A search party comprised of local law enforcement in the two counties
nearest the Lakeview Resort began work at first light, combing the woods
surrounding the resort.  Blair had made a statement for the file, minus a few
intimate details, putting his recollection of Daniel Harris's murder on official
record.  Jim spent most of the day supervising the effort in collaboration with the
county sheriff.  

     Blair, unable to come to grips with another visit to Lakeview just yet,
spent his day at the DVU, returning phone calls and working on a grant proposal
which he planned to submit to a number of area foundations.  He didn't hold out
much hope for success, since the primary focus of his grant request was to
establish a shelter, treatment program and support group for male victims of
domestic violence, sexual abuse and rape.  He had the sinking feeling that the
conservative board members on many of these philanthropic organizations would
have little interest in paying out good money to help a group of people who might
include a significant number of homosexual or bisexual men.  Not that all male
victims of these crimes were in fact gay or in male-male relationships, but some
were, and those who weren't would still be lumped into a single category and
stereotyped by people with prejudices.  Fervently hoping he was taking a dismal
view of the inherent goodness in philanthropists, he made a few more revisions to
his opening paragraph.

     "Blair?"  Stacey, his student intern from Rainier, tapped on the open door
of his office.  

     "Yeah?"  Blair pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  

     "There's a client here who needs to talk to you.  His name is Alan."

     "Okay, thanks, Stacey.  You can send him in."  Blair saved the document
and got up, walking around his desk and heading toward the two chairs he'd set up
in the corner of the small office for more casual consultation with clients.  

     "You're Dr. Sandburg?"  The young man who stood just inside the door
after Stacey closed it behind him looked a bit surprised.  He was taller than Blair--
probably a little over six feet--with blond hair, blue eyes and a nice build.  

     "That would be me.  But call me Blair, okay?  My Ph.D. is in
Anthropology--just so you know I'm not a doctor or a psychiatrist."  Blair held out
his hand, and the other man shook it.  "You want to sit down and fill me in on
what brought you here?"  Blair gestured toward the chairs.  Alan shrugged.

     "Yeah, I guess."  He appeared to be in his early to mid-20's, and his
manner was very soft-spoken.  He sat in one chair while Blair sat in the other. 
The visitor looked distinctly uncomfortable, both physically and with the visit in
general.  

     "You want coffee or water or anything?"  Blair offered.

     "No, thanks.  I, uh...don't exactly know if you can help me.  I guess I'm
looking for referrals."

     "I'll be glad to help any way I can.  Referrals for...?"

     "I'm having some problems with my girlfriend."  

     "What kinds of problems?"  Blair prodded, his tone neutral.

     "Something weird happened...  I know it's not a big deal or anything, but
I'm...uh...I guess I'm feeling really freaked out by it."

     "Did she hit you?"  Blair asked gently.  The other man's head shot up, his
expression a bit stunned.

     "I thought you'd ask me if *I* hit *her*."

     "Did you?"

     "No."

     "Was I right the first time?"

     "Sort of."  Alan wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.  "She didn't hit me
exactly."  He took in a deep breath.  "We...we were playing around, and she..."  He
swallowed hard.  "This is really hard."

     "Take your time.  If it helps any, I do understand how hard getting the
words out can be."

     "I don't think you do."  He got up and started pacing.  When he'd arrived at
the window, his back to Blair, he finally spoke again.  "We were playing a game. 
It was her idea.  She wanted to try, uh, you know, this thing with restraints."  He
shook his head.  "I figured, hey, why not--you know, no big deal if she gets off on
tying me up."

     Blair felt his own stomach churning a little at the words.  Talking restraints
wasn't high on his list at the moment, having only recently come to grips with his
own terrifying memory.  

     "What happened?"  Blair prompted.

     "I figured she was gonna go into some sort of teasing routine, you know,
because I couldn't get at her.  I just...I just read her totally wrong.  She, um, had
this thing..."  He took in a couple of shuddering breaths, and Blair could see his
body trembling slightly.  

     "It's okay, Alan.  Just take your time.  You want some water?"  Blair
offered.

     "Yeah, I guess so."

     Blair went to the pitcher of ice water he kept on a short lateral file cabinet
near his desk, and poured a glass for his visitor.  He handed Alan the water, and
returned to his chair, understanding that sometimes it was just too hard to look
another person in the eye when you said the words.

     "Thanks," Alan said quietly, taking a couple gulps of the water.  "She put
this...leather thing on my dick..."

     "To keep you from coming?  A cock ring or a strap?"

     "A strap with a cock ring, I guess.  I feel like such a dork.  I didn't even
know they *made* a thing like that."

     "Just because you haven't tried out the common S&M toys doesn't make
you a dork."  Blair took a sip of the water he had poured for himself.  "I got
introduced to them in a less than voluntary way myself," he added, and Alan
turned his face sideways slightly, to get a look at Blair out of the corner of his eye. 

     "Your girlfriend did some weird shit to you too?"

     "My boyfriend, actually.  This jerk I lived with.  A whole lot of weird shit. 
But this isn't about me."  Blair paused.  "You're not alone, Alan.  The same survey
research that says that in the United States, a woman is seriously assaulted by her
partner every 15 seconds also found that a male is seriously assaulted by *his*
partner every 14.6 seconds.  Various studies put the number of male domestic
violence victims anywhere from 400,000 to over 800,000 per year.  The trouble is,
guys don't feel comfortable reporting it.  So it seems like it doesn't exist."

