Disclaimer: This is an amateur work of fiction, written purely for fun and is not intended to breach any copyrights dealing with the television production "The Sentinel".

* * * * * Falling Awake
by: ysone
ysone@otelco.net

Part 2

Isn't it suppose to rain at funerals? Simon wondered, glancing at the bright blue sky. It would be more fitting if the weather would match the mood, but you couldn't have everything, he reasoned. He stood at the back of the crowd that huddled around the dark green tent, listening to the young man that was reciting poetry. The words seemed inane and hollow to Simon's ears, but Naomi had insisted, saying it was what Blair would have wanted. Jim had wanted full policeman's honors, and Simon had been inclined to agree, feeling that Sandburg would have been impressed by the gesture. The dark captain was certain he could have gotten the idea past the commissioner, but Naomi had adamantly refused, and, after all, it was her son they were burying. No...not literally burying, Simon corrected himself. At least, not his body. It was Sandburg's memory that was being put to rest today. There was no coffin, no body...only a lone, cold headstone, declaring the brief lifespan of one young man. Of the three bodies ruthlessly stolen that night, or the three reported missing around the city in the month since, no trace had been found -- no clues, no motives, no comfort. All they had was the supposition of illegal organ harvesting. The thought nauseated Simon. He could only imagine the nightmares both Naomi and Jim must be dealing with.

Simon glanced over at Jim. The detective stood slightly behind Naomi and a woman Simon vaguely remembered meeting earlier that day, one of Naomi's friends. Jim's face was expressionless, but his eyes betrayed the depth of a pain Simon could only guess at. Jim had shown no outward appearance of dealing with the death, and Simon was beginning to worry. Jim made the pretense of returning to work; he went through the motions, played the game well enough to keep everyone, Simon included, off his back, but the captain knew his friend better than most. If Jim didn't deal with the emotional backlash soon, well, the results were likely to be unpleasant for all concerned.

Simon let his eyes drift beyond Jim, to the silent crowd, comprised of Blair Sandburg's many friends and colleagues from the university, as well as almost every officer and detective from the station. Joel Taggert stood just behind Jim, making no effort to hide the tears streaming down his face. Carl Waugh and Jerry Walsh flanked the bomb squad captain, their own grief written plainly for all to see. Simon turned away, unable to look at the rest of his men. Sandburg had become one of them, initiated by fire into a world few outsiders ever glimpsed, let alone joined. It was as though they had lost one of their own. But to Simon, it was more. He had lost a friend.

"Can we go now, Dad?" Daryl pulled lightly on Simon's sleeve. The big man looked down at his son, surprised at the insistence in the boy's voice.

"Are you okay?" Simon asked, knowing it was a stupid question. Of course Daryl wasn't all right. Who of them was?

Daryl swallowed hard and blinked back tears. "I just need to go home. Please?"

Simon pulled the boy to him, hugging him hard. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to hold on forever, shielding his child against the agonies of life. Daryl didn't even pull away from the embrace, a testament to the depth of his emotions. Sandburg had touched something in the boy. Daryl had looked up to the anthropologist in a way that had sometimes made Simon unreasonably envious. But that was just the way Sandburg was. He had a way of reaching inside of people and pulling out the best. At least, once you got past the initial annoyance at the constant babbling and strange habits, Simon admitted with a small smile.

Daryl finally pulled away, wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve. Simon looked up, surprised to see that the service was over and most of the people were heading for their cars. He looked around for Jim and saw the detective standing beside his truck, embracing Naomi. Simon knew the woman was leaving town today. He doubted they would ever see her again. She had promised Jim to keep in touch, but with Sandburg gone, there was really no reason for her to come back.

Simon reached into his jacket, touching the envelope there. He had waited, hoping Jim would reach a point where it would be easier to deal with the contents of the envelope, but Simon realized that point could possibly never come, and Jim needed to see this. Simon looked down into the tear-streaked face of his son and sighed. Jim would have to wait a little longer. Daryl needed his dad right now, and that had to come first. Sandburg would understand.

* * * * *

The loft was too still. Jim had tried everything to combat the silence. Nothing helped. Under the beat of the too-loud music he could still find the absence of a heartbeat. There was no competing drum-beat worming its way beneath the door from the tape of tribal ceremonies Blair had liked to listen to as he worked. No matter how low the young man had turned the volume, it was always too loud to Jim. There was just something about the drums that annoyed the detective. Maybe it reminded him too much of Peru, or maybe it was just that it was Blair's choice in music, not Jim's. Now Jim found himself missing it. He glanced toward the locked door to the small bedroom, wondering for a minute if he could risk going in just long enough to retrieve the tape. He closed his eyes against the thought. The room was just as Sandburg had left it. Jim had allowed Naomi in to claim a few of her son's things -- a couple of notebooks, journals, Jim thought, a piece or two of jewelry -- then had locked the door. No one had been in the room for three weeks now. Jim just wasn't ready to deal with it yet.

He couldn't stand the stillness any longer. He picked up his keys and headed for the door. There had to be something at the station he could occupy himself with. Before he reached the door, the gentle scent of cigar smoke drifted to him. For a brief moment the scent nudged something in the back of Jim's mind. There was something he should remember about that scent. A sharp knock on the door chased away the thought.

Jim opened the door, knowing it was Simon and not really wanting to see the man. "I'm on my way out, sir."

"This won't take a minute," Simon said, pushing past Jim into the room.

With a tired sigh, Jim shut the door and turned to Simon. He knew what was coming. Deal with it, Jim. Don't shut it in like this, or you'll tear yourself up. Jim knew the arguments by heart. He knew the logic in them, but he wasn't ready to deal with it. He just wanted to cut himself off from...Say it, coward! Say the words, at least to yourself. ... from the loss, from the pain, from the grief.

"I'm headed for the station," Jim tried again. "Can this wait?"

Simon frowned. "You're off duty, Jim. You should get some rest."

"I had some ideas about that extortion case I wanted to follow up on," Jim lied.

"This can't wait any longer."

Jim forestalled the coming lecture with a gesture. "Listen, Simon, don't say it, okay? I've heard it already, from you, from Naomi, and from the department shrink."

"If you mean how you need to deal with this and not bury it to fester, then don't worry. I won't waste my time. We both know better by now." Simon reached into his jacket and pulled out a long envelope. "I just came by to give you something. I'm sorry. I don't know if you're ready for this or not, but I don't think I should wait any longer. Maybe it's what you need right now." He held out the envelope.

Jim stared at it, but made no move to take it. He could see the handwriting on the front of it from where he stood. It was his name, but it was Blair's handwriting. Jim took a step backward, bumping into the closed door. "I don't want that."

"That's too bad, because you have no choice." Simon moved closer. "Sandburg wanted you to have this, and you're going to take it and read it. You owe him that much." He pushed the envelope into Jim's hand, wrapping the detective's fingers around the paper.

Jim stared at his name emblazoned across the stark white paper. His sentinel vision focused on the ink marks, long since dry. He could see the unevenness in the stokes, unlike Blair's normal, strong penmanship. This had been written after the illness had robbed his friend of his strength and energy. Jim knew if he held the paper to his nose, he would smell the medicines and disinfectants of the hospital. The only thing that stopped him was the fear that he would also smell his partner and the sickness that had taken him. He looked up at Simon. "How did you get this?"

The captain let out a long sigh. "The day before he died, Sandburg asked me to take care of a few things for him." Simon turned and headed for the couch. After a few seconds, Jim followed, setting the envelope out of reach on the coffee table before he sat.

"He gave me a notebook with a list of things that needed to be done. Minor stuff, really, but it seemed important to him, so I promised to take care of it. That envelope was stuck in the back of the notebook. There was a short note attached to it, telling me to give it to you, in case...you know."

Jim was quiet for a moment. So Blair had accepted that he was going to die.

"You have to read it Jim. There were obviously some things Blair wanted to say to you. I'll go and leave you to it."

Jim stared at the envelope long after Simon had left. Blair's last words to Jim were in there. He didn't know if he could do this, but Simon was right, he owed it to Blair.

With trembling hands, he reached for the letter and tore open the end, pulling out the folded sheet of paper and setting aside the envelope. He caught a scent of disinfectant and immediately turned down his senses.

There it was. All he had to do was unfold the paper. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He had managed to put away his grief until now, but if he were forced to read Blair's last words, he knew he would lose the battle. He hadn't lost it when Meharry had broken the news to him and Naomi; he had held on through the horror of the missing bodies from the morgue, through the memorial service, going back to the station day after day without his partner, coming home night after night to an empty loft. The only time he had come close to losing it had been when he had confirmed to himself that Blair was dead. He had gone into the darkened hospital room, where the body had waited to be transferred to the morgue, and listened for himself for the heartbeat that wasn't there. It was that moment that it had become a reality to Jim. That moment when he knew it hadn't been a mistake. But he had managed to push it all aside to deal with Naomi and her grief. Only, he had never pulled it back out again. And now, Jim knew he had no choice. He couldn't hide forever.

He slowly unfolded the paper. Blair's handwriting, small and shaky, greeted him. Jim just stared at the ink for a moment, making no effort to read it. Finally, he let his eyes find the words.

Dear Jim,

I would really rather have had this conversation face to face with you. These aren't things I want to have to say to a piece of paper. But I know you aren't going to accept this until it's staring you in the face, and there are some things I need to say.

I want you to know, Jim, that life has been good, one long adventure. I accomplished everything I set out to do and then some. I have no regrets, Jim. I hope you'll believe that if nothing else. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I don't mean from an academic point of view. You've been a friend, a father, and a brother all rolled into one. I've met a lot of people in my life, even called some of them friend, but I've never had a best friend before. I was never in one place long enough to form bonds that deep, or maybe it's just that I never met anyone like you before.

I think on that note, I'd better stop. If I know you, you're probably getting all mushy about now.

One more thing, Jim. Call Simon. He's a good friend. He'll be there for you, if you let him.

Thanks for everything, man. You'll never know what a difference you made.

Blair

Jim read the note twice, stopping only to brush away the stray tears that worked their way from the corner of his eye. By the time he reached the end of the letter for the second time, he had given up wiping away the tears. He dropped his head to his hands and let them come unhindered. The silent weeping soon turned to sobs that shook his body. Still, he made no effort to stop. There was a peace in the release that he had been unable to find elsewhere. Not in denial, not in alcohol, not in his work. He sobbed until his throat hurt and his head ached. Darkness fell on the loft, and still his grief showed no signs of abating. It wasn't until he felt the shadowy presence of another that Jim lifted his head. His swollen, red-rimmed eyes refused to focus. He swung his head around in surprise, catching a flash of black that he immediately recognized.

"What do you want?" he shouted. "What the hell do you want from me?" He stood unsteadily and searched through blurred vision for the panther he knew was there. "I did everything you asked of me." His voice was rough and shaky, but he continued. "How am I supposed to function with out a guide? Tell me that!"

He waited but there was no answer. Nothing moved, there was no sound. "I can't, and I think you know it." His voice dropped in both tone and volume. "I can't do this without a guide...without Blair." He dropped to his knees and covered his face with his hands, feeling the tears return.

