Part 5

(Please visit https://www.squidge.org/~candy_a/13-main.htm for warnings, disclaimers and author's notes)

 * * *

 Jim walked down the hall, scanning the area for his partner. He picked up on the familiar heartbeat as he neared the break room, and walked in to see Blair sitting at a table, leaning on it with his elbows, his fingers twined together. His expression was unreadable as he stared at the table top. Jim locked the door behind him, closed the blinds and walked over to pull up a chair next to Blair.

"Blair, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it sound like I didn't believe you." Jim watched as Blair continued to stare at the table top. "Sweetheart, look at me," he said softly, resting a hand on Blair's back.

"You don't believe me. God, Jim, I'm so scared. I know what I saw, and I know it's crazy, but I...I need you to believe me. And then the thing about my glasses--even if we get him in court, if somebody brings that up... Dammit, Jim, I know it was him."

"We're going to nail this guy, Chief. And when we do, you'll see what it was about him that made you think he--"

"I don't think anything. I know! There's a hell of a difference, Jim," Blair shot back. "I'm never going to live long enough to forget his face, or the...the evil in his eyes. It's him. The guy in the photo. I don't care how impossible it is." He swiped angrily at his eye as a tear leaked out. "I need you to believe me," he repeated softly, dejectedly. "I'm not crazy," he added, his voice shaky.

"I know that, baby." Jim moved closer and pulled the unresisting body against him, wrapping his arms around Blair and stroking his hair. "I know you're not crazy. I believe you, sweetheart."

"But you don't believe it's him. I know it's him. I know it," Blair concluded, starting to cry in earnest now.

"Shhhh. It's okay, Chief. It doesn't matter who it is--I won't let anything happen to you."

"That's not it!" Blair shouted through his tears. "I knew there was something horrible about this guy and now this? Jim, I know what I saw. I saw evil."

"Blair, if you look at a photo of Manson or Bundy or Gacy or any serial killer, you can find evil there."

"I wasn't looking at a fucking photo that night! And it was cold in the house, and there was something about him... Why won't you believe me?!" Blair shouted, desperation clear in his voice.

"Okay, Chief. Settle down. It's okay. I believe you."

"No, you don't!" Blair's breath hitched sharply a few times, then he added sadly, through his tears, "No, you don't." There was a knock at the door.

"Give us a minute!" Jim shouted back angrily

"What do we need more time for?" Blair pulled away, looking at Jim through wet, desperate eyes. "You don't believe me. There's nothing more to say. I thought after... I thought after what we shared, I thought you'd trust me."

"Blair, listen to me." Jim took hold of the wet face and looked into Blair's eyes. "I do trust you. And I do believe that you know what you saw. I'm only saying that I don't know how it's possible."

"That's not what you said before. You said it was impossible, and that means you don't believe me when I say that's who it is."

"It's just hard to take that leap..." Jim let go of Blair's face and stood up, pacing.

"Maybe it's time now for you to take that trip with me," Blair said quietly, wiping at his eyes, looking at the table instead of Jim.

"Meaning what?"

"In the hospital, after...the fountain. Remember I joked with you--I said 'come on in, the water's fine,' and you said you weren't ready to take that trip? Well, maybe it's time you did."

"It was a figure of speech. Besides, we're not talking about you here. We're talking about believing that some maniac who was shot and killed fifty years ago has come back from the dead. Big difference."

"I came back."

"It's not the same thing, Chief."

"I was dead, Jim. You said so yourself. I wasn't just dead for a second or two. I was dead a while."

"Blair, please, let's not revisit that, huh?"

"The real truth is that nobody seems to know how the hell long I was dead in that fountain before anybody even knew I was there! You know that there's no earthly way I oughta even be sitting here, but I am. Because something extraordinary happened. Something spiritual. So why couldn't something extraordinary and spiritual and evil have happened to bring Yates back to life?"

"Don't do this, Chief. Don't compare what happened with you to what you think happened here."

"Why not?" Blair stood up and approached Jim. "Because it scares you to consider the possibility of something so powerful that it can overcome death?" Blair paused. "Or because I scare you when you think about me that way?"

"You could never scare me, Chief. Where in the hell did that come from?" Jim took a hold of Blair's shoulders. "I love you. The only thing that scares me about remembering what happened is how close I came to losing you." He laid a gentle hand on the side of Blair's face. "How close we came to never making love."

"If I could be brought back, why couldn't someone else?" Blair asked, staring intently into Jim's eyes.

"I don't know. But there's a big difference between someone being brought back who has only been..."

"Dead," Blair supplied.

"...a few minutes and someone who has been dead and embalmed and buried for fifty years."

"Why? If you're dead, you're dead, Jim. I can't see how it matters much how long it's been. If you couldn't be resuscitated by natural means, and your resurrection is the result of something miraculous, or supernatural, what real difference does it make how long you were dead?"

"Okay." Jim leaned forward and kissed Blair's forehead.

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I'll approach this thing with an open mind. Okay?"

"Really? Or you're just trying to make me feel better?"

"Yes."

"Yes what, Jim?" Blair probed, unable to suppress a tiny smile.

"Yes, I will approach it with an open mind, and, yes, I want you to feel better." Jim pulled his lover into his arms, holding him close. "Because you're everything to me," he said in a strained voice. "If I'd lost you then, or...or that night in that house... I love you, Blair. I'd do anything for you."

"Even start a manhunt for a dead man?"

"Whatever," Jim said, smiling into the warm curls against his face. "Just promise me one thing."

"What?"

"When Simon has me committed, you'll work out a deal for conjugal visits."

"It's a deal, man," Blair responded, laughing. "Jim?"

"Hm?"

"I love you, too, by the way."

"Good. I was countin' on that, Chief." Jim pulled back. "Come here." He led Blair over to the sink and grabbed a paper towel, then used it to blot off the tear-streaked face. "Honk." He covered Blair's nose, curling his lip a little when Blair took him up, rather noisily, on the offer. "Now all we have to do is figure out how to track this guy." Jim tossed the used paper towel in the trash.

