Stealing Home - part four
by Callista Echo

It's been a week since we started to pull apart the knowledge stored in my head. The part of my brain that I glimpsed before seems to be happily in charge and I'm grateful. This part of my brain looks at everything I know and everything that was done to me with detached excitement. It sorts and categorizes The Tessuad Nation's hierarchy, values, purposes, and social structure. As that part of my brain does its thing, another part of my brain has started to unravel each dangling thread, seeing the tactics that were used to keep me contained and off balance.

The upshot of this is that my body seems to have decided to relive its time away also. I'll be studying some of the reports Douglas has come up with and all of a sudden, my back will spasm and I feel caught. Paralyzed by the pain and an awareness of fear, I sit at the table, telling myself to breathe, to relax. I watch as the sweat drips off my forehead and splats on the reports and I wait. I waited like this before. Waited in pain for the pain to stop. Waited in pain for the pain to get worse. While voices droned, so low I never did made out a single word I could latch onto. I tried. I wanted something that would tell me why, something to fill my empty mind. There was nothing in there except memories of pain like this.

Sometimes the cramp would ease and I could breathe and think and get on with the work. Sometimes Jim would come in and see the problem and put his hand on the muscles that were twitching and freezing up. His hand would connect and I could feel the energy from it, energy and heat spreading across my back. I would close my eyes and imagine this sensation in the middle of that terrible emptiness. The muscles unclench and I can go back to studying.

At night, predictably, nightmares come. Doors opened during the day are now wide open for the demons to use and they do. The first few nights I wake with Jim cradling me, calling for me to come back. After that I slept in Jim's bed and still woke cradled in his arms but at least he didn't have to make the dash downstairs.

Still can't get over that. Jim's willingness to touch me and have me close to him. Still find myself sidling away, worried that I will irritate him by my proximity. He just follows me until we are once again together.

The nightmares provide a few more clues. Jim's given me a hand held tape recorder and I use it, once the shaking has stopped, to record everything I can remember. One could almost say we have a routine. I wake up with Jim's voice in my ear, reassuring me, pulling me away from the hands that seem to only want to hurt, to his hands that anchor me to his chest. Jim's taken to keeping a washcloth at hand as well as a glass of water and when he ascertains I'm awake he wipes the sweat away and hands me the glass of water. Then I recount everything I can remember. A lot of it is repetitious, the same images over and over again, but every once in awhile, there is a new snippet, a face, a name. We seize on those, collating it into the information we already have.

Today I'm going to the station. Jim assures me everyone wants to see me, but I find that hard to imagine. The trip there is spent studying the route we take, knowing I've been in this truck, on my way to the station, many times. Not one building or intersection seems familiar and you would think I would get used to that. I have not gotten used to it, still feel little fear tendrils, as once again, there is nothing to hold me in place.

The station is filled with people, most of whom seem to know Blair, er, me. They smile and I keep finding myself bumping into Jim's chest as I back away from their outstretched hands. They pat me and say "Welcome Home" and I can't believe I know so many people. Eventually we get to Simon's office and as soon as we enter, my knees buckle and I go down. I hear Jim shout, "Blair!" and I want to reassure him but I feel like I'm falling down Alice's rabbit hole...or perhaps a different kind of passage, as it almost feels like being born.

I remember this room.

"I remember this room." I finally say. Jim has pulled me into his arms and his face lights up with a smile.

"That's great. What else do you remember?" Good question. Even remembering the room is not exactly a memory, more of a feeling, a recognition.

"I don't remember anything really, but I know this room. Why? Why do I know Simon's office? Why not the loft?" I feel kinda bad about that. Seems like the loft would hold more of my memories. Jim helps me off the floor and I take a chair.

"I'm not surprised it's my office you remember, Sandburg. After all, I'm your Captain." I look at Jim. Is Simon my boss? I stand up. Simon hadn't seemed mad that I sat in his presence, but if he's the authority here then I was way out of line. Jim looks up at me and tugs at my sleeve.

"I'm sorry I sat and," I gesture to the floor, "fell, and I don't know how to address you."

Simon, what do I call him? Looks at like I've grown a second head.

"You call me Simon, you should call me Captain Banks. And sit down, Sandburg." I've annoyed him and I hesitate to sit down but he glares at gestures at me with his cigar.

"Down."

"Okay, C-Captain Banks." I sit.

"Okay, the Feds have called a meeting for later today to consolidate our information. You brought the files? Good. I want you to bring Taggert, Brown and Rafe, up to date. Use interrogation room 3. I'll check in with you later." He waves his cigar again and orchestrates our departure.

The meeting with the FBI goes well and it astonishes just how much information there is. Looking at the pile of folders, I feel queasy. The room seems smaller, the air less oxygenated, the stacks of paper more ominous. I excuse myself and leave, making for the bathroom. Jim is right behind me and pushes the door open. "What is it? What's going on?"

I get the water running cold and throw it on my face. "I'm okay, it just got a little claustrophobic in there."

"No." Jim stares at me in the mirror. "No, that's not it. I feel it too, and that's not it." He starts to pace and I wonder if he is feeling what I'm feeling. If he is, it affects him differently. He's antsy and nervous, the energy pouring off him in aggressive waves. I can barely stay standing, it feels like I'm drowning and one serious wave could take me out and take me down.

Jim notices that I guess because he stops his pacing and comes over. He studies my face in the mirror and then puts an arm around me, hugging me to his chest. It's much like waking from a nightmare but this time I can see Jim's face. There's so many emotions crossing it; worry, fear, love? Have I ever seen love? Would I know it? And a look I think might be possessiveness. The last one I do re cognize, I saw it on Jason's face often enough. In Jason that emotion seemed to trigger a need to exercise control. To contain, repress, and discipline me. To hurt me and make clear to me my utter dependence on him. Thinking of all that, I instinctively jerk in Jim's arms. Jim just tightens his hold and puts his chin on my head. "It's all right, Blair."

Did he read my mind? I relax back against him and soak in the comfort he's offering. "Time for us to head home. They'll finish up and get us the final conclusions. Let's go."

That night, as Jim showers, I do my own pacing. I have to be ready. I think about Jason and what I know. In the morning, I gather the things that I might need and put them in my coat pockets.

We're scheduled to meet with Agents Kulig and Batten at the courthouse today. Jim's usual laid- back calm is gone. He's hyper-alert and the energy crackles around him as he gets ready. I keep my distance, knowing how everything is grating his nerves right now.

When we finally head out the rain is dense and cold and even the short dash to the truck leaves us soaked. The ride to the courthouse is made in silence, the heat pouring out yet barely putting a dent in the chill. Jim looks sideways at me. It's hard to tell what he's thinking. I know it's times like this that he wishes he had the old/real Blair back. I know from the all the evidence he's laid out for me, that I am Blair Sandburg. But I know from all the empty corners in my mind, that Blair is gone. I might as well be a stranger with his face.

As we approach the intersection near the courthouse it happens. A car runs a red light and smashes into the truck, sending us spinning into the oncoming traffic. Luckily the cars all able to swerve, but the Chevy maintains its speed, ramming us into a light post. Jim's head hits the steering wheel and his door buckles in from the impact with the post. I'm jerked in my seat belt with enough force to knock the wind out of me and leave bruises, but I stay conscious. I'm reaching over to check on Jim when my door is yanked open. Jason stands there, smiling. "Come on Eric, we have to hurry." He grabs my wrist with one hand and reaches over and undoes my seatbelt with the other. I look to Jim, he's dazed but coming to. He's in no shape to take on Jason and maybe, if I'm lucky, Jason will just take me and leave Jim alone. I go with Jason.

When I come to, I realize what deep trouble we're in. Blair's gone and I'm trapped in the truck. I was conscious enough to hear Jason's voice ordering Blair out of the truck and Blair going without protest. I try and sense which way they went but there's nothing. The seat belt is jammed and I'm helpless to follow them, even if I knew which way to go.

A man leans in the door and assesses the situation. "I'll have you out of there in just a minute."

