Part 10

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

* * *

 Blair closed the French doors behind him, relieved for a moment to be totally alone. Rawlings was a nice man--surprisingly, the older cop had been pretty easy to get to know, and Blair had enjoyed visiting with him. Despite the increase in his discomfort without the pain pills, the increase in his alertness and the return of his appetite had been worth a lot. The deli sandwich, a saturated fat nightmare, had tasted like the food of the gods. So with a full belly and a clearer head, Blair thanked Tony and left him to watching ESPN for the afternoon while he retreated into the sanctuary of his room. If he'd ever needed to meditate, to center himself and try to get his scattered internal rhythms back in harmony, it was now.

He tossed a couple of pillows on the floor and lowered himself carefully onto them, arranging and lighting his candles. It was overcast outside, so the room was dim, and the dancing candle light had the desired effect. He put his favorite meditation CD into a portable player nearby and turned it on low. Taking in a long breath, he let himself relax, and allowed his mind to be carried by the primitive strains of the music.

It was there, beneath the surface. That glow, that energy, that...power he had felt during his otherworldly encounter with Incacha. If the dying shaman had passed the power on to Blair that day in the loft, he'd helped Blair to find it within himself when he needed it most--to save Jim. Blair had traveled twice into the realm of the spirits now--once at his own death, and once by choice to rescue Jim. He had refused to surrender his soul to a demon from Hell, and a dark force from that realm had ravaged his body and tried to possess him as its own. Blair had passed through many tests on his road to earning the power that had been bestowed upon him.

Eyes closed, head back slightly, Blair's body swaying almost imperceptibly to the rhythms of the music, his spirit soared again, and traveled. Some tiny part of his consciousness smiled at how thrilled Naomi would be to know that her little boy had mastered astral projection. He was moving weightlessly through the trees, feeling much like some powerful bird, carried on the winds above all the mundane events going on below. The pain and the fear and the misery fell away, and only his spirit flew unhindered through the air, feeling the cold of the wind, invigorated and refreshed, but not chilled.

Blair...

Blair's serene expression faltered, and in his spirit flight, he felt as if he were trapped in gathering clouds. Somewhere, he could hear Jim's voice. Instinctively, he strained to find it, to move closer to it.

Blair...I'm so sorry...I should have known...

Blair lurched forward with an audible gasp. Blinking, disoriented, he struggled to regain his equilibrium there on the floor of his bedroom. It was as if the flight had ended in an abrupt crash, bringing him back to reality.

The reality was that Jim was in trouble.

I should have known.

Blair pondered those words, forcing himself to breathe deeply and calm down. Jim had been on his way to Redding's uncle's estate. The one place that hadn't been thoroughly checked for Redding yet. The one place the cops couldn't search because they didn't have a warrant and the housekeeper refused without the homeowner's permission. The teenage daughter had been little or no help.

Redding's uncle hadn't been part of his cult--when they busted all the cult members, they'd arrested a brother and a couple of cousins, the children of a different uncle, but no suspicion had fallen on the elderly Victor Redding. His standing in the community had held the cops at bay from searching his estate just for good measure after the cult arrests. With no evidence of his involvement, his threat of a harassment suit was very viable, and so he'd gone about his business undisturbed.

To assume all the cultists had been arrested in that one incident was overly optimistic and not too sensible. That would be similar to assuming one had corralled an entire church congregation by seizing those present at a single service.

Rising with some effort, Blair paced around the small room, needing to think now more than meditate. He could involve the rest of the PD. While Rawlings wouldn't go in for stories of spirit flights and psychic hunches and shamanism, he could call Simon or go find Brown... Shaking his head, Blair chewed his bottom lip. That wasn't right yet.

He could go to the estate alone and challenge Redding. And one good smack would knock you on your ass. If Redding were to go after you again, you wouldn't survive--and then neither would Jim. Resisting the urge to be discouraged by his own conclusions, Blair took in a deep breath and expelled it slowly.

How did you rescue Enqueri before? Did you leave this place to go after him?

Unnerved by the presence of Incacha's voice in his mind, Blair resisted the urge to look around him. The communication was not of this world, and he was not going to see his shaman mentor standing behind him.

Your power will not come in the realm of the ordinary. Your enemies will not fall under your physical assaults. You are a shaman now. Your power is not of this world.

It briefly crossed Blair's mind that he was going insane, hearing voices. Maybe the rape, maybe the stress of the whole nightmare that had begun in the frat house months ago... Maybe he had just now snapped. He was hearing Jim, hearing Incacha...

Have faith, young one. You will need all of it.

Blair returned to his spot on the floor, the candles' glow becoming even more golden and serene in the encroaching twilight. He let his eyes drift shut again and concentrated on the peaceful rhythm of the music, feeling the ties to the physical world loosening.

 * * *

 "The very concept of you showing up here without back-up is almost comical in its arrogance," Redding said, smiling and sitting in a chair opposite the one to which Jim had been tied.

Jim's only desire was to break the bonds long enough to strangle the son of a bitch who had raped Blair. The man who had somehow managed to rise from the dead, to walk around with five bullet holes in him. Redding was unnaturally white, his dark hair and dark suit a sharp--and Jim was sure, intentional--contrast with his pallor.

"This is all happening a bit quickly, but once Sandburg comes back to us, we can accelerate our plans. Do you know what else I find darkly amusing?" Redding shook his head. "Eleven of my followers elected to give testimony to the district attorney. You have landed so conveniently here, and again, we find Mr. Sandburg as the ideal Thirteenth Sacrifice."