"Through the cults?"

"Yeah, probably the best launching point. But getting anything out of them is next to impossible. They're not exactly known for being above board and forthcoming with the authorities."

"I wasn't thinking of you walking in and flashing your badge."

"Then what were you thinking?"

"I could ask around. I know this guy at the U--"

"You're not going anywhere near these nuts." Jim shook his head. "They already know who you are. That would be suicide."

"Then maybe we can at least talk to Dr. Farraday together. He really does know his stuff. And you said there was a Homicide cop who had a background with cults?"

"Christine Logan, right," Jim said, nodding. "Let's get a hold of Christine, and then we'll take run out to the U. to talk to Farraday."

"Okay."

 * * *

 Christine Logan was on her way back in from her dinner break when Jim and Blair intercepted her in the hall and asked her to join them in Simon's office to confer on the case. A tall, attractive brunette in her late thirties, with her neatly styled hair and gray business suit, she looked more corporate than law enforcement. Jim, Blair and Simon filled her in on the pertinent facts of the case and provided her with a grim array of crime scene photos.

"You know about the Seattle case," she commented, sorting through the photos. "There were a couple of cases in the late Eighties that involved some ritualistic elements and mutilation, and about four years ago, I investigated a multiple homicide at the Glennview Apartments--you probably remember that case, Jim."

"Wasn't that a mutilation killing as well?"

"Yes, but the mutilations were a bit more...sexual in nature. These are primarily dismemberments and decapitations. This killer is coming from a different place than the Glennview killer."

"That case is still unsolved, isn't it?" Blair asked.

"We had a suspect, but not enough evidence. I still keep an eye on that guy to this day. He's a Satanist--very openly, as a matter of fact. Personally, I thought he was hiding in plain sight, but he claimed he had nothing to hide. We didn't have a lot of compelling evidence, so the D.A. agreed with him."

"Mind if we check him out?" Jim asked.

"Be my guest. His name is Charles Redding, and he lives in Pine Circle--you know that new housing development?"

"With all those beautiful big houses?" Blair asked.

"That's the one. He owns a real estate development company, and oddly enough, his weird lifestyle hasn't seemed to hamper business. But then, how many of us really know what our real estate developers do in their off hours?"

"Did he have a part in Pine Circle?"

"He was in a partnership with another developer--Andrew Rush? Interestingly enough, he conveniently died, giving Redding the chance to buy out his interests. Of course, it was a freak riding accident--he was into horses--but nobody could prove anything about that, either."

"So what kind of cult is he tied in with?" Blair asked.

"He considers himself some sort of high priest. He has a group that meets a couple times a week--black robes and everything. The D.A. said all that fell under freedom of religion, and that we couldn't bust the guy for wearing a black dress and chanting in his basement."

"What about his...followers?" Jim asked.

"We did our best to track them down, but you know, he only gave us about ten names, and I have a feeling there are more than that. When he was under surveillance, he had reason to suspect that he was being watched. I doubt we got the real skinny on the primary members of his cult."

"Might be interesting to have a chat with old Chuck," Jim said, leaning back in his chair.

"The Glennview murder did involve a number of Satanic symbols on the walls, including the inverted cross and the pentagram. But those aren't unique to any one cult. They're standard symbols."

"There were, what, two victims there?"

"Three, actually. We had one survivor, but she died in the emergency room. She wasn't able to tell us anything before she died." Christine gathered up the photos and tucked them in the folder. "There are a number of cults operating in the Pacific Northwest. Most of them are pretty underground, and the majority are actually not out committing big, major homicides like these. Most of them are cutting up animals at worst, often not even that. A lot of them are sitting around reading out of the Satanic Bible and wearing pentagrams or dressing in black. Some don't even do that. Some of them are teenagers listening to death metal and trying to shock their parents. That trend got popular back in the Eighties, when a lot of bands started using some of the Satanic symbols for the shock value."

"In your opinion, is there anyone besides Charles Redding that merits investigating?" Jim asked.

"I can come up with a couple more contact names for you. He'd be my first choice, but there are a couple of groups in Seattle that would bear investigating, too. There was a little furor with something we thought was cult activity at Rainier a couple years back--you might remember that, Blair," she said.

"Didn't it turn out to be a couple of students playing around with it? At least, that's what the gossip was on campus."

"More or less. There were no arrests. Well, there was some restitution paid to a resident for her dead cat, but she didn't press criminal charges."

"Her dead cat?" Jim clarified.

"These kids sacrificed it to Satan. She was an old lady--I think she was afraid of causing trouble. They paid her off and she didn't press charges."

"If you can get us those names, we'll get right on it. Meanwhile, I think we should pay Redding a visit."

 * * *

 "We could have waited until morning for this," Blair observed as they pulled into the long, winding drive of Charles Redding's posh home.

"I didn't even want to bring you along on this mission, Chief. I still don't think we should be dangling you in front of these lunatics in case one of them is involved."

"Yeah, well, maybe if he gets nervous, he'll trip himself up."

"Just let me do the talking. I don't want to give away any more information than we have to." Jim stopped the truck in front of the sprawling multi-level contemporary home. Both men got out of the truck, and froze at the sound of barking dogs. "They're inside," Jim said, approaching the door.

"That's reassuring."

"May I help you?" A tall man appeared at the door, the barking of dogs nearly drowning out his voice.

"Detective Ellison, Cascade PD. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg. We'd like to ask you a few questions if you want to call off the dogs." Jim nodded toward the house.

"Just a moment." The door closed again, and the barking waned a bit. A few moments later, the door re-opened, and the tall man in the black pants and gray sweater reappeared. "Excellent watch dogs," he explained, stepping back for them to enter. A large, sleek Doberman still stood at his side, watching the two visitors intently. "Why don't we go to the living room?" He led the way through the foyer and into a large living room that overlooked the wooded lot through a wall of windows. The room was accented with beamed ceilings and a large fireplace. He gestured toward the dark green leather furniture. "Have a seat, gentlemen. Would you like anything?"