He climbs in the truck and tries to get the seat belt undone. He can't and he pulls out a knife and cuts through the strap that has me pinned. He helps me get out the passenger side. As soon as my feet hit the ground, I feel a whoosh of air. I turn and try and deflect the blow but the gun catches me on the side of my head. I'm stunned, he has an easy target for the next blow, and then I'm falling.

Jason shoves me into a waiting car. As soon as he gets in the backseat, he takes my chin in his hand and squeezes hard. "Miss me, Eric?' He forces my head to go up and down in affirmation. "Forgotten all you've been taught?" I try and shake my head no, but he holds my head still. "I can see in your eyes how much you've forgotten. Given the faulty nature of your brain and what it takes to get through to you, that's a shame. We do have our work cut out for us, don't we, Eric?" He forces my head up and down again. He's squeezing so hard, I'm afraid he'll shatter my jaw. He lets go and shoves me back against the seat. "I'm afraid you may no longer be one of us. Until I can tell just how far the devil has gotten with you, I'm going to take some precautions." He pulls out handcuffs, only they are more like shackles, and snaps them on my wrists. They close with a sound of finality. He attaches the shackles to a chain embedded in the seat in front of me. "There, relax, you're safely back with me and Ellison won't be able to kidnap you again." Jason leans back and closes his eyes. We're on the freeway and we'll be out of the city soon. I want to look back, I need to look back, but the shackles keep me facing forward. I realize that to look back is to give Jason more information than I want to. The less I allow my attachments to show, the safer Jim and everyone else will be. Once beyond the city limits, the car picked up speed. Jason seemed to be asleep and we were on our way back. Back. Oh, God, back.

I've been back at The Center for three days now. The general take seems to be I was kidnapped by Jim Ellison, and they're happy to have me back. I've been put back in the isolation room under the care of Mr. Smith. The routine is the same, hours of kneeling and reciting The Doctrine. I'm just glad I'm dry and that Jim's back in Cascade, safe. Jason ignores me, as he has since he we left Cascade. Of course, even before I deserted him he was angry with me, so in some ways not much has changed.

I'm trying to center myself and accept that I'm here and here to stay. I don't think Jim will find me this time. I haven't encountered him in my dreams and although I would do just about anything to see Jim again and get to say good-bye, the one thing I can do for him is to push him out of mind. I know Sentinels have no special mental abilities...no ESP, no telepathy and no mind reading-but it's uncanny how Jason can tell when I want something. I know he knows what I want, because he always makes sure I don't get it.

As a life lesson in the religion of the Tessuad, it couldn't be taught better. I have come a long way in training myself not to want, not to allow myself to desire. A long way but not all the way and living in Cascade has eroded so much of my progress. Even little things are much harder to accept. The chain that holds me in place. The lack of conversation and touch. The nightly purification ritual. That last one is not so little.

I guess I used to be a lot purer, because I never had to go through this before. Each night Mr. Smith comes in. The first night he cuts my hair. It'd gotten quite long, more like the Blair I saw in the photos. Mr. Smith must've been irritated about that, because he used a razor and sort of hacked away, cutting me a few times in the process. I don't know what it looks like, but it feels funny.

The next day is a day of fast. Because of the purification ritual, one day turns into two.

On the third day he leads me to a shower room I'd never seem before and makes me strip. He takes the chain the shackles were attached to and attaches that to a link in the wall. He hoses me down. The water's cold and it doesn't seem like it will ever end. Mr. Smith shuts the water off and starts to wash me. The cake of soap smells awful and Mr. Smith uses it everywhere. I'm embarrassed. This guy has his hands all over me, rubbing soap in the most private of places. Mr. Smith doesn't seem to think anything of it. He bends me this way and that, kicking my legs apart so he can gain access to everything. After awhile it hurts. I feel like I've been rubbed raw and I'm so cold the chain is rattling with my shivers. I have to be clean by now, but he doesn't stop. He washes my hair with the soap and it stings as it gets into the cuts and into my eyes.

I know I'm going to be away from Jason for awhile. There's no way they would use soap that smelled this bad if I was going to be with a Sentinel and his sensitive nose. Finally, the washing stops. Then the rinsing begins. Mr. Smith sluices the soap off and makes me bend over, rinsing the soap out of my hair. The water just keeps coming and I'm having a hard time breathing. I'm starting to inhale water and cough and sputter, when Mr. Smith turns it off. I stand there, naked and cold, the water dripping off me. Mr. Smith shoves my clothes at me and tells me to get dressed. It's almost impossible to get the jeans on over my damp legs but eventually I manage. Mr. Smith comes over and unlocks the shackles so I can put my shirt on and then puts them back. He leads me barefooted, back to the room.

I can no longer kneel for more than a half hour at a time. Sometimes, I come to and Mr. Smith is yanking me back into place. Sometimes, I come to on my own and manage to get back on my knees. Since the shower, my throat is sore and The Doctrine comes out as a croak. It sounds awful and I tried to apologize to Mr. Smith for spoiling the beauty of The Doctrine with such sounds. He ignores me and puts lunch in place. It's a sandwich and milk. I long for some soup or tea, but I guess warm food and purification don't go together. I try to eat the sandwich, but it hurts too much to swallow, so I flush it away and drink the milk.

On the fourth day, Ruth come in. I kneel before her and she leads me through Doctrine and then asks me questions. They are questions about faith and duty, and I remember all the right answers. Jim's voice keeps trying to intrude, to tell me how bogus all this is. I have to keep telling that voice to hush up. I know this is all a sham. But Eric needs to believe. He has a part to play and he won't be able to do it if Jim doesn't shut up. As the week goes on, the voice quiets down to a whisper and I'm glad. I need to concentrate, I need to get this right. The voice, dear as it is, is throwing me off.

On the fifth day, I try and rise for Doctrine and fall back into bed. My throat is on fire. The good news is, I'm warm. Warm for the first time since the shower. The bad news is, I can't seem to coordinate my legs to get me off the bed, let alone kneel. Mr. Smith is going to walk in and find me on the bed and think I'm slacking off. He'll doubt my sincerity. He'll question whether the purification has worked and we'll have to start all over. Worse, he'll believe I'm incapable of being purified. I roll onto the floor. That's marginally better than being found on the bed. I lie there, trying to force the strength into my arms and legs. If I don't do this, they won't believe, and they'll have more reason to hate Jim, more reason to go after him. I push myself up and get on my knees. I sway there as if I'm kneeling in a strong wind. I whisper The Doctrine, my voice is gone.

I wake up in the clinic. I don't remember coming here. I'm in a bed, the shackles are gone. My throat aches and I'm back to being cold. I try to curl up, to conserve heat. I hear the door open and someone comes in.

It's Jim. He's looking down at me. "Jim." I manage to croak.

"Come on, Blair, we have to get out of here." I look up at him sleepily. It's so nice to see his face.

He nudges me. "Blair, come on, you want to go, don't you?" He looks worried.

"No, Jim, you go on without me. I'm staying here."

"WHAT?" Jim's face flushes with anger and I try and retreat in my bed. He pulls my blanket down but I catch his hand and stop him.

"Jason is my Sentinel. I'm where I belong. I know you need me, but I'm home now and I'm going to stay." I whisper all that and Jim leans in to listen.

"I can't believe you, Sandburg! I risk my butt to get you out and you say you want to stay? What about home? What about being an Anthropology professor? How can you give all that up?"

"It's not who I am. I'm Tessuad. I serve The Good." I can barely get the last sentence out. Jim throws up his hands. He jabs his finger at me to emphasize his words.

"Fine. You stay. Don't come crawling back to me. You made your bed and goddamn it, you're going to lie in it." He turns around and walks out the door without looking back.

I sigh, Damn, that was hard. Hard to say those words. I smile a little to myself. A Sentinel that has to lean in to catch a whisper? Please. And the voice was close, but off. I hope that little by-play satisfies all of them.

I sleep and wake and sleep some more. Sometimes when I'm awake, a nurse gives me something to drink. She doesn't say anything to me and I can't help but remember waking up in Cascade with Jim hovering. I bite that memory back. I can't allow myself to live both lives. I am no more Blair now than I was when I first woke up after the lightning. I am Eric Kendall and this is my life now.