"You touch him again and--"

"And you'll what? Kill me? That would be a bit of a challenge for you, now wouldn't it? If you like, I can untie you and give you your gun back and you can give it your best shot--pardon the pun."

"There's more than one way to make sure you stay dead."

"Would you like to drive a stake through my heart, maybe? You're forgetting something, Detective. I told you before I was psychic. Though I must admit it wouldn't take one to determine that you don't have the faintest notion of how to get yourself out of this or how to warn your partner."

"I will kill you for what you did to him. You can bet on that."

"I was only a physical vessel. He was being offered as a gift to the Master. How the Master elects to claim his gift is not for me to control or to judge. But I must say, carrying out my duty wasn't entirely unpleasant," he said, smirking a little. Jim glared at him, but resisted the urge to put on a show of ineffectually tugging at his ropes. The bastard was baiting him.

"How many cycles of killing do you plan on going through?"

"As many as it takes," Redding answered coldly.

"What about Yates?"

"Dead, I assume. He vanished the night of the Ritual. Quite a man, Yates was. The police in Seattle, way back when Yates was first arrested, only knew about six of the murders--the six in the fraternity house. Warren always was impatient, and when he felt desperate to accelerate things, he got sloppy. Just like the second multiple killing here in town--those five students. He got messy and melodramatic. Never a good combination when you're trying to elude the police. He killed thirteen people before his death in 1950."

"So he just waited in his casket all these years and popped out in time to commit the murders?"

"In a way. There is a ritual of resurrection that must be performed. Though Yates had the power bestowed on him by the Thirteenth Sacrifice--in other words, the ability to rise again after death--the rest of his followers didn't know anything about that." Redding chuckled. "Yates was nothing if he wasn't a greedy bastard, and the last thing he wanted to do was share his findings about the Ritual of the Thirteenth Sacrifice. He wanted the power and glory for himself--which is a perfectly acceptable goal. Unlike Christianity and many of the other religions, Satanism doesn't engage in the absurd charade of forcing people who are, by nature, selfish, to pretend to act for the good of the many. In Yates' case, unfortunately, it simply meant that he was trapped in a state of limbo until I discovered some old documents during a trip to Europe last year."

"And you immediately decided to raise Yates?"

"He was legendary as a leader of our cult. Charismatic, forceful...very devoted to his mission. My grandfather and father both spoke highly of him. It was my understanding that he had killed at least enough people to give him the power. I tried the resurrection ritual, and it worked." Redding shook his head. "Since Yates didn't utilize the power of the Thirteenth Sacrifice for himself--thanks to you, Detective--my followers used it to raise me instead. Yates is nowhere to be found, and I would be surprised if he hadn't expired by now."

"So those lives just...transferred over as credits to you--like some sort of Satanic... balance transfer?" Jim asked.

"Interesting phraseology. It's a bit more complex than that, but I suppose that's an adequate layman's way to look at it." Redding smiled. "I had no idea that my followers, those who escaped the long arm of the law," he clarified, with a sneer, "would attempt to raise me from the dead. Now I must repay my debt, and bring power to the cult. Your death will precede Mr. Sandburg's, and his will complete my obligation and bring power and glory to our organization."

Jim elected not to mention that killing one of them would kill them both. If Redding hadn't figured that one out, he was on his own.

"So this is some sort of plot for world domination?"

"That sounds so...Batmanesque," Redding said, laughing. "Possibly. We'll start with the U.S. government and work our way up from there. We already have a senator among our ranks--but then, the American public most likely would not be shocked to learn their politicians were in league with the devil."

"You're so convinced that no one knows where I am. How can you be so sure that I didn't tell anyone where I was going?"

"You told precisely the person you were supposed to tell--Mr. Sandburg."

"And my captain, and two or three other cops at the PD before I left."

"I imagine you probably did. But they aren't expecting to hear from you anytime soon. Mr. Sandburg is, and he knows what price he must pay to rescue you."

"He's not stupid enough to walk in here by himself."

"You may be surprised. What is that old saying...'love makes fools of us all'?" Redding chuckled.

"Let me get this straight. You're going to murder all eleven of the people who betrayed you, then me, and then Sandburg?"

"That's a fair summary, yes."

"Tonight."

"Well," Redding chortled, "I'm not sure about that. You will most certainly die tonight. Mr. Sandburg will have to be our guest until the other killings are finished. I don't anticipate that it will be a long wait."

"You're crazy."

"Am I? One of us has risen from the dead and is on his way to being the single most powerful man in the world. One of us is tied to a chair and only has a few hours to live. Now you tell me who's crazy."

"You actually think this'll work."

"It is working." Redding crossed his legs and smiled. "Everything is going according to plan."

 * * *

 "He's been like that for an hour," Rawlings whispered to Brown, both men peering in through the door of Blair's room. Blair was seated on a couple of big throw pillows, in a lotus position, candles burning all around him. His head was thrown back slightly, his lips parted just a bit, his whole body swaying slowly with the rhythms of the strange music coming from the CD player. "I called to him and he didn't answer, and since he's supposed to be takin' it easy, I thought I better make sure he was okay. I looked in and there he was."

"He's into meditation. He should be okay when he snaps out of it. I wouldn't bug him anymore." Brown pulled the door shut. "Weird."

"I'll say--you mean he does that all the time?"

"I never actually saw him meditate. But he's mentioned it and Ellison's teased him about it at work once in a while." Brown chuckled. "Blair told me that his mother was convinced she levitated one time."

"Must be a strange family," Rawlings commented, chuckling and shaking his head. "Want some coffee?"

