I know Jason means it. I've come to realize that Jason belongs to The Tessuad Nation, body, mind and soul, in a way I can only aspire to. Enemies are the others. Waiters, sales clerks, hotel maids; are the others. Even me, his guide, united by contract and deed, am an other. I am like his rifle, a tool to be used for the Good, having no purpose or function beyond my usefulness to that end. It is a fact brought home to every day. At first I didn't realize my place.

I read and tried to share with Jason salient bits of knowledge that came my way. Tracking on his few interests, I attempted to share his enthusiasm for Byzantine triptychs and medieval architecture. He listened to me absentmindedly and then said I should confine my comments to things I actually knew something about and then added, "Which isn't much."

I knew I had led a sheltered life and my learning had been mainly confined to subjects making me useful to a Sentinel. I don't think I'm stupid but my brain does seem disorganized.

Every once in awhile I got a flash...it's hard to describe. It's like I would see something ordinary-families having a picnic or school children, and a whole system of looking at them would flood my brain. I would be thinking about cultural norms and rituals, cataloging in my head the details of one group in order to compare it with another. I had no idea where this came from but I knew better than to mention it to Jason.

It seemed like anytime I said or did anything unexpected, Jason freaked. I accepted this. That was the nature of what a Sentinel needed in a guide...someone who is steady and predictable. As time went on however, it became clear a guide must submit in all ways, allow the Sentinel total control or the Sentinel becomes violent and enraged.

At first I could not submit. I tried to assert myself. Sometimes Jason patiently explained why I couldn't go for a walk, or why eating at this time was a mistake. Sometimes he simply backhanded me and shoved me in my room. In any case, I soon learned that nothing could come of trying to separate from Jason. This was my life. I had almost decided to beg Jason to take the bracelet off, knowing he would kill me. Kind of a round about way to off oneself, I know. Then Jason made the decision to bring us back to the States. There was something about coming home that eased the ache inside me. I don't know why. I knew being home would change nothing.

Now the doctor was insisting the bracelet had to come off. I expected Jason to come barreling in at any moment and accuse the doctor of being in Lucifer's employ. Instead Jason came in and, after hearing the doctor's prognosis, calmly said he'd have someone come over who could remove it.

"He's running quite the fever. Make sure he takes the antibiotics and aspirin every four hours. If we can't get this infection under control, I'm going to have to admit him." Even the doc knows I'm not the one you talk to.

I watch as Jason escorts him out. I wonder if he really will bring someone in who can get this bracelet off. I dread Jason's return. If I'm lucky, he'll hand me the pills and the water and then leave. If Jason is in a foul mood, he'll rant about the bracelet and once more go through the meaning of each symbol on the damn thing. He's done this three times and I swear he does it because he knows yanking my arm around to point at the each squiggle and line aggravates the pain I'm in. Jason doesn't come back and I wonder if I should take the pills myself. It's so hard to know what Jason wants sometimes. He gets angry when he has to do things for me and he gets angry when I do things for myself. I decide to wait on the pills. I'm already expecting some serious backlash from the bracelet thing, no use compounding it. I try and will myself to sleep but the pain keeps nudging me awake. At some point, I must have drifted off, because when I open my eyes, there's a man in my room. It's not Jason, the doc, or Nyberg. I should be worried but I don't have the energy for it. I watch him, waiting for him to say something, do something. He's looking around, studying the place and then he tunes in that I'm awake.

I smile, I'm so happy to see him Then my heart constricts, feeling my betrayal. My head starts to hurt and I grab it and squeeze, trying to stop the confusion. Have I betrayed Jim or Jason? Have I betrayed The Good by my happiness at seeing Jim? Certainly I betrayed Jim by so completely forgetting him. How can he still look at me with such affection, when it's clear I forgot all about him?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I chant as I hold my head.

"Hey, Chief, whoa. What are you sorry about? It's okay, everything's going to be okay."

"I forgot about you." I look up, expecting to see anger. Instead he looks a little sad but there is nothing angry about him.

"It's okay, Chief. You really aren't yourself these days. What's wrong with your arm?"

"Hmm, don't know, some sort of infection, maybe a spider bite."

Jim studies my wrist and arm.

"It's not a bite."

"How can you tell?"

"I'm a Sentinel, remember? I looked at it. What's with this bracelet, Chief?"

"It was a gift from Jason. It's never supposed to be taken off."

"The bracelet is the problem. I can feel some heat coming off it, like it has an energy source. Take it off."

"I can't."

"Dammit, I know you think this Jason is the sun and the moon but the bracelet has to come off!" He's yelling and I'm afraid someone will hear him, I'm afraid he's going to try to pull the bracelet off.