Something soft brushed against him, and he opened his eyes to see the panther before him, its golden eyes blinking slowly as they studied him. Jim felt an overwhelming and unreasonable anger building within him. "You asked me to make a choice, and I did. But that choice included Blair. You can't ask me to go on alone, because I won't do it." The panther continued to watch in silence. "Do you hear me? I'm through! Finished! I won't do this anymore! Take these damned senses, and give them to someone who wants them!"

The panther stood and walked toward Blair's room. Jim watched, his anger and grief overriding his curiosity. The huge cat faded from view for a moment, and Jim knew it had entered the locked room. The invasion made Jim furious. He stood, but before he could take a step, the panther returned, blinking at him again.

"Didn't you hear me?" Jim shouted. "I'm through! Get out of here! Leave me the hell alone!" He turned his back on the spirit guide. There was no sound, no movement, but Jim knew without looking, the panther had left. He knew in his heart it wouldn't be back. Another important part of his life was gone.

Jim staggered to the couch and laid down, too spent to hold onto his anger. Within minutes, he was sleeping, his last thought was that life as he knew it had ended.

* * * * *

"Frank," Bobby said from across the room. He waited until his brother looked up from the newspaper before continuing. "I've been thinking."

"You sure you should be doing that, little brother?" Frank teased. "It could be dangerous the first time out, you know."

Bobby made a face at the older man. "You're so funny. Remind me later, and I'll laugh. Actually, I was thinking that maybe it's time you went back to work."

Frank's smile faded, replaced by a hard, cold look of steel, and Bobby wondered for a minute if he should have kept his mouth shut. Frank was pretty easy going most of the time, but Bobby had seen his temper once, and that was more than enough.

"It's just that I'm doing a lot better now," Bobby hurried to add, "and I want you to know you don't have to babysit me all the time."

The steel left Frank's eyes, and his face softened. Bobby relaxed again, thinking maybe he had imagined it to begin with. "It's all right, little brother. The doc doesn't think you should be left alone so soon, and I don't mind really."

"It's been three months," Bobby protested. "I'm fine, really. In fact," he hesitated, then hurried ahead before he could lose his courage, "I was thinking I could...maybe look for a job. Nothing too strenuous, maybe just a few hours in the morning or something, you know, just too get out some."

The steel was back. This time Bobby forced himself to meet his big brother's gaze without flinching. Frank looked away after a minute, folding the newspaper carefully and putting out his cigarette before speaking.

"I know you're making progress, Bobby, and I'm real proud of you. But you're a long way from recovered. You still don't remember anything before the accident, do you?"

Bobby didn't speak. Frank knew the answer anyway.

"And you're still having the nightmares and headaches, am I right?"

Again Bobby didn't speak. He lowered his eyes, unable to argue with the truth. The nightmares were less frequent, but they hadn't stopped. And the headaches were every bit as bad now as they had been three months ago. The doctor insisted they would get better in time. Considering the severity of the accident, the old physician had lectured, Bobby was lucky to get off with only residual pain and amnesia. Bobby knew he should be grateful. He had been in a coma for weeks following the accident, and he could have died. But it was hard to know that a large part of his life was missing. He couldn't seem to make Frank understand what it felt like to have a hole in his mind. Eventually, he had quit trying. Frank had been so patient and tolerant already. Bobby felt guilty enough as it was.

"Until you can answer no to both of those questions," Frank continued, "I don't want to hear anymore about work -- for either of us."

"It's just that I know you are restless," Bobby protested. "I thought if you went back to work it would help. Besides, the medical bills alone must be through the roof."

Frank moved over to sit beside Bobby on the couch. "You let me worry about that, little brother. Dad left us plenty. We won't have to worry about money for a long time."

The mention of their father made Bobby sad for a reason he couldn't quite put his finger on. Maybe it was just that he couldn't remember the man. Bobby knew he had been almost fifteen when their dad had died, plenty old enough to remember, but Bobby had no recollection of the man at all. Not even the faintest stirring of a memory. It was odd, because, though Bobby had been only a toddler when their mother had died, he sometimes had a flash of a face in his mind when he thought about her. Why would he remember his mom and not his dad, when his dad had had such a larger role in Bobby's life? Thinking about it just made his head hurt worse.

"You okay, Bobby?" Frank asked in concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, you know?"

"Why don't you go lay down for a little while? I'll wake you for lunch."

Bobby nodded and headed for the stairs.

"Don't forget to take your pills."

Bobby nodded again and detoured toward the kitchen. At the door, he turned back to find Frank still watching him. "Frank..."

"What is it, Bobby?"

"I don't know if I've told you lately, but thanks. For everything, man. I don't know what I would do without you."

"Don't mention it, little brother. That's what family's for, right?"

* * * * *

Frank threw together some soup and sandwiches and headed for the stairs to wake Bobby. It was almost scary how he was beginning to think of the young man as Bobby. It had been kind of nice, these past three months, having the kid around -- almost like having his brother back. Sandburg believed he was Bobby, believed Bobby's past was his own. And Frank could almost let himself believe it, if he wasn't careful.

He opened the door to Bobby's bedroom and gazed, almost lovingly, at the young man asleep on the bed. Bobby had curled on his side, clutching a pillow tightly to his chest. Even in sleep, Frank could see the fine lines of pain around the kid's eyes. The headaches were an unfortunate side-effect of the medications. It was ironic that it was the so-called painkillers that were in fact causing the pain. Ironic, unfortunate, even regrettable, but necessary. The nightmares...well, Frank had finally decided that they were Bobby's -- no, Sandburg's -- memories trying to resurface. The kid dreamed of gun battles and drug deals, cannibals and ancient civilizations. Frank had doubled the strength of the medicines out of fear that Sandburg would somehow make a connection between the bizarre dreams and his real past. That had also doubled the headaches, but it couldn't be helped. It was just something they would have to deal with.

"Bobby..." Frank gently shook the young man's shoulder. "Lunch is ready. Come on, wake up. You need to eat so you can take your medicine."

Bobby roused and opened his eyes, squinting at the light streaming in the window. "Okay, I'm coming."

Frank took him at this word and headed back to the kitchen. A few minutes later, Bobby entered the room, looking no better rested than before his nap. The kid dropped heavily into a chair, closing his eyes and resting his head in his hands.

"Nightmare?" Frank guessed.

"Yeah," Bobby murmured around his hands.

"You want to talk about it?" Frank made an effort to keep his voice neutral as he set the food on the table.

"It was just really weird, you know? It makes no sense whatsoever." Bobby leaned back in his chair, dropping his hands to his lap.

"Why don't you tell me about it? Maybe I can help you sort it out."

Frank listened as he poured them both a glass of milk and retrieved Bobby's medicine from the shelf over the sink. Bobby described a strange scene that involved poison pizza, fire demons, and blind superheroes. Frank wasn't entirely sure what it meant. It could be just a normal nightmare, a result of the added medications or the constant pain. Poison pizza...fire demons? Frank didn't see how it could be a memory pushing through Sandburg's subconscious. It was just too strange.

Frank set two pills in Bobby's hand and watched as the young man swallowed them. "You're right, it makes no sense. It's probably nothing, though. I wouldn't worry. Your subconscious mind is still a little scrambled from the accident. It's probably just mixing up details from your memory and sending them to you in the form of dreams."

"You think so?" Bobby asked, brightening noticeably. "Maybe this means I'm starting to remember things, at least subconsciously."

Frank tensed. The kid was entirely too close to the truth. "I don't think so," he forced himself to say calmly. "I mean, you've been having nightmares for months, now, and you haven't remembered anything significant."

Bobby's face fell. "Yeah, you're right, I know. It's just that..." His voice faded away as he picked up the spoon and started stirring his soup. "It doesn't matter now. It's starting to fade already."

Frank watched Bobby from the corner of his eye as he ate. It was time to move ahead with the plan. He really hadn't intended to drag it out this long, but he had been having second thoughts for about a month now. It had been kind of nice having Bobby back. No! Not Bobby, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. This was not Bobby. This was a pawn in a game. He had to make himself remember that. A pawn to be used and discarded. But an alternate plan had been taking root in the recesses of Frank's mind; a plan that he was considering more and more as the time to act drew near. Maybe he could have his revenge on Ellison and still keep something for himself, too.

"I have some errands to run," Frank said suddenly. He carried his empty dishes to the sink and turned back to Bobby. "Will you be all right for a little while?"

"Sure," Bobby responded absently as he tore his sandwich into small pieces. "I'm fine."

"Good," Frank grabbed his car keys from the hook by the door. "I won't be long. Leave the dishes. I'll do them when I get back. Why don't you lay back down for a while? You still look tired."

Bobby nodded, and Frank left.

* * * * *

Bobby pushed the torn pieces of his sandwich around on his plate with his finger. He hated feeling depressed, but it was fast becoming a common state of mind for him. Every time he thought he was making progress with his memory, Frank would...No, that wasn't fair. Frank was just trying to keep him grounded in reality. Frank was protecting him. Bobby owed Frank so much as it was. He couldn't keep making trouble for his big brother. The older man had given up his job as a prominent doctor to care for Bobby. And Frank had been there through every step of the long recovery, through all the residual crap from the accident.

Deciding he wasn't hungry after all, Bobby carried the almost full bowl of soup and the shredded sandwich to the sink. It took him only a few minutes to do the dishes. He didn't want Frank to have to face them when he got home. After that, he wandered the house, ignoring Frank's advice to get another nap. He was tired of sleeping all the time. It didn't really help his headache, and he didn't want to chance another nightmare. One a day was plenty.

Out of sheer boredom, he wandered out onto the front porch and sat on the steps. He loved to sit out here and watch the activity in the neighborhood, but Frank discouraged it. His brother argued that the sunshine wasn't good for Bobby's headaches, and Bobby had to grudgingly agree. The bright light did seem to make it worse, but the trade-off was worth it. It was something to do besides sleep and watch television.

The street was quiet this time of day. It was too early for the neighborhood children to be home from school, and most of the neighbors worked. There wasn't really much to watch, but Bobby stayed where he was, letting the various sounds remind him that life had been going on just fine around him.

"Hi, there!"

The cheery greeting startled Bobby. He turned to see a young woman approaching down the sidewalk in front of the house. He returned the wave, wondering if he knew her and, catching a closer look at her as she drew nearer, hoping he did. She wasn't obviously beautiful, but she was very attractive, with short brown hair and huge brown eyes. Bobby guessed she was at least his height, if not an inch or two more. She was being pulled along by a large brown and white dog of questionable pedigree.

"Whoa, wait up, Koty," the young woman called to the dog. The animal obediently halted and sat back on his haunches. "How are you feeling?" she said, turning her attention to Bobby.

The question startled Bobby. Did she know he had been sick? As if reading his thoughts, she hurried to add, "I met your brother, Frank, a few weeks ago. He mentioned that you were recovering from an accident. I guess I'm just kind of curious because I never see you outside or anything. I figured you were probably laid up, you know? Like, really bad off or something. But you look okay. Oh, Lord, where are my manners." She stepped closer and extended her hand. "I'm Nicole Estes. Nikki actually. I really hate Nicole."

