Part 8

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

 * * *

 When Jim rallied the next time, it was because of the insistent ringing of the telephone. Blair was still sleeping deeply, nestled in his arms. Jim chided himself for dozing off, knowing that they couldn't both let their guards down at once. Blair had been through hell; he needed to be guarded and cared for, and he needed rest for whatever the ordeal to come would demand of him.

Carefully disengaging himself, Jim slipped downstairs and picked up the phone. Looking at the clock, he groaned before the caller even had a chance to speak. It was after six, the loft was bathed in shadows, and he had yet to show up at headquarters. Simon wasn't pleased.

"I thought you were coming in this afternoon," he said.

"I was, but something's happened with Blair... He's having a really bad time, and I can't leave him."

"Maybe he needs some professional help, Jim."

"I...I don't think that's what he needs most right now, sir." At least, not in the way you're thinking...unless you know a good exorcist who makes house calls.

"Tomorrow morning, I.A. is convening a hearing regarding the Redding shooting. I think it'll be mostly routine, but your presence there is not optional--understood?"

"Understood, sir. Any word on Yates?"

"When it became apparent we weren't going to be seeing you anytime soon, a group of us got together for a sort of...strategy session on how to handle this mess. First of all, the black fluid sample is semen, so for now we're calling it a 'semen sample with an unidentified dye compound'. It'll keep all the people Dan called for opinions and input off our backs so we don't have a convergence of science nerds on our lab."

"Does Dan honestly think there is some 'unidentified dye compound'?"

"No, not really. He doesn't know what to think. He won't even touch the vial again."

"So he's convinced it's supernatural?"

"Between him, Cassie and Connor, we've had a regular little meeting of the spiritualists' society. I expect they'll be starting the exorcism rituals soon."

"Was that the outcome of the meeting--the dye compound story?"

"That wasn't all of it. Cassie brought in her samples and lab reports on the matter taken from the loft, and she finally 'fessed up about what you told her regarding the mirror incident, and now she's totally convinced that we have a walking dead man out and about killing people. Needless to say, we aren't making that our official departmental stance on the case."

"Simon...what I'm going to tell you...you're going to think I'm nuts and sign me up for early retirement, but I swear to you it's the truth."

"What?"

"I think... No, I don't think. I know...Blair is...he's...possessed."

"Possessed?" Simon repeated, deadpan.

"Yes, sir. Possessed. He tried to kill me a few hours ago."

"God, Jim, you need to get him into some kind of facility where they can give him some counseling--for his safety and your own."

"You don't understand. You didn't see him. It wasn't Blair. It was whatever is in Blair. Whatever was...infused into his soul and his body...during the rape."

"So you're trying to tell me that the rape put this demon inside of him?"

"Yes. And it explains the black semen sample. When Blair was...behaving strangely in the hospital earlier, and I tried to talk to him about what happened, he told me he'd been...he said he was...raped by Lucifer."

"Jim, they probably terrorized the kid with a lot of sick shit in that ceremony. And if he's trying to kill you, it's probably part of the anger and hostility he's coping with from what he's been through. You have to get him some help, not sit there and agree with him that he's possessed. You don't catch a demon like you catch V.D."

"Simon, this is serious."

"I agree. But I also don't think Sandburg is possessed. I think he's traumatized, and unstable because of it."

"I've seen Blair traumatized before. I've seen him so buzzed up on golden that he was ready to take out anybody who got in his path. But he has never once turned on me. Not once."

"Maybe it's because you just started...you know...what you started. And then all this happened."

"I don't know why I even told you this. I thought if you could keep an open mind about the whole Sentinel thing, maybe you could understand this, too. I'm not crazy, and neither is Blair. I know what I saw, and it wasn't Blair."

"Look, Jim, if you're trying to get the I.A. hearing postponed--"

"Fuck the I.A. hearing. If they want my goddamned badge because I shot the son of a bitch who raped Blair and was about to kill him, I'll deliver it along with my resignation as soon as this thing is over."

"Throwing away your career isn't going to help Sandburg."

"Neither is walking out on him in the middle of a crisis so I can do the minuet with I.A. all day."

"I'll get the hearing postponed. Don't ask me how, but I'll figure something out. But you need to calm down."

"With all due respect, sir, would you be calm in my place?" Jim waited through a long silence.

"You're sure about this...possession thing?"

"I'm not an expert, but I know I wasn't dealing with Blair. Whatever it was used his body. And Blair's body would be the best protection against me really fighting back, because I don't want to hurt him. All the more so because he's still recovering--I couldn't even chance really putting a few moves on him to overpower him, because I didn't want him to tear his stitches or aggravate his...situation."

"Look, Jim, I realize that science doesn't know everything... Hell, I wouldn't have believed in Sentinels until I worked with one... What I'm trying to say is, if you need help with...whatever...call."

"Thanks. I will." With that, Jim hung up the phone and sighed tiredly. He tuned in on Blair, and smiled at the sound of the peaceful, sleeping respiration.

Glancing around the loft, he took in the damage done by the wind that had torn through the apartment earlier. If he'd had any doubts that any of that experience was real, the panorama of broken and displaced stuff was enough to dispel it. Cleaning the loft was sure to wake Blair, and really wasn't a priority at the moment, so Jim stepped over the destruction and went to the bathroom to wash up. Since his jeans and underwear were both pretty gross from their earlier interlude, he tossed them in the hamper along with the shirt and t-shirt he was wearing. After cleaning himself up, he put on his gray robe and went back out to the kitchen to fix them sandwiches. Blair would need something to eat when he did rally, and Jim could feel the rumbling of his stomach despite his concentration on other, less physical concerns.

"Jim?" Blair's voice came from the upstairs bedroom. There was a thread of panic in it, despite Blair's best attempt to sound casual.

"Downstairs, Chief. I'm just fixing us something to eat. You getting hungry yet?" Jim called back, glad the food was almost ready. He began loading it on a tray.

"We have to talk about something."

"I'll be right up." Jim laid a couple bottles of spring water on their sides on the tray with a plate containing two sandwiches, and a couple of apples. It wasn't fancy, but it would fill the void for now. He grabbed a washcloth out of the bathroom and soaked it with warm water, and took it, a towel and the tray upstairs. When Jim arrived at the head of the stairs, Blair was lying on his back, propped up by a couple of pillows so he wasn't totally prone, but wasn't sitting, either.