     "Man, that's wild.  I don't know anybody else who ever got hit by his
girlfriend."
     
     "I bet you do know someone, but it's a good bet he didn't tell you, or didn't
report it.  The point is, Alan, you're not alone, and you're not weird, and this isn't
the only time something like this has happened.  It's happening all the time, right
as we speak.  So take your time, and relax, and tell me what happened, so I can
figure out how to help."

     "I broke up with her after...you know, the next day.  She just left for a
study trip to Belgium."

     "I think you skipped something between the cock ring and breaking up
with her," Blair observed, and Alan actually snorted an ugly little laugh.  

     "You noticed."  After another deep breath, he continued.  "She put that
thing on my dick and it felt like it was gonna pinch it off.  Hurt like a son of a
bitch, and I told her to get it off me, but she just laughed and said she was in
charge."  He ran a hand back through his hair.  "I figured, well, you know, my
dick hurts, and I don't like this, but you know, she's getting into it.  I figured she'd
just tease me a little and then we'd do it."  He leaned against the window frame,
still looking outside.  "She had this...big fake cock thing.  A...dildo?"  He looked
back at Blair as if to confirm he had the right term.  Blair nodded.  "I could've
stopped her if I'd kicked her.  But that would've been the only way, tied up like I
was."  He shrugged.  "I was afraid I'd really hurt her.  My dad used to slap my
mom around, and I always promised myself I'd never hit a woman.  I'm bigger
than she is, and if I'd let her have it, she could've really gotten hurt.  I just couldn't
do it."  

     "So she used the dildo, but you didn't want her to?"

     "I told her to leave me alone, to untie me, that I changed my mind.  I told
her the cock thing she had on me hurt, that I didn't want to do it anymore.  I tried
everything to reason with her, and...she just jammed this thing into me really hard,
and..."

     "Alan, it's okay.  Take your time.  If you need to take a break, we can do
that too," Blair said quietly.  "Reliving it again sucks in a big way, but you need to
get through it."

     "I could feel it tearing me up, and I knew I was bleeding.  Damn..."  He
rested his forehead against the wall and fought hard not to sob, finally losing the
battle.  

     "You're doing fine, pal, just fine," Blair said, walking up behind him but
not touching him.  "When did it happen?"

     "Night before last," he managed, working hard to rein in his emotions.

     "Have you been to see a doctor?"

     "What am I gonna tell a doctor?!"  he shouted back through barely
controlled tears.  "That my girlfriend stuck a fucking plastic *warhead* up my
ass?!"

     "I'll go with you.  I can set up an appointment with a doctor I've referred
other assault survivors to--he's worked with people who've had similar
experiences.  All you need to do is let him check you out and treat you if
necessary.  I'll be glad to relate to him what you've told me, if I have your
permission.   I can be there for as much or as little of the appointment as you want
me to be."

     "I think something's really messed up inside me.  It keeps bleeding," he
confessed quietly.  "I feel sort of sick, and I...I don't know what to do.  I feel like
an idiot.  God, if the guys at work find out about this..."

     "Alan, listen to me.  Your health is the number one concern here.  The
guys at work don't need to know anything more than the fact you're taking sick
leave."

     "I don't have any sick leave.  I'm hourly, and I work at Tony's Gym.  I'm a
personal trainer there.  We don't make much money--I mean, I'm more like a
sparring partner and punching bag holder and boxing coach.  I haven't been able to
get a real job in my field around here.  And my mom's still with my dad and I
know if I leave Cascade, that situation's gonna get worse...  I don't have any sick
leave.  If I take off work, I've gotta have a good excuse, and then I don't get any
money."

     "First step is a visit to the doctor.  If you let something serious go, it could
make you very ill, or worse.  Will you need a doctor's note to miss work or is it
just the pay that's a problem?"

     "Mainly the pay.  Tony, the owner...he's pretty cool, and I never missed a
day before this."

     "Listen, call Tony right now and tell him you're ill, and you're running a
fever, and you can't go in to work.  That'll set the stage for something that will
keep you home a few days.  Once you do that, we'll go to the doctor, and we'll
take it from there.  It's going to be okay.  You're not alone with this thing
anymore."

     "You want me to file a report, right?"

     "What your girlfriend did was sexual assault, pure and simple.  I would
love it if you'd file a report and press charges.  But my helping you isn't contingent
on whether you do that or not.  If you choose to, I'll be present when you make
your statement and I'll be your contact person for any of the future hearings or
legal activities that follow.  If you want to let it go, I'll still help you any way I
can."

     "You aren't going to file a report with the police department?"

     "All that goes in my report about our visit is a general statement that a man
came to see me with a sexual assault situation at 3:00 this afternoon.  That's
something I keep track of for budget and client caseload management purposes,
and also for assembling statistical data I use to apply for grants to keep the
department running.  But your name or the details of our interactions aren't
recorded or reported anywhere unless you file a police report *voluntarily*."