Bobby took her hand, impressed by the firmness of the grip. "Bobby...Bobby Lowery. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Turning to the dog, she ordered, "Stay." She dropped the leash and came to sit beside Bobby on the step. "I live over there." She pointed to a small white house almost directly across the street. It was an attractive place, with a fenced yard and flowers along the front of the porch. "I just rent actually. I moved in about a month ago. That's when I met your brother. He told me you had been having a rough time of it. Are you feeling better now?"

Bobby smiled and tried to make it look sincere. Truthfully, he felt terrible, but it was nice to talk to someone other than Frank for a change, and he didn't want to scare her off. "I'm doing a lot better, thanks." He gestured toward the dog. "Who's your friend?"

"That's Koty," Nikki said with a chuckle. "Short for Dakota. He's part Saint Bernard and part German Shepherd. Say hello, Koty."

The dog gave a short bark and lifted one paw, wagging it in the air as though waving. Bobby laughed and returned the wave. "Pretty smart dog."

"Yeah, he is." Nikki smiled at Koty. "He's been my best friend for almost five years now. It's kind of like having a kid around most of the time, but I love him. Have you ever had a dog?"

Bobby's smile faded. Had he? It didn't seem likely. Frank wasn't the type to want to have pets around. "I don't know," he admitted at last.

Nikki raised an eyebrow, but didn't pursue it. "What kind of accident was it? I mean, if you don't mind talking about it."

"No, it's okay." Bobby paused for a minute, gathering the details Frank had given him. Bobby still didn't remember the accident itself, or even much right after it. He had a vague memory of the hospital. But the first real memory he had was waking up here, at this house, a few months ago. "It was a hit and run. Drunk driver, the witnesses say."

"That's terrible," Nikki said, her voice full of sympathy. "How badly were you hurt?"

"I don't really remember it, but Frank tells me it was mostly just head injuries."

"You don't have any scars," Nikki observed candidly.

"No, I guess I was lucky."

Nikki was silent for a minute. Then, "I heard of a guy one time, was in a motorcycle accident. He hit his head pretty hard and was never the same. Heard he was completely bonkers." She looked up suddenly at Bobby with a sheepish smile. "Sorry. As you can tell, I pretty much say what I'm thinking. You seem okay though. No lasting problems?"

"Just a little memory problem," he admitted hesitantly. He didn't really want to discuss that with a virtual stranger, but Nikki was very easy to talk to. "I can't really remember much from before the accident."

"No kidding? Geez, that's gotta be tough." She gestured to Koty, and the dog came to her. She absently scratched his ears.

"It could have been a lot worse," Bobby said, reaching over to pet the dog. Frank had told him many times how close he had come to dying. Headaches and amnesia were small trade-offs for life. Besides, Bobby had Frank.

Nikki stayed for a while, making small talk about the neighbors, the weather, her four brothers and two sisters back in Waco. As she talked, Bobby found himself forgetting his depression. The headache was even fading into the background. He was disappointed when she stood, announcing that she had to get home.

"I've got afternoon classes today," Nikki said, gathering Koty's leash.

"You go to the university?" Bobby asked. A glimmer of thought danced elusively through the back of his mind.

"Yeah, I just transferred to Rainier from Baylor."

"What are you studying?" Bobby asked.

"Anthropology."

Bobby suddenly felt as though the air had been squeezed from his lungs. An alarm was going off in his head, but he couldn't pin down the thoughts. All he knew was that suddenly his head was practically screaming in pain. He stood, swaying as a wave of dizziness assaulted him. Nikki was immediately by his side, supporting him.

"Are you all right?"

Bobby closed his eyes and fought to stay on his feet.

"Bobby?" Concern was evident in Nikki's voice.

He opened his eyes and tried to smile. "I'm okay, just stood up too fast."

"No, I don't think so. You looked like you were going to faint even before you stood. Are you in pain?"

Bobby shook his head, instantly regretting the motion as the dizziness increased. For a moment, black spots danced in front of him, and he thought he was going to pass out.

"I think we should get you inside," Nikki said, wrapping her arm around Bobby's waist. She helped him into the house and to the couch. He sank into the cushions and closed his eyes.

"Is your brother here?"

"No, but he'll be back soon. I'm okay, really."

"I don't believe you. You look terrible. Maybe I should stay with you until he gets here."

* * * * *

Frank noticed the dog on the front porch as soon as he pulled into the driveway. He frowned as he put the truck in park and climbed out. The dog merely looked up as Frank crossed the porch and entered the house. He was shocked at the scene that greeted him in the living room. The woman from across the street was kneeling beside the couch where Bobby was laying, a damp cloth across his eyes. Concern immediately replaced the anger Frank had felt upon seeing the woman in his house.

"What happened?" Frank demanded, crossing the room.

The woman looked up, concern on her face. "We were just talking out on the porch, and suddenly he looked like he was going to pass out. I don't think he's doing too good. He seems to be in a lot of pain."

"Bobby? Are you okay?" Frank asked, instinctively reaching for the young man's wrist to check his pulse.

There was a pause before Bobby answered. "Just a little dizzy. It'll pass." His voice sounded strained.

Frank removed the cloth and forced open first one of Bobby's eyes, then the other. "Headache?"

"Yeah," Bobby muttered, turning away from the light.

"Maybe you should call his doctor," Nikki suggested.

Frank continued to examine Bobby as he spoke. "I am a doctor, Miss Estes. I can take care of my brother." He replaced the cloth over Bobby's eyes and stood. "I appreciate you staying with him, but I can handle things from here." He took the woman's arm, leading her to the door.

Nikki looked back over her shoulder at the young man on the couch. "Will he be okay?"

"He'll be fine," Frank assured her. "I'll give him something for the pain. He'll get some rest and be back on his feet by tomorrow."

The young woman looked a bit skeptical, but stepped out onto the porch. Frank closed the door behind her before she could say anything more.

"Come on, Bobby. Let's get you up to your room, and I'll get you something for the pain." Frank helped the young man up the stairs, supporting his weight almost completely. Once Bobby was settled in his bed, Frank left him to prepare a sedative. There wasn't really much he could do about the pain without counteracting the trephadine, but he could give the kid something to make him sleep until the pain passed.

Bobby roused a bit when Frank administered the shot. "Frank?"

"Yeah, little brother?"

"Sit with me until I fall asleep, please?"

"Sure thing, kid." Frank sat on the edge of the bed and took Bobby's hand, holding it tightly. This wasn't the way he had planned it. He hadn't intended for the kid to suffer this much. The headaches hadn't been expected, but then Frank hadn't planned on the memory flashbacks to be so strong, forcing him to double the trephadine. It was a good thing he had taken steps to draw this thing to a close. Frank didn't know how much more of this either one of them could take. It was time to twist the knife in Ellison's gut and end this thing. Then, Frank and Bobby could get out of this damned town and make a real life.

* * * * *

Simon leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. His eyes lifted of their own volition and found Jim Ellison where he sat at his desk on the other side of the glass window of Simon's office. Nothing unusual would have struck the casual observer about the detective. But Simon was no causal observer. He was Jim Ellison's friend, or so he kept reminding himself. These days, Jim seemed to have no time for friends. He worked to the exclusion of all else in his life. At first, Simon had passed it off as Jim's way of dealing with the lose of Sandburg. Keeping himself too busy to think about it, or maybe exhausting himself enough to sleep through the long nights. But it had been three months now, and Jim showed no sign of letting up. There were times when the captain seriously considered ordering Ellison to slow down. But the truth was, Simon was afraid that if Jim slowed down, he would stop altogether.

In the past three months, Jim's arrest rate had increased dramatically, but only because his case load had tripled. If Simon was entirely truthful, he would have to admit that Jim's actual solve rate had declined. The cases seemed to be taking longer, and though Jim wouldn't admit it when confronted, Simon suspected that the Sentinel's hyper-senses no longer came into play. Only once had Simon broached the subject of the journals Sandburg had left with the captain, but Jim had quickly cut him off, insisting vehemently that he no longer needed a guide. Simon hadn't brought it up since. Maybe it was time to bite the bullet and face the subject again.

Reluctant to face what he knew would be unpleasant, Simon opened the bottom drawer of his desk and gathered up Sandburg's journals. Taking a deep bracing breath, he headed for Jim's desk. The detective looked up as Simon approached. "Jim, we need to talk."

Ellison's eyes darkened as his gaze came to rest on the journals in the captain's hand.

"It's obvious you recognize these," Simon said tossing the notebooks on the desk. "I want you to take these home and read through them."

"Simon--"

"Don't say it, Jim. I know your arguments by heart now. Bottom line is you don't want to deal with the emotional baggage that comes with reality. Well, that's just too damned bad. Sandburg went to a hell of a lot of trouble to chronicle the past couple of years and make some sense out of it. He knew you would need these notes, and I promised I would see to it you had them. You are not going to make me break my promise to that young man. I've read through these, Jim, and there are things in there you need to see. I think you'll find the help you need."

Simon could hear Jim's teeth grind together in the silence that followed. Finally, the detective unclenched his jaw and spoke. "You don't understand, Simon. I don't need help with my senses because they are no longer an issue."

"You're right, I don't understand. Are you saying you no longer have your Sentinel abilities?"

"That's what I'm saying." Jim pushed the journals back toward the captain.

"When did that happen? Better yet, how did that happen?"

"I decided I didn't want them anymore." Jim's tone was even, calm, but there was something in his eyes that Simon couldn't identify.

"You can turn them on and off just like that?" The captain couldn't keep the skepticism from his voice.

"Evidently."

"Bull! I don't buy that any more than you do!"

Jim looked at Simon in surprise.

"Listen, Jim, you might have stopped acknowledging the senses, you might be ignoring the input all together, but from what I understand of what I read in these journals, you were born with these abilities. You could no more turn them off than you could change your skin color or height. You can deny they exist, but that won't make it so."

Simon braced himself for the storm he could see brewing on Ellison's face. The captain almost sighed in relief when the mail clerk interrupted to toss a handful of letters on Jim's desk. Jim glared at Simon for a few seconds more then grabbed up the stack of letters and began opening them, shutting Simon out completely.

Simon gathered up the journals. "This discussion is not--" Simon broke off as he caught the look on Jim's face. The detective was staring at what looked to Simon like a snapshot that had fallen from one of the envelopes. Jim's face had drained of color, and he looked as though he was going to be sick.

"What is it?" Simon asked, his anger forgotten in his concern.

Jim slowly looked up. The depth of pain in his eyes caught Simon off guard. The captain took the photograph from Jim's hand and glanced at it. Simon's heart skipped a beat. It was Sandburg! The young man was curled up on a dark colored sofa with a newspaper in his lap. He was grinning up at the camera.

"Simon...the headline..."

Simon squinted at the tiny words on the newspaper. President Signs Job's Agreement Into Law.

"Oh, my God!" Simon whispered. That was just last week! "That's impossible! It has to be a trick."

Jim remained silent. Only the slight tremor of his hand and the paleness of his face betrayed his emotions.

Simon pulled out his handkerchief and used it to pick up the envelope, searching for a note or something that would explain what the hell was going on. There was nothing. Simon wrapped the handkerchief around both the photo and the envelope. "I'll get this down to the lab, see what they can find."