"Jim, I've been thinking."

"You've been sleeping, Chief." Jim set the tray on the floor and kissed the top of Blair's head. "How're you feeling?"

"A little better. Still...funny. And...sore...you know, from..." Blair gestured vaguely at his body.

"I know." Jim sat next to Blair on the bed. "You need to eat something."

"Jim, I think you should report me for trying to kill you."

"Why would I do that?" Jim frowned, producing the wash cloth. "Come on, Chief, relax a little. I need to wash you up." Jim went about the task of washing him.

"You'll report me as having attacked you and tried to kill you. Then you can tell them I'm unstable from my ordeal, and that I'm armed and dangerous. And I'll leave." Jim's head snapped up at that. "Hear me out, Jim. Whatever this thing is, I have to get it away from you. I don't know if it's some...demon in me because Satan has a claim on me now, or if it's some horrible evil within me that was implanted there during the... through the...rape. What I do know is that I tried to kill you. And holding onto me and staying involved with this is going to end up costing you your life."

"So you think I should just dump you? Let you be locked up in a loony bin or thrown in prison or shot by some overzealous rookie?"

"Jim, we're talking about the threat of being pulled into eternal torment--not just a rough spot in our relationship. I don't want to take you there, and I don't know how long I can have any say in things." Blair waited as Jim calmly finished washing him, then dried him, then motioned to him to slide out of the sticky jeans. Blair followed directions and Jim covered the lower part of his body with the comforter. "Jim, you're not answering me."

"I know." Jim sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the tray, setting it across Blair's legs. Then he stuffed another pillow behind Blair to raise him up higher so he could eat.

"Well?" Blair prodded.

"You seem to think there's some difference between Hell and losing you. There isn't. So whether I follow you into Hell or see you go there by yourself and blow my brains out, the choices aren't too pleasant. Personally, I'm not ready to give up the hope of beating this thing yet."

"But if we don't--"

"If we don't, we'll face the consequences together. If we do, we'll have a whole lifetime ahead of us. I think that's worth the risk."

"You don't understand... Jim, if we lose, and this...thing inside me wins, it could take us both down with it. I don't think 'for better or worse' includes the threat of eternal damnation."

"It includes everything." Jim sighed. "Look, we made vows to each other--they might not have been official, in front of a holy man somewhere with a lot of uncomfortable clothes and overpriced caterers, but they were vows, nonetheless, and we sealed them right here in this bed. We're together, for better or for worse, for keeps. No disclaimers, not 'we're together as long as it's easy'--we're together, period. And nobody and nothing is going to take you away from me. Does that clear things up?"

"I'm so scared," Blair admitted quietly. "You don't know...it's horrible. It's so...evil...and ...and dark." Blair ran a shaking hand back over his hair, pulling it out of his face. "When Redding... When he...raped me, he...he changed, Jim. It was like he turned into something different. His eyes...his voice...and this voice was demanding that I pledge myself to the Master." Blair stopped, wiping at a tear that rolled down his cheek at the mention of his ordeal. "I knew it was going to hurt, I really did," he said, the tears coming a little harder now. "I was ready...and I knew he was going to hurt me worse because I wouldn't...pledge myself...but this... The pain was like, it was like being torn apart, and burned and scalded. I thought he was tearing my insides out." Blair covered his face with both hands and sobbed into them as Jim moved the tray out of the way. "I'm sorry," he managed.

"Shhh. It's okay, baby." Jim pulled the shaking body into his arms and held Blair close, rocking him slightly. "I'm here, honey. I'm right here. Everything's going to be okay. It's going to be all right," Jim crooned, stroking Blair's hair, the other hand rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"It was more than normal pain...it was torment...it was a taste...of...of...H-Hell," Blair choked out.

"I know, baby. I know. You're mine, Blair. I love you with all my heart. Whatever this thing is, it can't have you. And that's final. I won't let it hurt you anymore."

"It's in me, Jim," Blair moaned, holding onto Jim's robe with white-knuckled fists. "I can't control it. When it takes over, I just...I lose...myself."

"Blair, listen to me. That's what you can't do. You have to fight it."

"I can't."

"You have to, Chief. You've got no choice. We've got no choice. We both have to fight with everything we have, everything we are." Jim kissed the top of Blair's head and then squeezed him harder. "We have to fight for us. You have to help me. When I reach out to you, you have to reach back. Wherever you are, you have to fight to stay with me, to keep the contact. Understand?" Jim felt a nod against his chest. "I'm not letting you go, Chief. Not now, not ever. I'm scared, too, and I don't know how this'll all turn out, but whatever happens, we stick together. Okay."

"Okay," Blair muttered, sniffling and fighting the last of the tears.

"I know it hurts, sweetheart. I know he hurt you."

"I was just...yours...not his," Blair choked out.

"You're still just mine. You kept your vow to me, remember? You wouldn't break your promise. Nothing he did to your body changes that. You're still my beautiful Blair, my lover, my partner, my best friend. My Chief." Jim smiled as Blair managed a watery chuckle, followed by an ungodly snorkel. "Here." He snagged a paper napkin off the food tray and handed it to Blair, who stayed snuggled close to Jim while he cleaned himself up a bit. "You need to get a little food down. Let's start with some water, huh?" Jim asked, and Blair nodded.

Separating briefly, Jim picked up a bottle of the water, opened it, and then pulled Blair back against him. He steadied the bottle while Blair held it and took a few long swallows from it. Then Jim took it and drank a bit himself. After they had gone through most of the first bottle, Jim picked up the plate, and with Blair close against his side, the two of them ate slowly

"It's going to be okay, Blair. Believe in that. We'll beat this thing."

"I wish I had your faith."

"You have it. You trust me to love you no matter what?"

"You know I do."

"Okay, then. That love is going to be stronger than anything else thrown at us. It won't break, it won't shatter, and it won't let go."

"I bet when you let me bring Larry and move in, you never pictured us ending up here."

"You want to know something?"

"What?"

"Even if I'd known about this--about this...cult thing happening to us...I wouldn't have changed a minute of the last few years, and I wouldn't have given up making love with you for anything. I have no regrets, Blair--no matter how this all ends."

"Neither do I," Blair responded, smiling.

"Come on. Eat up." Jim picked up the second half of the sandwich and handed it to Blair, who made the effort to finish his food.