"Yeah, sure. Where the hell's Jim, anyway?" Brown checked his watch. "I've got a date in two hours."

"What's the matter, kid? Take you two hours to pretty yourself up?" Rawlings needled, laughing good-naturedly as he poured two cups of coffee.

"Hey, man, I need the right look, you know what I'm saying? Besides, this lady is special. A real class act. Works in the D.A.'s office. I've got reservations at DaVinci's."

"Ooh, nice," Rawlings concurred, nodding. "What is it, five now?" He looked at his own watch. "Ellison said he'd be here by dinnertime. Guess it depends on your definition of dinnertime." With a shrug, Rawlings returned to the couch.

Curiosity piqued, Brown stole one more look into Blair's room. Blair was still in his strange state. Feeling oddly creepy about the whole thing, Henri pulled the French door closed again and joined his partner to watch TV until Jim returned.

 * * *

 He'd been so focused on Redding that the piercing of his arm with the syringe had been a surprise. Now that he was coming around, Jim was well aware that his situation had not exactly improved. He was lying flat on his back, his wrists bound above his head, the rest of his body feeling useless and heavy and immobile. With an icy wave of terror, he realized he was in the same situation Blair had been in before him. Drugged into lethargy that prevented him from struggling, bound down to an altar, waiting to die.

He wasn't nude. Well, you've gotta be grateful for the little things, he thought to himself, surprised he was still in his jeans, t-shirt and sweater. But then, he was no Thirteenth Sacrifice. He was just one more life in a series of many, and these freaks had apparently decided to make a party out of it. He wasn't being pledged to Lucifer as some sort of Satanic plaything. He was just going to be murdered. Plain and simple. Murder with a few theatrical embellishments to make for a good party. Probably a good way to rally the troops and raise morale in the wake of the recent arrests. Kill the cop that made it happen. He wondered if his blood would end up in goblets by the end of the evening, being passed around as party cocktails.

Blair shares your fate.

Jim looked around the large, shadowy room. His inner voice was right, Blair would die tonight right along with him, whether or not he took the foolish chance of trying to launch a rescue effort. Hopefully, Sandburg would leave this world peacefully, even if Jim's own death had to be violent. Maybe the life force would merely be extinguished, and Blair could slip off peacefully in his sleep.

Sure he can, Ellison. While you're being murdered by a Satanic cult, the man who shares your lifeforce will simply go gently into his good night. Yeah, right.

Jim worked at mustering up all his strength to tug at the restraints. Nothing. Not a goddamned inch of movement. He tried moving his legs, but was fortunate after much straining to twitch his foot a little. Terrific. Fanfuckingtastic.

The room around him was mostly in shadows, but it looked like it might be some sort of game room or billiards room. The ceiling was high, and there was a lot of rich woodwork. There were most likely windows behind the heavy drapes that seemed to comprise an entire wall of the room.

Don't be afraid, Jim. I'm coming.

Frowning and looking around, straining his hearing to pick up on any evidence of Blair's physical presence, Jim searched for his partner. Reaching out with hearing and smell, he detected nothing. There were others in the house, multiple other people, but not Blair.

And still, he'd heard Blair's voice as clearly as if the younger man had been standing beside the altar.

A set of double doors at the end of the room opened, and two hooded figures bearing lit candelabra walked purposefully across the room toward him, positioning the candles at either end of the altar, then moving to stand several feet away from Jim on either side of the room. Next, two more proceeded in, each holding two large black candles, which they placed in tall, brass holders on either side of the room. They joined their companions. More figures filed in, until about twenty people were gathered there.

A few minutes later, a tall, solitary hooded figure stood in the doorway, backlit by the soft glow of light from some other part of the house. It had to be Redding. The man knew how to make an entrance.

Walking slowly up the center of the room, his followers divided into two tidy groups on either side, Redding approached the altar, then walked around to stand behind it. Jim could easily see his face beneath the shadows of the robe's hood. The firelight danced off the rubies that were the eyes in the goat's head medallion that hung around his neck.

"We are gathered here tonight for a new beginning. As you all know, we have suffered many losses recently. Our great mentor, Warren Yates, has regrettably lost his life. Many of our friends have chosen to betray us to save themselves in the eyes of the police. They have condemned themselves to eternal torment in the eyes of Satan. Tonight, we begin a new cycle. With the death of Detective Ellison, the man responsible for the disasters which have befallen our organization, we will be one life closer to achieving the power we seek."

"Think about this," Jim said, looking out at the group of hooded figures. "You people aren't all getting out of here scot free. Your friends ended up in handcuffs. You will, too."

"Silence!" Redding bellowed.

"Silence? Are you people listening to this crap? This is like something out of a cheap late show. This nutcase thinks he can wipe out thirteen more people, starting with a cop, and then just take over the world. Are you listening to what this idiot is really saying?"

"Gag him," Redding said calmly. One of the figures stepped forward and offered a piece of black cloth. With some effort, Redding managed to force the gag in place, tying it tightly.

I'm here, Jim. I'm with you. Don't be afraid of him.

Jim's head turned from side to side as he tried to locate a source for Blair's voice, and he began to wonder if the drug he'd been given was some sort of hallucinogenic. Blair's drug test had turned up a heavy dose of a muscle relaxant which had made him unable to fight off the attack. Jim suspected it also might have fended off more serious damage, as Blair's body was forced to relax to some extent from the effects of the drug.