Fuck! I can't believe how easily we were taken. I knew something was up, I knew Jason was in my city. All they had to do was go fishing and pluck us out of the pond called Cascade. I imagine it did Jason's ego a world of good to take Blair back so easily. Blair. I'm listening to him sleep.

The Tessuad have an almost childlike faith in white noise generators. They've kept me in this room from the time I got here. I can tell it's a large complex, with at least a few hundred people in it. It took me awhile to track down Blair's heartbeat. I fought the panic that hit me when I couldn't find it right away. I kept at it, using Blair's voice in my head to guide me through the different floors and all the possible heartbeats. Eventually I find it and I can hear Blair. I can't believe I'm happy to hear him reciting The Doctrine. His voice is low and I can hear the weariness in it. I have nothing better to do so I listen, enjoying radio-free Blair. Every once in awhile, Blair stops and a hear a thud. I wonder why he keeps dropping books. He always comes back to The Doctrine.

That sets a pattern and each day I wake, waiting to hear the drill. I can now recite right along with him, but I don't. No sense letting on the range of my hearing. I never hear conversation, just some guy giving orders. I can hear that Blair is chained. I hear as they butcher his hair, Blair's little gasps testifying to the ruthlessness.

On the third day I hear Blair taken out of his room. I can tell by the echo that Blair's being taken in to a washroom,. I hear the chains and Blair's clothes come off and then the chains back on. Blair's taking a shower. It goes on and on and on. I can hear Blair's breathing change and his heart rate jacks up. He's afraid. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't protest, but he can't breathe very well. I'm on the edge of my bed, willing breath into his body, when the water stops and he catches his breathe. I can hear his teeth chattering as he walks back to his room.

The next day I hear a woman. She says The Doctrine with Blair and then quizzes him. He seems to tell them what her what she wants to hear. I can't believe the crap she's laying out and Sandburg goes right along with it. Have they done something more to his brain? Have we lost all the ground we had gained? Come on Chief, don't listen to this.

The shower's having lasting effects. Blair never really stops shivering, his teeth clicking together in a rigid staccato. I think he sleeps, but even then I swear, I can almost hear his bones rattling. One morning I hear him fall out of bed. He lies there for awhile and then gets up. I hear him whispering The Doctrine. It's not even time yet. His voice cuts in and out, like radio with bad reception and then cuts out all together. I hear him fall again and then silence. I want to shout at them to get help for Blair. It seems like hours but finally someone goes in and checks on him. I hear the gurney and know he'll be taken care of.

I lie down on the bed, I'm wet with sweat and the tension makes me feel like I lived a year waiting for them to find Blair. They don't seem to be observing me. I can't detect any cameras or listening devices. They seem to have no interest in me at all. They bring in food three times a day, set it down, pick up the last meal and leave. Never any questions, never any answers. I don't know how long this will last. If they don't have any use for me, they won't keep me around for long. I fall asleep pondering different possible ways out.

Waking up, I hear Blair's voice. He's saying, "Jim." I look around my room wildly, wondering if Blair has found a way in or a way to meet in the way we used to. He's not here and I realize I'm hearing him in the clinic.

I hear a voice say, "Come on, Blair, we have to get out of here."

There's no answer. Then, "Blair, come on, you want to go, don't you?"

I wait to hear Blair's response.

Blair finally speaks, his voice, thick with drugs and sleep. "No, Jim, you go on without me. I'm staying here."

The other voice echoes my surprise. "WHAT?"

Blair whispers. I have to focus hard to catch what he's saying. "Jason is my Sentinel. I'm where I belong. I know you need me, but I'm home now and I'm going to stay."

He's home? This place is home? And he wants to stay?

"I can't believe you, Sandburg! I risk my butt to get you out and you say you want to stay? What about home? What about being an Anthropologist? How can you give all that up?" The voice is asking the very questions I want answers to and I wait to hear what Blair will say.

"It's not who I am. I'm Tessuad. I serve The Good." Blair rasps the words out, his voice sure, even in its weakness. "Fine. You stay. Don't come crawling back to me. You made your bed and goddamn it, you're going to lie in it." Who is this guy? Uh, Blair started by calling him Jim. So some sort of sick test to see if Blair is loyal. And evidently Blair is.

I feel a painful squeezing in my chest. Blair, given a choice, has decided to stay here.

Every which way my mind turns there's pain. That Blair has bonded in such a way with Jason that he would stay here, being hurt, believing the horse manure they call a religion...That everything he and I had before...and had a beginning of again, has no value to him...that he'll go and help Jason assassinate people... Once again I find myself asking, who is this person? How could the real Blair be so buried? If I ever did find a way out, Blair would refuse me. But if I do find a way out, how can I leave Blair behind?

Leaving the clinic, I'm taken back to my old room. I guess I'm acceptably pure, pure enough to leave the attentions of Mr. Smith anyway. I'm still shaky from-I don't know what I had, no one told me. I shuffle over to the bed, needing to lie down, but remember just in time that isn't allowed. I sit down on the chair and put my head down on the desk. Everything happened so fast, I haven't had any time to think beyond taking the danger as far away from Jim as I could.

What am I going to do? There isn't even the illusion that this life has purpose. I cannot go with Jason and help him kill people. I shudder at the thought of Jason and being back under his command. I have to find a way out. I know what that means.

Opening my eyes, I see Jim. Dream Jim? Fake Jim? Real Jim? He's leaning against the door and he's angry. Fake Jim. Though he sees I'm awake, he doesn't say anything. I figure I should play along. I lift up my head and say, "Why are you still here? It's dangerous for you." "It's more dangerous for you, Chief." Chief, oh, not fake Jim. Wait. Oh God, no. I jump up.

"You're not really here, are you? Tell me you're in Cascade." I walk over to him, to touch and can't. What a relief. Dream Jim.

"Sit down Sandburg, before you fall down." Dream Jim and he's really ticked with me. I fall back in the chair, when what I really want to do is crawl under the bed. I fight the stupid tears. Dream/Real Jim's anger leaves me stripped of the little piece of comfort I had held onto. "First off, I am here. I'm down two floors and on the other side of this building. They took me when they got you."

I cry out at that news. My worst fear. And nothing I did prevented it.

"Are you all right, did they hurt you? You haven't been with Mr. Smith have you?" I look him over, but he seems unscathed.

"I'm fine, they leave me alone. I don't know why they grabbed me, they don't seem to have plans for me." Jim walks around the room. "So, enjoying being Eric Kendall again?"

I don't know what to say, or even what he's asking. This is a Jim I've never seen before. Maybe I have hallucinated Nightmare Jim.

"N-n-nooo." I watch Jim as he stalks around the room. He's not looking at me. "We have to get you away from here, Jim." "What about you, Sandburg?" The way he says Sandburg...was I wrong? Did he ever like Blair Sandburg? Why has he bothered with me, with tracking down Blair, when he seems to hold such hostility toward me? I remember all the nights I woke from a nightmare with Jim's arm around me, shushing me, calming me. Never did he seem angry that I'd interrupted another's night sleep. He must be mad that because of me, he was taken. Yeah, that would make anyone angry. I don't think an apology will dent that.

"You said yourself, they don't seem to have plans for you. Without me, you'd have a better chance to get away."

"So you'll stay to give me a better chance?" There's a definite sneer in his voice.

Does he think I wouldn't be willing to do that? "Yes. I don't have your skills. Trying to get me out would only slow you down." "You are so full of it, Sandburg. You don't want to leave. You like being a Tessuad and living in fancy hotel suites. You want to be Jason's Guide. Probably can't wait to be reunited with that little prick."

I must've looked like the picture of stupidity at that moment, with my mouth hanging open and my hands reaching out. Mr. Spencer stood in the doorway, staring at me like I was mentally defective. Jim was gone from the room.

"Eric, it's time for you to go before the Council." He gestures for me to go ahead of him and I do.