"Jim... Even if we get through all this alive... I don't know if I'm ever going to be normal again."

"Do you mean sexually?" Jim asked gently. Blair nodded. "You think that would make a difference in whether or not I wanted to save your life?"

"No, of course not. But I don't think I can..."

"You have a recovery to get through when this is over. And I'll be right here by your side the whole way. Whatever we can have together, it'll be enough--more than enough." Jim kissed Blair's forehead. "You're all I want, Blair. You. Just the way you are. Okay?"

"Okay," Blair whispered, swallowing hard. "I love you."

"I know. I love you, too." Jim sighed, just relaxing there, treasuring the quiet intimacy with Blair in his arms, wondering how long before they had to weather the next storm. "Do you have any thoughts on anybody we could call, anyone who could help us?"

"I know one professor at the U., she teaches a lot of courses in ancient religions. She's a little strange at first glance, but she really knows her stuff. The Board keeps trying to find ways to get rid of her, because they think she's a blemish on the institution's image, but she has tenure," Blair said, actually smiling a little.

"There's no danger she'd be involved with a cult or anything is there?"

"There's always a danger. I mean, you said Simon and the Chief just about keeled over from some of the names on Redding's guest list."

"True. I guess headquarters is a real hotbed of irate people, lawyers, press...it's a zoo." Jim let a soft curl wind around his finger.

"What happened to Redding, anyway?"

"I shot him."

"I.A. must be loving that."

"I.A. can go screw themselves. I'd have shot that motherfucker dead whether it was justified or not. It was just a nice bonus that I could get away with it." Jim took in a deep breath. "I'm sorry. You don't need me ranting at you now."

"It was justified?"

"Blair, after what he did to you, it would have been justified if I'd dangled him by his balls over a pit of sharks. Shooting him was way too goddamned generous. But, yes, in the eyes of the law, I believe they'll find it justifiable. That's what the hearing will be about." Jim patted Blair's shoulder. "But that's not the most important thing here. Who is this professor, and do you think she's reliable to help us out?"

"Her name is Shandra Wylie, and she's part of the Sociology Department. She's been at Rainier about ten or twelve years now, and I've been in a few of her classes. She would know me by name or on sight. We're not close friends or anything, but we've talked at a few faculty functions. I think she'd be willing to talk to us about this."

"I'll give her a call."

"Actually, this is probably perfect, because I think she teaches a night class on Thursdays, and it should be about due to get out in a half hour or so."

"Okay. Hey, meantime, you want to take a quick shower and get into your sweats or something? You might feel a little better--refreshed."

"Yeah, I would. I think I need a shave, too. Man, I feel really cruddy, like a truck ran over my head." Blair slumped against Jim's shoulder and sighed.

"When this is over, I'm taking you away from here for an extended vacation. Just the two of us. What do you think of that idea, huh?"

"I think it sounds like paradise. God, Jim, I don't want to lose all the things we can have together."

"We're not going to. That's why we're going to fight this thing with all we've got, and why we'll win. Okay?"

"Okay." Blair smiled a little sadly, then pulled away, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his face.

"How do you feel, honey?" Jim reached over and rubbed his back, watching as Blair shifted uncomfortably in the sitting position.

"It hurts...but not as bad as I thought it would."

"The doctor was really shocked by how much you had healed when he looked at you this morning," Jim recapped, accepting now that Blair really didn't know what had transpired earlier.

"It's probably not for any good reason, that's for sure. Whatever this thing is, it probably doesn't want to be impeded by a torn up body." Blair eased himself up onto his feet, walking slowly around the bed. Jim stood up and met him before he reached the stairs.

"Take the steps nice and slow, Chief. You want me to carry you? I don't want you tearing out your stitches here."

"I'll just go one at a time." Blair looked up at Jim, then smiled, laying a gentle hand on either side of Jim's face. "You're my one love, Jim. No matter what happens, always remember that."

"Everything'll be okay--"

"I know. But just in case, promise me that you'll remember that I never stopped loving you."

"I promise."

"Good." Blair lingered there a moment longer. "I better go get washed up."

 * * *

 Finding the number in the Rainier faculty and staff directory Blair kept near the phone, Jim called Shandra Wylie while Blair was in the bathroom. Relieved to reach her at her office after her evening class, he told her about their dilemma and braced himself for disbelief, or at worst, a hang up. Neither response followed. Sounding fascinated with what he had told her, she agreed to come to the loft that evening to meet with them both and discuss the situation. When he hung up the phone, Jim had to smile. He knew now what people in leper colonies must feel like when someone agreed to visit the contaminated areas. Not everyone would come near someone allegedly possessed by a demon, and finding someone who still put some stock in the problem, but who was willing to take that risk, was a rare find indeed.

The shattering of glass shook Jim out of his momentary reverie, and he rushed to the bathroom and opened the door, not knocking or waiting for an invitation. He was barely in time to capture Blair's hand, holding a jagged piece of the broken mirror, before it sliced across the younger man's own face.

"Drop it, Chief, come on!" Jim had his arms around Blair from behind, hands around Blair's wrists, putting special pressure on the one holding the shard of glass. The response he received was, at first, an inarticulate, unearthly growl, and then a string of gravelly-voiced words in some strange tongue Jim didn't understand. Catching a glimpse of Blair's face in the mirror, he could see the transformation had taken place, the blue eyes were deep black at their centers, and the expression was nothing short of sinister. The temperature in the room had dropped so drastically that the condensation on the mirror was turning to frost.

Finally, Jim managed to force the hand holding the glass to release it, and he seized the opportunity to spin Blair around and punch him out, catching him before he hit the floor.

"Damn it, Blair," Jim whispered, feeling tears burn his eyes. "I'm sorry, baby," he whispered against the unconscious man's hair as he lifted him into his arms. Blair had bathed and changed into clean underwear and sweats, and Jim had to swallow the lump in his throat when he spotted the underwear Blair hadn't had time to toss in the hamper. A couple of small blood stains marred the pale blue fabric. The doctor had said a little spotty bleeding wouldn't be unusual, but it didn't make it any easier to handle. And now Jim had been forced to hurt Blair further just to save him from maiming himself.