"Master, we ask your forgiveness for our failings," Redding bellowed, pulling a knife out of the folds of his robe. "We gather here tonight to offer you the first of twelve sacrifices to your glory." Holding the knife flat, horizontally between his two hands, Redding lifted it high in the air. He lurched back, startled, when it clattered to the floor as a sudden wind blew the doors to the room closed with a resounding slam. Jim looked up at Redding, watching the man's disconcerted expression. Apparently, this was not part of the plan.

I'm here, Jim. I won't let him hurt you. Blair's voice filled Jim's mind, but was not audible. There was no physical sign of Blair, no indication that anyone had entered the room.

 * * *

 "You still think we oughta leave him that way? How long's he been out of it?" Rawlings inclined his head back toward Blair's room. "What the hell's all that weird moaning he's been doing?"

"I looked in the door, and he looked okay. He told me once that all that moaning people do is called a 'primordial sound'. It's supposed to center them or something. Beats me. He said his mother can do this stuff for, like, three or four hours without moving."

"If I sat like that for three or four hours, I'd never move again," Rawlings commented, laughing and checking his watch. "Better call your lady friend."

"Damn," Henri grumbled, checking his watch. It was almost seven. "Guess I'm screwed on those dinner reservations."

"Standing her up on short notice like this, it's the only way you're gettin' screwed tonight, I can promise you that, pal."

"Thanks for the advice, partner," Brown shot back, chuckling and shaking his head as he went to the phone. After groveling adequately, and providing much amusement to his partner in the living room, Brown glanced at Blair's room, and then back at Rawlings. "You think we oughta check up on Ellison?"

"Might be a good idea. Maybe he's just sittin' there and lost track of the time."

"If I just lost the date of lifetime because he's just sittin' there? Man, I'm gonna kill that guy."

 * * *

 Redding picked up the knife he had dropped and cleared his throat, obviously disconcerted by the interruption in the ceremony.

"We gather here tonight for the first of twelve sacrifices to your glory. In spilling this blood, we offer you--"

The double doors to the room flew open and slammed back against the wall again. Then slammed shut.

"Master, I ask you the power to banish the entity that would intrude upon your tribute!" Redding bellowed. He had no sooner said this when he lurched and shuddered, his head falling back and his eyes rolling back in his head. When he straightened, the plain whites of his eyes stared out of his sockets, bloodshot, a ghastly contrast to his unearthly white face. He smiled wickedly, revealing a mouth full of unnaturally sharp, yellowed teeth, which resembled the fangs of some monstrous canine.

"Who dares to challenge me?!" he bellowed, the voice virtually shaking the room. "I do," came the simple reply. All eyes turned to the solitary figure who stood in the now open doors to the room. A man, with long hair, dressed in a simple loincloth, his body painted with ceremonial markings, stood in the midst of the Satanists, staring intently at the horrific-looking Redding, in all his demonic glory.

Blair... Jim stared at the single figure in the center of the room, taking stock of the long curls, the familiar body beneath all the paint, and those eyes. Those intense, deep blue eyes. All this his Sentinel vision revealed to him in the dancing candle light. It was the same vision of Blair he'd had when Blair had rescued him from the other side.

"You have walked into my trap," Redding said, chuckling in that horrible, resounding voice. The laughter seemed to fill the room. "You have presented yourself to me."

"Let him go," Blair stated quietly, but firmly.

"Let him go?" the evil thing in Redding's body mocked, then laughed, baring its ungodly teeth. "He is to be the first to die."

Outside, thunder rolled ominously and lightning split the night sky. The wall of drapes behind Redding flew open to showcase the display.

"I said, let him go," Blair repeated, still staring the other man down, moving forward a few steps.

"Your power is nothing compared to mine," the thing said, laughing. "If you do battle with me, I will kill him, defeat you, and then take you as my own," it snarled in conclusion.

"You are an evil thing. You offend all that is good, the very powers of nature. Go back to where you came from now, or suffer the consequences," Blair said ominously. Jim was amazed none of the cultists had sprung forward and seized Blair yet. Whatever little show he was putting on, it was working so far.

"I will take you down to the pit of Hell," the thing inside of Redding snarled. Jim could only imagine now what terror Blair had felt at seeing this thing above him, at being violated and claimed by it. The foul stench of its breath permeated Jim's senses, and he fought not to be overcome by it.

"Charles Redding, I give you one final chance to forsake this thing and renounce its power." Blair's voice was unusually powerful now, resounding nearly as loudly as Redding's.

Redding's response was to raise both arms high above his head and shout some incantation in a language that somewhat resembled Latin. A hot, foul-smelling wind tore through the room, knocking over candelabra and causing the robed Satanists to cling to their hoods and huddle together. Blair simply stood where he was, his hair blowing back with the wind. In a moment, he raised his own arms, hands reaching toward the altar, toward the windows behind it.

There was a reverberating crash of thunder and twin chains of lightning crossed the sky, meeting at a point in the center, somewhere on the ground, exploding in a burst of light and flying sparks. The fallen candles had set fire to the curtains, making for a flaming frame surrounding the display of nature. Blair began moving closer. Jim was most amazed by what he saw next: Redding stepped back. Then back a bit more. The closer Blair came to the altar, the more Redding moved back from it. The fire and Redding's faltering seemed to spur the other cultists into action, as they scattered and ran through the double doors to safety until only Redding, Blair and Jim remained at the center of the maelstrom created by the roaring of thunder, the flashing of lightning, the burning of the huge drapes and the fetid wind that Redding had set in motion.