I've never been before the Council before. I've never heard of any guide being summoned there. We enter a large conference room. There are six men sitting around the table. Mr. Spencer places me in front of them and then leaves the room.

"Mr. Kendall, do you know why you've been called before us?" The man at the other end of the table is addressing me.

"No, sir."

"You are a guide of the Nation. You are Jason's guide. Yet you left him injured, and went with a non-believer. Why is that?" He asks as if he is merely curious, while I know they have Jim somewhere in this place.

What to say that will make them more likely to let him go?

"There had been an accident. I was not fully conscious when he took me. I never would have left, never. Jim, the man who took me-" "The Sentinel that took you." The head guy interrupts to make it clear they know who and what they are talking about.

"Yes, the Sentinel, he...he thought I was his friend, he was confused, he confused me with his friend. It was just a mistake."

The man who leads the Council taps his fingers together, considering. "Who does he think you are?"

"He thinks I'm Blai-" I scream and fall to the floor, rolling my eyes to the top of my head. I listen to the commotion I'm causing and hope I can pull this off.

They take me back to my room and leave me, convinced I'm having the seizure they programmed. I lie there, knowing they'll back, wanting reassurance beyond my little performance. It takes about a half hour and then Mr. Spencer is back. I remember the way it felt when it happened before and so I make a great show of being wobbly and shaking. He takes me back to the room, all is the same. "Feeling better, Mr. Kendall?"

I let my eyes stay unfocused and sway on my feet. "Yes, thank you, sir. I apologize for my-" I gesture to the floor, trying to convey embarrassment.

"That's quite all right, Mr. Kendall. Now, about Mr. Ellison and his ideas about your identity. Were you able to convince him he was wrong?"

Careful. "I tried. I think he was starting to have some doubts." What's the right answer? What will set Jim free? "And you, did you have doubts?"

"About?"

"Your identity."

"No, sir. It was confusing. I didn't understand, I still don't, but I always knew I was Eric Kendall."

"Good. I'm glad this little-adventure-didn't hurt your faith or your awareness of your duty."

"No sir, I'm very glad to be back and able to serve The Good."

"Jason is on leave right now. He'll be back in two weeks. During this time you will be retrained."

My shaking is for real and I swallow the bile that rises up in my throat.

"Do you understand?" He's looking at me, no doubt noting my reaction.

"Yes, sir. Thank you for giving me another chance." I bow my head in submission.

Mr. Spencer steps in close to me and ushers me out. I'm taken back, not to my room, but to the other room. My steps drag and falter the closer we get and Mr. Spencer pokes me in the back to get me to pick up speed.

I listen to Sandburg speaking to someone. The Council. Sandburg doesn't let on he knows I'm here. He says he would never have left Jason. My jaw tightens at that, enough to send a spike of pain and I force myself to relax and listen.

They ask who I thought he was and I can hear Sandburg start to say his name, when he screams and I hear him fall. He was past that! What happened? Did they go in and muck with his brain again? I have to go and lay into him, nice work, Ellison. I listen, his heart beat is fine. A half-hour later the same voice from before is asking Blair if he feels better.

Blair says he never doubted he was Eric Kendall. Is that his answer in response to what they've done to him since he's been back, or can that be true?

When they tell Blair he is to be retrained, his heart starts to speed up. I hear his voice, shaky, say he's grateful for another chance. I hate Eric Kendall. He has my Guide locked up inside him and I want him back. I pace the room. It's a lot like the room Blair is in. I have to figure a way out of here, for me and for Blair. I don't care if I have to drag him out, kicking and screaming, he's coming with me. I pace for hours, gradually calming down. I need to act soon, there's no telling what they will decide to do with me or how much they will damage Sandburg's brain. I need that brain, I love that brain and I don't want The Tessuad messing with it any more than they already have.

Mr. Smith is in a rare mood. He's angry and that can't be good. Mr. Spencer left me Mr. Smith's office. The first thing Mr. Smith did was reattach the shackles.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with you boy. I have tried to be gentle. I have tried to kind. If those things worked with you, you wouldn't be here now, would you?"

I keep my head down.

"WOULD YOU?" He yells right in my face and I jump back and nod my head. "Look at me when I talk to you!" I look at him and wish I could back up some more.

"I know what doesn't work with you and now I'm going to figure out what does."

The look in his eyes threatens to make me wet my pants. It's as if he'd been leashed before and now he's torn free.

I realize after my pacing that I've lost track of Blair's heartbeat. When he thanked those bastards for another chance, I deliberately cut off my connection to Blair. I cast about, he's not in his room. It takes me a long time to find it and when I do I realize it's because it's so different. His heart's racing, skipping occasionally. He's under some serious stress. He gave them the answers they wanted, what now? I'm the one who has a right to put him under stress. I'm the one he refused, denied, rejected.

There are no voices and it's hard for me to hold on to the sound. Farther away than before? I switch focus and start doing what I should have been doing a lot more of, listening to every conversation until I find one that can help. I've listened to them on and off for the week I've been here. For the most part they are amazingly routine. What's for dinner, did you see the movie on TV last night, who won the football betting pool? Hard to believe these people are terrorists. No bomb making discussions, no fervent discussions of political systems, no bad foreign accents hissing instructions to someone.

I scan for a few hours and finally hear Blair's name. Well, his other name.

"The consensus on Kendall?"

"I don't trust him."

"He's never been trusted, Roger, that's not really the question. The question is-can he function as Jason's guide?"

"Oh, I don't think Ellison and those Cascade yahoos were able to put a dent in our creation."

"And you know Jason is perfectly capable of keeping control of Kendall, it's Ellison we have to worry about."

"So what do we do with him now? It was Jason's idea that he could come in handy to control Kendall if the identity had been broken."

"And it's not, he's intact and functional, at least for awhile."

"How long?"

"Until Jason gets carried away and does to Kendall what he did to the six before him."

"Kills him."

"Yes."

"Kendall's lasted longer than all six combined. This partnership works."

"Yes, but it may not survive Jason's anger at Kendall's defection."

"Jason's a practical man. He needs Kendall. He's never had this many 'kills.'

"I don't think Kendall will die a quick death. We'll make some more use out of him. Wouldn't want to be in his shoes when Jason gets back from his vacation with Joyce."

"They deserve time together, after all they've been through. That Jason is a lucky dog."

"From what I hear they're a matched set."

"People, back to the matter at hand."

"Try and convince Jason to go easy on Kendall. This has been an expensive undertaking and there're no other guides of Kendall's caliber out there."

"Yes, I'll talk to him but you know Jason. Now about Ellison."

"Can we use him? Do to him what we did to Sandburg?"

"Let me talk to D, Albright about that. I'm not sure he thinks it's feasible to retain the Sentinel abilities once the brain has been compromised"

"Check on that. If not surgery, what? Kill him?"

"Eventually. I want to watch Kendall a little longer, see how the retraining takes. We may need Ellison in the long run."

"So. Meeting adjourned?"

Pacing in front of me, Mr. Smith eventually comes to the conclusion he doesn't like me looking at him, though he had ordered me to. He pushes me to my knees and bends my head. His agitation is entirely out of character. At one point he leaves the room. I stay where I am and wait. The waiting's bad, my imagination supplies one method after another. I know as bad as waiting is, it's heaven compared to what's coming.

Mr. Smith comes back after an hour or so and hauls me to my feet. He leads me, still shackled, to the room with the water tank in it. I console myself that it could be worse. It is worse.

Removing the shackles, Mr. Smith has me strip. He takes a weight that's used for weight lifting and threads a chain to, which he attaches to my chest. He has others that he chains to my ankles. He points to the steps and I climb, slowly, the weights making my ascent awkward. I can hear Mr. Smith behind me. I open the door, the dark hollow space smell of sweat, fear and salt.

Mr. Smith prods me and I climb down the ladder. I enter the water, grateful that it isn't cold, although the sticky, slick feel of the saltwater makes my stomach lurch. I lie down as before and immediately understand the torture I face. The weights pull me down. Keeping my head above water requires that I keep my arms moving in a swimming motion and even so I'm only half-successful. Mr. Smith sits down on the step and watches me.