He began his trek to the loft bedroom, distracted by the sleeping face against his shoulder. In this state of unconsciousness, Blair looked so peaceful, so innocent, so pale and tired. While he was calm in the repose of sleep, the stress of his ordeal told on his features. Jim laid him gently on the bed and, pausing only momentarily to steel himself, fastened a pair of handcuffs on Blair's right wrist, securing it to the railing behind the bed. Hastening to shift Blair on the bed so there was as little stress on the restrained limb as possible, Jim stuffed a pillow under Blair's forearm. He was as comfortable as he could be. Drawing the comforter over Blair's prone form, Jim kissed his forehead and then slid into a pair of jeans, socks, shoes and an old blue shirt just in time to hurry downstairs to answer the knock at the front door.

On the other side stood a tall, attractive, African-American woman with curly, shoulder-length black hair, dressed from head to toe in black, the only accent a large silver amulet dangling from a chain around her neck. Jim estimated her to be in her early forties.

"You must be Jim," she said, extending her hand. "Shandra."

"I'm sorry," he apologized, realizing he'd simply stared at her upon opening the door. So much was going through his mind that even the simple social graces seemed to be escaping him. "Come in," he said as he finished shaking her hand and stepped aside. He closed the door behind her. "Thank you for coming over."

She looked around, frowning. "Where is Blair?"

"Maybe you should sit down." Jim had one ear on Blair, making sure he hadn't rallied yet. He didn't want him to come to alone, restrained. "I don't know where to start..."

"Let me help, then. You said you thought it was a case of possession, brought on by the ritual Blair was subjected to?" She turned sideways in the corner of the couch where she sat, facing Jim, who sat at the other end of it.

"Yes." Jim went on to describe as much as he knew about the ceremony, and left nothing out, including the black semen sample. He hadn't even told Blair that much--at least, not while he was in his right mind and would recall it--and hoped he wouldn't have to know, at least not yet. He also explained Blair's erratic behavior, personality changes during his time in the hospital and when they first arrived home, and then the attack upstairs and the most recent incident in the bathroom. He explained the supernatural suspicions Blair, he and a few others at the PD had regarding the case, and then waited for her to either begin laughing, or run for the front door. Instead, she just nodded and took it all in until he was finished.

"I don't know what Blair told you about me, but contrary to my image, I don't know all there is to know about the Black Arts," she said, gesturing at her black garb. "Truthfully, this get-up pisses off the dean, which is a large part of its appeal."

"So you can't help us."

"I didn't say that. Why did they target Blair as their sacrifice? Was it solely to eliminate a witness?"

"This might sound crazier than the first part of the story, but...it was because Blair is... Blair is a shaman," Jim blurted, and Shandra raised an eyebrow.

"Blair is a shaman," she repeated.

"Last year, a very dear friend of mine passed away, here in the loft. He was a member of the Chopec tribe, a people indigenous to the La Montaña region of Peru. When I was... stationed in Peru, I spent a great deal of time with the Chopec. Incacha was a shaman--a very powerful one, I believe. When he died, he took a hold of Blair's arm," Jim illustrated with a hand on his own arm, "and told him that he was passing the Way of the Shaman on to him." Jim shrugged. "I honestly didn't think a lot about it after that--with Incacha's death, and the case we were working on at the time... Then, earlier this year, Blair was attacked in his office at the U., and..."

"We're all pretty familiar with what happened at the fountain outside Hargrove Hall," she interjected. "Blair is well-liked at Rainier; everyone was upset by that, and worried for him at the time. We were very relieved to have him back in one piece," she added with a smile.

"I second that," Jim said, smiling.

"I'm sure you know that one of the rites of passage for a shaman is some type of death and resurrection."

"Blair mentioned that, but he hasn't dwelled on it very much. At least not that he's talked about."

"A shaman is capable of contacting the spirit world, communicating with those on other planes. I know Blair is interested in meditation and centering himself, and exploring his spirituality..." Shandra shrugged. "I would think he could be a very powerful shaman under the guidance of one more experienced. If your friend--Incacha, was it?" At Jim's nod, she continued. "If he had lived to guide and teach Blair, to help him hone his gift, Blair probably would be, right now, a very powerful force to be reckoned with. What he has now is basically akin to raw talent without structure--he has the power, but no real feeling for how to use it."

"Look, Shandra, I don't mean to be rude--God knows you're the only person either of us knows of who might help--but what good does it do to know all this? I know Blair's a shaman, I know he has something special about him, something deeper and more...spiritual than a lot of people walking around. But how do we...fix this?"

"Unfortunately, I can't just throw some holy water on him and say a couple of prayers and stand back while he projectile vomits the demon out the window. That only happens in the movies."

"What can we do?"

"Let's go see him. Is he awake yet, do you think?"

"No, he's not," Jim replied, then hastened to add, "He seemed to be out cold."

"He's all right, isn't he?"

"He will be. I pulled my punch--just enough to floor him. I needed to get him upstairs without hurting him, and to get him restrained."

"This way?" She gestured toward the stairs as she stood and started moving in that direction.

"Yes," Jim responded, following her.

When they arrived at the top of the stairs, in the glow of the dim lamp on the dresser, Blair's face still remained placid in sleep. But now it was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration, and Jim could feel the heat radiating from his partner from where he stood. Moving to Blair's side, he felt his forehead.

"Damn, he's burning up." Jim reached for his cell phone, which he'd left on the night stand.

"Who are you calling?"

"His doctor. If this is an infection, I can't just leave him like this while we're trying to figure out what to do."

"Jim." Shandra was staring behind Jim, at Blair, who was now watching him with two dark eyes. He chuckled low in his throat.

"Didn't know you were into handcuffs, Jimbo," he said, tugging at his restraint. "Or threesomes," he added, leering at Shandra.

"Blair?" Jim asked hesitantly.

"Blair," the thing mocked Jim's hesitant tone.

"Jim, try to reach him," Shandra whispered.

"Blair, you have to fight. You have to come through, remember? Fight to make the connection."

The creature in Blair's body just chortled again. Irritated by its arrogance and determined to reach Blair, Jim straddled Blair's body and held onto the one free wrist, using his other hand to stroke Blair's face, ignoring the unnaturally black eyes and the twisted expression.

"Feel me here with you, Blair. Come on, Chief, reach back. I'm reaching for you. Reach back."

"I'll reach back, you stupid son of a bitch." The words were spat out angrily in Jim's face. "If you love your Blair so much, take off the handcuffs."