"Cascade PD! Hands where we can see 'em!" a voice bellowed from the open doors. Jim looked to the entrance to see Simon leading a band of cops into the room, the violent wind impeding their progress. His attention was drawn immediately back to the windows behind the altar as two chains of lightning again ripped through the sky, but this time it shattered the glass, ripped through the flooring and exploded in a burst of flames. With effort, Jim turned his face away from the display to avoid any fallout. Redding's scream was horrible, piercing and otherworldly as the flames consumed him. When Jim thought his hearing could no longer bear the onslaught, he felt two gentle hands, one covering each ear.

Pull back...dial it down...

And then everything was eerily silent. Opening his eyes, expecting that he had somehow overcompensated with shutting down his hearing, Jim looked around the room, expecting to see some sort of chaos. Most importantly, he expected to see Blair. He saw neither. There was a fire burning dangerously close to the altar, and the cops were now rushing into the room. The smell of burning flesh was overpowering.

"You all right, Jim?" Simon asked as he used a pocket knife to hack through the ropes that bound Jim's wrists.

"I'm drugged on something. I can't move much," Jim responded.

"Taggert!" Simon hollered, and soon was joined by the other captain. "Get on one side of him. He's drugged."

"Right. Close call, Jim," Taggert said, as one of Jim's arms was flopped across his shoulders, the other over Simon's. The three of them began a clumsy run toward the door.

"Wait! Sandburg--where is he?" Jim demanded, doing his best to stop their progress.

"Sandburg? He's back at the loft. We just talked to Rawlings before we busted in here," Simon said. "Come on, Jim, we've gotta move here!" They completed their journey until they were on the front lawn of the house, Jim propped in a sitting position against a handy tree while Taggert remained nearby and Simon rushed back toward the house to direct the other cops.

I'm right here, Jim. Everything's okay.

With a faint smile on his face, Jim passed out there against the tree.

 * * *

 "Sandburg!" Henri shook the limp body again. "Man, I don't like this," he said to Rawlings. "You better call 911." He looked back at the motionless man on the bed. When Blair had not rallied from his meditation after an unthinkable five hours, Brown had hoisted his unresponsive body onto the bed and started actively trying to revive him. Thus far, nothing had worked.

Suddenly, Blair's body tensed and arched, and with a sharp gasping intake of breath, relaxed again. Blair opened his eyes and stared at Henri, obviously disoriented.

"Blair, can you hear me?"

"Sure I can hear you. What's happening...?" Blair looked around. "Jim!" He sat up suddenly. "I have to get to Jim. He's at Victor Redding's estate--"

"We know that, Blair. Simon just called from there. Jim's okay. He's drugged, but he's gonna be fine. They got there in time."

"I don't understand." Blair rubbed a hand over his face. "I... What happened?"

"Redding's uncle was going to kill him, but Simon and the others got there in time."

"Redding's uncle was going to kill him?"

"That's what Simon said."

"I need to see Jim. Is he going to the hospital?"

"Yeah, for observation because of the drug. Sandburg, you were out of it for like, five hours in here. What gives?"

"Uh...deep meditation. It takes a lot of effort to go that far inside yourself. Sorry if I freaked you guys out."

"You all right now?"

"Yeah, just a little fuzzy. Let's go." Blair got up with a pull from Henri, and the three of them headed for the hospital.

 * * *

 Jim opened his eyes, and this time, he saw exactly what he wanted to see. Blair.

"Hey," he said, smiling and squeezing Blair's hand. Blair was sitting on the edge of the bed, Jim's hand in both of his.

"Hey yourself." Blair smiled brightly. "We made it."

"I saw you," Jim said.

"I never left the loft, but I was there. I was with you."

"You nailed Redding."

"No, I didn't really." Blair shook his head. "It would be incredibly arrogant for me to think that I nailed Redding." Blair looked down at their joined hands. "Incacha told me that a shaman may communicate with the spirits, and when faced with the threat of evil, he may call on the spirits to do battle with that evil." Blair looked up again. "I was a conduit, not the source of power itself. That's something...way beyond us. Beyond our grasp."

"You can travel...leave your body?"

"Yes. I was meditating this afternoon, and at a point, it was like all the stuff holding me down just...fell away. I was flying...no weight, no pain, no restraints. And then I heard your voice in my head. You were apologizing to me, saying you should have known, and I just knew you were in trouble."

"I did think that. After Redding's goons grabbed me, I kept thinking that I should have taken backup, I should have expected something. But nothing tied Victor Redding into his nephew's life at all. I thought it was a routine follow up."

"The cops think Victor is the one who tried to kill you."

"You want to dispute that?"

"Not with Simon," Blair said, smiling and shaking his head.

"When I saw you at the house tonight...God, Blair, it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen." Jim reached up and laid a hand on Blair's cheek. "So, you took a spirit journey? And saw Incacha, and he taught you--"

"He didn't teach me exactly. When I came to you in that form the first time, when you were trapped in the spirit plane--"

"Hell, Chief. I was trapped in Hell. Let's call it like it is."

"When I came after you, I saw Incacha, and he chanted and prayed over me, called on the gods to accept me as a shaman. He was speaking in his own native language, but I just... understood it all. I learned to look inside myself. I learned to find the power that was in there. And I think...I think something more did happen in that encounter. Then, today, I found myself tapping into that internal energy before I left my body, and when I was most desperate to reach you, to help you, it was like I could hear Incacha's voice in my head, reminding me of things I should know, sharing his wisdom. Then it was clear what I had to do."

"Are you okay?" Jim asked, pulling a hand up to his lips for a kiss.