Jim stood wordlessly and headed for the men's room. Simon grimaced, imagining the horror this cruel hoax had awakened in Ellison. He debated following Jim but decided against it, heading instead for the elevator. By the time he had reached the lab and surrendered the objects to Serena, Simon was fuming

* * * * *

The desire to vomit had not completely passed, but Jim forced it under control and went in search of Simon. The captain was exiting the elevator as Jim stepped from the bathroom. Simon's expression was guarded, but the fire in the dark man's eyes instantly alerted Jim.

"In my office," Simon growled as he passed Jim.

For a long moment, Jim simply stood and stared after Simon, unable to move. It wasn't good news, that much was obvious. Jim's mind raced, searching for possibilities, but could come up with none.

"Ellison!" Simon's bark from his office door snapped Jim back to reality. With heavy feet, Jim entered the office. Simon shut the door and moved to the other side of his desk. He sat down with a sigh. There was a moment of silence. Jim watched as Simon struggled for words. The captain looked everywhere but at Jim.

"Just say it," Jim finally said. "Whatever it is, just say it."

"Jim..." Simon began, then stopped. "Jim, the photograph wasn't altered."

The air in the room suddenly weighed too much to inhale. Without realizing he was moving, Jim managed to find a chair and sit down.

"I don't understand it, but Serena is certain that the photo was not doctored in any way." Simon stopped and drew in a shaky breath. "I don't have an explanation, Jim."

"I saw him." Jim had to stop and clear his throat. "There was no heartbeat, no breath. Sandburg is dead." It was the first time Jim had said the words aloud, but it was the truth. It made no difference what the photo showed, or what the lab proved. It was a trick. Sandburg was dead.

"It has to be a double," Simon said suddenly. "It has to be." He paused, taking a breath. "I don't know what kind of depraved mind could be behind this, Jim, I don't know what his game is, but I promise you, we'll stop him."

Jim nodded. He knew Simon meant the words, but they brought no comfort. This was too much. This had pushed something inside of Jim over the line. His mind couldn't comprehend what was going on.

"We didn't get anything from the photo or the envelope," Simon was saying. "There were no prints, and the postmark was from the post office down the street.

Simon's phone rang, startling both men.

"Banks...yeah, he's here, but this will have to wait. Tell him--" Simon glanced at Jim as he listened in silence for a minute. "All right, go ahead." He held out the phone to Jim. "Rhonda's transferring a call for you. The man says it's urgent."

Jim reached slowly for the phone, only vaguely aware of what he was doing. "Ellison."

"Detective Ellison," came a strange voice. "You're a hard man to track down. I assume you've had time to have the photograph checked out. Are you convinced of its authenticity?"

Something on Jim's face must have alerted Simon. The captain jerked open his office door and yelled something across the bullpen. Jim knew a trace had been initiated.

"I'm convinced only that you are a sick bastard!"

The man chuckled. "I'm not surprised at your reaction, Ellison. But you should really try to control your temper. At least until you hear what I have to say."

"I'm listening."

"Good," the man continued. "Now, as you have undoubtedly learned, the photograph is real. It has not been altered in any way. I'm sure you have jumped to the conclusion that it is a double, but I assure you, that is not the case."

"Blair Sandburg is dead."

"So certain, are we, detective? Mr. Sandburg is very much alive."

Jim's stomach rolled, and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick again. "Then let me talk to him." It was time to end this psycho's fantasy right now.

"I'm afraid that would accomplish little at this point. Besides, he's asleep, and I really hate to wake him. He hasn't been feeling well, you see. It's been a long recovery. However, I know you will demand proof, and I'm prepared to present it. We'll meet with you tomorrow afternoon. I'll contact you tomorrow with the details." With a laugh, the man hung up.

Simon's line rang again, almost immediately. The captain grabbed it up and listened for a minute. "Thanks anyway." He hung up the line. "No good. It was routed through too many cells."

Jim nodded. It was what he had expected. Jim fought to control the anger and nausea burning at his insides. "He wants to meet tomorrow. He says he can prove Sandburg is alive." He quickly repeated the conversation for Simon.

Simon leaned back in his chair, silent for a long minute. "Jim, is it possible he could be telling the truth? I mean, Sandburg's body..." He stopped, unable to finish the sentence.

Jim felt his anger grow. He stood up and paced around the room. "He is dead, Simon. He was declared dead by trained doctors. Are you trying to tell me that they could have made a mistake like that?"

Simon dropped his head to his hands. "I don't know what I'm saying, Jim. I'm as confused as you are."

* * * * *

Frank detoured to the front door. Who the hell would be knocking at this hour of the morning? He frowned when he recognized the Estes woman through the curtains. Pulling open the door, he did his best to control his expression.

Nikki smiled warmly at Frank. "Hi! I know it's a little early for visitors, but I'm on my way to class, and I wanted to see how your brother was feeling."

"Bobby's fine," Frank replied without elaboration. He hoped the woman would take the hint and leave.

"I was a bit concerned yesterday afternoon. He seemed awfully sick." Nikki looked past Frank's shoulder.

Frank, noticing her shifting attention, glanced behind him and saw Bobby slowly descending the stairs, buttoning his shirt as he came. The kid looked a hundred percent better this morning, which didn't surprise the older man. Bobby had slept through the afternoon and night, thanks to the sedative Frank had administered.

Bobby caught sight of Nikki at the door, and his face lit up.

"Hey, you look like a new man," Nikki commented with a smile.

"Feel like one, too." Bobby came around Frank. "Where are your manners, Frank?" He turned to Nikki. "Would you like to come in?"

"She can't stay," Frank said before the woman could answer. "She has to get to class."

"Actually, I have a few minutes," Nikki said, stepping past Frank into the room.

Frank sighed in defeat and shut the door. Some things you just couldn't fight, and it was obvious the two young people were attracted to one another. He didn't want to encourage it, knowing that things were going to change for him and Bobby very soon, but a few minutes couldn't hurt. "I'll be in the kitchen," Frank directed to Bobby. "Don't be long. You have a doctor's appointment in an hour."

He noticed Bobby's frown as he passed, but ignored it. Bobby hated Doctor Hamill, and Frank didn't really blame him. The old doctor had the personality of a snake, but he was discrete, and he had been a tremendous help with Bobby's recovery. Frank owed Roger Hamill a lot.

Frank set about making breakfast, half-listening to the conversation in the living room. Before long, he heard the front door open and close, and Bobby came into the kitchen.

"That woman gone?" Frank asked around the refrigerator door as he retrieved the orange juice.

"Her name is Nikki," Bobby answered peevishly, turning to the coffee pot. "You don't like her, do you?"

Frank set the juice on the counter. Had he been that obvious? "It's not that I don't like her. I don't know her well enough to make that judgment. And neither do you, little brother."

"I'm not planning to ask her to marry me, Frank. We were just talking."

Frank reached for his cigarettes on the table and lit one instead of answering.

"Those things are going to kill you, man."

Bobby's standard reply, Frank thought with a half-smile. The kid had a thing against cigarettes. Actually, he had a thing against anything considered unhealthy. And he had the strangest food cravings. Must be a hold-over from Sandburg's memories, Frank concluded. The idea was remotely depressing for some reason.

The two men ate most of their breakfast in silence. Finally, Bobby said, "I feel a lot better this morning. Why do I have to see Doctor Hamill?"

Frank didn't answer for a minute. It was obvious that Bobby was better today, but the kid had been pretty sick yesterday afternoon, sicker than Frank had seen him since the early days of his recovery. Frank had to admit, at least to himself, it had scared him a little. He had lost Bobby once, he wasn't going to let that happen again.

Closing his eyes briefly, Frank forced a stop to that train line of thought. The logical part of his brain knew that this wasn't Bobby, but it was becoming harder to remember that fact. This kid had become Bobby, in every sense of the word. And Frank was having to constantly remind himself of the truth.

"Frank?"

The older man blinked away the thoughts and looked up. "You were sick yesterday, Bobby. It's not going to hurt to let the doctor have a look at you. Besides, I have some business errands to run, and after yesterday, I don't want to leave you alone that long." He had Bobby's attention now. Other than short trips to the doctor, the kid had not been out of the house since coming home from the hospital.

"What kind of errands?"

Frank took a deep breath. "I was hoping to spare you this, Bobby..." He let his voice fade away dramatically. It had exactly the effect he was hoping for.

Bobby set his fork down and looked at Frank, an expression of concerned confusion on his youthful face. "What is it, Frank? Is it the hospital bills?"

Frank hurried to reassure the kid. "No, I told you not to worry about that. The bills are covered. It's...well, Bobby...it's just that I'm having problems with this guy. I didn't want to worry you with it. God knows you've had enough going on in your life lately. But since it affects you, too, I think maybe you have a right to know."

Bobby pushed his plate away and turned his attention to his older brother.

"This guy's brother was a patient of mine about a year ago. He was just a kid, about your age. The kid was pretty sick by the time I was called in on the case. It was just too late to do anything for him. This guy took the loss pretty hard." Frank stopped and took a shaky breath. "I understand now what he's going through. I know how I would feel if you had died in that accident."

Bobby lowered his head for a minute, and Frank wondered what was going through the kid's mind.

"Anyway, the guy blames me for his brother's death. He's been harassing me for a few months now, since right before your accident." He paused again for effect. "There's no nice way to say this, Bobby. The guy is nuts. He's got it in his head that his brother is alive, that you are his brother." He watched carefully for a reaction.

Bobby's eyes widened in surprise as he stared at Frank. "What?!"

"I know it sounds crazy, but you don't know what grief can do to some people, Bobby. And you do look a lot like this other kid. Same height, same build, same hair, and like I said, he was almost your age."

"Have you talked to the police?"

Frank shook his head. "I didn't want to involve them unless it became necessary. The guy hasn't really done anything threatening. He doesn't know where we live or anything. I mean, we're not in any danger from him. I just want to help him if I can."

Bobby smiled sadly. "You're a good person, Frank. Here this guy is, totally loony tunes, and all you can think about is helping him."

Frank returned the smile. Bobby had always been so easy to persuade. "I thought maybe if the guy could see you, up close, he might realize the mistake he's making. You don't have to do it if you're worried about him. But I promise you it would be perfectly safe. I won't let the guy hurt you."

Bobby looked at him with such honesty in his eyes, that Frank felt a lump in his throat. "I trust you, Frank. If you think I can help this guy, I'll do it."

* * * * *

Jim Ellison paced around Simon's office like a caged tiger. The waiting was killing him. He just wanted this psycho to call so they could get this thing over with. Jim was aware that the captain was watching him closely, but Simon didn't say a word, just sat there lighting one cigar after another. Each man was handling the stress in their own way. Jim paced, Simon smoked.

Jim had slept little last night, and the lost sleep had only added to his irritability. The other detectives had been giving him a wide berth all morning. Jim felt guilty for taking his anger and frustration out on his co-workers. As far as he knew, no one other than he and Simon were aware of the cruel hoax that had arrived in yesterday's mail. If Jim had his way, the bastard behind this would be behind bars by nightfall, and no one else would have to know what had happened.

Try as he might, and he had tried all night, Jim couldn't come up with one reason for the hoax. What could anyone possibly have to gain by this nightmare? Money? It seemed unlikely, unless there was an angle that Jim had not seen. Revenge? That was the only motive that made any sense at all. It had to be someone from Jim's past, out to hurt him. And the bastard had certainly found the ideal way to accomplish that.