"No, we're fine, thanks," Jim said as they both sat at opposite ends of the couch, with Redding occupying a matching overstuffed chair.

"I assume this is in regard to the two university murders," he said, crossing his long legs. He was a man in his mid-forties, with gray-flecked black hair and dark eyes. When standing, he was a bit taller than Jim.

"Why would you assume that?" Jim asked.

"Because whenever a depraved murder is committed, someone from the Cascade PD usually shows up at my door. I don't mean to be rude, but I'm a bit disappointed that it isn't Detective Logan. I somewhat enjoy her visits," he added, smiling. He then became more serious, and added, "Before you assume I have some sort of intimate knowledge of these crimes because I make references to Satanism, let me say this--whenever I'm questioned in connection with any crime, it's because I'm open about my religious practices. Just as society tends to frown upon open homosexuality, open Satanism is similarly unwise," he concluded, looking directly at Blair. "Are you a detective as well, Mr. Sandburg? Of course, you must be, in order to be Detective Ellison's partner." Without giving Blair time to respond, he continued. "If you'd like to wait a moment, I'll go get my planner. I'm sure I can account for the times in question."

"You could serve as a resource person for the investigation as well, if you have nothing to hide," Jim countered, an approach which seemed to momentarily disconcert their host. "As you said, open Satanism isn't common, and therefore we don't have many experts to consult when tracking a killer who shows a certain...affinity for Satanic symbolism. Provided your alibis check out, I would certainly be appreciative if you would be willing to lend your knowledge to helping us find this killer before he claims more lives."

"This is the first time I've been asked by the police for my expert assistance," he said, chortling. "I must compliment you on a novel approach, Detective."

"It's no approach, Mr. Redding. We do have great difficulty in finding individuals who have an active, working knowledge of Satanism and Satanic rituals, as well as cult activity in the area. As is the case with any activities, police knowledge of it and what really goes on are two different things."

"I don't intend to become an informant to the police department, turning in everyone I know who is a believer."

"I wouldn't suggest that you do that. But you're probably one of the few practicing Satanists we might have the opportunity to learn from."

"Then what kind of advice are you after?"

"Why don't you get your planner and we'll go over those alibis. Then we'll talk," Jim countered.

"Fair enough. Excuse me," he said, walking out of the room. His footsteps were heard on the stairs going to the upper level.

"What was that whole gay thing about?" Blair asked Jim in a whisper.

"His little attempt to rattle us. That's all. He couldn't have known it would hit this close to home."

"I feel like he knows something."

"About us or the case?"

"Maybe both."

"I'm not scratching him off the suspect list yet. Even the alibis won't prove he didn't know about it or that one of his screwball friends didn't do it." Jim fell silent and gave Blair a warning expression. A moment later, their host returned with a black leather planner and sat in the chair again.

"What was the date of the first murder again?"

"About six weeks ago--September 18th."

"I was in Chicago visiting my brother and sister-in-law. I can verify that if necessary. I was there from Thursday through the following Monday. I was probably in the jet when the murders took place." Redding frowned. "I saw the composite sketch on the news, and I don't resemble it in the least. I'm a bit curious why you're looking for alibis from me."

"We haven't ruled out multiple assailants."

"Ah," he said, nodding. "The second incident was just the night before last, correct?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Mr. Sandburg--you were the survivor of the first incident. That must have been quite a...life-altering experience, to come so close to death."

"It's not the first time," Blair said, more to himself than Redding. Realizing he'd responded a bit more casually than he intended, he smiled slightly. "I'm very lucky to be alive."

"Indeed." He looked back down at his book. "I was at home, and I'm afraid the only one who could corroborate that is Lady Gweneviere."

Jim raised his eyebrows. "Who?"

"Gwen!" Redding called, and in a moment, a massive black Great Dane trotted into the room and stood beside his chair. "I'm afraid she isn't much of a witness. You'll have to take my word for it."

"I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Redding. We'll be in touch." Jim rose, and Blair followed suit. "Would you mind if we took a look around?" Jim asked casually, pretending to take an interest in the odd painting that looked like a scene from Dante's Inferno.

"That's where my cooperation ends, Detective. Come back with a warrant, and I will be most happy to show you around personally. I do, however, value my privacy." He led the way to the foyer, where the dozing Doberman rose to stand and watched them as they exited.

"Understandable. Thank you for your time," Jim concluded.

"It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Sandburg," Redding said, pinning Blair with an intent look.

"You, too," he responded a little uneasily, happy to follow Jim from the house and out to the truck.

When they were on their way down the driveway, Blair shuddered visibly.

"Creepy."

"He's up to something. I know he doesn't match the composite, but he's definitely involved in this somehow, or he knows something he isn't telling." Jim relaxed in the seat, letting out a long breath. "You want to call it a night?"

"Yeah, I'd like that."

"Okay. Let's grab some food and go home. Give Simon a call and let him know we're packing it in for now."

"You know, Jim, I know I've probably used up my quota of weird shit for one lifetime with what we talked about earlier, but I really have a scary feeling about that guy."

"You think he was involved in the murders?"

"I don't know."

"He's a practicing Satanist, Chief. That's creepy."

"Actually, Satanism is a belief system--if it's not carried to the extremes of human sacrifice and violent rituals practiced on non-consenting victims, it's just a religion. Just being a Satanist doesn't make you a criminal or a killer."

"So dancing around in black robes and drinking goat's blood isn't creepy on its own?"

"Well, if they all did that, yeah, it's creepy. And some of them do, but some of them just read books and operate according to the teachings of people like Anton LaVey--he was the head of the Church of Satan. Jayne Mansfield even had ties to him."