     "Okay.  I guess you better call that doctor.  I don't...I don't..."  Alan looked
at him for a moment and then collapsed before Blair could reach out to break his
fall.  Dropping to his knees beside the prone man, Blair checked his pulse and
found it rapid, the man's skin almost clammy to the touch.  He rushed to the phone
and called for an ambulance.  He stuck his head out the door of the office and
hollered to Stacey.  

     "Call Jim downstairs and ask him to come up.  The ambulance is on its
way.  He passed out," Blair said, nodding back toward the office before returning
to his spot on the floor near his fallen visitor.  

     He could hear Stacey making the call to Jim, and then she rushed into the
room.  

     "Is there anything I can do?"

     "Just go down to the main entrance and escort the ambulance guys up
here."

     "You got it."  She ran from the office and raced to the elevator.  

     "Alan, come on, try to wake up for me, okay?  Everything's going to be all
right," Blair reassured, taking a hold of one limp hand.  

     "Chief?  What's going on?"  Jim strode across the office and crouched by
where Blair was kneeling next to Alan.

     "I think he's probably bleeding internally.  I don't know for sure."  Blair
swallowed.  "He was...sodomized with something."

     "His pulse isn't sounding too good, Chief."  Jim pressed his fingers against
the pulse on the man's throat.  "I hope you told 'em to hurry."  He pulled one
eyelid up, then the other.  "Go get something to cover him with.  He's going into
shock."  

     Blair hurried over to the little straight chair in the corner where he had a
couple of throws folded neatly.  He was never sure if he'd be seeing clients who
had fled their home situation on a cold day with no time to grab a coat, or clients
with small children who ended up napping in one of the overstuffed chairs.  The
throws always came in handy.  

     He returned to Alan and covered him, but Jim pushed him aside suddenly
with a muttered curse.  He started CPR.  

     "Take over!"  he directed Blair, who took over the pumping motion over
the man's heart while Jim went to work on mouth to mouth.  

     "He's not breathing at all?"  Blair asked, horrified at the turn this situation
had taken.  

     "Nothing.  No heartbeat.  Keep it up," he directed Blair, going down for
another effort at mouth to mouth.  Finally, to their relief, the man on the floor took
in a shaking breath, though it was shallow and unsteady, and Jim sat back on his
heels, relieved.  "There's a pulse. It's weak, but he's back with us," Jim stated.  

     Just then, the paramedics rushed inside, and Stacey went back into the hall
to give the personnel from the neighboring offices a generic explanation for the
commotion and to encourage them to go back to work and leave the hall clear for
the ambulance attendants to get through.  Blair always marveled a bit at the petite
young woman's assertive manner--and her effectiveness at telling a bunch of
veteran cops what to do.  Despite her deceptive appearance as a sweet, quiet little
redhead with glasses, if Stacey went out to clear the hall, it was a good bet it
would be, in fact, clear when she was finished. 

     With oxygen and IV's attached, Alan was loaded onto a gurney and
removed from the office quickly, the EMT's moving at a sprinting pace toward the
elevator that was being held open for them.  

     "We'll follow them with the siren," Jim said, catching Blair's arm before he
could go any further.  Mostly, he wanted to keep Blair with him so that if the
young man died in the ambulance, Blair wouldn't have to deal with it alone.  But
another little part of him wanted the reassurance of Blair's presence.  His lover had
come too close to being where this injured man was.

     "This is ridiculous," Blair ranted as they called for the other elevator. 
Thankfully, it came quickly and they stepped into it.  "All of this because he was
afraid to report it.  Not because he was afraid of the person who did it--his
*girlfriend* did it!  But because of what he was gonna go through, how
embarrassing it would be...  Damn it, Jim, this sucks!  Look at all the support
groups and the...the..."

     "Blair, calm down."  Jim took a hold of Blair's shoulders.  "Tell me what
happened, sweetheart."

     "I can't.  It's not mine to tell.  I've said more than I should have.  It's up to
him if he files charges.  That's the deal."  Blair slid his arms around Jim for a
quick hug before the elevator opened.  "I'm glad you're here."

     "Me too, honey."  He returned the pressure.  "Come on.  We'll give them a
police escort."

     As they followed the ambulance, the second set of lights and siren seemed
to help the traffic part even more quickly.  Both men were a little puzzled as the
ambulance slowed a bit, then began traveling at a fairly normal speed through the
city streets.

     "What's with them?!"  Blair demanded, gesturing at the slower moving
ambulance.  Jim had a sick feeling what was wrong, but with the noise of the
sirens, he couldn't open up his hearing to know for sure.  He figured either the
patient had died en route, and all that was happening now were routine required
resuscitation efforts, or that they were in the midst of trying to do CPR and needed
more stability in the ambulance than their prior pace had provided.  

     "We're almost there, Chief," Jim said evenly, steering the truck into the
emergency drive behind the ambulance.  Both of them got out quickly and rushed
up to the ambulance as they were unloading Alan, emergency room personnel
running out the door to meet them.  Standing back not to impede the progress, Jim
approached one of the EMT's as Blair hurried into the hospital behind the gurney,
which was clustered with medical staff as it raced down the hall.

     "What's happening?"  Jim asked.

     "He flat-lined in the ambulance.  We've done CPR and used the paddles on
him, and he's still down for the count.  The doctor didn't want to call it because we
were so close to the hospital, and the patient's young and otherwise healthy--I
guess he figured he had the best shot at getting revived anybody could have."