"You know I get no pleasure from this, doncha boy?" I can't see him but I'm strangely comforted by his presence. "The water is like The Tessuad Nation. It can hold you up, sustain you, or it can take you down." Oh my God, Mr. Smith is waxing philosophical. "You fight it, fight the yoke that God wants fitted on you. Can't do that boy. You are either one of us and of us, or you are one of them. And if you are one of them, well, boy, you're going down." He falls silent and there's only the sound of my clumsy splashing and gasping as I go under, time and time again.

I don't know how long I've been here. There's a point when I can no longer feel my arms and only know they're moving by the sound of the splashing. Shortly after that I go down and there's no strength left to bring me back to the surface. In panic, I try to get my legs under me. I know I'll face punishment for that but at least I'd be alive to be punished. I'm close to inhaling water. Then I remember what I'm facing, helping Jason kill. I stop struggling. It's so very hard, harder than I would have thought, to allow myself to die this way. My breath runs out and I take in water.

A hand shoves through the water and yanks me out. Immediately Mr. Smith begins pounding my back, forcing the water out of my lungs. When he sees I'm breathing, he pulls me to the ladder. I stand there, unable to lift my arms, barely able to stay upright. "You may just have to stay her all night if you don't get your ass up the ladder." Mr. Smith nudges me but even that threat can't spur me upward.

Mr. Smith scrambles up. I stand there, leaning against the curved wall. My head hurts and my lungs are sore. I try and grasp the sides of the ladder and pull myself up. I can't. I hear Mr. Smith coming back down the ladder. He has the key to the chains and releases me. Then he pushes me backwards and I land in the water on my back.

"You'll spend the night here. Relax. You are sustained by the mercy of The Good. Sweet dreams, guide" What an ugly word when he says it. I listen as Mr. Smith's clanks up the ladder, the door opens, closes, and he walks away.

I'm floating and I try to dampen my panic by telling myself that over and over. After I float for awhile without going under, I start to relax. I shut my eyes. Exhaustion feels like it's weighing me down but still I float. I came close to dying, had, in fact, decided to die. Why not turn on my stomach and put my face in the water? Why not finish what Mr. Smith interrupted?

I'm working on willing myself to do that, when I hear a voice. It's Jim, calling my name.

"Sandburg!" He must have been calling me for awhile, he sounds irritated. I open my eyes, but I can't see much in the murk. "Yeah, Jim?" I answer. I feel too tired to even form words.

"You all right?" It's nice that Jim's asking, but he really does sound annoyed.

"I'm fine, jush-just floating here." Maybe Jim needs a good night's sleep.

"What did they do to you?"

"Put me-here."

"That's it?"

I'm too tired to say a sentence that would describe what Mr. Smith did, so I just say, "Uh, huh."

"Blair. we have to get out of here. Eventually Jason will kill you."

"Uh-huh."

"Uh-huh, we have to get out of here or uh-huh Jason will kill you?"

I don't think I can add to this conversation. I want to. I want to tell Jim to go, now, fast, far. I want to tell him I understand what Jason will do and if I'm cunning enough, or lucky, it will happen sooner than eventually. But uh-huh seems to be it for me.

"Sandburg!" Jim yells my name. I jerk and go under. The next few seconds are consumed with me flailing around, trying to use my nearly useless arms to get myself back to air. Jim is yelling and the words finally penetrate,"---stand up, dammit. Blair. Just stand up!"

I work that angle. No one part of me seems to want to coordinate with any other part. Jim is yelling the whole time and as I struggle, I laugh to myself. Drowned in three feet of water, now that's irony. It's not working, I manage to get my feet under me time and again, only to slip and go under. The initial energy surge that came with my panic has faded. I just can't seem to get upright. I hear Jim and he's screaming, "Not again. Not again." What?

"Blair, push to the side, use the wall, use the wall." I take that in through my salt water soaked brain and follow his instructions. I push off against the floor toward a wall and hit one almost immediately. With that at my back, I'm able to stabilize and stand up. I stand, well, more like lean, and try and catch my breath. It takes a long time and several times I start to slide down, back into the water. Jim's talking but at first I can't really hear. It takes everything I have to haul air in and the noise I'm making fills my ears. When I do start to hear, I realize Jim is babbling.

"-oh, God, Blair, are you all right? Don't do this to me again. Come on, keep breathing, no, don't go back in the water, stay up, that's it...what's wrong with you? C'mon, Chief, get air in those lungs..."

I try and wave my hand at him to tell him I'm all right. I don't think it actually moves and I realize I'm going to have to talk. "s'kay, mm, 'kay. No worry, so'kay."

"You are not okay. You almost drowned in three feet of water. You can barely stand up and you can't move your arms. What did they do to you?"

"So 'kay, jussh tired. I gotta lie down." I carefully ease back down and resume floating. My muscles have started to spasm. I figured I was going down any minute and a controlled entry would be better than falling face first.

It's better lying down. I feel like a puddle of bones. I don't know what to do about Jim. I can't even reassure him properly. I try and summon the energy to talk and cajole. I say, "Jimmmm," and then I fall asleep.

"BLAIR!" I scream his name when I realize he actually can't seem to get his face out of the water. What the hell is the matter with him? It's only knee deep. He just can't do it and I watch in horror as he tries over and over again, gasping as his head breaks the surface and then disappears as he struggles.

"Stand up!" Isn't that obvious? Have they destroyed some vital part of Blair's brain that governs logic and self-preservation? I can't believe what I'm seeing. Blair is drowning-again, and I'm as helpless to stop it as I was before. As guilty of causing it as I was before. If I hadn't yelled his name in anger, he wouldn't have lost his balance in the water. God, what fitting and exquisite punishment for the sin of rage. Forced to watch Blair drown in a bathtub.

He's heard me and he's trying to stand. He's like a new born colt, struggling to get his legs under him, but it's not working. "Use the wall, push over to the wall!" I yell it over and over again. He's right next to it and he hits it almost immediately. He slowly rises out of the water, the effort, clearly monumental. His chest is heaving in an effort to get air to his lungs. He's hunched over and looks like he could fall back in a second.

"-oh, God, Blair, are you all right? Don't do this to me again. Come on, keep breathing, no, don't go back in the water, stay up, that's it...what's wrong with you? C'mon, Chief, get air in those lungs..."

Blair lifts his head. He tries to lift an arm but it moves only an inch and then drops back down.

"s'kay, mm, 'kay. No worry, so'kay." He's mumbling, and I know he's exhausted and going into shock.

"You are not okay. You almost drowned in three feet of water. You can barely stand up and you can't move your arms. What did they do to you?" As I say it I'm appalled at how I sound; pissed. "So 'kay, jussh tired. I gotta lie down." Blair's going back into the water and I have to bite back a scream. But where else is he going to go? He floats on his back and I can see he hurts, but I don't know what hurts or why it hurts. I hear his voice whisper my name and then he passes out.

I'm back in my room, where my body's been all along. When Blair lost consciousness, our connection was lost. I feel back along the thread of it and find Blair. His heart beats in the rhythm of sleep and I let it fill my head and lull me.

I startle awake and water washes over me, reminding me of where I am. I can hear Mr. Smith's tread on the metallic stairs. I try and move my arms. I'm able to make them leave the sides of my body and return. Thank God, I'll be able to get out of here.

Mr. Smith treats me to a shower again, this time with hot water and I do my own soaping. I'm grateful to be able to get the salt off. He has me get dressed and then he hands me my jacket. I'm puzzled. Aside from the climbing exercises and when I left with Jason, I've never gone outside. I take it and put it on, happy for the warmth.

Mr. Smith dons his jacket and we head for an exit. I don't like the idea of leaving the building while Jim's in it, but there isn't much I can do about it. Mr. Smith keys in a code and the door opens, then another.