"Jim, sit down," Simon growled around the cigar in his mouth. "You're going to wear a hole in the carpet."

Jim shot a glare at the captain, intending a retort, but the look on the man's face convinced Jim it would be a bad idea. He sat down.

Simon set his cigar in the ashtray and opened his mouth to speak. He was cut off by a soft knock on the door.

"What?" The captain yelled at the interruption.

Joel Taggert stuck his head tentatively into the room. "We were wondering if we could speak to you?" Without waiting for an answer, he stepped into the room, followed by Brown and Waugh.

"Is this important?" Simon asked, retrieving his cigar.

The three detectives exchanged a look. Brown was the first to speak. "We want a piece of this sick son-of-a-bitch."

Jim jerked around in his chair to stare at the men. "How did you find out?"

"I was in the lab this morning," Joel explained. "Serena was upset about something. It didn't take long to get to the bottom of it."

"We want in on this," Brown said. "Sandburg was our friend, too, and it makes me sick to think about what this son-of-a-bitch is trying to do."

" wanted to be here with us," Carl added, "but he got hung up. Every guy in that squad room would want in on this if they knew what was going down."

"Look," Simon interrupted, "I appreciate how you guys feel, but right now, there's nothing to get in on. We have zero to go on here until the guy calls."

"Maybe you could start by filling us in on what you have so far," Carl suggested. The big man took a seat on the edge of the conference table.

Simon threw a questioning look at Jim. After a minute, Jim nodded. The captain quickly related the details of the photo and the phone call. Jim watched as the three men blanched at the story. They looked very much like he felt just then. When Simon finished, he pulled the photograph from the file on his desk and passed it to the group.

"So...it's a double, right?" Brown asked cautiously. "I mean, what else could it be?"

"That's our assumption at this point," Simon answered.

"But what if it's not?" Carl asked from the back of the room. Every eye turned to the man, who suddenly looked extremely uncomfortable. "I'm sorry to have to bring this up, Jim. I know it's got to be painful for you, but what if there is a grain of truth in this? Sandburg's body is missing, right?"

"Along with five others," Brown pointed out.

"Yeah, but what if that was just a cover? To throw us off the trail." Carl avoided Jim's eyes as he spoke. "What if this was a set up from the start? I mean, the doctors never found a cause for Sandburg's illness in the first place, did they?"

"You're reaching, don't you think, Carl?" Joel asked. "That sounds like the plot of a bad movie."

"I just think we should consider every possibility."

"Sandburg is dead," Jim said, his tone final.

There was an awkward silence, then Simon cleared his throat. "Jim and I have already had this discussion. Jim is convinced that is not Sandburg in the photo. I think he would know."

Actually, Jim had not been convinced one way or the other about the photo. He had studied it closely for over an hour yesterday, and again this morning. It looked like Sandburg -- damn, if Jim had seen the photo months ago, he would not have even questioned it's being Blair. But regardless of who it appeared to be, it was not his partner, his friend. Blair was dead and nothing any sick psycho said would alter the fact. Whatever game this bastard was playing, Jim was determined not to give him the satisfaction of playing along.

"Yeah," Joel said glumly, "I guess Jim would know."

"So, what's the plan?" Brown asked.

"There is no plan," Simon said, grabbing another cigar from the desk drawer. "We're at a standstill until this guy contacts Jim. Then we go from there."

As if on cue, the phone rang. Simon exchanged a look with Jim and picked up the receiver. "Banks...okay, put it through." He stabbed at the speaker button and set the receiver down, then nodded at Jim.

"Ellison."

"Detective Ellison, good morning. I trust you slept well? Your partner certainly did."

"Cut the crap. What the hell do you want?"

"Temper, temper, detective. Take a deep breath, and let go of the anger."

Jim started at the words, so similar to what Blair would have said.

"Now, Ellison, if you're feeling more reasonable, let's get to it. I'm prepared to prove my claims to you. But we'll do this my way. I really have no tolerance for screw ups. There's an abandoned factory at Fourth and Water Streets. Go through the front gate and around the building to the back fence. Park by the fence, and wait for me. You have forty-five minutes to get there. And let me make myself perfectly clear here, Ellison. I expect you to come alone. I'm sure you will want to wear a wire, and I suppose that's all right. But your partner's life will depend on your following orders. One glimpse of another cop, and it won't matter if I'm telling the truth or not; your partner really will be dead. You let him down once, already, Ellison. Don't let him die again." With that, the call was disconnected.

"Damn!" Brown exclaimed.

"Yeah," Simon agreed. "Forty-five minutes..." He glanced at his watch. "It'll take almost that long to get there. We had better get moving."

* * * * *

Frank hung up the phone and stepped from the phone booth into the sunshine. He glanced toward his truck and saw Bobby watching him in concern. He forced a smile to reassure the kid and headed around the truck for the driver's door. He was barely inside before Bobby said, "That was him, wasn't it? The guy that's hounding you?"

Frank snapped his seat belt in place and cranked the truck before answering. "Yeah, it was him. The guy's name is Ellison, Jim Ellison." He glanced at Bobby, looking for a response. There was none. Satisfied, he continued. "Ellison agreed to meet with us. I wanted it to be in a public place, a shopping center or something like that, but he would only agree to it on his terms." He turned in his seat to face Bobby. "I promise you it will be safe, little brother, but if it's going to be a problem, if you have any worries, we don't have to go through with it. I can call Ellison back and tell him it's off."

Frank watched the emotions flit past on Bobby's expressive face. The kid was scared, but Frank was confident he would go through with this, if for no other reason than Bobby felt that he owed Frank something.

And Bobby didn't disappoint Frank. "If you think this will really help this guy..."

Frank reached over and squeezed Bobby's shoulder. "Thanks, kid. It'll just be this one meeting, just to give Ellison a chance to see for himself that you aren't who he thinks you are. If it doesn't go well, then we'll turn it over to the police." He put the truck into gear and pulled into traffic.

Bobby made the trip across town in silence. Frank glanced at him occasionally, wondering what was going through the kid's mind. There had been no spark of recognition at the mention of Ellison's name, but had something been stirred in his memory? Was this a mistake? Maybe seeing Ellison would be more than the kid could handle.

Frank fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out a small medicine bottle. He handed it to Bobby. "I wasn't going to start you on these until tonight, but I think, under the circumstances, maybe you had better take one now."

"What is it?" Bobby asked, opening the bottle.

"It's a new pain reliever Doctor Hamill wanted to try. The others don't seem to be doing the job anymore. These are a little bit stronger." That much was true. These pills were a lot stronger, and, Frank hoped, wouldn't have as many side effects as the trephadine.

Bobby took the pill without question. Frank smiled at the ready trust in this young man. If this new medicine kept the memories at bay without the side effects, there was a good chance Frank could get out of this with something he thought he had lost...his brother.

Frank pulled the truck up beside an battered dumpster and cut the engine.

"This is where we're meeting Ellison?" Bobby asked.

"No, it's down there." Frank pointed to the back of the factory he had specified. It was about a half-mile further down the road. From where they sat, Frank would be able to watch Ellison arrive. He glanced at his watch. If the detective was punctual, they only had a few more minutes to wait. He glanced at Bobby, who was looking a little pale all of a sudden.

"Are you all right?" Frank asked.

"I think I'm just tired. This is the most I've been up and around in a while." Bobby forced a smile. "And to be honest, I'm a little nervous. This guy sounds like a psycho."

"He's not well, Bobby. He may say some strange things. Remember, he thinks you are someone else, someone he was very close to. I'm hoping that seeing you up close will end this fantasy, but if it doesn't...well, you should be prepared for anything. Just don't say anything to encourage him. It'll only make things worse in the long run." Frank glanced at his watch again. "He should be here any minute. When he gets here, I'm going to make sure he's alone first. If I think it's safe, we'll drive down to the fence. I'll make sure that the fence stays between him and us. We'll be safe enough. You stay in the truck until I call you, okay?"

Bobby nodded, but still looked nervous. "I just want to get this over and go home."

* * * * *

Jim maneuvered his truck through the open gates and around the side of the abandoned building. As he rounded the building, he scanned the area for any sign of movement.

"There's no one here," he said into the mic under his shirt collar. Simon had reluctantly agreed to keep the police presence back, but had insisted on wiring Jim. He hadn't really had to insist too hard. Jim wasn't crazy about meeting this guy out here alone. Whatever it took to get this maniac off the streets and put an end to this, had to be worth the price.

"Let's just get this over with," Jim whispered under his breath as he pulled up to the twelve-foot fence and parked. He scanned the area again and caught himself almost wishing for his Sentinel senses. It was the first time since the night he had renounced his abilities, that he had even allowed himself to think about them.

A flash of movement at the corner of his vision caught his attention, and his head snapped around just as a streak of black disappeared behind a corner of the building. Jim shook his head angrily. It was just a stray dog. The panther was no longer a part of his life. The sound of an approaching car dispelled the thoughts, and Jim turned to the street beyond the fence.

"Heads up, guys. Looks like this is it."

Jim got out of his vehicle and walked to the fence as the black truck approach. He described the vehicle to Simon over the wire, but was dismayed to see that the license plate was covered with mud and impossible to read. There were two men in the truck, and as it pulled closer, Jim had to grab the fence to steady himself. The one on the driver's side was a stranger. Jim was certain he had never seen the man before. But the one on the passenger side was a dead ringer for Blair Sandburg. It took several long seconds before he trusted his voice enough to relay the information to Simon.

"This guy's good, Simon. He's good enough to make even me doubt for a minute." But only a minute. Blair was dead. This was only someone who looked amazingly like the young man.

The truck stopped about a hundred feet away. The driver spoke to Blair's double and climbed out, shutting the door behind himself. The passenger remained in the truck. As the man approached the fence, the detective quickly and quietly described him to Simon.

"Detective Ellison," the man said coldly. "I've waited for this day for a long time. I suppose I should prelude this visit with a warning. I'm sure you have reinforcements not too far away. To be certain that they remain where they are, you should be aware that this," he held up a black box, no bigger than the palm of his hand, with a single switch on the top, under his thumb, "is exactly what you think it is. There is a small bomb in the glove compartment of the truck behind me. Any heroics, and your partner's death will be permanent this time."

"Who the hell are you? What kind of game are you playing?" Jim was finding it difficult to keep his eyes off of the young man in the truck. He looked so much like Blair that Jim was beginning to feel sick.

"Who am I...that's easy enough, though I doubt you would remember me. My name is Frank Lowery. You might have better luck with this name...Robert Lowery -- Bobby."

Jim racked his memory. Neither name rang a bell, but he had a feeling that wasn't the thing to say to this man. The confusion must have been apparent in Jim's expression, because the man's eyes turned to ice.

"Three years ago. The robbery at First Guaranty."

Comprehension dawned slowly for Jim. It had been a botched robbery attempt from the beginning that had left four people dead, three of the would-be thieves and one innocent young man that had been in the wrong place at the wrong time -- Robert Lowery.

"You took something from me that day, detective, my brother. And now I've taken something from you to even out the balance."

"I didn't shoot your brother, Lowery. It was just an unfortunate accident."