"Yeah." Blair stroked Jim's cheek with his finger as Jim kept the hand there for more kisses. "I think I'm really ready for us to go away together. Can we still do that?"

"You bet. As soon as we do the paperwork, and you have your next check up, we'll go someplace secluded, just the two of us."

"I think I'll really be okay then," Blair said, smiling. "Jim?"

"What?"

"Would you go back to Peru sometime? Back to visit the Chopec?"

"It would be nice to do that when there wasn't a crisis."

"I feel like it's something I need to do. Not right now, but maybe in a while, when I'm 100%, and when we've had some time to work on us."

Jim nodded toward the closet. "Are my clothes in there?"

"Sure."

"Would you grab them for me? I'm going home to sleep in our bed tonight instead of this rack of torture under the floodlights."

"You're supposed to be in here for observation."

"Observation of what? I'm still alive, and I feel fine--just groggy."

"It sounds really good to get some solid sleep--together."

"So let's do it."

 * * *

 Despite the protests of the nurse, Jim dressed and Blair located Simon and Taggert, who had arrived to visit Jim, and arranged for their ride home. Jim was still a little dizzy and a bit groggy, and Blair wasn't able yet to move very fast. Both men were grateful to see Simon arrive at the curb by the front door to pick them up while Taggert headed back downtown to ride herd on the booking and paperwork involved with this second bust of Redding's cult.

"Jim, you sure you should be doing this? You don't look so hot," Simon said, casting a concerned glance into the back seat, where both men had chosen to sit.

"I'll be fine, Simon. Just need some sleep--and getting that in the hospital is close to impossible."

"You two need any help?" he asked, pulling up near the door at 852 Prospect.

"We'll manage, thanks, Simon. Thanks for driving us home," Blair added.

"Not a problem. Are you sure--?"

"We're fine," Blair repeated, opening his door before Jim laid a hand on his arm.

"Stay there, Chief. I'll come around and give you a pull." Jim got out, moving slowly around the back of the car until he reached Blair's side. "Get both legs out first so you're not pulling so hard, remember?" he cautioned. Blair nodded and when both feet were on the ground, Jim gave him a pull to his feet. "Okay?"

"Fine," Blair said, smiling. "Night, Simon."

"Get some rest, both of you. You've earned it."

"Thanks, Simon. I'll give you a call as soon as I come to in the morning. We'll get the statement down."

"Right. Take it easy." Simon waved as the two men left the car. As he watched them, Jim's arm went around Blair's shoulders, and Blair's arm slid around Jim's waist. They looked as if they were holding each other upright as Jim fumbled with the key and they finally disappeared inside the building.

 * * *

 Blair locked the door behind them, and Jim walked wearily into the loft, tossing his coat over the back of the couch. He had to smile when Blair silently walked behind him and picked it up, hanging it, along with his own, on the hooks by the door. Never thought I'd see the day...

"You feel steady enough on your feet to take a shower?" Blair asked.

"Oh, yeah. I'm just a little groggy." Jim paused. "Chief?" Blair turned to look at him, inquisitive expression on his face. "Uh, how would you feel about us...taking a shower together? Just to clean up--nothing else," Jim hastened to clarify.

"We're both really wiped--beats one of us standing around waiting for a turn," Blair said, nodding. "And I'd like to get close to you. I just…I don't know how fair it is. I can't--"

"Blair, with this drug in my system, I couldn't do it to save my life, anyway."

"Okay," Blair responded, chuckling a little. Jim took hold of his hand and led him toward the bathroom.

"If this makes you uncomfortable for any reason, I want you to tell me."

"It doesn't. Being with you--it's like medicine. It makes me feel better."

"I like making you feel better, sweetheart." Jim caressed Blair's cheek briefly, and then they set about peeling off their clothes and tossing them in the hamper. Jim adjusted the temperature of the water, and they stepped into the shower, letting the warm water relax them.

Jim stood behind Blair, soaped up his hands, and began washing Blair's shoulders and arms, then his neck and back, and soon moved around to washing the hair-dusted chest. Blair showed no signs of being aroused by the contact, but he moaned contentedly and leaned back against Jim, obviously liking the sensations. He knew he was at a point of washing Blair's erogenous zones, and he contemplated skipping that, and leaving it for Blair, or asking permission first. Either option seemed awkward, as if he couldn't wash Blair's body intimately without it being sexual.

Making his decision, he lathered up his hands and carefully soaped Blair's belly and nonchalantly went about washing the lax penis and then beneath it to the sensitive balls. To Jim's relief, Blair didn't tense up, but rather parted his legs a little to give Jim better access to finish bathing him.

"Let me know if I hurt anything back here, okay?" Jim asked gently, soaping up Blair's buttocks with his hands, then retrieving the washcloth to carefully wash his center.

"Just don't rub too hard," Blair said, leaning forward a little.

"I'll be careful," Jim reassured. He had to fight a lump rising in his throat. Here was Blair, naked, in a shower, leaning forward and presenting his injured center so trustingly to Jim's care. He washed gently, cautiously, but thoroughly, then rinsed the inflamed area. He moved on to finish Blair's legs and feet.

"I'll do you next. Let's trade so you get under the water," Blair said, and the two of them began an interesting dance that finally put Jim under the spray and Blair behind him.

"Don't slip, honey," Jim cautioned, steadying Blair's arm as they completed the move. Blair losing his footing wouldn't do him any favors in the healing process.

"I'm okay," Blair responded, before lathering up his own hands and beginning the process of washing Jim.

"Mm, feels good," Jim sighed, relaxing as Blair's capable hands washed him and gently massaged the tight muscles in his neck and shoulders.