I pull my arm in and cradle it to my chest.

"No, I can't..." Jim interrupts me. "I can't believe you feel such loyalty to this guy that you won't take his damn bracelet off your arm. What are you? His fucking girlfriend?"

I flinch. Now Jim is angry with me. I have to explain, make him understand...

"I'm not his f-fu-his girlfriend. I just can't get it off." I take my right arm in my left hand and extend it to Jim, so he can see there is no latch, no way to get it off.

Jim looks me in the eye and then drops his eyes down to the bracelet and studies it some more.

"I see." He turns away from me. "Sorry about that crack. What are they doing to get you well?" He's looking out the window. "I'm supposed to take these antibiotics." I point at the unopened bottle

"Then why haven't you?"

I don't know how to answer that, how to explain a guide's dependence on a Sentinel. I feel ashamed to admit to Jim how it is. I fudge. "I fell asleep before I could take one."

"Well, take one now, Chief. What else are they doing? You're in rough shape here."

"Someone is coming who can take the bracelet off."

"Good."

I'm having a hard time opening the bottle, my right hand is useless. Jim sees my struggle and comes forward, but drops his hands when he realizes he can't help. Hallucinations can so rarely open medicine bottles. I try for a bit and then lean back and drop the bottle. It's impossible. I'll have to wait for Jason to remember.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?" He's seen that it's no use.

"I'm sorry I forgot you." I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes open and I know this dream is going to end. I really don't want it to. I wish I could write Jim's name down, to make sure I don't forget it again. Too risky, even if I could.

"It's okay, I never forgot you. I won't forget you."

"That's good, at least one of us is on top of things," I mumble as I fall asleep.

Waking up with a jerk I realize I'm back in the van with the stakeout team. They take my nap and abrupt awakening in stride. Why now?

Why could I connect with Sandburg now? Is it distance? Was he too far away in Europe? Or was it something else?

"Anything happen while I slept?" I ask the one called Ajax.

"Yeah, a car with MD license plates left. Otherwise, it's been quiet."

I sure as hell can't tell these guys about my nocturnal visit with Sandburg. And even if I could, I didn't learn anything new...except someone would be arriving who can remove the bracelet. I think about how to use that bit of info.

I don't think I can spend the night cooped up in this van. Seeing Sandburg so washed out and sick left me feeling restless. Anxious. He should have taken those pills. Why isn't somebody looking after him?

I wake up thirsty. I take in the room. "J-j-jim?" I whisper. It's silent. I clamp my good hand over my mouth. I can't believe I said his name. What if Jason heard me? I didn't really think Jason was expending any energy monitoring me with his senses but you never really knew what a Sentinel would tune into. I need to get up and get some water. I throw the covers off and sit up. The room's shadows shift and move as dizziness sweeps over me. I wait it out and regain a sense of equilibrium, enough anyway, to push off the bed and look for the bathroom. I'm in the hallway when I hear Jason. I duck into the first room I see and stand in the darkened doorway. Jason is talking to Mr. Nyberg in a room further down the hall.

"We have to move tonight." Jason is emphatic.

"What about the kid?"

"He'll be all right. I've never known a bigger wuss. That guy would let a hangnail stop him."

"The doctor said the infection is serious, you need to get that bracelet off."

"That's easier said than done, Harlan. The technology for that thing came from the council and they're the only ones who know how to get it off."

"Okay, we'll have to get them to send someone to meet you at the next safe house."

Jason snorts, "Some safe house this proved to be. I've got to go get Kendall up and moving."

I hear the sounds of them pushing back chairs and I scramble back to my room. I'm barely in bed when Jason comes in. There's no point pretending to be asleep.

I bolt upright as if startled awake and gasp, "Jason!" hoping he'll think my fast heartbeat is caused by my surprise. He seems to buy it, because he barely looks at me.

"Get dressed. We're leaving here tonight." Jason is pawing through my clothes, cramming them into the suitcase.

Before I can stop myself, I ask, "Why?" As soon as the word is out of my mouth I know I'm going to regret it.

"Why? Did the guide just ask the Sentinel, why?" He comes over to the bed and yanks the blankets off. He picks up my bad arm. He holds it gently but I start to shake anyway, waiting for him to hurt me.

"I thought I taught you better than that, Eric. I thought you were capable of learning and understanding. Now I'm beginning to wonder just how stupid you really are." He still holds my arm gently.

"I'm sorry... It's the fever, I didn't mean to question you. Please Jason, don't..." he doesn't let me finish begging. Jason jerks my arm and the pain floods my entire body. As I begin to pass out, I can't help but think I'm glad. Maybe we won't be able to leave if I'm unconscious. Maybe I'll see Jim again.