"My brother's death was unfortunate, yes, but it was not an accident. You were in charge, you were the one that blew it. If you had waited a little longer, tried to reason with those idiots, or waited for back-up, Bobby wouldn't have had to die."

"Your brother was dead before I even got to the scene. That robbery was a disaster from the start. Nothing I could have done would have changed that."

Anger brimmed in the man's eyes. Jim knew there was nothing he could say that would make a difference in the face of that emotion.

"It's beside the point now," Lowery continued. "I just wanted you to be aware of why you had to suffer. I would have preferred to have taken your brother, but Sandburg was just so much better suited to my purposes."

"Sandburg is dead!" Jim shouted at the smug man. But even as he said it, the flash of black was back, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Jim doubting even his normal senses.

"He was, yes," Frank replied calmly. "I know, because I killed him. It wasn't very difficult, really. You should leave your balcony doors locked, detective. You never know who might wander in off the streets."

Jim felt a sudden wave of weakness and had to lean back against the hood of his truck. He clearly remembered the night, four months ago now, that he had come home from a stakeout to find the balcony doors open and Blair sleeping like the dead. The night the sickness had started. Oh, God...

"I see you remember, Ellison. Good. That makes convincing you of the truth so much easier."

"I'm convinced only that you had something to do with Sandburg's death, you son-of-a-bitch!" Jim's voice sounded hoarse, even to his own ears. "I don't know who that is sitting in your truck, but it's not Sandburg."

Oddly, the man's smile grew. "I had hoped to spare the young man this. He's not well, you know. It takes a long time to recover from dying."

Lowery turned to the truck and motioned for the Blair-look-alike to join them. The young man hesitated, then climbed out of the truck. He shoved his hands deeply into his jeans pockets and slowly walked around to stand beside Frank. There was confusion and nervousness on his face. A black tail flicked behind them, at the edge of Jim's field of vision, but he couldn't take his eyes from the look-alike.

"Bobby, this is James Ellison. Mr. Ellison, my brother, Bobby."

Jim felt as if the air had suddenly been ripped from his lungs. A single word escaped his lips. "Blair..."

There was no longer any doubt in his mind that this was Blair. He didn't even need the panther to show him that. God alone knew how it could be possible, but it was true. Jim searched his friend's face for any trace of recognition, but, though he now knew it this was his Guide, there was nothing friendly or inviting in the expression that met his.

"Blair...my God...Blair, it's me, Jim!" The words were full of the desperation Jim felt.

The young man took a step closer to Lowery, his eyes full of suspicion. "Hey, man, I'm sorry about what happened to your friend, brother, whoever he was, but I'm not him. My name is Bobby, not Blair."

Jim cut his eyes to Lowery, who had placed a hand on Blair's shoulder. The man's twisted smile infuriated Jim. He lunged at the fence, grabbing it in both hands and shaking it in frustration. "What the hell have you done to him, Lowery? What have you done?"

Blair started at the display of temper.

"It's all right, Bobby," Lowery soothed. "Why don't you wait in the truck. I'll just be a minute, okay?"

Blair nodded and, with a nervous glance back at Jim, headed back to the truck.

"Blair!" Jim called after the young man. He had to stop him. "Blair! For God's sake, stop!"

"You're wasting your time, detective. He is no longer Blair Sandburg. He has become Bobby Lowery in every sense of the word." Lowery stepped closer to the fence, his face a mask of fury that matched Jim's. "I have taken from you what was taken from me by your hands. I have my brother back, and I intend to keep him."

With that, Lowery turned away from the fence. Jim fought back the nausea that was rising in his throat. This wasn't happening! It couldn't be real. My God! It was Blair, and now he was about to drive away. Jim had to stop them, he had to get to Blair somehow, and then he knew he could make his friend understand, he could make it all right, if only he could stop them. But now it was too late, because Lowery was in the truck, cranking it and pulling away, and Jim could only stand there impotently watching as his best friend was removed from his life yet again.

Jim's knees buckled and he slid to the ground. He threw back his head, letting out a scream that bore all of the pain, frustration and horror he felt.

* * * * *

"It was him, Simon," Jim sobbed. "I don't know how, but it was Blair. He's alive!"

Simon knelt beside the detective and placed a hand on the man's shoulder, uncertain how to deal with this emotional display. He had never seen Jim so shaken, not even when Sandburg had died. No, not died, he corrected himself. If Jim said that was the real Sandburg, Simon had no choice but to believe it. Anyone else, he might doubt, but no one knew Blair like Jim, except maybe Naomi. Damn! How were they going to tell Naomi?

"Jim, come on, let me take you home."

The detective stood, swaying a bit. Simon took his arm and led him back to his own car. Jim was in no shape to drive. He would get one of the officers to take the truck back to the loft. Jim was seated in Simon's car when he seemed to come back to himself.

"I'm not going home, Simon!" Jim started to climb out of the car, but Simon's hand stopped him.

"Jim, we've got this covered. Brown and Waugh are tailing them, and Rafe's following up on Lowery."

Jim flashed a look of panic at the captain. "You heard what Lowery said about the bomb. He'll kill Blair if he spots a tail, Simon."

"They know what they're doing, Jim. Trust them."

Simon shut the door before Jim could protest and went around the car. He climbed in and spared a glance at his friend before cranking up. Jim looked shell-shocked. No damn wonder, Simon thought pulling out of the gates and turning toward Jim's loft. This was too much! How in the hell could Jim be expected to get a handle on this? Your best friend is dead...oops, sorry, our mistake. He's alive and well and living someone else's life.

"He didn't know me, Simon." Jim's voice was low. Simon had to strain to hear it.

"Maybe Lowery has him drugged," the captain suggested.

Jim closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the car seat. "He was dead. Somehow, Lowery managed to revive him, but he was dead. Maybe there's, I don't know, brain damage or something."

Simon couldn't find an answer for that. "How did he look?"

"He's too thin."

Simon nodded in understanding. Sandburg had been too thin in the hospital, before...

"I think he's sick. He looked sick."

Simon jumped on that with hope. "If Lowery is drugging him, that would explain it."

"Or, if he's sick, it could be messing up his mind," Jim shot back bitterly.

"Either way, Jim, Sandburg is alive. And that's a hope we didn't have this time yesterday. We'll find him, and somehow, we'll make it right again."

* * * * *

Losing the tail had been easy. The morons never really got close enough to keep make it difficult. Probably scared back by the threat of a bomb. Frank chuckled as he pulled the truck into the garage. As if he would hurt his brother! But the fools had no way of knowing that.

They would have to get rid of the truck now, but Frank had been prepared for that. And they would have to lay low for a while. That was no problem either. As long as they kept their heads down, there was no way for Ellison to track them down. As soon as things cooled down a bit, he and Bobby would leave this damned town. They would make a fresh start in a new town, maybe even a new country. Somewhere warm. He would let Bobby choose.

Frank looked over at his brother, propped against the door, sleeping. The kid had to be exhausted. It had been a busy day, and he still wasn't well.

"Soon, Bobby," Frank soothed, brushing the hair back from the peaceful face, "soon it'll all be behind us."

* * * * *

"For God's sake, Frank, it's just across the street!" Bobby shouted at this brother. "It's not like I'm going across town. Man, you have got to lighten up."

Frank stared back at him, his arms crossed on his chest. Bobby forced himself to hold the gaze. He was not going to let Frank intimidate him this time. All he wanted to do was spend a nice quiet evening with someone other than his brother.

"It's just dinner," Bobby said in what he hoped was a calmer voice. "I'll be with Nikki. What could happen?"

An unreadable expression passed quickly across Frank's face, then was gone. When he spoke his tone was carefully controlled. "You know damn well what could happen. You haven't been feeling well, and I know it, even if you do think you have to hide it from me. These new pills aren't any better than the last ones. What if you get sick?"

"I'll be across the street!" Bobby emphasized each word. "If I get sick, I'll come home." What was Frank's problem? Sure he had been feeling bad, and he had hoped Frank hadn't noticed, but he was beginning to realize that pain was going to be a permanent fixture in his life. That didn't mean he had to stop living.

Frank took a deep breath and let it out slowly, dropping his arms and softening his expression. "Bobby...try to see this from my point of view. I've seen what you've gone through these past few months. I know the toll it's taken on your health. I just don't want to see anything else happen to you."

The emotion in Frank's tone set off warning bells in Bobby's head. "Frank, is there something you haven't told me? Doctor Hamill hasn't said anything to you, has he?"

"No, it's nothing like that," Frank hurried to say. "It's just...well, it's this thing with Ellison. I don't want to worry you, but he's a loose cannon, Bobby. I don't know what he's capable of."

A stab of fear rushed through Bobby. He had not admitted it to his brother, but the man scared him. There had been something in Ellison's eyes yesterday, something desperate. Bobby knew without a doubt, Ellison believed Bobby was this Blair-guy. It scared him that someone could be that unbalanced and still walk the streets. Frank had tried to report the incident to the police at Bobby's insistence, but they had claimed no crime had been committed, therefore there was little they could do. Now, Frank was admitting that Ellison had him worried, too.

"I thought you said he had no way of finding out where we live," Bobby stammered nervously.

"He doesn't. I'm sorry." Frank put his hands on Bobby's shoulders. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm not trying to scare you, I just worry about you."

Bobby relaxed a bit. "You don't have to worry so much. I'm fine, really. And it's just across the street. I'll be home before you can even miss me."

Frank finally smiled and dropped his hands in defeat. "Okay, okay. I give up. Go have dinner with your girlfriend. Just don't make me have to come looking for you."

Bobby returned the smile happily. "Nikki's not my girlfriend. She's just a friend."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. Get out of here."

"Thanks, man!" Bobby grabbed his jacket and dashed out the door before his brother could reconsider. He loved Frank dearly, but sometimes the man could be a pain in the ass. He had a way of making Bobby feel like a child.

Nikki opened the door as Bobby climbed the steps to the porch. "Hi!" she called brightly. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

Bobby stepped past her into the living room. He looked around, taking in the bright colors and comfortable furniture. The room had a warm atmosphere that set him at ease. "I thought I was going to have to lock Frank in the bathroom just to get out of the house."

Nikki laughed as she plopped down on the couch, patting the cushion beside her. Bobby sat down facing her.

"Your brother has a serious case of the over-protection syndrome. That's usually only reserved for mothers with small children or father's with teenage daughters."

"It's not really his fault." Bobby felt a sudden need to defend his brother's attitude. "He's really had his hands full with me the past few months. He just worries."

"It's okay," Nikki said, placing her hand on his. "I was only teasing. Frank seems like a decent guy. He just needs to loosen up some."

Bobby chuckled. "Funny, I was just saying the same thing to him."

"Great minds...So, I hope you like spaghetti. It's one of my few culinary accomplishments."

"I love it...I think." Bobby frowned suddenly. "I guess I do." He stammered to a stop, suddenly embarrassed.

If Nikki noticed his discomfort, she gave no indication. "Great, it should be done in a few minutes. I don't know what that brother of yours is feeding you, but you are way too thin. We need to get some meat on your bones."

Just then a large furry animal bounded into the room at high speed and jumped on the couch between the two young people. Bobby laughed as Koty began licking his face.