It's midday, the winter sun's weak. There's a new layer of snow on the ground. Being inside for so long, it's easy to forget the outside world exists. Mr. Smith is behind me and he pushes at me indicating I'm to take the path that goes into the woods. We walk along for awhile, until we're well out of sight of the complex. The woods get denser the farther we walk. I feel like Hans and wish I had some breadcrumbs. We reach a spot Mr. Smith seems to like because he stops. He opens the bag he brought and studies the contents. He pulls out a chain and loops it around a large oak tree. Next, he brings out the shackles and crooks his finger at me. I slowly move toward him. He's going to shackle me to this tree, way out here. That can't be good. Mr. Smith isn't a big guy, nor is he a young guy. But he has the kind of wiry build that promises speed, and a look in his eyes that promises pain. I think about bolting, but after a week of purification and a day of retraining, I know I'd never last any distance. So I hold out my hands and feel the steel bands grip and hold me.

"Kendall, you're a guide, and on the whole they ain't too bright. I don't hold that against ya. I've got to get through your thick skull the way of things. I've tried. You know I've tried. You are here. X marks the spot. You are here until you figure out just how alone you really are without The Nation. You have got to learn to give yourself over and I'm hoping a little time alone will teach you the wisdom of that, the rightness of that." Mr. Smith checks that I'm secure and ends his speech. I want to tell him I do understand. But I keep my mouth shut. Talking has never gotten me anywhere.

Mr. Smith walks off, never looking back once.

I'm tethered to this tree by a three-foot length of chain. I have my jacket but no hat and no gloves. I want to lie down and close my eyes but some random bit of knowledge tells me it would be better to move and stay warm. I jump up and down, my hands tucked as far into my sleeves as the shackles will allow. It's boring but I make myself keep doing it, until I realize I'm starting to sweat. Good? Bad? Won't the wind make me colder if I sweat? I stop and decide I can afford a little break. I sit down with my back to the tree and hunch down, trying to maintain the heat I built up. Aside from the cold, it's nice to be out, to breath fresh air, hear sounds not made by man or machine.

I sleep deeply and dreamlessly, waking to the sound of food being shoved into the room. It looks like breakfast but there's no telling if it's really morning. I get up and relieve myself and then retrieve the tray and put it on the desk. As I'm eating the bagel, I check in with Blair. They must've moved him, I can't find him. I finish swallowing and concentrate. The white noise filters are little barrier after a week of doing this. I methodically go through each floor, no Blair. I start again, anchoring myself to the lady in the cafeteria. I circle the entire building. Has Jason come back early and taken him? I start the circuit again, this time listening to the conversations. Nothing, nothing, nothing and then bingo, someone says the name Kendall.

"---knew he'd never last, why they made so much of him, I'll never understand."

A different voice, "You woulda thought he knew the secrets of the universe the way the way they treated him."

"Anyone know how he bought it?"

"Haven't heard how just that he's dead, Maddie, at the clinic, who was seeing Smith, told me."

"She's cute, what did she see in Smith?"

"Ya got me. Maybe she's into pain"

"Hope that little freak went down hard at the end."

"From what I hear about Smith, it's always hard. Gotta go, can't be late."

"See you at class, Dick."

"Yeah, catch ya later."

"Blair bought it? Blair's dead? What the hell happened while I slept? I don't believe it. I sweep the compound again and then I do it again...Oh, God, Blair, where are you? Pacing up and back, I think back on Blair when I left him. He was breathing, he was sleeping, he was floating...could he have gotten unbalanced again? I should have made him stay leaning against the wall. I shoulda stayed with him, kept him awake. I shoulda....I cry out, I don't mean to, and find myself on my knees, biting my lip to stifle any of the other sounds that are trying to escape. I have to get out of here, I need to kill some people, and find Blair's body because goddamn it, they aren't going to keep him here any longer.

I think I've got this down now. I jump up and down until just before I start to sweat, then rest. Jump, rest. It works for awhile, until my rest gets out of hand and I wake, the cold paralyzing my body. Pushing against the tree, I manage to stand. After telling my body to jump several times and getting no response. I lift my feet and stamp them, trying to get feeling back in them. I'm shaking with the cold and thirsty. I move as far away from the tree as I can and scoop up some snow and eat it. It doesn't exactly quench my thirst but I take in more until my mouth feels as frozen as my hands.

I walk around in my small-allotted space and wonder how long Mr. Smith will leave me out here. It's getting dark and soon I doubt he will be able to find me. I don't know how cold it is, but I know it's cold enough to kill me if I fall asleep for very long. Keep moving, Blair. Just keep moving. My teeth are chattering so hard, I've accidentally bitten my lip and I try to hold my teeth together to prevent that from happening again but they are on auto pilot. I don't think I knew that cold could hurt this much.

I think about what Mr. Smith said, about how alone I am without The Nation. I want to assert the counter argument that I have Jim, but after last night, I'm not sure I do. I felt his disappointment, anger and disgust with me. I guess those empathy classes work. Wish they hadn't.

Jim must hate being confined, and although he said they left him alone, there are all sorts of ways for a Sentinel to be tortured without anyone coming near. He's here and stuck because of his guide. I'm supposed to help, support, serve...instead, I've made him into a babysitter, put him in danger, taken him away from his real work, been the cause of his capture...and I can't even be the man I was, the man who might have been worth all this to him. The things that made up that man, his knowledge, his community, his memories, are all lost to me. Jim Ellison has ended up with an empty shell where once his friend stood and I can't fix that.

I'm just praying that once they feel I am retrained and worthy to take up my guide duties with Jason, they let him go. Please let him go. I hug myself tighter, the vision of Jim gone, gone from here, gone from my life, is a bleak wasteland.

I sink back down to the ground, ignoring how much colder it makes me feel. It's snowing. Feels good to sit and listen, the wind is picking up, swirling the snow in little eddies. Very lovely to watch and I imagine I'm looking at it with sentinel vision, each snowflake different and proud of it, different and then coming together to lie to on the ground. Lie together, but so different, and yet the same, unless you have sentinel vision and I lean over a bit to see the snow closer and tilt right down on top of the cold white stuff. Good place to study, being so close. I flick my tongue out and capture a few in my mouth. I can see blood from my lip dripping into the white. Snow White with red lips. That's me, as the snow gently collects around me.

When it grows close to the time for the next meal to be served, I set the stage. I stick my finger down my throat and vomit. I bite through my lip, drawing blood, dial down my sense of smell and lie down on the floor in what I hope is a convincing sprawl. I wait, knowing they will come, knowing they've counted me out as any kind of threat.

When the door opens, it's showtime. The guy sees me and steps in. I sweep his legs out from under him and before he hits the floor, I've knocked him out. I look and find his ID and pocket that. Then I secure him with the strips I ripped from the bed and place him in the bed, his face to the wall. I walk out of the room, listening.

I'm looking for an empty room like mine that someone has occupied. They had wisely left me unequipped to shave, and right now I stand out, with a week's worth of beard on my face. I find one and get busy in his bathroom.

I look like one of the natives now, but I stop before going out. I need to find that miserable son of a bitch, Smith. I wish Jason weren't on leave because he'd be next. Beyond those two, I realize I have no way of knowing who caused Blair pain. This place is filled with innocent dupes and killing them won't bring me any satisfaction.

Listening, I scan until I hear Smith's name mentioned.

"Mr. Smith went down so sudden. Who would have thought?"

"What was his first name anyway?"

"I don't know, I never heard anything but Mr. Smith."

"You think Maddie called him Mr. Smith when they were in bed?"

"Ewww, I do not want to think about Mr. Smith in bed."

"I heard that's where he died."

"In bed alone, or with Maddie?"

"Maddie, of course, she's enough to give anyone a heart attack, even a tough old bird like Smith."

Damn, Smith is dead. My purpose for being here any longer has just shrunk. All my listening has told me approximately where the clinic is and I head in that direction. The place is circular but rather linear in that there are no hallways shooting off the main corridor and it doesn't take me long to find the clinic. I walk in a woman I think must be Maddie asks, "May I help you?"

She's like every high school boy's fantasy come to life. She bats her big, brown eyes at me and snaps her gum and I realize how right I got that.