"Blair, come on!"

"Blair, you have to find the connection to your own soul," Shandra said, her voice considerably calmer than Jim's as she moved to the empty side of the bed, and sat next to them. "Listen to me, Blair. From wherever you are, this is your soul...you must reclaim it."

"Fuck you, bitch," came a low, guttural response. Blair's head whipped sideways to glare at Shandra. "I'll drag you down to Hell," it snarled, twisting Blair's face into a threatening leer.

"You won't drag Blair down there because he's not going," Jim insisted, still keeping the younger man's body restrained.

"Blair, reach out for your soul. Center yourself and concentrate on becoming one with your own soul, your own self. It wants your soul, Blair. You must take it back."

Suddenly, Blair's head whipped around to look straight at Jim again.

"You want him? You want him back? You're gonna have to come down to Hell to get him."

"Jim, don't let him bait you," Shandra cautioned. "This isn't a game and he's not some street perp. His challenges are real," she added.

"You want him back? He's mine now. Come and take him back from me."

The challenge was issued, and Jim's decision was made. Despite Shandra's warnings, he answered the thing that leered up at him through a perversion of Blair's eyes.

"Fine, you son of a bitch, give it your best shot," Jim shouted angrily.

And in a heartbeat, there was a deep rumbling from beneath them, and the temperature plunged again, frosting the railing and the handcuffs.

"Jim, break eye contact!" Shandra yelled, but her voice seemed to be coming from far away, from some distant place, and all that mattered now was a battle of wills between Jim and whatever force was looking at him through those dark eyes. Then everything went black, as if the lights had been extinguished, and even Sentinel vision couldn't penetrate the blackness.

 * * *

 Finding himself standing alone in a place that wasn't a place at all, Jim tried to focus his senses on something, anything...

What do you fear the most? asked an unseen voice.

"Losing Blair," Jim responded without thought.

Are you certain? came the taunting voice again. It wasn't as guttural as the voice he'd heard from Sandburg, but it was deep, rich and resonant.

"I'm certain," he replied, wondering what that would evoke. In an instant, he began to find out...

 * * *

 Blair felt light. Lighter than he'd felt since the whole ordeal had begun. He tugged at his wrist, puzzled that it was trapped in something, but enjoyed the delicious lethargy a moment longer, anyway. Then the pain invaded him, radiating out from his center, and he remembered in a horrible flood how he had earned that pain. Groaning and opening his eyes, the rest of his memory trickled back. Jim was lying on the bed next to him, and Shandra Wylie was hovering over him, something Blair could only describe as panic etched on her attractive features.

"Shandra?" he probed, finding his voice a little rough and reluctant to flow.

"Blair...oh, my God..." She looked from Blair back to Jim, and then back again. Blair tugged at the handcuff restraining his wrist.

"Did I do something to Jim?" he asked, panic in his voice.

"No, no you didn't. But Jim...you were having an...episode, and Jim...challenged the... entity. Blair, I think it took him instead."

"Oh, God," Blair struggled to sit up as best he could with the restraint, and groaned loudly at the sharp pain in his nether regions. When the entity left him, it obviously took its healing properties with it. He could feel something warm and wet in his underwear, and realized he was bleeding. Significantly. The healing had been undone, and the exertion and struggling he'd been through in the last twenty-four hours was obviously too much for his mortal body to handle and still hold the stitches. "Get me out of this thing," he said, pulling on the handcuff.

"How?" Shandra was off the side of the bed in an instant.

"Jim keeps a spare key on the dresser--in the top right hand drawer, in the back, in a small black box." Blair watched as she dug furiously for it, and when she'd found it, she rushed back to the bed and released his wrist. "We better put it on Jim. I can't stop him if he goes nuts." Blair watched as she locked the cuff into place.

"How do you feel?" Shandra's question hung there for a moment, as it registered with Blair that she was inquiring about his spiritual health.

"Free," he said, without hesitation. "Now it's Jim's turn," he added, pulling himself up on his knees with determination, ignoring his body's protests, sitting on the bed next to Jim and taking his hand. "How do I do this?" he asked Shandra.

"Blair, you're a shaman. That means you can walk in other worlds."

"So, I can go get him, is that what you're saying?"

"In a sense, yes, but you're untrained, inexperienced... Jim told me about Incacha. Blair, you have to reach him. It's the only way."

"I was thinking about that earlier...if I could make contact."

"You have to make contact."

"Isn't it true that a shaman can visit the netherworld?" Blair asked, looking back at Jim.

"Yes, but I think doing so when you have never really made a spirit journey before would be suicide."

"I've been to the other side once already."

"You haven't been into the depths of Hell. I don't know what's there, either, but I do believe that it's nothing to take lightly. I know it's hard, but you're going to have to calm down, and meditate--"

"Meditate?! While this...thing has Jim?"

"If you want him back, you'll have to go get him. And you can't go without a Guide--without an older, more powerful, more experienced shaman to guide you. I understand a few things about these matters, but I'm not gifted. You are, and Incacha was, and together, you'll have to bring Jim back." She paused. "Stay with him. I'll gather up some candles. Where are your meditation supplies?"

"In the downstairs bedroom, in the big bottom drawer of my desk--there's a box with some candles, incense, a couple of CDs..." Blair shrugged.

"I'll get them." Shandra paused at the head of the stairs. "Are you all right? You still look very pale."

"I'll be fine." Blair nodded, and she hurried downstairs. Turning his attention back on Jim, he stroked the fevered forehead with his hand. "I love you, Jim. You have to come back, come to the surface, fight this thing. You told me to fight to keep the connection. Now you have to do that."

 * * *

 He was walking down a dark road, listening to the sounds of crickets and the rustle of trees. How he'd come to this place, Jim had no idea, but it wasn't what he had been expecting from the wrath of Hell. It was actually rather peaceful. Lulled into that false sense of security, he picked up on the sound of car engines in the distance. Rounding a curve in the road, he stopped dead in his tracks as he spotted two cars. One was a rather non-descript sedan, several years old. The other was a real classic, black with white accents. The license plate read, "Jack's Toy."

"Dear God," Jim muttered to himself, watching in mute shock as two people got out of the sedan and approached the side of Jack's car. The clouds moved away from the moon just in time for him to have a perfect picture of the shots hitting his former partner, shattering his face into pulp, throwing him down on the seat and bathing the fabric beneath him in blood.