"Hey, buddy," Bobby said, pushing the dog back a bit. "Enough with the shower already."

"Koty!" Nikki commanded. "Go back to your room!"

The dog jumped down and sulked away, glancing back once before disappearing down the hall.

"Sorry," Nikki apologized. "He isn't usually so affectionate."

"Must be my animal magnetism."

"I can vouch for that," Nikki said only half-jokingly.

Bobby shifted uncomfortably on the couch, not sure he was ready for the look in Nikki's eyes. Before he could decide on a course of action, she leaned over and kissed him. After a few seconds, she pulled back and looked at him, confusion evident.

"Is something wrong? I thought it was apparent I was attracted to you. In fact, I thought it was mutual."

"No, it's not that," Bobby said hurriedly. "I am, you're right. It's just..."

"What?" Nikki looked hurt now, and Bobby felt like an idiot.

"It's just that Frank is talking about leaving town soon. I just hate to start something that we won't have time to finish." God, that sounded so lame, but it was true.

"Leaving? Why?"

Bobby hesitated. In truth, he wasn't sure why Frank was suddenly so adamant about leaving Cascade. He was even talking about going to Mexico, or maybe an island somewhere. Bobby suspected it had something to do with Ellison, though Frank denied it.

"I think he just wants a fresh start somewhere new," Bobby found himself saying.

Nikki studied him for a moment. "What do you want?"

Bobby looked down at his hands. "I don't know. Whatever makes Frank happy, I guess."

"You don't sound too sure."

"Frank gave up his life to take care of me after the accident," Bobby said a bit too harshly. "I owe this to him."

Nikki sighed and leaned back on the arm of the couch. "Bobby, if you leave, make it because that's what you want, not because you feel like you have to."

Bobby was silent for a minute. Nikki was much too perceptive. Bobby didn't want to leave Cascade, but not for any rational reasons. There was just too much in his life already that was new and unfamiliar. The thought of leaving the only home he could remember, the only place he felt some sense of belonging scared him more than just a little. But he couldn't expect Frank to understand that.

"There's more to it than that, isn't there?" Nikki was watching him again, her eyes searching his face for something. "Why does Frank really want to leave?"

Bobby chewed his lip. "I think Frank is scared for me." Nikki's eyes widened just a bit. He hurried to explain briefly about Ellison and Frank's reasons for being worried.

"No wonder your brother is so protective," she said when he had finished. "This Ellison sounds like a real nut case. Have you gone to the police?"

"Yeah, Frank's got it covered."

The timer went off in the kitchen, and Nikki went to check on the meal. Bobby was glad to end the conversation. It had taken a depressing turn. By the time the table was set and the food served, Nikki seemed to have forgotten the previous topic and moved on to a discussion of her studies at the university.

* * * * *

Nikki studied Bobby as they ate. She continued to make small talk, trying to lift the tension that had pervaded the room earlier. She had a feeling that Bobby was more upset by the Ellison thing than he had let on. It must be pretty serious, if his brother was actually thinking of leaving town because of it. Why wouldn't the police lock up someone like that?

After the meal, Bobby insisted on helping with the dishes, though she could tell he was beginning to wear down. They had just finished putting away the last of the pots when the door bell rang.

"Oh, man, I hope that's not Frank," Bobby said dolefully.

"I'm expecting a friend from class to drop by with a book I need," Nikki explained, hoping it was Karen and not Frank. It would be humiliating for Bobby to be dragged home by his big brother.

Pulling back the curtains to peer out the window, Nikki was relieved to see her friend. She opened the door and invited Karen in.

The petite redhead bounced into the room, waving the book over her head. "I hope this is the one you needed, Nik. I couldn't remember which one you had--" Karen stopped short as Bobby walked into the room, drying his hands on a dish towel. "My God! Mr. Sandburg?"

Nikki and Bobby both stared at the woman who was staring at Bobby. Nikki recovered first. "This is Bobby, a neighbor. Bobby, this is Karen Harper. We have a few classes together."

"I'm sorry," Karen stammered. "It's just that...well, you look just like a teacher I had last semester. God! It's uncanny. You look just like him. But I guess you couldn't be..." She was still staring. Even Nikki was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

"It's okay, Karen," Nikki assured her friend. "You must just have one of those faces, Bobby. Everyone seems to be mistaking you for someone else."

Bobby had paled slightly, and Nikki was suddenly worried, remembering the last spell she had seen him have.

"Well, I gotta run," Karen said, still staring at Bobby. "Nate's waiting in the car. Nice to meet you, Bobby." She exchanged a troubled glance with Nikki and left.

"Are you all right?" Nikki asked. Bobby was still standing in the middle of the room, a confused look on his face.

"Yeah. Look, I need to get back before Frank really does come looking for me."

Nikki started to protest that it was still early, but something in Bobby's expression stopped her. They said their goodnights, and Nikki watched him cross the street and enter his own house.

She leaned against the door jamb and listened to the night sounds from the yard. Karen had looked as if she'd seen a ghost when she caught sight of Bobby. Why would a resemblance to a former teacher have upset her like that? There was something Nikki had heard shortly after transferring here that was nagging at the back of her mind, but she couldn't pin it down. Something about this Mr. Sandburg...It would come to her.

* * * * *

"Bobby!"

Frank's voice registered in the recesses of Bobby's mind, but he tried to ignore it. Sometime in the night, a killer headache had moved in, and Bobby was trying to stay asleep to fool the pain into leaving.

"Bobby! If I have to call you one more time, I'm going to feed your breakfast to that woman-across-the-street's dog!"

The voice had moved closer, making it impossible to ignore any longer. Bobby gave in and opened his eyes. He instantly regretted it as a stabbing pain forced them closed again. He moaned softly.

"Bobby?" Frank's tone was full of concern now.

Bobby wanted to tell him about the headache. Frank would give him a shot and make the pain go away. But when Bobby opened his mouth to speak, only another moan came out.

"What's wrong, little brother?"

He felt Frank's hand on his forehead, then it moved down to his wrist to check the pulse. God, Frank, it hurts! Make it stop! The hand moved away, and Bobby wanted to call it back. Don't leave me alone! After a minute, the touch returned, followed by a sharp prick at his elbow. Thank you, Frank... The pain would stop now. Frank always knew what to do. It would be all right now...

* * * * *

Nikki stepped off of the elevator onto the seventh floor, dodging police and civilians alike in the crowded precinct. For the thousandth time, she wondered if she were about to make a total fool out of herself. She had very little evidence to back up her suspicions.

Tossing and turning most of the night, Nikki had replayed Karen's reaction to seeing Bobby and the story Bobby had told her earlier about the nut who insisted Bobby was someone else. Two cases of mistaken identity? Could be a coincidence, but Nikki had never been one to believe in coincidence. So, bright and early this morning, she had started making phone calls. It hadn't taken long to learn that this Mr. Sandburg had died only a few months ago. Just about the time of Bobby's accident. Another coincidence. A few more calls turned up the most interesting information yet. Blair Sandburg had been associated somehow -- she had yet to figure this one out -- with the police department and, in particular, with one Detective James Ellison. Yet another coincidence. One too many for Nikki's taste. So, here she was, probably about to totally embarrass herself and dredge up painful memories for this detective, but she was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.

Nikki walked straight to the closest desk, before she could lose her nerve. "Excuse me, could you tell me where I could find Detective Ellison?"

* * * * *

"It's a dead end, Jim," Simon insisted. He was perched on the edge of Jim's desk, flipping through the file folder in his hands for the hundredth time. "There's nothing on Lowery. He's fallen off the face of the earth. He quit a thriving medical practice over a year ago and disappeared."

"He was holed up somewhere, plotting this twisted little scheme!" Jim said vehemently. "This bastard is out there, Simon. We have to find him."

Simon sighed heavily and tossed the folder on the desk. "I know it, Jim. God knows we're doing everything humanly possible to find him. I've even got off-duty cops out on the streets, busting there ass on this case. But it's a big city. Unless he shows himself, I don't know what else to do." He stopped and sighed again. "He can't stay hidden forever. We'll get him."

Jim dropped his head into his hands. He was so tired. He had slept only a couple of hours in the past two days, and his mind was beginning to demand rest. He jerked his head up and rubbed angrily at his eyes. How could he even think of resting when Sandburg was alive, out there somewhere, and in trouble?

"Detective Ellison?"

Jim looked up to see an attractive young woman standing a few feet beyond his desk. He nodded.

"Am I disturbing you?" She was obviously nervous.

Jim sighed wearily. He was too damned tired for this. Whatever this woman needed, someone else was going to have to help her.

Thankfully, Simon came to his rescue. "This really isn't a good time. Maybe one of the other detectives could help you." The captain stood and glanced around the busy squad room.

"I really need to speak to Detective Ellison about this. I'll just come back later." Disappointment was written across her face.

She started to turn away, but Jim had a sudden stab of conscience. Just because he was miserable, didn't mean he couldn't be civil for a minute. Whatever the woman wanted was obviously important to her.

"No, that's all right," Jim called after her. "I have a few minutes. How can I help you, Miss...?"

The woman turned back, uncertain now. "Estes. It really can wait. It's probably foolish anyhow. I shouldn't even be bothering you with it."

Jim sighed, getting exasperated. He wasn't going to beg the woman to talk. He had better things to do. He picked up the file folder on his desk and flipped it open impatiently.

"That's Frank!" The woman exclaimed.

Both Jim and Simon jerked their attention back to Miss Estes. She was staring in wide eyed surprise at the photograph attached to the inside cover of the file...a photo of Frank Lowery.

"You know this man?" Simon asked cautiously.

"Yeah, he's the reason I'm here. Well, not the reason, but part of it."

"Maybe you had better come into my office," Simon suggested.

Jim followed the woman into Simon's office. He was almost afraid to hear what she had to say. They had been searching every inch of this city for two days with no luck, only to have the break they were looking for walk right in the front door. Could it really be this easy?

Once they were all seated, Simon addressed Miss Estes. "How do you know Mr. Lowery?"

"He's my neighbor. Is he is some kind of trouble?"

"You could say that," Jim answered. "You said he was only part of the reason you were here, Miss Estes?"

"Please, call me Nikki," she smiled. "Actually, I'm here about his brother, Bobby."

Jim jumped up, knocking over his chair and startling the woman. "Is he all right? Do you know where he is?"

Nikki looked from Jim to Simon. "Well, yeah, he's home, I guess. I mean, he is most of the time."

Jim grabbed the woman's arm and pulled her from the chair. "You can explain why you're here on the way."

* * * * *

Frank adjusted the cloth across Bobby's eyes and checked his pulse again. The young man roused slightly.

"Frank?" The voice was soft and full of pain.

"Yeah, kid, I'm right here. How do you feel?"

"A little better."

"Good. Just get some rest, Bobby. It'll pass soon."

Bobby was quiet for a long moment. Frank thought he had fallen back asleep. Then, "Frank, these spells are getting worse, aren't they? How come the medicine doesn't help anymore?"

Because the medicine is what's causing the pain, Frank answered silently. Aloud, he said, "I'll find something that will help, Bobby, I promise. Doctor Hamill is too damned old. We'll go somewhere else, just as soon as you're up to the trip, and we'll find a new doctor. It'll work out, you'll see." It had to work out. He wasn't going to lose Bobby again. Not when it was in his hands this time.