"As I recall, she ended up dead. Not a good illustration, Chief." Jim navigated through the evening traffic toward the chicken takeout place.

"I thought we'd end up at WonderBurger for sure."

"You like those roll up things and the salads here, right?"

"Yeah," Blair responded, smiling.

"Okay then," Jim said, turning into the lot and getting in the short line at the drive-up window. "Now call Simon like a good little partner or I'll eat your chicken roll up."

 * * *

 With dinner consumed, the two men ended up on the couch with the TV droning in the background. Blair had tested the waters by sitting on the cushion next to Jim instead of in his own space, and soon found himself tucked under a large arm, cuddled close to Jim's side.

"I wish I could have gone to Danny's and the others' funerals," Blair said quietly, the statement taking Jim by surprise as he was almost dozing. "Once my name was out in the press...it wouldn't have been fair to the families. Still, I just feel really...empty not being there. Now there are more... God, Jim, they're all kids I know. All those people, all those lives just ...snuffed out. Sometimes I feel guilty for..."

"Hey, you don't have anything to feel guilty about, baby," Jim said, his tone unusually gentle. He kissed the top of Blair's head. "None of this is your fault. This psycho only targeted you first off because you survived his attack, and also because Mrs. Cohen accidentally confirmed your name with the press. Now he has someone to focus on harassing. That's all."

"If he's what I think he is, police protection isn't going to matter."

"Blair, I'm not sure what you think he is, but nothing is going to get through me."

"If something happened to you, I wouldn't care, anyway."

"It's not going to." Jim looked at his watch and then back at Blair. "You want to grab a shower and turn in?"

"Yeah, I'm wiped out." Blair let himself yawn then, but didn't move right away. "Jim?"

"Hm?"

"Does it bother you that we're together this way?"

"It was bothering me when we weren't." There was a smile in Jim's voice as he leaned his head against Blair's and squeezed his shoulders.

"I mean, Redding had a point."

"Redding was blowing smoke out his ass."

"But he was right."

"Maybe. But to answer your question, no, it doesn't bother me. We live together, we work together, we spend most of our time together. Short of running up and down the street yelling 'we're having sex!', what is there to 'come out' for? Half the people we know think we're gay, anyway."

"They do?" Blair asked, surprised.

"Now, who's bothered?" Jim said, chuckling.

"It doesn't bother me. Just surprises me a little, that's all."

"I think you might get points for being bi, since you've dated anything female that moved in the vicinity of the department, but I think they've got me figured as gay."

"Sure they do, Jim," Blair countered, laughing.

"Well, let's see. My marriage failed, I don't date very much, I lived alone until I met you and then a month or so into our relationship, you moved in with me and we've been inseparable from then on. Most of the time that I go to anything social connected to the department, I take you. Now, if you were one of our friends, what would think?"

"I'd like to think that I would assume we were good friends, and have an open mind to the possibility we might be more, but not assume it."

"Uh-huh."

"I'd figure we were doing it like bunnies every chance we got."

"Yeah, that would be my take on it." Jim chuckled again and sighed.

"You don't sound upset about it."

"They don't pay our bills, so why should I be? Anyone who has a problem with it can kiss my ass."

"Not anymore. That ass is mine now, Ellison."

"Oh, really?" Jim teased, fingers finding Blair's mid-section and beginning the evil tickling. After emitting a squeal Jim wouldn't have imagined could come from a grown man, Blair started wiggling, and before long, they were stretched out on the couch, Jim tickling and Blair laughing until he couldn't breathe.

"It's good to see you laugh, sweetheart," Jim said softly, relenting on his attack and kissing Blair's parted lips as the other man was gasping for breath.

"It felt pretty good, too," Blair admitted, still grinning widely.

"Shower," Jim said.

"Shower," Blair concurred.

 * * *

 Rinsing away the stress of the day, both men reveled in the chance to explore each other a bit more, sliding soap-slick hands over expanses of exposed flesh, mouths locking together in awkward unions as they caressed and rubbed against each other, the warm spray of the water enveloping them and relaxing them. Jim leaned against the tiles and moaned as Blair knelt and somewhat uncertainly took the long shaft into his mouth for the first time.

Not experienced at this, Blair had his hand around the base, his full lips wrapped around Jim's cock as if it were a giant popsicle. Truthfully, Blair wasn't all that good at what he was doing, but he was putting some delightful suction on some sensitive spots, and just watching a wet, naked Blair sucking him off was enough to be Jim's undoing. As his climax rippled through him, he tried to get a hand on Blair's shoulder to push him back, but Blair was determined to finish what he started, and he swallowed to the best of his ability and licked up anything he missed.

Taking a gentle hold of Blair's arms, Jim pulled him up for a long kiss, tasting himself in Blair's mouth, waiting to recover enough to return the favor.

"Let's get dried off," Blair whispered against Jim's mouth. "I can get my payback upstairs where we're both comfortable, and we need some sleep, man."

"I love you." Jim held the wet body of his lover close, wondering if it were humanly possible to love another human being this much, if anyone else felt anything as intensely as what he felt for Blair.

"I love you, too, lover," Blair responded, smiling against Jim's chest. Then he moved to turn off the water, and they got out of the shower and grabbed towels. Blair's sharp indrawn breath startled Jim into looking in the direction where his partner's gaze was riveted.

On the steamed up mirror, a perfectly neat and symmetrical pentagram had been drawn on the glass, as if with a finger through the fog.

"Jim...how...?"

"Let's just be calm here, Chief. Get in your robe." Jim grabbed Blair's robe off the back of the door and handed it to him, then wrapped a towel around his own waist.

"If someone got in here, you'd have heard it, Jim."