     "Damn.  What do you think?"  Jim asked.

     "I think he's dead," the other man replied honestly, getting into the back of
the ambulance to straighten things up.  Jim hurried into the hospital and found
Blair pacing a little frantically near a closed examining room.

     "What'd they say?"  he demanded as soon as Jim appeared.

     "They had to do CPR in the ambulance.  It's not looking good, Chief," he
concluded gently.  

     "They've got to save him, Jim.  This is just...God, he can't just *bleed to
death* like this because he was afraid to talk to anybody."  Blair dropped into a
nearby couch, and Jim sat next to him, sliding an arm around his shoulders.

     "He was afraid?"

     "Of the stigma...of admitting his girlfriend basically *raped* him with
this...*thing*," Blair said unsteadily.  "This is what we do to guys who are
sexually assaulted in this society.  Make them hide it so they don't have to feel like
wusses or faggots," Blair spat out the angry, ugly words.  "God forbid we'd admit
that men aren't invulnerable."

     Just then, the doctor came out of the room, a look of defeat on his middle
aged features.  

     "We did everything we could," he said sadly.  "I'm sorry."

     "Damn it," Jim muttered, looking at Blair, who just swallowed hard.  

     "Does he have any ID with emergency information on it?"  Blair asked.

     "This is a police matter," Jim added, showing his badge.  "It's a homicide
investigation now."

     "He was hemorrhaging internally--and externally.  I understand you lost
him once before the EMT's arrived?"

     "Yes, but we managed to get a pulse," Jim said.

     "He went into cardiac arrest in the ambulance, and he didn't respond to any
of the resuscitation attempted by the EMT's or by our trauma team here.  The
bleeding appars to have been heavy, and fairly prolonged.  His colon was
perforated by something.  He essentially bled to death," the doctor stated flatly. 
"Of course, I realize the medical examiner will have to make that determination,
but that's the result of my examination."

     "He was sodomized with an object a couple nights ago, and he didn't
report it until now..."  Blair shook his head.  "I, uh, I'm with the Domestic
Violence Unit at the PD...he came in to see me, and he collapsed."

     "Anything you need for testimony, just let me know.  I'll get you a list of
the trauma team, and we'll be available for any questions."

     "Thank you, Doctor," Jim responded.  "I do need to see his personal effects
for ID purposes."  

     "Right this way," the doctor led the way toward the examining room, and
Blair followed, not convinced he wanted to see the man's corpse, but also feeling
oddly like he owed it to him to see him through the police procedure as he'd
promised, even if it was posthumously.

     A sheet, marred with a few bright streaks of red blood, covered the dead
man's lower body.  His face, arms and chest already bore the white pallor of death,
making his blond hair look almost yellow by contrast.  

     "Chief, you can wait outside if you want.  These are just technicalities." 
Jim picked up the wallet that had been laid aside on the table near the bed.

     "I said I'd be there with him through the whole process if he wanted to
press charges.  I kind of feel like I should keep my word, you know?"  Blair said
sadly, looking down at the dead man.  "So senseless," he whispered, his voice
strained.  "I promise you one thing, Alan.  I'm damn well going to do something
about it."  With that, Blair turned and walked briskly out of the room.  Jim wasn't
sure what the vow meant--Blair was already devoting his life to helping abuse and
assault victims.  Knowing Blair, though, if he vowed to do something, major
shockwaves would be felt somewhere.

********

     Jim leaned against the door frame of Blair's home office, watching his
lover typing almost maniacally at his computer keyboard.  Blair had been quiet
and withdrawn during their preliminary investigation into Alan Benjamin's death,
his expression almost unreadable as he sat in Simon's office while contact was
made with authorities in Belgium to put Alan's girlfriend on a plane headed for
Cascade, accompanied by a police guard.

     The search party looking for Daniel Harris had come up empty thus far
combing the woods around the resort.  It had been a horrible day, and if the
intensity of Blair's expression was any indicator, it didn't appear to be getting any
better.

     "It's almost midnight, Chief.  Think we ought to get some shut-eye?"  Jim
asked.

     "I can't.  Tomorrow is a deadline I can't miss.  I was going to let it go, you
know, with what happened and the memories and everything...I didn't feel like I
could get it together.  But I can't *not* do this now."

     "What deadline is it, sweetheart?"  Jim walked into the room and stood
behind Blair, massaging the tense shoulders.  

     "The Mills Foundation.  They make grants of up to a million dollars to
human service agencies for developing new programs.  If there's a chance they'd
look at my proposal, I could conceivably start a program for male victims with
that kind of money."

     "You already provide services for male victims.  I know that for us, it's
intensely personal, and it seems like this huge need, but there aren't that many out
there, statistically speaking."

     "That's the point, Jim.  There *are* that many out there.  Hundreds of
thousands.  Guys getting abused by their wives who are too embarrassed to report
it or get this, if they do report it, the wife cries self-defense and blames the man
for abusing *her*.  Or God help him if he ever gets over his chivalry complex and
hits back.  That's not even touching the issue of gay men who are abused by their
partners.  One in four gay men have experienced some kind of domestic violence. 
In Los Angeles County alone, they fund over two dozen shelters that accept
female victims.  Do you know how many there are for men? *One*, Jim. *One*. 
And it's 80 miles from downtown LA!"