"Thanks a lot, Slick," came a ghostly voice from behind him. Jim spun around, confronted now by a horrific apparition of his dead partner. His body was intact, wearing the suit he was last seen in, but the white shirt had turned salmon-colored with blood, and from the collar of it rose Jack's neck, which progressed into a horrendous, bloody pulp where the face should have been. The partially ruined jaw moved up and down with the thing's speech patterns. "Was she a good lay, partner?" And then, somehow, even without a face, it was laughing, and Jim found himself running, afraid to look back, racing down the center of the dark country road.

And then he was running through the woods, his strides faster but shorter, underbrush crunching beneath his feet. Then his foot caught on something, and he was propelled forward, landing on all fours in the dirt... Facing Bud's corpse, with its staring eyes and ghastly throat wound and bloodied chest. Jim looked away to his own hands, turning them back and forth frantically, stunned to see a child's hands, hands he hadn't seen since he'd grown.

"I told you to believe in yourself, Jimmy."

Jim's head shot up, and he sat back on his heels, speechless, as he watched Bud's corpse sit upright, eyes still glassy, blood oozing from the wounds on his neck and chest. The voice was raspy.

"You should have believed in yourself...stopped that madman from killing again."

"I did believe in myself. It was my dad..." Jim put a hand to his throat, horrified to hear his childhood voice coming out now. He looked back at Bud.

"Excuses, excuses. You won't be a real man until you stop making excuses for your own failures," Bud croaked.

"It wasn't my fault!" Jim shouted.

"Take responsibility for the consequences of your actions--or inactions," the dead man said accusingly. Then, he awkwardly hoisted himself to his feet and moved toward the spot where Jim was crouched. The dead man's head still hung at an odd angle. Feeling terror welding him to the spot, Jim forced himself to move, forced his legs to carry him away from the dead man and his condemning words. Words he'd said to himself over and over again: Somehow, I should have made someone listen, stopped an innocent man from dying, stopped Aaron from killing more innocent people later...

He stumbled and fell in the underbrush, his chest heaving. Briefly, he felt safe, as a familiar hand stroked his brow tenderly, the soft voice that always restored his sanity surrounding him like a warm blanket. He lay there on the ground, his head pillowed on Blair's lap, looking up at the younger man's smiling, beautiful face...

And then he was alone, lying on the floor of the jungle, amidst the wreckage of a downed helicopter. His downed helicopter. God, no, I don't want to relive that...

 * * *

 "All right, Blair, you need to relax," Shandra said, lighting the last of the candles. Sitting in the lotus position on the bed next to Jim, Blair felt every twinge of the searing pain that had come with his waking, and figured overcoming it would be the first challenge of his meditation. Had his healing not been unnatural, he doubted he'd have been released from the hospital so easily. He'd known when the violation was happening that it was doing damage, that he was bleeding profusely even then. Now, without the foul entity using his body, he was left without its strength and its healing powers, and his body was left to its own mortal devices.

Closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing, Blair worked hard to rise above the physical plane, to move away from the pain in his body and concentrate on the serenity in his soul. Focusing on reaching Jim, on salvaging their lives together, made the quest easier.

"Call to Incacha, Blair," Shandra whispered. "You must focus on opening yourself to him, listen for his answers," she murmured.

Blair conjured up a vision of the fallen shaman in his mind, and he found himself smiling at the picture of Incacha wandering about the loft, exploring, and finally touching on the CD player...

"Earth Music," Blair said softly, smiling. In answer to his words, he heard the strains of the very music Incacha had liked so well, and he tried not to concentrate on their probably mundane source from the little CD player by the bed. Instead, he let visions of the jungle surround him, the music serving as a sort of soundtrack for lush greenery, exotic flowers, vibrantly-plumed birds...and in the middle of it all, Incacha, walking among the foliage, a peaceful expression on his face.

"I need your help," Blair said, trying to keep the edge of desperation out of his voice. "You must embark on a spirit journey, to find Enqueri," Incacha replied. Blair wasn't sure if the other man was speaking in his native tongue, and by some miracle, Blair understood, or if he were speaking English. Perhaps on this plane, it doesn't matter, Blair reasoned, moving closer to Incacha.

"I was possessed by an evil spirit, and now it's taken Jim. I don't know how to help him."

"Follow me." Incacha moved easily through the dense foliage, followed by Blair, until they came upon a clearing which housed a small cluster of huts and a communal area marked by a cooking pit and the rudimentary toys of the children. Incacha continued until he entered one of the small huts, and Blair followed. There, in the middle of the structure with its dirt floor and single sleeping mat, Incacha moved into a lotus position, and gestured to Blair to do the same. "We must prepare you for your journey to the netherworld. That is where you will find Enqueri."

 * * *

 Shandra Wylie had taught many religions, but embraced none fully. Now, she wished she could cling to throwing prayers to a deity she believed would listen and intervene. Jim Ellison was laid out on the bed, drenched in the sweat of a high fever, while Blair was sitting beside him, still in a lotus position, his head thrown back, eyes closed, speaking in a language she didn't recognize. He was completely lost in his trance, so deep within the meditation that she doubted he could be brought back out of it before he was ready. She busied herself with disconnecting phones and other mundane precautions to prevent any disturbance.

Returning to the loft bedroom, she lit a few more candles and seated herself on the top step, watching the two men on the bed with a mixture of fear and rapt fascination. What an article this would make.

 * * *

 All around Jim lay the bodies of his companions, his partners in the ill-fated mission to Peru. Eight men had gone, and only one survived. Seven men with wives, five of them with children. And yet it had been Ellison, single and childless, who had walked away. Gone home to...what? A sterile loft apartment that seemed like a good place to invest his Covert Ops pay. Children like Veronica Saris never saw their fathers again, wives became widows...all these men were bitterly missed, badly needed. But the one who survived was missed by no one while he was gone, and welcomed by no one when he returned. Needed by no one to survive.

Needed by no one until Blair. Carolyn had loved him briefly, but never needed him. Maybe the one thing he'd searched for all his life was someone who needed him the way he always seemed to need something. Someone... Someone who would not want to go on without him. Someone who would need him to be happy.