"You're so tight, if I had a bow, I could play a concerto," Blair remarked, working the knots. The humor made Jim laugh, and hearing the levity in Blair's voice lifted his spirits immeasurably.

"Mmm, play it, Maestro," Jim responded, still chortling. He was surprised when Blair hugged him from behind.

"I love you, you know," he said.

"I love you, too, Chief." Jim took a hold of Blair's hands, his thumbs rubbing over the slick, wet backs of them. "You know, I still think a ring would look good here," he commented, rubbing his finger over the spot on Blair's left ring finger. It seemed as if Blair stopped breathing altogether, still holding onto Jim. "Chief? You pass out on me back there?"

"You're still planning on getting rings? I mean, I know you said that at the hospital, but you sort of thought I was on my way out--"

"I didn't think that. That's not why I said it."

"I know that now." Blair sighed happily. "Matching rings, huh?"

"Yeah, I was thinking a nice gold band, nothing flashy. Or we can go silver if you like that better. As long as they match." He pulled the hand up and kissed the ring finger. "Unless you'd be uncomfortable with something like that."

"I was thinking you should wait, maybe, in case... Until we see if I'm going to be okay."

"Are we talking about recovering from the rape?" Jim felt a nod against his back. "You think the outcome of that would change this?"

"I think it's not fair for you to be saddled with someone who might not ever be able to be normal in bed again--at least, not for you to feel tied to me with a ring."

"I want to be tied to you forever, Blair. I don't care if we never have sex again, I'm still not leaving you unless you kick me out of your life. Even then, I'd probably hang around like one of those pathetic oafs who end up getting arrested for stalking."

"But I care. I care that I can't give you--"

"You give me everything I need just being with me. The rest of it's gravy. So don't try to weasel out of marrying me, okay?" Jim teased, and he felt a little snort of laughter against his back.

"Weasel out of it, huh?"

"You heard me, Chief."

"We can't get married."

"The hell we can't. The first thing we do is make sure that we're married through every legal piece of paper we can use--insurance, powers of attorney, deeds to property, joint bank account... And then we'll have a ceremony, and go away together for a couple of weeks. Sounds like getting married to me."

"We're already on each other's next of kin records for medical stuff, and the medical power of attorney stuff."

"So we'll do the other stuff as soon as we can, we'll pick out our rings, have a party with our close friends and exchange vows, and then take a trip someplace romantic."

"It's like something in a fantasy. I never thought we could have that."

"You mean that I'd want it?" Jim asked, swishing some soap and water over himself quickly to finish bathing, as Blair seemed happy to just hold onto him like a wet, hairy koala bear.

"Yeah, that, too," Blair admitted, a smile in his voice.

"I want that with you. I always wanted to be married, to share my life with someone I loved. I'm afraid you're the lucky winner, Chief."

"I'm never letting you go," Blair said, squeezing Jim a little tighter.

"Good." Jim turned around long enough to kiss Blair quickly before turning off the water. Together, they dried off and pulled on their robes, which hung on hooks on the back of the door.

"You need anything out of your room?" Jim paused, and Blair wandered into his bedroom and found a pair of boxers and a tank shirt, and rejoined Jim in the hall. When they reached the foot of the stairs, Jim put a hand on Blair's arm. "Hold it right there, Chief." He carefully scooped his partner up in his arms. "No steps until after your check up, remember?"

"If I take it slow--"

"No way. No sense in risking your stitches until after the doc gives you the all clear." Jim started the laborious trek to the bedroom, and finally reached the top, placing Blair gently on the bed. Blair stood up long enough to discard his robe and put on his underwear while Jim located a pair of boxers and slipped them on before turning out the light. When they were both tucked under the covers, spooned together, Jim spoke again.

"Redding's really gone this time, huh?" he asked, hoping his own uneasiness didn't come through in his voice. While he knew he'd been through nothing compared to what Blair had suffered, Jim still felt shaken, haunted and uneasy about everything he'd seen and experienced at the Redding estate earlier that evening. As he courted sleep, he wanted his shaman-lover to assure him that all was right with the spirit world.

"He's gone," Blair said simply, his hand going back to stroke Jim's hair in a comforting gesture.

"They found some burned remains at the back of the property. Dan is working on identifying them."

"What happened to Redding's uncle?"

"They think he's the one who was hit by lightning."

"We both know he wasn't. So, where is he?"

"I don't know that, Chief. But as long as Redding's dead, and Yates is history, I don't think we have too much to worry about."

"Except for Victor Redding. And how do you know Yates is history?"

"He wasn't looking too healthy the night of the Ritual, right?" At Blair's nod, Jim continued. "By now, he's got to be done for. Redding seemed convinced of it. As for Victor, well, he's an old man, Blair. Besides, if he managed to escape, he won't come back here. And I think it would be a little tough to resurrect that pile of...debris that was left of Redding." Jim ran his hand up and down Blair's arm, then kissed his shoulder. "It's over, baby."

"He still has a lot of friends."

"Most of whom are either busily cutting deals with the D.A., are in jail, or are running like hell as far away from here as they can get."

"I still can't forget sometimes that they wanted me so specifically..."

"You're worried one of them will come back?" Jim asked, kissing Blair's shoulder again.

"Yeah, sometimes. You know, one lone nutcase who thinks he can gain something by finishing what they started."

"Not going to happen."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because this time I won't screw up and leave you vulnerable."

"Jim, don't."