"I was preoccupied. Now be quiet." Keeping Blair behind him, Jim made his way to the door and tuned his senses on the rest of the apartment that lay beyond it. "I don't hear anything," he informed Blair, easing the door open slowly. Satisfied there was no immediate danger, he walked out of the bathroom and looked around. Figuring leaving Blair in the bathroom alone and unarmed wasn't as safe as taking him along, Jim motioned to him to follow. Relieved that they'd dumped their clothes in Blair's room, he retrieved his gun and, together, they walked through every inch of the apartment and checked every door and window for any sign of tampering, ending up in the loft bedroom.

"I really hope you're not going to try to tell me now that there isn't something weird going on here."

"No, there's definitely something weird going on." Jim tossed the towel aside and pulled on his favorite gray robe, then started back downstairs with Blair behind him. "Maybe someone got in earlier and put something on the mirror that would keep steam off that part of it."

"What kind of stuff does that?" Blair challenged as they returned to the bathroom.

"I don't know, but someone with some kind of chemistry background might be able to come up with something. Shit," Jim grumbled as they entered the bathroom, and found the mirror perfectly clear. As the steam had dissipated, that wasn't too surprising.

"Do you see anything?" Blair asked, watching as Jim turned the full force of Sentinel vision on the mirror.

"No, just the glass," Jim admitted. Obviously uneasy now, Jim moved away from the mirror and just stared at it. "I'll get someone from the lab out here to look at it--"

"Jim, get real. You know there's nothing on that mirror. And we both know what we saw when we got out of the shower."

"I know we saw a pentagram. But how it got there remains to be determined."

"You would have heard someone come in, and all the doors checked out. Jim, you and I both know there's no logical explanation for that thing being on the mirror."

"And I know there has to be. Things like that don't just appear."

"And dead men's prints don't show up at murder scenes, either, but it happened this time. And I saw him!"

"Blair, look, I said I'd keep an open mind here, and I will, but let's be reasonable. There are some things that just aren't possible and pentagrams appearing out of thin air is one of them."

"You lied to me. You told me you'd look into this, that you'd keep an open mind. This is not keeping an open mind, Jim!" Blair stormed out of the bathroom and into his old room, slamming the French doors behind him hard enough to rattle the glass.

"Blair, for God's sake, stop being so fucking melodramatic!" Jim hollered after him, striding out of the bathroom and banging on one of the doors. "Come on, give me a break here. If the lab doesn't find anything, you win, all right? I just want to eliminate normal earthly possibilities before I accept across the board that this is something...else."

"I don't want to win this," Blair said, his voice remarkably sad and tired as it carried through the closed doors. "God, Jim, I wanna be wrong," he said softly, his voice choked. "Come on, Chief. You're half asleep on your feet. Let me put you in bed upstairs and I'll have someone from the lab come in and look at the mirror."

"With me in your bed upstairs? We can't do that, Jim."

"Like hell. Come on. No more arguments." Jim opened the doors and went over to where Blair was sitting on his old bed.

"I don't mean to be such a basket case about this," Blair said, swiping at his eyes.

"You've been through a lot, Blair. Don't beat yourself up for that. You need some sleep. Once you're tucked in upstairs, I'll take care of this mirror thing." Jim pulled Blair up to his feet and steered him out of the room and toward the stairs.

"Don't call the lab. Just come upstairs with me and hold me a while, okay? You and I both know there's nothing on that mirror."

"I don't think there is, but if I don't find out, I'm always going to have doubts."

"Jim." Blair stopped them both in their tracks, near the stairs. "If something happens to me, I want you to know that the last couple of days--what's happened between us--it's everything to me. You're everything to me. You always have been."

"Nothing, I repeat, nothing, is going to happen to you."

"If this...force...isn't bound by physical barriers and earthly restraints, and it wants me, there's nothing you can do about it."

"That's enough. Now we're going to solve this goddamn case, and you're going to be free of this thing. And we'll be fine. No one is going to die--not you, not me. Got it?"

"I wish I could believe it."

"Believe it, baby." Jim pulled him into a tight hug. "Believe it, because we have to. Whatever this thing is, I won't let it have you. If you have to go, we'll both go."

"You don't know what you're saying."

"That I'd follow you into Hell? In a heartbeat, Blair." Jim pulled back. "Bed." He ushered Blair upstairs and into the bed, under the comforter, which he tucked carefully around his lover. "Get some rest. I'm going to take care of having the mirror checked out, and then I'll be up. Okay?"

"Okay. Jim...it's real, you know that, don't you?"

"I know, baby." Jim kissed Blair's forehead. "Rest. I won't be long."

 * * *

 Jim reached Cassie at the lab, and while he would have preferred to have Serena make the nocturnal visit, Cassie was good at what she did, and he could only hope she wouldn't interrogate him about Blair's sleeping situation. He wasn't exactly trying to hide their relationship, but he also wasn't ready to be the hot topic of conversation in the break rooms just yet. There was too much else going on to deal with that kind of distraction.

Cassie arrived quickly, and Jim motioned to her to be quiet. Might as well get this taken care of right now. Preemptive strike...

"Blair's asleep upstairs. I wanted him to get some rest, and not be disturbed while we were checking out the mirror."

"Is he okay?" she asked, seeming to accept that explanation, or just letting him off the hook from further interrogation. Which it was, Jim wasn't sure.

"Tired out and stressed out. He knew all the victims...it's been tough on him."

"I can only imagine. Gotta be creepy--having looked that lunatic right in the face." Cassie shook her head as she followed Jim into the bathroom. "You said you saw a pentagram on the mirror?"

"I thought so. I came out of the shower, and there it was. So I looked around the loft, but no one was here. Obviously, with the bathroom door open and the steam dissipating, so did the image."

"Right. Well, there aren't any visible finger marks like there should be from someone actually drawing a figure on the mirror. If you can take this mirror off your medicine cabinet, I can take it to the lab and run a few tests."

"Sure. I didn't figure you'd see much here, but I was hoping you could run some tests on it, you know--in case there was something..." Jim shrugged. "Is there some substance that could be put on it that wouldn't show up until things got steamy in here?"