Blair didn't need him to survive, didn't need him to support himself, didn't need him for any other reason...other than the fact he...needed Jim Ellison. Sure, he'd needed a Sentinel initially, but the existence of Alex Barnes proved that even that was not exclusive to Jim. If Blair found his first Sentinel, and his second, it was unlikely that with some diligence, he wouldn't find a third. When everything was falling apart between them, it hadn't seemed like Blair needed his research subject. The sadness in Blair's eyes had come from someone who needed Jim...needed his best friend, not his lab rat.

Jim wandered through the area, leaving the strewn bodies and scattered wreckage, following a dark and ugly overgrown trail further into the jungle. There were no Chopec here now to investigate the wreckage, no Incacha showing up to guide him in adapting to his surroundings; he was completely and utterly alone. Even the jungle bore an eerie silence, the only sound made by snakes slithering through the tall grasses.

When he emerged into the next clearing, the same voice that had taunted him on his arrival in this horrible place again resounded through the jungle night.

What is your greatest fear?

"Not finding Blair," he responded honestly.

Are you certain? it taunted again.

"I'm certain," he replied.

Then you shall find him.

 * * *

 "You are ready now," Incacha said, placing a necklace of beads and feathers around Blair's neck. Dressed in sandals, loincloth and the ceremonial necklace, Blair's face was now painted with Incacha's markings.

"How do I find Jim?" Blair asked, and Incacha smiled.

"You have the wisdom, and the gift. If you look within yourself, you will find the guidance for your journey." And with that, Incacha was gone.

 * * *

 Jim walked down the short hall of what was an attractively appointed building. There were a few tasteful chairs here and there for visitors, a few plants, and some low, subtle background music. The unmistakable smell of flowers and...and whatever the certain scent was that lingered in funeral homes, surrounded him. He entered the large room where the mourners were gathered, hearing the hushed voices. It seemed everyone he knew was there--Simon, Megan, Rafe, Henri, Joel...even his father and Steven. On a couch, flanked by two other women, sat Naomi, looking inordinately pale and drained.

"...an infection, and then he hemorrhaged, and it was over in a matter of minutes," Megan whispered sadly to Rhonda, who dabbed at her eyes and shook her head.

"He was always so nice to me...to everyone. He would remember the little things you told him, and he'd ask about them..." Rhonda paused to stifle tears. "Who could do such a thing to him?"

Resisting the understanding that was dawning of who was the cause of all this mourning, Jim moved through the group, closer now to the flower-drenched casket at the front of the room.

"What time will Jim be here tomorrow?" Megan asked Rhonda.

"Two, I think. They'll be in the same room," Simon said as he joined the two women. "I think they would have liked that."

Jim felt a growing sense of dread as he approached the casket, and the final few mourners blocking his view, moved aside. There, dressed in the suit Jim remembered him wearing to the Jags party, his long curls arranged to artificial perfection, his usually animated face stiff in the repose of death, Blair lay in the soft, ecru-lining of a beautiful oak casket, trimmed with brass hardware.

Invisible as a ghost to the people around him, Jim let out a howl of aguish, throwing himself on the stiff body, sobbing against the silent chest that once housed the heartbeat that was more precious than his own.

"Dan confirmed it was a heart attack." Henri was talking to Naomi now, holding her hand and speaking in soothing tones. "When Blair...passed away, Jim just...collapsed. They weren't even in the same room. Jim didn't know yet. It was...very strange. He died instantly."

"Why wasn't Blair in the hospital? Why did he take my boy out of the hospital when he was so sick?!" Naomi demanded through her tears.

"The doctor released him, said he was doing fine. And then the infection set in and the bleeding started...there was nothing they could do."

Jim rose slightly off the body of his partner and let the impact of the words sink in. He was dead. Blair was dead. He died at the moment of Blair's death...and what did that mean? And why weren't they together now? Why was he cursed to grieve here over Blair's corpse?

And then he saw him. Through the throng of people, he caught his first glimpse, and then, slowly, the crowd dispersed, and Jim saw him, standing in the doorway of the room, dressed and painted as Incacha had been during one of the Chopec's religious ceremonies. Long curls tumbling over bare shoulders, face serene beneath the paint, both hands extended toward Jim.

"If you take this journey with me, you must accept the merge," Blair said softly.

Jim moved toward him immediately, not questioning his words.

"Wait." Blair moved forward a bit, but held up a hand to forestall Jim's progress. "If you join me now, you share my fate, and I share yours. We are joined, and we are one. You see my fate, and if you take my hand, you will share it."

"They said you hemorrhaged, that there was an infection... Blair, you were okay--"

"Jim, when you saved my life that day at the fountain, you shared your life force with me. Two bodies, two souls, but now a single life force. Mine was gone, I had traveled to the other side. But now, if you choose to take my hand and come with me, just as I shared your life, you must be prepared to share my death, if that's what comes to pass."

"There's no choice to make, Chief." Jim cast a backward glance at the still form in the casket. "No choice at all." He reached toward Blair, but the other man still didn't offer his hands again willingly.

"If you don't take my hand, you will be freed from this place. You won't have to stay here."

Jim frowned a bit. "How do you know?"

"I know, Jim. Just as Incacha knew some things that were not of this world. When he died, he passed the Way of the Shaman on to me. Now, I have been through the ceremony... call it like being ordained. He told me to look inside myself for the wisdom to reach you, and I have. And that's the answer I was given in a vision. You can choose to take my hand and walk my path with me," he nodded toward the casket, "which may end in death, or you can choose to let me go, and you will be returned to the loft, unharmed. You must either accept or reject the bond, and once you have chosen, there is no turning back."

"I love you, Blair. I don't want any fate that doesn't include you. Wherever we have to go, I want to go together." Jim paused. "I'm ready to take that trip with you, Chief." He reached out both hands, and this time, Blair smiled radiantly and took them, then moved into Jim's arms. His body was warm and living and responsive as he held onto Jim, their mouths meeting and exploring one another. Jim's hand tangled in Blair's soft hair, holding him in place for longer kisses until a groan of pain made him pull back.

 * * *

 "…at 852 Prospect! Yes, please hurry," the woman's voice cut through the haze and forced Jim to open his eyes. Disoriented, he found himself sprawled on his back on his own bed, with Blair sprawled on top of him, head on his chest. Jim's hand was still tangled in the long hair. Blair was unnaturally still and pale, and his pulse was thready.