Bobby lifted his hand weakly, and Frank took it. "Stay with me, Frank. I don't want to be alone."

"I'm not going anywhere, little brother, I promise."

* * * * *

Jim pulled his gun as he approached the door. Beside him, Simon did the same. The detective closed his eyes, wishing with his every breath he could call upon his Sentinel abilities. He needed them now, more than he ever had before.

You were born with these abilities, Jim. Simon's words came back to him. You can ignore them, you can pretend they aren't there, but you can't make them go away. Jim concentrated on the words, imagining them spoken by not Simon, but Blair, in that calm tone the anthropologist adopted when he slipped into Guide mode.

Jim took a deep breath and let the outside stimuli slip away until all he heard was Blair's voice in his head. You were born a Sentinel, Jim. It defines you. You can't deny it. As the words faded away, Jim saw the panther behind his closed lids. It stared at him, unblinking. Jim knew what it was waiting for. He took another breath and stretched out with his hearing. Nearby, a dog barked, he tuned that out and reached further, forcing away the sounds he knew were normal. At last he was rewarded with the faint beating of first his own heart, then Simon's beside him. With a small mental smile at the panther still watching him, Jim pushed those sounds away and reached still further. He found two more heartbeats, but neither was the familiar one he was looking for. From the direction and distance, he guessed they belonged to Brown and Rafe at the back door waiting for their signal. With another glance at the panther for reassurance, Jim tried once more and this time was rewarded with the sound he was searching for. He opened his eyes to find Simon staring at him in concern.

"Does that little zone out mean what I think it does?" the captain asked with a slight smile.

Jim smiled broadly in return. "They're upstairs, almost directly above us. I think Blair's asleep. His heartbeat is really slow."

Simon grinned in relief and spoke into the his mic, informing the two detectives at the back door that they were going in quietly. By the time he had finished, Jim had taken care of the lock and had the door open. Jim stepped cautiously into the living room, confirming what he already knew; it was empty. He motioned to Simon and headed for the stairs. As they ascended slowly, Jim tuned in to the room where both heartbeats were located. Lowery's voice spoke in soothing tones. He could hear nothing of Blair but the slow, steady beating of his pulse.

Jim stopped at the top of the stairs and assessed the situation. The door to the room was pushed to, but not completely closed. They could both clearly hear Lowery speaking to Blair, talking about a trip they were going to take together when 'Bobby' was better.

Jim slid forward quietly, and with a glance at Simon to be sure the captain was ready, he kicked the door open and pointed the gun into the room. "Freeze!"

Frank jumped, dropping a syringe just short of Blair's arm. The sight of Lowery, about inject God only knew what poison into his friend, was more than Jim could tolerate. Before he knew what was happening, he had the man in a death grip with one hand while pummeling him with the other. Simon was at his side, only half-heartedly trying to stop him. He was vaguely aware of Brown's hand on his arm, not really trying to hold it back. It was only the sound of Blair's weak voice from the bed that finally penetrated Jim's fury.

"You're killing him! Stop him, please!"

Jim let go of Lowery and turned to his partner. Blair was trying to sit up in the bed, but seemed to lack the energy to accomplish it. His eyes were full of fear as he weakly watched Lowery slide to the floor.

"Frank!"

The desperation in the cry tore at Jim's sanity. Blair was calling for Lowery! The man that had killed him! Blair was calling for him and fighting obvious pain to try and reach the man!

Jim took a step toward Blair, but stopped when the young man pushed himself back on the bed in fear. This couldn't be happening! Blair couldn't be afraid of him! How in the hell had Lowery managed to twist Blair's mind so completely?

"Jim, wait." Simon's hand was on his arm. "He's confused. He doesn't know us. Let me try."

Simon took a step toward the bed, pulling his badge from his pocket and holding it where Blair could see it. "We're police. We're not going to hurt anybody."

"What the hell's going on? What are you doing with Frank?"

Brown had Lowery handcuffed and was trying to get the man to his feet. Lowery was beginning to struggle.

"We're arresting him," Simon explained. He tried to move closer to Blair, but stopped as Blair clutched at his head and let out a soft moan.

"Let me go!" Lowery yelled. "Can't you see he's in pain? I can help him!"

Jim took a threatening step toward Lowery, but Simon stopped him. "Don't, Jim. You're only making it worse."

Rafe entered the room, glancing toward the bed, then back to Simon. "Ambulance is on it's way. ETA, six minutes."

Before Simon could answer, Nikki pushed past Brown as he shoved a still screaming Lowery through the door. She took one look at Bobby sitting on the side of the bed clutching his head in pain and hurried to his side. "Bobby, are you all right?"

He looked up, his eyes filled with tears. "Nikki, where's Frank? I need Frank. He can stop the pain." The tears spilled over as Nikki took him in her arms and tried to calm him down.

Jim watched the scene in horrified silence. Blair was right there, less than five feet away from him, and Jim couldn't even touch him. Jim had never felt so out of control in his life, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

By the time the ambulance arrived, Blair was unconscious in Nikki's arms. She moved away, letting the paramedics examine Blair.

"You okay, Jim?" Simon asked.

"No."

"I didn't think so. Me neither."

Nikki moved closer to them as they all watched the paramedics check Blair out and strap him to a stretcher. "He wasn't in an accident, was he? What's wrong with him?"

"We suspect Lowery was drugging him," Simon said. He glanced at the syringe still laying on the floor. "And judging by what we saw when arrived, I think we may be right."

* * * * *

"Trephadine is a very strong mind-altering drug," Doctor Doganiero explained. "It inhibits specific brain function, at least in theory. It's experimental, with very unpredictable side effects. Used in the dosages we're looking at here, I would say Mr. Sandburg is a lucky man. Had the ingestion continued much longer, he undoubtedly would have suffered massive brain hemorrhaging. As it was, he must have been in considerable pain. They have him stabilized and sedated for the moment. Physically, his prognosis is good."

"But...?" Simon prompted the psychiatrist.

"Once the drug is purged from his system, his memories will begin to filter back, but it's going to be a slow and painful process. Mr. Sandburg was nearly hysterical when he regained consciousness, to the point where he was endangering himself. Until these problems can be addressed, we will have to keep him restrained and under close observation."

"Can I see him?" Jim knew the answer before he even asked.

"As I said, Mr. Sandburg is heavily sedated for the moment. But you have to understand, Detective Ellison, Mr. Sandburg is mentally confused. He feels you are a danger, and he is convinced that you attempted to kill the man he believes is his brother. It may be a while before he is ready to see you."

"How long are we talking here, doc?"

The slightly-built man rubbed at the back of his neck as he considered his answer. "We're looking at four or five days, at least, possibly as much as a week, until we can flush his system of the drug. It's had months to build up. Theoretically, his memories should began to filter back as his system clears. But as I said, trephadine is highly experimental. There is no way to predict exactly what we'll be dealing with. We'll have to cross each bridge as we come to it. And there's the additional trauma of what's happened to him. He has essentially lived another man's life for the past three months. He has believed he was that man. And he has developed a relationship with the person that caused this trauma. We have a lot of demons to exorcise here, detective. Don't expect it to happen overnight."

* * * * *

Blair's knee jerked up and down rapidly as his foot tapped off his excess energy. He wasn't even aware that he was doing it. He had pulled the one chair in the small room close to the window and was sitting, staring down at the busy hospital parking lot. There were bars on the window, which seemed odd for a hospital. Blair suspected that he was in the psych ward, but he hadn't asked. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know. He certainly felt like he belonged with the rest of the nut cases. Half the time, he wasn't even sure of his own name. Bobby? Blair? What difference did it make? Both of those people seemed like a distant memory or a bad nightmare. He couldn't even choose anymore which one he wanted to be.

Blair wished he had a watch or clock or some way to keep up with the time. His day was measured by meals and shrink sessions. Breakfast? Must be morning, time for Doctor Doganiero. Lunch? Afternoon, and time for Doctor Shane, followed by Doctor Doganiero again. Supper? Bedtime.

He glanced over at the empty breakfast tray and sighed. Time for Doctor Doganiero. He smiled to himself as he heard the door click and the man's irritatingly calm voice.

"Good morning, Blair."

"Bobby," he automatically corrected before he could catch himself. He turned to Doganiero just in time to catch the frown on the man's face. "Sorry, I don't know where that came from."

The doctor sat on the edge of the bed, facing Blair. "Where did it come from, Blair?"

"You tell me. You're the shrink, right?"

"Are you angry at me?"

Blair sighed tiredly. "No, I'm not angry. I'm just a little confused this morning."

"About what?"

"I guess it's just the dreams I had last night..."

Doganiero was silent. Blair knew the doctor was waiting for him to elaborate. "They were about Frank." Again...Every time Blair closed his eyes, he saw Frank. He was having trouble reconciling the loving brother he had known with the monster everyone claimed he was. Doganiero had discussed with Blair the psychosis that had driven Frank Lowery to his actions, but that didn't explain how the man could have made Blair love him, or how gentle and caring Frank had been as he nursed Blair back to health after the accident. NO! Dammit! There was no accident!

"Blair?" Doganiero prodded.

"Do we have to talk about Frank today?" Let's leave him for another time, okay? I'm really not ready to deal with big brother's betrayal right now, thank you.

Doganiero studied him in silence for a moment. "No, we can talk about that later. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the possibility of a visitor."

"Nikki?" Blair's face lit up. He had asked to see her several times, but Doganiero had nixed the idea, though the doctor had confessed that the woman called daily to check on Blair's progress.

"No, not Miss Estes. I have another visitor in mind, one that I think you are ready for. I'll be right back." He rose and stepped out into the hall.

Blair's mind raced with possibilities, none of which particularly pleased him. But he was totally unprepared for the visitor that stepped through the door or the overwhelming emotion her presence elicited.

"Mom!"

* * * * *

Jim stopped just outside the door to Doctor Doganiero's office and listened. He clearly heard the heartbeats from within, all three of them. Blair's he identified immediately. The other two, he knew, were Naomi and Doctor Doganiero. The doctor had insisted that Blair was ready for this visit, but Jim wasn't convinced. He could too clearly remember the fear and desperation in the young man's eyes on that day, almost two weeks ago now, when they had 'rescued' Blair from Frank Lowery. Jim knew the stories Lowery had fed Blair to make him hate Jim, and though he knew that Blair was aware of the truth now, Jim was afraid of what he might see in his friend's eyes.

With a bracing breath, Jim pushed the door open and entered the room. Blair was sitting on a leather sofa, dressed in loose fitting sweats that hid his still too thin frame. Beside him sat Naomi. The doctor stood a few feet away, carefully gauging Blair's reaction.

"Hi, Chief," Jim said awkwardly. He had detected the increase in Blair's pulse rate, but otherwise there was no sign of nervousness or tension in the young man.

"Hey, Jim." Blair's face suddenly lit up in a smile that did more for Jim than any of the good news he had gotten from the doctors. This was Blair, his partner, his Guide...his friend.

* * * * *

Continued in Onoma a sequel to Falling Awake
Back to Ysone's FanFiction.

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