"Hello." I deepen and soften my voice and watch as she licks her lips. This is going to be easier than I thought. "I was hoping to examine the body of Eric Kendall."

Her eyes widen. "Who?"

"Eric Kendall?"

"He didn't die in the clinic. Anyway, all bodies are immediately cremated, as a way to hurry our souls to The Good. Even if he had died here there wouldn't be any body to examine."

I must've gone as white as I felt because Maddie asks, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, skipped lunch. Thank you." I leave and lean against the wall once I'm out. Blair cremated? No body to say good-bye to, no service, no matter that it would be bogus, just returned to ashes?"

I walk slowly away, the urgency to get out, flattened by the knowledge I wouldn't even have Blair's body with me. There's still getting out and bringing this whole place down, bringing Assassination Central to a halt. I head to an exit, slowing as I see a guy ahead of me punching in the code. 679943. He exits and I follow. It's snowing and among other things, I'd like his coat, to use against the cold. He goes to the parking lot. There are a few people around in the dusk, but no one close and I come up fast behind him and bang his head into the car frame. I turn him around hold him up between the car and me and to any one observing we are just being unusually friendly. He's out, and I open the back car door and shove him inside. I get his coat off of him and his keys and wallet. I take off his belt and secure him. Equipped and mobile I head out of the parking lot.

I'm listening for an alarm being raised but all is calm when I hear it. I hear Blair's voice. It's faint and away from the building, in the woods. He's mumbling about differences and beauty and I don't know what else because I've stopped listening to the individual words and I've latched on to his heartbeat. Blair's alive and he's in these woods. The pounding of my own heart in my ears threatens to blot out Blair's and I force myself to calm down. I go into the woods at a jog, looking for any sign that this is the way Blair came.

The snow is acting as a buffer and I'm hearing Blair's heartbeat echoing. It's throwing me off and now I'm hearing sounds from the compound that indicates they realize I'm gone. I stop running and make myself breathe. Conjuring up Blair's voice in my head, I sort through the odd echo effect and zoom in Blair. He's no longer talking but I have his heartbeat in my head and that's all I need to find him. He's a dark heap in the snow, an inch of it has accumulated on top of him, testifying to how long he's been out here. I lift him off the frozen ground, hearing the clank of chain. His face is red from the cold, but there is stark white around his eyes and mouth. His lip is torn, blood soaking the snow beneath him. Holding him to my chest, I tuck his hands in my coat and tilt his head to my chest. "Blair, can you hear me?" There's no response and I hug him closer, pulling his jacket up around his ears. His hands are shackled and for the first time I realize he's anchored to the tree. I place his hands, cold and stiff under my armpit hoping to thaw them out. The cold metal makes me suck in a breath, as all my body warmth seems to flee. I look down at Blair. He's beautiful; reddened cheeks, chopped off hair, bloody lip not withstanding.

The search is on the compound and we're going to need to get up and moving. I'd driven away from the parking lot and pulled into the woods, enough away from the complex to not be immediately obvious. Any organized search would come across the car. I shifted around, still holding onto Blair and stand up, bringing him with me. I can see the chain goes around the tree, with a length that leads to Blair's shackled hands. I lay Blair back down on the cold ground and put my coat under his head. I look around for a rock, there's no time and he has to get free of this tree and of this place. The rock I find is heavy with an edge I'm hoping will do the job. Looking at Blair, so still, faintly blue, I flash back to his almost death and quickly let his quiet breathing fill my ears and reassure me. I gently lift him just a bit off the ground and drag him until the chain is taut. I find another rock and place it under a link, close to Blair's wrist. Putting my foot on the chain, I hold it steady and smash the rock down on it. I damage it but it holds and I smash it again, this time winning Blair's freedom .

I lift his head and give him a small shake. "Blair? Come on buddy, wake up." His eyelashes flutter and he leans into my hand. "Not time yet. Five more." The words come out slow and slurred.

"No time to sleep, Blair. Wake up for me now, we have to get out of here." I pull on his waistband, straightening his legs under him and I feel relief when he shifts some of his weight to them.

"Let's try moving, okay Blair?"

"Okay." Blair obliges me by taking a step and with me holding onto him, we begin to move out of the woods. "Jim?"

"Yes?" I'm concentrating on guiding Blair's feet past the obstacles that litter the path. "Where are we going?"

"Home."

"Me, too?" Blair sounds surprised and hopeful.

"Yeah, you too." We're getting close. There's the sound of doors opening, but we're just about to the car.

We come out of the woods, the car's there and Jason stands, waiting. He's leaning against the car, casual, but I can hear his heart, it betrays the true state he's in.

"I wanted this to be between you and me, Ellison. I want to show you the power of a sixteen and pay you back for Ohio." Jason's attention is riveted on me, not looking at Blair at all. At the sound of Jason's voice, Blair's head's come up and I hear his heart starts to race. "Kendall, get your butt over here." Jason still hasn't taken his eyes off of me as he orders Blair to his side. I can feel Blair looking at me but I stay focused on Jason.

Jason's face darkens as Blair hesitates and he says, "Do it now Kendall, or every second you wait will result in a day of discipline." Blair starts to separate from me and I tighten my hold.

"It's okay, Blair, he can't hurt you anymore." I can feel Blair trembling and I know he's cold but I wonder if it's all a reaction to Jason. "Let him go, Ellison, he knows who his real master is and he can't wait to come to heel and lick my hand." Jason snaps his fingers. "Come here, boy." It doesn't occur to me until it's too late that Blair would go and I'm not expecting it when he lurches away from me. He makes a shaky way to Jason's side, his hands still cuffed, but stuffed in one pocket, his head down.

Jason grabs him by his hair and hauls him close. "Miss me, freak?" Blair's head comes up and his hands come out of his pocket. He throws something in Jason's face. Jason howls and lets go of Blair, who stumbles back to me. I leap over the front of the car and smash Jason with my legs. He goes down, hands still clawing at his eyes that are streaming tears.

I go after him, pulling him to his feet and punching him in the face. I want him down and out, dead if possible. I never want him near Blair again. I hit him again and again, watching as his nose breaks, his lip splits, his blood flows. Behind me I can hear Blair, babbling incoherently. I feel his hands on my arm, stopping the next blow and spin, about to smash his face, my rage untempered.

Just before my fist connects I see his wide, frightened eyes, and pull my punch. I can hear him now, he's pointing and saying, "They're coming!" I look back over my shoulder and three men are running full speed our way. Pushing Blair towards the car, I look down at Jason and wish I could finish this. I can't and I join Blair in the car.

I peel out of there. I reach over and fasten Blair in. His eyes still have that wide, shocky look to them. "What did you do? What was that?"

"Pep-peper. I threw pepper in his face." Blair is shaking so hard the words barely make it out. Can't tell if it's from cold or adrenaline.

"Smart." Blair is trying to pull something else out of his pocket.

"What's that?"

"Th-the white noise gen-generator from the loft." He manages to turn it on and my ears clog up.I sort through the noise and listen for Jason. He's still making noise and I'm sure he'll have to go in to wash his eyes out, buying us some time. Putting my hand on Blair's arm I say, "Good thinking. How the hell did you get this stuff?"

"I packed it the morning of the accident. I knew he was near and would come after you, knew it, he'd hate you being the same and, and he'd want to hurt, kill you...and then no differences just all the same and the beauty gone..." Blair's babbling, his eyes only half open and I realize it's hypothermia. I'm amazed he's been able to keep moving and use his brain at all, given the state he's in. I put the heater on full blast and direct the vents to Blair. He's starting to slump over and close his eyes. Sleep won't hurt him and I just adjust him so he's leaning against the window.

We have a bit of a head start and if Jason stays out of it, they won't be able to track us over every hill and dale. I don't actually know where we are, as I was brought to this place in a van with no windows. I check the gas and it's half full...there are a lot of reasons to ditch this car and find another way home.

The countryside is rural, the signs giving little away as to our location. Finally I spot a sign for a town that seems to promise enough population to allow us to find another car. Blair's stopped shivering and is asleep. I want to get us into an anonymous car and look him over, there's no telling what Smith did to him before abandoning him to the cold.