     "Sounds like you've got a pretty impressive list of statistics for that
proposal."

     "A lot of it's survey research, and there are a number of potential
inaccuracies with that particular methodology."  Blair ran a hand through his hair. 
"Men don't report it, Jim.  That's why we don't have any good, solid numbers." 
Blair shook his head.  "Women report it and they're supported by the system, by
their friends, by their families...well, ideally.  I know I'm generalizing and some
women don't have a good support system.  The point is, *society* is in their
corner.  We might not do all we should about it, but we know women are abused,
and most people you talk to are aware of that, and think we should be doing
something about it.  With men, they have the reaction you just did there aren't
enough of them out there being abused to make it worth having a shelter.  That's
not even touching the issue of raising public awareness and educating our society
so *men* are encouraged to come forward and get help.  Look at Alan.  If he'd
survived what happened, and hadn't finally decided to brave it and come in and
talk to me, we wouldn't have a statistic on him.  Does that mean it didn't happen? 
No.  So how many other guys like Alan are out there, with no place to turn?  Even
if there was one good shelter and counseling program in every *state*, guys could
come to it.  I don't expect that they're going to build shelters in the same
proportion to what's out there for women.  But we need *something*."  Blair let
out a long breath.  "It doesn't matter anyway.  I'm so fucking tired the words are
running together."

     "Why don't we get some rest and you can start fresh in the morning?"

     "I want to be in on investigating Alan's case."

     "You will be, Chief.   But there's a lot of routine footwork and paperwork
to do, and I can work on that tomorrow.  The girlfriend is en route back here but
you know she won't get in until tomorrow evening sometime."

     "Weird how she pulled this stunt and then left the country."

     "She's coming back.  Besides, she may not have had any idea she was
doing something as serious as she was."

     "He bled to death, Jim.  She had to have a pretty good idea she was doing
some serious damage."  Blair leaned back in the chair and took off his glasses,
rubbing his eyes.  "Bad enough to be looked at funny because you're male, but let
your attacker be a woman and you're really screwed.  Even *you* are looking
funny at this one."

     "I just want to keep an open mind, honey.  I'm not looking funny at it
because of the gender of the victim or the suspect."  Jim massaged a little more
firmly, and Blair tilted his head appreciatively.  "You know that."

     "Yeah, I know that.  I'm being an ass."

     "You're venting.  You're entitled."

     "No, I'm not.  I love you, and I'm slamming you for no justifiable reason. 
Just because I feel shitty."

     "Apology accepted."  Jim kissed the top of Blair's head.  "Now let's go to
bed.  The search team is going out early in the morning, and we've got a lot of
folks to interview in Alan's case, and you've got a dazzling, brilliant proposal to
finish."

     "It sucks.  It's flat.  It's full of preachy horseshit and shaky numbers. 
They're going to throw it out."

     "Come on.  Enough.  Tomorrow, you tackle it."  Jim pulled the desk chair
back from the computer.  "Hit save, then shut down."

     "I think I already did shut down, I mean."  Blair yawned a little and
followed the directions, and when the computer screen was dark again, he slid
under Jim's waiting arm and joined his lover on the trek up to their bedroom. 
Already in his robe and boxers, he was prepared to just crawl into bed.  

     "Relax, baby," Jim whispered against Blair's ear as they nestled together in
the bed.  "You need to loosen up a little," he said, kissing the full mouth before
moving downward, rolling Blair onto his back and straddling him, teasing a nipple
with the tip of his tongue.  The nipple responded marginally, but Blair did not. 
"This isn't what you need right now, huh?"  Jim prodded, sitting back on his heels. 


     "Sorry.  It's not that I don't appreciate what you're trying to do.  Sex just
isn't...it just doesn't feel good right now."

     "I understand, sweetheart."  Jim turned out the light and slid down in the
bed, pulling Blair into his arms.  "Cuddling's okay, though, right?"  he clarified
with a little smile in his voice.

     "Cuddling's good," Blair responded, nestling closer.  "I don't mean to keep
chewing on you.  I know you're on my side, and I know you understand what I'm
trying to do.  I just get so *frustrated* sometimes...and I just...explode, I guess."

     "You don't think any of these agencies or foundations are going to look at
your proposal and see merit in it?"

     "Jim, you're more sensitive to this issue than just about any other man I'd
discuss it with, and your perception is that there aren't that many guys out there in
these situations.  And in one sense you're right, because most of them don't report
it, so the numbers aren't impressive in terms of law enforcement records. 
Granting agencies like to do things that affect big numbers.  If you can show a
huge service population, you're more likely to get money.  I mean, I have a few
statistics, and a few case studies...  I'm trying to write an anonymous case study of
Alan into this proposal...  It's just hard, you know?"
     
     "Maybe it's a little fresh to be writing it.  He just died this afternoon.  I
know you're not reacting to it, but I know something's going on inside."