"You mean something that would maintain the shape of the symbol so the condensation would accumulate everywhere but there?"

"Right."

"I can't say as I've heard of anything that would do that." Cassie frowned at the mirror. "At least, not one that would be totally invisible to the naked eye."

"What is that smell?" Jim wrinkled his nose. "Shit, smells like a dead body in here," he grumbled, walking out into the kitchen--just as Blair let out a scream from the bedroom upstairs.

"Sandburg!" Jim called out, running up the stairs two at a time, with Cassie close behind him. The odor he'd detected downstairs was almost overpowering up here. Blair was sitting up in bed, breathing heavily, bathed in sweat.

"It was him!" he shouted, pointing at the open window. Jim was there in a flash, scanning the quiet street below.

"There's nothing out there, Chief--but it sure as hell does stink in here."

"It was him!" Blair repeated.

"Him...the killer?" Cassie clarified.

"Yes," he said, willing himself, with some difficulty, to calm down.

"Cassie, you have one of your evidence bags handy?" Jim said, staring fixedly at the window sill.

"Sure. What is it?" She joined him there, and soon Blair was in his robe and standing behind them, watching as Jim pointed at a fragment of something on the sill. "Oh, wow," she said, carefully picking up the little grayish hunk of matter with her tweezers and dropping it in the bag.

"What?" Blair asked, grateful for the discreet hand on his back from Jim.

"I know what it looks like, but I won't know for sure until I get it back to the lab."

"It looks like a piece of decaying human flesh," Jim stated, and Blair did his best to suppress a little gasp. Cassie just stared at them both.

"Serena told me about your fingerprint analysis this afternoon. They're FedEx'ing a better print sample." She started down the stairs, both men behind her.

"There's something seriously strange going on here," Jim stated, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Oh, come off it, both of you. What does this guy have to do? He shows up in an upstairs room--on the third floor, for God's sake--escapes out a window before you can both get up there--and goes...where? And leaves a hunk of decayed flesh on the window sill. What the hell more do you people need to admit that I'm right?" Blair demanded. He'd been shaky and frightened earlier, but now he was getting angry.

"You want us to just accept that some guy who's been dead for fifty years is out committing multiple homicides. I'd say we had a right to analyze that theory carefully before blindly accepting it as the guiding force in our investigation!" Jim shot back.

"Well, analyze this. He just jumped out a third floor window without the benefit of a fire escape. Got in here without anyone hearing him. And this apartment smells like the inside of an old casket! How do you explain that?!"

"I'm going to take this back to the lab and attempt to do that, Blair."

"And while you're at it, why don't you dig up Warren Yates and compare that thing you've got in your baggie with the rest of the sorry bones that are left there and tell me if it doesn't match!"

"If you seriously believe this is Yates, how do you suppose he's getting around? He must have dug himself up already," Jim said sarcastically.

"I'm sure he had lots of help. But there should still be usable DNA in the casket--am I right?" He looked at Cassie.

"Probably, even if the corpse had been removed. After that much decay, there should be something usable for analysis." Cassie smiled and shook her head. "You know, I really don't have much chance of get an exhumation order for Yates."

"I know probably a half-dozen students at the U. who'll be glad to bring shovels, and they won't ask for paperwork first," Blair responded. "Someone has murdered ten kids there, and their friends are starting to take exception to the carnage."

"Let's not organize any midnight raids on the graveyard just yet, Chief. Let Cassie analyze this stuff and let's see what the prints show. If those match, I don't see a problem getting an exhumation order. It's my understanding Yates had no family. I think he was buried in a potter's field. All things being equal, digging up his grave shouldn't be a big deal with matching prints to justify it. But we all need to take a breath and step back a little and deal with this thing with some degree of logic."

"But you will push for authorization to exhume the body if the prints match?" Blair insisted.

"If those prints match, and this is what we think it is?" Cassie got a somewhat feral gleam in her eye. "I'll dig the bastard up myself." With that, she turned and headed out the door. Jim closed it behind her.

"Satisfied?" he said to Blair, who just waved him off with a hand and went into the bathroom. "That's fine, Sandburg. Walk away and shut the door," Jim retorted, his own nerves frazzled as he reached into the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. Jim winced a little when he heard retching sounds coming from the bathroom. Feeling like an ass for his last remark, he set the beer aside, took out a bottle of spring water instead and walked to the bathroom door. Half expecting it would be locked, he was glad when the knob turned easily.

"Blair?" He stepped in and found his lover sitting on the floor, leaning back against the tub, one hand on his stomach. The combination of odors was doing nasty things to Jim's own stomach, and he flushed the toilet, steeling himself against the lingering stench of death and the lingering stench of Blair's episode. "I'm sorry." He held out the bottle of water, and Blair just waved it off, turning away and curling up a bit against the side of the tub. "How sick are you, Chief?" Jim got down on one knee, really worried now, pulling a few strands of hair back from Blair's face.

"The smell...it's making me really nauseous."

"Come on. I'll take you to a hotel tonight. While you're at the U. tomorrow, I'll come back here and air things out."

"Jim?"

"What, sweetheart?" Jim asked gently, his hand having unconsciously started caressing Blair's hair.

"Am I losing my mind?" Blair asked in a strained voice. "It's so...real, and yet, I know it's...impossible. Sometimes I feel like...like I'm going crazy, seeing decaying dead men in my sleep and thinking it's real, and maybe even the smell is my imagination..."

"I smell it, too, Chief. I smelled it downstairs before Cassie and I came up."

"But you think there's some explanation for it, and I just feel like I know that there's an explanation, but not the one you want. Not one that any sane person would believe. So maybe...I'm losing my mind. The shock, you know, from Danny and the others..." Blair shook his head. "From last year..."

"What about last year?" Jim frowned, finally resolving to sit down and make himself comfortable on the tile floor.