Switching cars is relatively simple. The Chevy Impala is in prime condition and parked in a lot next to the gas station. The dark cloaks us as I hot wire the car and get the heat cranked up. I look in on Blair, he's leaning against the door, folded in on himself and asleep. I open the door slowly and catch Blair as he starts to fall out.

"Blair? Can you hear me?" Blair's head comes up. I put my hand on his cheek and rub my thumb under his eye. "Wake up, Chief, come on."

Blair jerks out of my hand with a small yelp and comes awake. "Uh, uh, what?" I run my hand through his hair. "Everything is okay, we're just switching cars. Think you can make it that far?"

"Yeah, sure." Blair swings his legs out and I move to give him room to stand. He has to use the door to pull himself up and he pauses. I look at him and he nods his head. He walks slowly and I take his arm and lead him to the other car, getting him strapped into place. He immediately curls up and puts his head down.

I leave a note, explaining who to contact and put some miles between us and the old car.

Checking the glove compartment, I find a map. It's of Michigan and I hope that means that's where we are. I look up the town we just passed, and yes, I now have a clue to where we are and where we are going. At the next town, I stop at a pay phone and call Simon. I give him all the info I can on the location of The Tessuad Nation. I keep an eye on Sandburg in the car as I tell Simon all I think will help the Feds nail these guys. He doesn't move and I wonder if I risk taking him to a hospital. I don't want to have answer a lot of questions and I'm a little leery of entering Blair into anyone's data bank at this point. The Nation's resources have proven to be deep and exhaustive. I just want to get Blair home.

Simon says he'll arrange tickets and I get back in the car knowing it won't be long before I get my wish.

I follow Jim in to the loft. It looks the same and feels like home. The cold winter light is barely penetrating the corners and it's easy to see a layer of dust over every surface. Jim's picking up the mail and sorting through it. He looks back at me and says, "Sit down before you fall down." Yeah, I look that bad. All I've done since leaving The Nation's headquarters is sleep. I slept in the car, on the plane, at the hospital. I look over to the room Jim calls mine. I just want to lie down, but Jim said to sit, so I move over to the couch and sit. It's an effort to keep my eyes open but I don't want to be rude, and I struggle to stay awake. Jim's talking to me from the kitchen but he sounds so far away that I can't quite understand what he's saying. I shake my head to try and clear it and see stars. Jim must have tuned in that I'm not responding because he comes over to the couch and leans over me.

"Chief? Are you sleeping with your eyes open?"

"Is that what it's called?"

"I do believe so. Here, stretch out. There's time for a nap before dinner."

I feel Jim swinging my legs up on the couch and a blanket gets tucked under my chin. Jim's hand rifles through my hair.

Waking up, I realize I must have slept through the night on the couch. I lie in the comforting half light of dawn and wonder what will happen next. Will I be allowed to stay here and be Jim's guide? It's an amazing thought, really...that this is where I might live and Jim is who I might guide. There is still my lack of memory. I am not his Blair now, and I don't think I ever will be.

Jason and the others are in custody but I heard Captain Banks complaining about how good their lawyers are and how much money they have to mount a defense. For now, they'll be too busy to come after Jim or me.

Jim's stuck with me. What's he going to do after all? He's not the kind of guy to throw me out on my own and yet I know I'm not what he wants or needs. I'd like to be all noble and walk away, freeing Jim of his obligations. I'd like to, but I have no idea how to.

My mother? Could I live with her? Intellectually, I know The Tessuad made up the story about me being so bad my mother gave me away yet it still feels like that. I can't ask her to give up the things that interest her and come take care of me. I'm an adult. Okay, I'm limited. How many people besides Jim and Jason need what I have to give? I feel tears gathering behind my eyes. I'm feeling sorry for myself and I'm feeling sorry for Jim.

I can hear that Blair's awake. That's a relief. I almost hauled him back to the hospital last night when I couldn't wake him. After all he's been through, his body just wants to shut down. If the hospital had it's way, they would've kept him there.

He's not getting up and I wait, wondering if he'll fall back asleep. After I settled him on the couch for the night, I studied him. He, who is not Blair. In a little while we'll have to discuss the surgery that might restore his memory. For now though, I'm content to have this much of Blair back.

Blair's still lying there but I can hear the hitch in his breathing. Crying? I get out of bed and throw my robe on. What is it? Is he in pain? I get to the couch and Blair has his eyes shut tight, a wet line from eye to ear. "Blair?'

His eyes fly open and he looks embarrassed. "What is it? Do you hurt?" I run my hands down his body.

Blair shakes his head. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I need to earn a living but with my memory gone, I can't teach." He couldn't teach anyway but I don't want to tell him that right now. Time enough later to let him know what brought us to t his pass. "Before you were taken, you were studying to be a police officer." I offer that to him tentatively.

"I was going to be a cop?" He's incredulous. "They were going to let me be a cop?"

"Yeah, Chief. You were going to be a cop. You would've made a great cop. Think you might want to go back to the Academy?" I'm not sure it's a good idea right now but Blair needs to know he has options.

He shakes his head and his head drops. I wait to hear his thinking. "I need to pay rent and food...and...I need to..." Blair's voice trails off as he says, "...be of some use."

"You are of some use. You're my Guide." I say that and wonder how that can be of any comfort after what Blair's been through.

I start over. "You started out as my Guide and I needed you for that purpose. Along the way you became my friend." I stop. There just isn't any way for Blair to know what that means to me.

"I don't make friends easily, Chief. Something happened to me. It's a long story, but the upshot is, I don't make friends at all. I know people. People know me." I pause.

"No, that's not right either. I don't really bother to know people and I don't let anyone know me. Until you stumbled into my life." That last sentence stops me. "Actually, I think I stumbled into your life, Sandburg, when I think about it." I laugh at my little joke but Blair is looking at me like I'm speaking Chinese so I press on.

"Did you know the first day we met, you saved my life?" I hold up my hand. "And not just because you gave me the first glimmer of hope that it wasn't madness claiming me. No, really. You physically saved my life."

Blair shakes his head, smiling a little in a way that makes me realize he can't conceive of such a thing.

"I was about to be hit by a truck. Coming right at me. You ran into the street and threw me down. The truck ran right over both of us." What a metaphor.

"If I hadn't been so stubborn, I might've realized the universe was trying to tell me something." I hold up my hand again. "Before you say anything, that's Naomi speak for, I shoulda known."

"Naomi speak?" Blair's lost. I feel the pain of not having the old Blair with me. I shove that aside. "Your Mom has a unique way of seeing things. You'll find out. She should be here soon."

"Anyway, what I'm trying to say...I'm trying to tell you-I don't understand it myself, so telling you is hard... I need you, not just as my Guide but...you're my family. You are my tribe. I don't know how or why that came to be but I know it's true. If you never get your memory back, hell, even if you forget me, or decide to leave for real, I will never forget you or stop needing you by my side." Did I say that right? Damn words. They slip and slide and only approximate what I'm trying to say.

Blair looks stunned. "I'm trying to say that what ever the essence of you is, it's still there and I still need it and it has nothing to do with what you do, or remember...it's..." ah, fuck, I'm just gonna have to say it and I feel like an idiot but... "It's your soul, I think. I think we're-as Connor would say-mates."

Blair watches me for a moment, as if expecting me to laugh and take it back and when I don't, a smile breaks over his face. He lights up with happiness...happiness that I gave him. I'm glad I made myself say it, pushed through the voice that said "Protect Jim Ellison" and brought down some of the barricades I've always loved.

"I don't know what comes next, Blair. We'll figure it out. You and me." I pull Blair to my chest and hold on. I can hear Blair trying to say something into my chest. I loosen my grip and Blair takes a big breath.

"Thanks Jim." That's all, but he gives me another one of his smiles and leans back into the hug and it's enough.

The End...of Part One

Feedback would be a treasured thing, feel free to be honest...E-mail me @Sistercat92279@aol.com