     "I just want to scream or throw things, but it won't help.  I feel so much
like I have to make a difference here, like his death has to mean something.  If
there had been something like what I want to start, available here, Alan would
probably still be alive.  Because maybe the day we start bringing the male victims
out of the closet is the day when guys are going to start understanding that it's
okay if they're hurting and need help.  Maybe their stupid friends and relatives
who make them feel like it's not okay can learn something...can learn that their
pain is just as legitimate as any woman's.  That they need help and counseling and
sometimes protection."  Blair sat up and pushed his hair back.  "I was lucky.  
Somebody rescued me and protected me and brought me back to life...because,
man, I was on the edge of dying even before Vince did his last number on me. 
Not everybody has someone like you in his life waiting to save the day."

     "My motives were partly selfish."  Jim sat up and pulled Blair against him,
resting the side of his head against Blair's.  "I can't live without you, remember?"

     "You saved my life and you protected me and you met my needs--God
knows I had a ton of them...still do sometimes.  No shelter or support group can
give someone that level of love, but maybe it could give them the place to stay
and the protection and the... *legitimizing* of their situation."     

     "You want to set up a shelter.  For that you need a house.  Some old place
that needs work shouldn't be too expensive.  Do the basics to get it functional and
let your residents help out with some of the projects if they're able.  For
counseling, your support group would be right there--the residents, and you.  You
already have volunteers from the U helping out with the DVU.  Why not with that
project too?  Don't get too bogged down in the bureaucracy and the grant requests. 
I don't think we need a fortune to do this."

     "We?"  Blair turned his head to look at Jim.

     "We."  Jim tightened his hold.  "WE will talk more about this tomorrow.  
If it means this much to you, then it's *our* project, and we'll find a way to make
it happen if we have to take out a loan and buy a fixer-upper ourselves.  Now will
you relax and go to sleep?"  Jim kissed Blair's cheek.  

     "I love you."  Blair turned and pulled Jim into a crushing bear hug.  It was
returned enthusiastically.  

     "You keep talking about giving something back because of what I did for
you.  Maybe it's time I gave something back because I was blessed enough to get
you back in my life.  I love you, too, cuddlebug."  

     "Sleep doesn't sound so bad after all," Blair said, smiling as they shifted
positions until they were in each other's arms, comfortable under the covers. 
"G'night, Jim."

     "Sleep tight, sweetheart."  Jim smiled and hugged Blair close, letting
himself drift into a peaceful sleep.

********

     While the truck headed for the PD with Jim at the wheel, Blair was
laboriously scanning the classified ads, circling the occasional "house for sale"
square.  

     "Finding anything good?"  Jim asked as they pulled up to a stop light.

     "Some of this stuff is just too far gone--restoration would cost too much. 
And then there's the issue of location.  I mean, older neighborhoods are great, but
not if we have crack houses on all sides."

     "Is there anything worthwhile for us to check out at lunch?"

     "There's one on Hanover Street.  It's a fixer-upper, a two story with four
bedrooms and two bathrooms, a basement, and a walk-up attic."

     "Hanover's a pretty good street--we don't get many calls over there.  Price
in our range?"

     "Yeah, on the lower end of it, actually."  Blair looked up at him.  "Are you
sure about this?  If we take on another mortgage, things are going to be really,
*really* tight."

     "Just for a while.  You're going to get grant funding, remember?"

     "What if I don't?"

     "Blair, we'll have an established facility with an established program with
an established client population.  There're your statistics.  You can cite how many
people are being served and what's being done and what kind of results you're
getting.  You can solicit donations on a regular basis--we'll set it up as a non-
profit, get the license we need for that."

     "I know how it could work.  I'm just worried about what's going to happen
if it doesn't.  Then we have to put guys out on the street and close our doors."

     Jim drove the truck forward as the light changed.  

     "Then we set up a dormitory in the basement at home and put 'em up there. 
We won't put anybody on the street, Chief.  Besides, once they've had a chance to
get some counseling, and get some help with the situation they're in, they'll be
moving on anyway.  That's the goal of shelter, isn't it?  To get people back on their
feet again?"

     "You'd really put people up at our place if we had to?"  Blair asked.

     "When I committed to doing this, I meant it.  It's not a half-way thing.  It's
*our* project.  That's *our* home--it makes sense we'd use it if we had to."

     "I really love you a lot, you know," Blair said solemnly, looking directly at
Jim until the other spared him a look as they pulled up to another stop light.

     "You're not so bad yourself, Chief," Jim said with a grin, slipping his hand
behind Blair's head and pulling him over for a fast kiss before the light changed.  

     "I think everybody saw us," Blair said a little nervously.

     "Bet they're jealous of me, then."  Jim settled back in the seat with a
mischievous smile, leaving Blair to contemplate that thought.

********

     Brandy Klosowski was an unremarkable-looking college student with
straight blonde hair and blue eyes.  Dressed in a long sleeved blue knit top and
jeans, she got off the plane with a plainclothes female detective from the Los
Angeles Police Department at her side.  When she'd landed back on US soil, her
Belgian escort had begun the return trip home, and an LAPD detective had taken
over at LAX, traveling on the flight to Cascade.  Jim, Blair and two uniformed
officers were waiting at the gate.

     The girl looked scared, and her eyes were badly bloodshot.  In the
nighttime fluourescent lighting of the airport terminal, her coloring was a sickly
gray and she looked at Jim as if he were the devil himself.  