"Shandra!" Jim hollered at the woman as she set the phone aside and rushed to the side of the bed.

"Jim, he's bleeding. I don't know how long it's been going on, but it looks bad. I called the ambulance."

"What...? Oh, man..." Jim shook his head, trying to clear the fog enough to comprehend what had transpired. "Blair? Blair, sweetheart, come on, talk to me," he coaxed, patting the warm, damp cheek gently. "No, you don't. We've got too much living to do for you to do this now. Come on, baby. You're fighting for both of us here," Jim urged. Still, Blair lay motionless on top of him, his injured body unable to meet the challenge of responding to Jim's pleas.

 * * *

 "I can't believe the doctor released him in that condition," Megan said, shaking her head. "I know they want you up and out as soon as possible, but this is unconscionable!"

"The doctor examined him and thought it looked safe for him to leave the hospital as long as he took it easy," Simon explained. He knew there was something more to this than met the eye, and suspected Connor would be open to hearing about it, but he had little inclination to add to the hodgepodge of superstition and things that go bump in the night that were plaguing the investigation.

Ellison, for his part, was sitting alone in a chair closest to the treatment room where they had rushed Blair. He was hemorrhaging, possibly internally, and was running a fever over 104 degrees. But Simon watched as Jim sat there with a strange sort of serenity to his features. It was as if he were prepared to accept whatever happened next, which seemed very unlike him--and was certainly surprising since Sandburg's death could well be the outcome.

"Jim?" A nurse walked out into the waiting area, and Jim was on his feet in an instant. "He's asking for you."

"How is he?" Jim asked as he walked with her.

"We've stopped the bleeding, at least for now. The doctor can give you more details. His fever is still dangerously high, but he's in and out, and he keeps repeating your name." She opened the door to the treatment room, and the doctor and other nurse in attendance stepped away from one side of the table where Blair lay.

"Jim?" he mumbled, his speech a bit slurred as he moved a hand feebly up toward Jim, who grasped it in both of his and leaned down to kiss the slightly parted lips gently.

"I'm here, Chief. Everything's going to be okay."

"I'm trying," he said weakly.

"I know you are. You keep trying, sweetheart," Jim whispered as he leaned in close. "You hang in there for both of us. We're in this together, remember?"

"S-sorry about...that," he said, forcing a little smile.

"I'm not. Not ever, no matter what happens. Nothing would make me change my mind, even if I could. Got it?" Jim asked, with mock firmness.

"Go' it," Blair slurred, his head slumping to one side again.

"We're moving him up to ICU now," Dr. O'Brien explained. Fortunately, he had been on rounds when Blair was rushed in, and was there to care for him again. "I honestly don't understand this, Jim," he said, shaking his head. "When he left here yesterday morning, he was healing beautifully--faster than I thought possible. When I first stitched him up, I expected he'd be in the hospital a few days, and then at home, but with limited mobility until the stitches healed. Then he seemed so much better..."

"It wasn't your fault, Doc," Jim said, letting the doctor off the malpractice hook. "He seemed fine to me, too."

"This damage looked worse than what I treated the first time. Did he overexert himself a lot?"

"More than he should have, probably."

"Hmm." O'Brien shook his head. "There was a little bleeding up as high as the colon area, but it appears to have stopped, and I've repaired the re-opened wounds. My hope is that we can avoid surgery. His fever is high, and the infection has to be controlled. Those are my biggest concerns right now."

"How do you think his chances are?" Jim whispered, not wanting to risk Blair overhearing the question.

"About 50-50, right now. He's a very sick man, I won't kid you about that. The next 24 hours are crucial. He's in good health overall, and he's young--those are factors in his favor."

"I want to stay with him. He's still under police protection."

"I'll put him in a private room in the ICU, and leave the instructions with the nursing staff that you're to have unlimited access to his room."

"Thank you."

"Of course. We've started him on an IV with a strong antibiotic to work on the infection."

"Can I do anything? Shouldn't he be kept cool? Maybe with compresses or something?"

"Ordinarily, we have one of the aides handle that, but the nurse can get you the supplies so you can do that for him if you like."

"I want to, yes."

"Fine. Give us a few minutes to get him settled--"

"I'll be escorting you upstairs. I'm not taking any chances," Jim said.

"All right. We'll be starting out in just a few minutes."

"Great," Jim responded, nodding and looking back at Blair. "He's going to be okay, right? I mean, the internal damage...it'll heal on its own?"

"I hope so. I'll be here tonight, in case he has any complications. At this point, I'm optimistic."

"Good." Jim walked back out to the waiting area, and Simon, Megan, Shandra and Joel all stood anxiously. "They stopped the bleeding, and they've got him on an IV to get the fever down. It's hanging on at about 104 yet. They're moving him to ICU, and if there aren't any complications, he won't need surgery."

"What's the prognosis, Jim?" Simon asked.

"The doctor says 50-50. I'm going to stay with him. I'll call if there's any change." If I'm able, and if not, you'll be notified, anyway, Jim thought. Knowing he would share Blair's fate calmed him immeasurably. He wanted Blair to heal, to get well, for them to have a long, happy life together, but knowing that if the worst happened, they would go together, gave him the strength to cope with the worst case scenario. In all cases, they would be together.

"Maybe I'll run home and catch a few Z's before that meeting with the mayor," Simon said. "Jim, I'm putting a uniformed man outside Blair's room, so if you have a chance to catch some sleep, do it." Simon looked out the window at the gray, pre-dawn sky. "Professor Wylie, do you need a lift somewhere?"

"A ride home would be nice," she responded, smiling. Simon smiled back, broadly. Jim had to stifle a grin of his own. Banks had it bad for this strange lady in the black dress and silver necklace; that had been obvious as soon as they'd encountered one another. Shandra, for her part, didn't seem exactly disinterested herself.

"How about some coffee, Jim? You're probably in for a long stint with Sandy," Megan offered.

"That sounds great, thanks."

"I'll go get some before I take off," she responded, heading down the hall.

"Well, I suppose I better head downtown since our fearless leader is hitting the sheets," Joel teased, smiling as his ostensibly innocent comment was overheard and Simon's steps faltered just a little as he walked down the hall with Shandra.

"You're an evil man, Taggert," Jim commented, snickering.

 * * *