"Could I be brain damaged and not know it? I mean, is there a way something could not be right with me? I was without oxygen a while. Sometimes I forget something or I get confused and I think it's because something got messed up. Maybe I'm not all together anymore."

"Blair, you're not insane, and you're not brain-damaged. Thank God," Jim added, putting his arms around Blair from behind. "I don't mean to make you feel like I think you're crazy. I don't think that. What's going on is so...hard to believe. Hard to figure out. I can't just accept it at face value. But that doesn't mean I think you're crazy." Jim found the hand that had been on Blair's stomach and held onto it, stroking the long fingers. "If the prints match, we'll dig up Yates and see what we find. And we'll take it from there." Blair's fingers closed tightly around Jim's hand. "Blair, is there any other reason you're worried that something was damaged...last year?" Jim asked, dreading the answer.

"Not really. I suppose it's just knowing that my brain was oxygen-deprived for...well, God knows how long, really…I wonder sometimes. When I can't seem to think straight or I get confused with something or I forget something. I keep wondering if it's normal, or if I lost something upstairs," Blair concluded, leaning back against Jim. " I guess maybe that's natural, to wonder about yourself."

"Sure it is. But you don't have to. The doctor said you were fine. You know that. All of your tests came back perfect." Jim carefully placed a hand on either side of Blair's head and kissed the back of it. "This beautiful brain is just fine, sweetheart. We've just got a tricky case here, but we'll figure it out."

"Sometimes I get scared about...us. We don't talk much about it, and it just kind of happened..."

"We moved pretty fast. I should have never taken you that way, that soon, before we had time to talk, when you were upset about the case--"

"I don't regret anything that happened between us. It was beautiful. It saved my sanity --what little I have left," Blair said with a slight smile. "I wonder sometimes if we're going to be able to handle things. I mean, now Cassie knows."

"Cassie doesn't know anything. I told her the truth--that you were worn out, that I sent you upstairs to get some rest where it was quiet, while I called the lab. Your old bedroom's right near the bathroom, and on the first floor. So it didn't tell her anything that I let you crash in the bed upstairs for a while when there would possibly be lab people downstairs making noise and wandering around."

"She's the only one who came, huh?"

"She figured that everybody needed their sleep, given the double shifts this case has been putting everyone through, so since she was working late, anyway..." Jim shrugged. "Look, Blair, I...I'm not going to put an announcement in the local papers, but I'm not going to go through some sort of masquerade, either. We'll be professional at the office, and we'll use good taste in how we behave in public, but I'm not going to hide what's between us. And in our own home, I'll be damned if I worry about fooling people."

"I love you."

"I love you, too, Chief." Jim hugged his partner from behind. "Everything's going to be okay. We'll get to the bottom of it. And when it's over, we'll take a little trip somewhere and talk as much as you want."

"Did you say something about a hotel?"

"Yeah."

"Not necessary. We can crash at my office."

"Your office," Jim repeated, deadpan.

"Yeah. It'll be like camping out." Blair turned around and smiled at Jim. "We can just take an extra sleeping bag, and a pillow or two, and we can sleep there."

"I guess a hotel is a lot of red tape for a few hours of sleep, isn't it?" Jim acknowledged, standing up and then pulling Blair to his feet. He handed Blair the water. "Drink this. Get dressed and I'll grab--one sleeping bag?"

"Yeah--I have one there already."

"Okay." Jim left Blair to rummage for clothes in his old room while he went upstairs and got dressed himself. Then he grabbed one sleeping bag and rolled up a couple of pillows in it, making it into a cumbersome bedroll he lugged downstairs and put in the back of the truck.

 * * *

 Rainier University was eerily silent in the dead of night, and Jim felt a shiver run up his spine to think that Blair had come here, with Alex Barnes at large, let himself into this big, empty building, and spent the dark hours here alone before...

"Jim?" Blair was standing inside the open office door now, looking back at Jim, who was still standing out in the hall. "Come on, close the door. It's fixed to lock. There's room right over here for the sleeping bags." Blair led the way to a small area of clear floor near the file cabinets.

"Grab your bedroll, Chief." Jim started spreading out his sleeping bag, and Blair grinned when he saw the two pillows pop out of Jim's bundle of bedding. After adding his own sleeping bag to their makeshift bed, a bit of rearranging ensued until Jim's larger bag was on top, and the two of them crawled into it and snuggled together. "This was a good idea," Jim admitted, feeling himself drifting a little.

"Does the backup know where we are?" Blair asked, his body relaxing against Jim's. It occurred to Jim that honesty was probably a cornerstone of their relationship, but he also knew that Blair was drained, and finally relaxed and ready to sleep. And he could handle anything that came up in the four hours or so they had to rest.

"We're covered, Chief. Go to sleep," he responded softly, rubbing Blair's back gently.

"Which means 'no,'" Blair added, smiling against Jim's chest. "It's okay. I trust you," he said, yawning widely and closing his eyes. In a moment, he was asleep.

"I trust you, too, baby," Jim whispered. "I just wish I could believe so easily," he added, more for his own benefit that Blair's. The sleeping man merely shifted a bit, tightened his hold on Jim, and then stilled.

 * * *

 Jim opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. It was unfamiliar, disorienting at first. Then he realized they were still in Blair's office. It was still dark, so he figured he hadn't been asleep for long.

There it was again. The noise. A noise that had awakened him, that he couldn't identify. Now it was back again. Footsteps, coming up the stairs toward the third floor where they rested. Dislodging Blair gently, Jim slid a pillow under the empty arm and drew the flap of the bag up over Blair's shoulder.

"Jim?" The question was slurred with sleep, and Blair never opened his eyes.

"Go back to sleep," Jim whispered, kissing Blair's forehead before rising to his feet and drawing his gun. He eased over to the door, and stood there listening as the footsteps approached the door, then paused. In a moment, a key was in the lock, turning it. Jim stepped back from the door, gun aimed straight at it.