     "Ms. Klosowski, I'm Detective Ellison, Cascade Police.  This is Blair
Sandburg, Director of the Cascade PD Domestic Violence Unit.  We're here to
take you downtown for questioning."

     "Brandy!"  A woman's voice caught their attention, and the girl looked
immeasurably relieved to see a stout middle-aged woman rushing toward them. 
The two women embraced.  "She's exhausted.  Do you mean to tell me she isn't
even allowed to go home and get some sleep?"

     "You must be Mrs. Klosowski," Jim surmised, and the woman nodded. 
"Your daughter is wanted for questioning in the death of Alan Benjamin.  I have
to take her downtown now."

     "Is she under arrest?"  Another voice cut in as a taller, more slender
woman dressed in a dark business suit joined them.  She appeared to be a bit older
than Brandy's mother, her graying hair neatly styled.  "Jane Henshaw.  I'm Ms.
Klosowski's attorney."

     "We can arrest your client if that's how you'd prefer to play this, Ms.
Henshaw," Jim said calmly.  "We'd prefer to question her and hear her side of the
story first, but we have enough evidence to proceed with formal charges."

     "I don't want to be arrested," Brandy protested.  "I didn't do anything to
Alan!  Honest I didn't!"

     "I don't know if you want to get into this here, with your mother present,
Ms. Klosowski."

     "Very well," Ms. Henshaw spoke up.  "Brandy, I think it's best if we
cooperate with questioning at this point.  I will be with you, and you will have the
right to refuse to answer any questions."  The attorney watched as her client
nodded solemnly, still clinging to her mother's arm.

     "If everything's under control here, I'm catching a return flight," the LA
detective spoke up.

     "Thank you for escorting her here," Blair said, extending his hand. "Blair
Sandburg," he added.

     "Maria Rivera, LAPD Homicide," she responded, shaking his hand. 
About Blair's age, and only marginally shorter, she was an attractive Hispanic
woman with long dark hair pulled into a simple ponytail.  "Detective Ellison," she
nodded toward Jim, who returned the gesture.  

     "Are you sure we can't get you anything?  Your flight leaves
immediately?"  Blair asked.

     "Within the hour.  Mr. Sandburg, I'm familiar with your work via the
HSPro list," she said, smiling.  "You're doing a great job.  When you get your
shelter up and running, be sure to keep me informed.  I'm hoping to get something
similar off the ground in LA."

     "Thank you.  Please, e-mail me when you get back to LA."

     "We need to get going, Chief," Jim said as Brandy, her mother and her
attorney were escorted by the two uniformed police officers toward the exit. 
"Thank you, Detective Rivera," Jim said, shaking hands with her.  

     "She wasn't exactly a hardened felon--it was a milk run," she responded,
smiling.  "Mr. Sandburg, I'll be in touch."

     "Blair, please."

     "Blair it is.  Good night, gentlemen."  With that, she hurried across the
terminal to another counter, presumably to check on the status of her next flight.

     "What's the HSPro list?"  Jim asked as they followed their suspect and her
entourage to the exit.

     "Human Services Professionals--it's a mailing list on the 'net for people in
social service jobs all over the country.  There aren't many cops on it,
unfortunately, but Maria's a really perceptive, caring person.  She's dealt with a lot
of domestic situations that have turned into homicides.  She's been trying to get a
network of safe houses going in LA to house male abuse victims."

     "She's not too hard on the eyes either, is she?"  Jim grinned, nudging Blair
a little.

     "She's not really my type," Blair responded, looking up at Jim with a big
grin, open adoration on his face.  Jim worked hard to resist the urge to kiss every
inch of that lovestruck face, settling for a return smile and a silent vow to make up
for lost time later.

     Brandy's questioning was a start and stop, slow-moving nightmare until
the small hours of the morning.  The girl was not only jet-lagged and
overwrought, but she was loathe to admit she'd ever even *seen* a dildo, let alone
used one on her boyfriend.  After six hours of on and off interrogation, with rest
breaks her lawyer insisted upon, she finally admitted she liked to engage in sex
play using the toys, and that Alan did not.  She admitted to using the dildo on him
but would not admit that he'd bled or that she'd been rough with him, or that it was
anything but consensual.  

     With the DA's blessing, she was formally arrested and charged with
criminal sexual conduct and second degree murder.  Jim had a sinking feeling it
would be bargained down to a low level of manslaughter before the whole ordeal
was over.

********
      
     "I'm not sure she gets it, even now," Blair said tiredly, pouring two cups of
coffee from a pot of the stuff in the break room that had seen better times.  It was
almost six a.m., and they hadn't bothered to go home after booking Brandy.  "She
killed him."

     "I'm not sure if she's really in denial or just covering her ass," Jim said,
taking a drink of his coffee, grimacing at the taste.  

     "Ooh, stale coffee and Sentinel tastebuds.  Not a good combo, man," Blair
said, smiling at the horrible face Jim had made.  

     "Have I told you lately that I love you?"  Jim said, touching Blair's hair
lightly.  They were alone for the moment, but at the PD, they were never sure for
how long.

     "Not in the last few hours," Blair responded, smiling up at him, that look
in his eyes again, the one that had almost melted him at the airport.  "Wasn't there
a song by that name?"  Blair's grin turned a little devilish.