I drive aimlessly through the neighborhood. It feels good to be moving. I have a vague idea about getting to know the lay of the land and checking on the back entrance.

I don't see anyone that could be surveillance and I wonder if they are just so well hidden that I can't spot them. After all those years in black ops and then my own experience at stakeouts, I find that unlikely. No, dammit, they've been pulled off.

The anxiety I felt before is moving into full-blown panic. I finally found Sandburg and I could lose him in a moment. I'm in a strange city with no back up and no resources. I get my cell out to call Robbins but before I can begin to dial, I see the gate opening and a black car emerges. I can hear Sandburg's heartbeat. His breathing tells me he's unconscious, whether sleeping or knocked out, it's hard to tell. The car moves almost silently through the streets and I follow at a distance. By keeping Sandburg's heartbeat in focus, I can track on them and stay well out of sight. I get my phone out to call in and then stop myself. Someone inside the PD called off the back street team. If I call, there's a good chance that the Jason will hear about that and I might lose this opportunity to stay close to Blair. I put the phone away. The streets we travel become darker, the houses further apart. I keep the headlights off, as the moon is bright enough for me. We are headed into the country. I listen for conversation in the car. There are three of them; Blair, Jason and I assume the driver. There is no talk, the radio is tuned to a public station, the music of a string quartet the only sounds I can hear. We travel far enough that the radio station fades, replaced by country/western.

"Turn that crap off." That must be Jason. I memorize his voice.

"Yessir." The driver.

I can tell that Sandburg is coming to, there's the sound of rustling and soft grunts. I wait to hear his voice, to hear him ask Jason what's going on. There's silence.

Finally I hear Blair, his voice raw, underpinned with pain. "Jason?" He sounds lost.

"What?" Jason's voice holds the same cold tone he used on the driver.

"Is there any water? I need to take the pill." Those are words I never expected to hear from Blair's mouth. A voluntary request for Western medication. He must feel terrible.

"Ah, for goodness sake, Eric, you were supposed to take that pill three hours ago." Jason's irritation permeates the car.

Come on, Blair, tell him you couldn't get the cap off.

"I fell asleep." I can tell Blair is lying. Jason should be able to tell, too.

"Well, I forgot to bring the damn pills with me. We'll get some more later."

There's silence again and then Blair's tentative voice asking, "Could I have some water anyway?"

"When we get to where we're going, Eric." He sounds like an impatient father with a whiny child. I'm tempted to speed up and ram my car into the back of theirs and retrieve my Guide that way.

There is the sound of Sandburg shifting a bit, his heart beating fast; pain or fear? Then silence once again.

We've been traveling for three hours. I wish I'd thought to grab a map. I have no idea where we are in Ohio, or even if we're still in Ohio. I can't call the Cleveland PD but I can contact Cascade. I put in a call to Simon at his home. I know I'll be waking him up but I need someone to know what's going down.

"Banks, make it good." Simon sounds awake. What other disasters are stirring that would have him awake at this hour? "Simon, it's me."

"Bout time, Ellison. Been on the phone with Robbins, seems there's some concern about your disappearing act." "Simon, someone tipped off Jason. The exit team was off post. I was about to call it in when I saw a car leaving. We're been traveling north from Cleveland for about three hours."

"Damn. That explains a lot."

"There's a leak in that PD, Simon. What's your take on Robbins?"

"Hell. I don't know. This organization has a tentacle in every port. If you're that far out of Cleveland, he's ceased to be relevant. Should I call in the FBI? You know they're going to be interested once we out Sunjata."

"God, Simon, The feds are never a good idea. Let me see where they go...we'll call them in if there's no other way." "I'm tempted to get on a plane myself at this point." Simon exhales in a certain way that tells me he's got a cigar at hand. "I'm tempted to tell you to do it, too. It's bad enough to be trailing some terrorist without backup, but worse, knowing that if I blow it Sandburg is trapped." "You won't blow it, Jim." I take comfort in his calm reassurance. "I'll update you as soon as I can. Oh, Simon, if you can, will you find a map of Ohio? I have no idea where I am. I'll call you back." "Right. I'll hunt one up right now." "Thanks, Simon." I disconnect and face the darkness ahead of me. There's a small gasp, it can only be Blair. I wait. It amazes me, the power of Sandburg's voice in my life. It's just a voice for c'rist's sake. And now I wait to hear it again. Even in pain it soothes me. I know how selfish that sounds. Still, it's true. Blair, in pain and verbal is so much better than no Blair at all. There was just that small gasp and now nothing. I can tell Sandburg is conscious. It's not like him to suffer in silence. He likes to share... "We're almost there, sir."