"Hold it--"

"Hold it--"

Jim and the campus cop stared at each other for a moment, guns drawn and pointed. Blair was on his feet now, moving up behind Jim.

"Will, hi--what're you doing here?" Blair asked, obviously acquainted with the campus police officer, who now holstered his weapon, and Jim did the same.

"Everything okay in here?" he asked Blair.

"Fine. We were just catching a nap. Our apartment is...uh...being fumigated," Blair lied fluently.

"You usually have cops downstairs, don't you? When I saw the truck out front, and no police unit, I thought I should check it out. Sorry about drawing my piece on you, Detective," he said to Jim, who just smiled.

"I could say the same thing. No harm done." Jim frowned. "How did you know who I was?"

"When I got a good look at you, I knew. Blair's got some pictures around here." The other man, who was in his mid-thirties with dark hair and a pleasant smile, gestured toward bookshelves on the wall nearby. Among the many volumes were a number of framed photos, over half of them featuring Jim, or Jim and Blair together.

"I suppose we should have let someone know we were in here. I don't imagine you get too many visitors at this hour."

"Not many, no. Even the die-hards get out of here by midnight. And after what's happened with the murders, even they aren't showing up as often." He smiled and shrugged. "Well, I guess I should let you guys get back to sleep. It'll be a couple hours before things get noisy in here." He headed out the door and down the hall.

"Thanks, Will," Blair called after him, and the other man waved over his head as he continued on his way out of the building.

"That was exciting," Jim commented, closing the door again.

"Security is pretty tight around here. Especially after--they took a lot of heat from the Board of Trustees after the whole incident with Alex and the...fountain," Blair said. "The campus cops really got raked over the coals that someone could walk into the faculty offices and haul a faculty member out...well, you know the rest. Apparently, the big shots thought it was pretty pathetic that something like that could happen, and that it took the Cascade PD showing up to find me."

"So they hired more cops?"

"No, they just threw the fear of God into the ones they had. So now if someone breaks wind after hours, they call in the S.W.A.T. Team. Will's in one of my Anthro classes. He's working on his degree."

"I never noticed all these pictures you had up here." Jim moved over to the shelves and started looking at the various framed photos. He found he showed up in most of them.

"All the happy memories--they're nice to relive when I'm looking through the books," Blair said, moving up next to Jim. "I keep meaning to get a new piece of glass for this one. I guess I just need to buy a cheap frame the same size..." Blair trailed his fingers over a small, carved wood frame that held a photo of himself with Jim and his Officer of the Year plaque. "It was broken sometime while Alex was here."

"You still don't remember everything that happened, huh?" Jim asked gently.

"No. I guess that's not too unusual. I probably never will remember the last few minutes. Honestly, I don't really want to, so it's okay. I remember her showing up and pulling the gun; I'm sure we struggled." Blair shrugged, shaking his head. "I just don't remember particulars."

"Probably just as well. Hey, you want to grab a little more sleep?"

"Sure." Blair returned to the makeshift bed, and Jim got in with him.

"Blair, I'm really sorry I made you feel like I thought you were crazy, or that I made you doubt yourself. I didn't mean to do that."

"I know. It's okay. I don't blame you for being skeptical."

"More like scared," Jim admitted quietly. As Blair's eyes fixed on him, Jim looked down into the face of the man he loved. "I know you're right, Chief. I'm so sorry for the way I've treated you about it. I know you're right, and it scares the hell out of me." Jim pulled Blair close against him. "I'm the one who needs his head examined, not you. I had no right to treat you the way I did when I knew you were right."

"I didn't want to be right."

"I know. Cassie getting the lab results is just...a technicality. It's what we need to move ahead. But I just wanted you to know, before the test results, before the verifications...that I believe you."

"Thanks." Blair snuggled close, sighing. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Jim smiled then, looking into the deep blue eyes, and moved down to claim the lush mouth. Shifting onto their sides, the two men continued kissing, barely pausing for the occasional breath.

Blair's hand slipped down to Jim's fly, nimbly opening the zipper and working its way past the barriers of denim and cotton until it wrapped around the semi-erect shaft lurking there. Jim groaned and moved his own hand down to return the favor, freeing Blair's cock from its confines and pumping it slowly but firmly.

"Mmm...feels good," Blair purred against Jim's neck, kissing and nibbling at the soft skin there.

"You're not bad...yourself," Jim managed, smiling and finding Blair's mouth again, licking at the full lips before they began kissing again.

With a strangled, muffled yelp of pleasure, Blair came first, with Jim following close behind him.

"This sleeping bag is going to smell like us for a long time," Blair whispered, grinning.

"I guess we better save this one for when we'll be getting some, because I'll be way too horny to sleep in it otherwise," Jim observed, laughing.

"No matter what happens, the last few days have been the best of my whole life," Blair said solemnly. The words and the somber tone chilled Jim to his very soul.

"Nothing's going to happen, baby. I promise." He pulled Blair into a tight embrace, not really caring that they were sticky and smelly and had just come all over their clothes. Both had brought a change of clothes for morning, and even if they hadn't, the closeness mattered more right then than all the stains in the world.

"I just wanted you to know...in case..." Blair sighed and snuggled against Jim. "You know, when everything happened with Alex...I had so much undone, things left unsaid...I don't want that to happen again."

"It won't, because I'm not going to fuck everything up this time, Chief."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I left you alone when you should have had protection."

"We thought she was gone. Things were falling apart, and the Sentinel thing--"

"None of that is going to happen again. This time I know what's important."

"Yeah, me, too," Blair responded, smiling.

"Try to get some sleep so you don't nod off in front of your class."

"Why not? Half of them are nodding off, anyway. They won't even notice. It's an eight o'clock class, man," Blair concluded, chuckling.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart." Jim kissed Blair again and made sure they were tucked under the cover.

"Love you," Blair said as he drifted into sleep.

"I know. I love you, too, Chief." Jim smiled and joined his partner in rest.

 * * *