"Don't what? Say that it's my fault you were kidnapped? It's the truth, Chief. I did this to you just as surely as if I'd--"

"No! Don't ever say that." Blair turned over on his other side, facing Jim. "My getting hurt wasn't your fault Jim."

"I left you with Miller. I should have known--" Jim was cut off by Blair pressing four fingers over his lips.

"Don't. I mean it. It wasn't your fault. He had a good cover, he fooled all of us--" Blair paused when Jim kissed his fingers, then moved them away from his mouth to speak.

"You were too precious to entrust to some stranger. I was an idiot, and you paid the price."

"You and the PD gave me what you thought was good protection. It's not your fault that something went wrong. I never blamed you--not even for a second. I still don't."

"You wouldn't. Even if I had it coming."

"You make me sound like Mother Teresa here, Jim. Believe me, if I thought you had caused what happened to me, I wouldn't be here in bed with you." Blair sighed, his eyes focusing somewhere in the vicinity of Jim's heart, not meeting his eyes. "What happened was ...terrible. The worst thing that ever happened to me. But it was Redding's fault, and because I do have something...different within me. I don't know if I had any kind of ability before or if it was just after what happened with Incacha, but I was chosen for reasons that had nothing to do with you. You saved my life, Jim. And you still love what's left of me, without giving up on me because I'm a mess right now."

"You're not a mess, Chief."

"Your opinion," Blair responded, smiling. "I feel messed up, but there's one thing that's constant, that I hold onto--you. No way could I do that if you were in any way responsible for what happened. Let yourself off the hook, Jim. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I hate what happened to you, baby. I really do," Jim said, his throat suddenly constricted. "When we first got there that night...I could hear you. You were screaming, and crying...and I couldn't find you fast enough, couldn't get down there...and then it was silent..." Tears rolled down Jim's cheeks as he talked. "I knew what those bastards were doing to you. Instinctively, I knew it, knew it from your cries. And I couldn't stop it."

"It's okay for you to feel bad about this, too, Jim." Blair slid into Jim's arms, hugging him tightly. "It hurt us both."

"Not like it hurt you. I let this happen to you," Jim said miserably.

"No, you didn't. I know you, Jim. I know how much you love me, and I also know that you would have given your life to stop something like that from happening if the circumstances had come together that way. You've always protected me. At first it was because I was your responsibility as a ride-along. But after a while, I knew that was there, too--the liability thing--but I also knew that it wasn't the reason that you stepped in front of me as much as you could if somebody had a gun on us, or that you knocked me out of the way of a car..." Blair started to chuckle, and Jim couldn't help but smile, completely thrown at Blair's humor in the middle of such a serious conversation.

"What?" he asked, still grinning.

"You know when it really hit me that you loved me?"

"It must have been pretty funny, Chief. Spill it. I could use a laugh."

"Well," Blair said, pulling back a little so they could look at each other in the darkness, "the first time you put your arm across me in the truck on a sharp corner."

"What are you talking about?"

"We were chasing the limo that had kidnapped Joey--remember, Gordon Abbot's little boy?"

"Oh, right..." Jim thought back over the case.

"You took this corner at, like, warp speed, and I was scared shitless we were gonna hit something, or spin out of control, and I yelled or something, and you put your arm out and held me back against the seat." Blair ran his hand gently over Jim's heart. "I didn't need your arm to stay in the seat. I had my belt on. But you did it because I was scared, and that mattered as much to you as rescuing a kidnapped kid or catching the bad guys. I was so gone on you after that. Nobody had ever treated me that way before." Blair smiled. "Not that I wasn't gone on you before that, but then it got worse."

"I never want you to be scared." Jim pulled Blair back into his arms again, hugging him tightly. "Or hurt."

"I know. Jim, the guy who put his arm across me because I was scared in traffic would have never stood back and let someone rape me. I know that. It's going to take me a long time to recover from what happened--I know that, too. My body isn't even back to normal yet, let alone...anything else. But of all the people I feel anger or hatred toward, of all the things that make me wake up screaming, it never occurred to me to be angry at you, and it never will. Not for this. You might piss me off about something else, but on this one, you're clear," Blair added, a little smile in his voice.

"You're my whole life, Blair," Jim said softly, pulling back far enough to kiss the soft lips once, then again, more deeply. "And I don't just mean because of the lifeforce thing. I mean because...you're everything to me."

"I feel the same way. Now will you quit beating yourself up because someone did something horrible to me? You didn't do anything wrong, and human error doesn't count. You weren't careless--the Miller imposter was cunning. There's a big difference."

"You're so beautiful, Blair...and I've caused so many ugly things to happen to you."

"You've caused them? Jim, first I wanted a research subject, and then I fell in love with you. I wanted you, and I wanted to be with you. So I stayed, and sometimes I got into some trouble because of it. But it was my choice, and you always protected me the best way you could, and if you couldn't stop something from happening, you were prepared to risk your life to get me out of it. Yes, I'm forgiving, but I'm not a masochist or a doormat. If you really were careless with my safety, and didn't give a shit about me, I wouldn't be here."

"We probably need to get some sleep, huh?" Jim laid a hand on Blair's face, stroking the cheek with his thumb.

"Probably. Hold me?"

"As long as you'll let me." Jim wrapped Blair in his arms, making sure the covers stayed down far enough to not stifle his lover.

"Now this feels good." Blair yawned widely, complete with sound effects, then settled his cheek against Jim's chest, his face turned upward, his nose just over the covers. "Night, love."

"Night, sweetheart." Jim smiled into the soft hair that tickled his nose, finally feeling relaxed and that all was right in his world.

 * * *