"I can see that. Pull into that first garage."

I hang back and park the car a half mile away.

"Come on, Kendall, get the lead out."

I can hear Sandburg's breathing getting rougher as he makes his way out of the car.

"Move it, Eric, I want to get some sleep in before this night is over."

Still no words from Sandburg, just the sound of him shuffling along. I hear a door being unlocked and opened and then closed. I can hear the driver asking about which room and I figure this is as good a time as any to get closer.

I can hear them each finding a room with a bed. There is no conversation as such. At one point Sandburg asks about water and Jason tells him he's not his mommy. I can hear Blair moving around the kitchen, opening doors, getting a glass, running water. He moves slowly and I can tell he's having trouble with his balance, the way he keeps bumping against things. Finally he heads to a room and falls into bed. I wait for an hour to make sure they are in deep sleep and then I jimmy the back door. The driver sleeps on the couch in the living room, Jason's upstairs and Blair's in the room behind the kitchen. He's lying face down on the bed. I can feel the heat radiating off him from here. He's in bad shape and I can't wait to get him out of here. I kneel down next to the bed and turn him over.

His fever is 104 and he's soaked in sweat. I don't have the time to wake him or get him into dry clothes. I spot his bag and take out a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. Reaching down and taking his good arm, I haul him over my shoulder. I hope he stays asleep along with the rest of the house. When I entered the house I could tell there wasa white noise generator going upstairs. This guy is arrogant and I'm grateful.

The first hundred yards we're okay and then Blair starts to moan, he's coming to. I carry him behind a copse of trees and set him down. I whisper in his ear, "Chief, buddy? You all right?"

Sandburg goes stiff in my arms and then he tries to open his eyes.. "Jason?"

That hurts. His first thought, his first concern, is for Jason.

"No, it's me, it's Jim." Will he remember me this time around? Will he demand I take him back to Jason? I try to control the raw anger I feel about Blair guiding someone else. Blair would excuse it as a genetic imperative or a primitive knee jerk reaction. It's still wrong to feel the anger. It's not as if Blair made this choice voluntarily. Yet he seems to have a strong attachment to this Jason. I wonder if he would chose to leave? I'm not giving him a choice.

"J-jim?"

"Yeah, it's Jim, remember me?" I say it bitingly and immediately feel bad. The kid is sick and confused, his brain's been fucked with, and I'm getting sarcastic.

"Jim!" His eyes pop all the way open and he smiles. He touches my face and he frowns. "Oh God, you're real, you're here." He's trying to get up and look around. His heart is spiking and I can tell my being real has freaked him out.

"We have to get out of here, Chief." I help him to his feet. He stands there, unsteady and I put my arm around him. He tenses up, like he's going to leave me and I start to panic at that thought. I grip him harder, expecting more resistance, when suddenly he relaxes and moves with me.

It takes us close to twenty minutes to get back to the car and by the end, Blair is only semi-conscious. I get him up into my arms and carry him the last two hundred yards. Getting to the car, I start to put him in the back seat and realize even that's too far away right now. I place him in the front seat and start to take his wet clothes off. His skin is clammy and it's hard to peel the grungy things off him. First the shirt. Man, this guy knows how to grow hair. I wipe the sweat off him as best I can. I get the sweatshirt on and start on the pants. They're easier to get off, harder to get on. Finally I settle him in the front seat and go around to my side. For the last four minutes I've been hearing sounds in the house. They're coming awake and they'll discover Blair is missing any minute.

I resist the urge to gun the car and ease it off the side and onto the road. Slowly I accelerate, hoping Jason will not be casting his senses afield, hunting for Blair's escape route just yet. The guy must sleep like the dead, to have missed me coming into the house. I'm torn. I want to get Blair as far away as possible as fast as possible. On the other hand, we still have a head start and he won't be thinking beyond the car they came in. If I stay, I'll be able to hear what kind of resources they have for retrieving Sandburg. Pulling up, I can hear Jason in the bathroom. I let that sink in. Since Blair left my senses have been sporadic and in the last month, none existent. Now, even sick and unconscious, he's back to functioning as my Guide.

Jason moves into the kitchen and I wait. Nothing. What gives? Didn't he check for Blair's heart beat when he woke up? Hasn't he tried to check on Blair's fever yet? The guy's making coffee! I hear him yell, "Eric! Where the hell are you?" Silence. Finally, he's making use of his senses. When he does, I realize my mistake. If I can hear him, he can hear Blair's heart beat. I push the accelerator down and the car leaps down the road.

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