     "I do, even if you *are* a smart ass," Jim responded, risking a quick kiss. 
Pulling back, he made another face.  "God, that coffee tastes awful, even on you."

********

     The house on Hanover street certainly wasn't going to draw buyers from its
curb appeal.  A completely nondescript old wood-sided house with a slanting front
porch and a gravel driveway, the house blended with its equally nondescript
neighbors.  Many of the homes were neatly kept--though a few looked a bit battle-
scarred--and the neighborhood itself, shaded by a number of large trees, seemed
quite quiet.  

     The real estate agent, a portly man in his mid-fifties, did his best to "talk
up" the house's good points--the nearly 2000 square feet of living space, the two
full bathrooms, the large, square rooms--while his prospective clients assessed the
need to completely re-do the interior.  Wallpaper was old, faded and peeling in
spots, carpeting nearly threadbare and window trimmings either grubby or non-
existent.  

     The basement proved to be dry and a perfunctory visual inspection of the
foundation indicated it was sound.  The furnace was a big old monster, but it
allegedly still worked.  The walk-up attic contained a plethora of junk and
cobwebs, but it did have a hard wood floor, two decent-sized windows which
were located in the apex of the roof line at the front and back of the house, and a
high enough ceiling for Jim to stand comfortably and walk around the central
portion of it.

     "We'll need to get an inspection done," Jim said to the real estate agent as
they headed down the stairs to the first floor.  "I would also want to stipulate in
the offer that the junk in the attic and the junk in the shed out back is to be
removed at the owner's expense.  We've got enough work to do in this place
without cleaning up after them."

     "I'm sure we could work something out along those lines.  The house
needs a bit of sprucing up, but it has marvelous potential."

     "Sprucing up?"  Blair repeated, his eyes widening a bit.  

     "Maybe more than a bit," the man admitted, laughing.  "But the property
values in this area are very steady, you've got lots of nicely kept homes in this
block...it's a solid investment."

     "I think we need to sign some papers and get this show on the road to
make an offer," Jim concluded, smiling at Blair, who returned it with tenfold the
enthusiasm.  

********

     "You bought what?"  Bill's eyes widened a little as Jim joined them at the
table with the warm garlic bread.   Blair was just finishing divvying up the
spaghetti on the three plates.  As the weather grew colder and wetter outdoors
with the progression of fall into winter, the kitchen was warm and cozy with the
smells of good cooking.  Since it was Sally's night off, Bill had snapped at their
dinner invitation eagerly.  

     "Another house," Blair repeated.  "We're going to start a shelter for male
assault and abuse victims.  We'll take people from anywhere, geographically--I'm
thinking of setting up a network with other social service and victim advocacy
agencies across the country via the 'net.  I already belong to a couple of mailing
lists of other professionals who work with abuse victims.  The number of men
who come forward or seek help is smaller, and until we really start a proactive
program of public education and awareness,  just in Cascade alone, we probably
wouldn't serve enough people to keep it up and running.  But if we could be the
center for the Pacific Northwest, that'd be a different story."

     "It's a big house, Dad," Jim chimed in.  "There are four bedrooms and an
attic that could be finished to accommodate maybe four beds in a dorm-style
bedroom.  We could put up quite a few guys at once, or when you get a man who
has children with him, we'd be able to accommodate that.  Plus, you need numbers
to impress granting agencies--and you also need to overcome some prejudices,
which isn't easy either."

     "Which is the big obstacle I'm facing.  I mean, I'm not doing well
competing with children's programs and women's shelters and feed the hungry
programs when it comes to getting funds.  The PD will pay for a cheesy apartment
that puts up a couple guys in a jam, but the rent went up on even that, and they're
looking at it as a potential budget cut.  Actually, the apartment is used for *any*
abuse victims we need to help out if there's not room in a traditional shelter, or if
they need extra security--which means, of course, if we've put a female victim
there, we can't obviously have her sharing with a man."

     "I imagine it's harder to sell this than it is a few heart-tugging case studies
of cherub-faced children in need of teddy bears for Christmas," Bill surmised,
taking a drink of the red wine they'd served with dinner.  

     "Any thoughts on who we could talk to that might be receptive?"  Jim
asked.  "The Cascade Community Foundation has a big lump of funds to hand out,
I understand--a deadline at the end of the year or something.  You know anybody
on that board that might be sympathetic?"

     "Me," Bill responded, smiling.  "I agreed to be on their board a couple
months ago when Ryan Williams died--you remember him, Jimmy.  He was the
guy who ran the Cascade Press."

     "Vaguely.  He was over to the house for a few dinner parties, wasn't he?"

     "Right.  Mainly when it was my turn to host something for the Cascade
Arts Council."

     "You'd put in a good word for us?"  Blair asked hopefully.

     "I'd be glad to.  When you get your proposal together, let me go over a
draft of it, and I'll give you some ideas where to tweak it to give it a little edge."

     "Thanks, Dad."  Blair smiled gratefully.  "I'm really running into a lot of
brick walls with this lately."

     "I've got a couple other ideas--after dinner, I'll look up some contact names
for you.  Steven finally convinced me to go 'high-tech'.  I have one of those hand-
held computers in my coat pocket," he explained.  "I can't believe I let him talk me
into that."

     "You'll have to show me your new toy.  I've been thinking about getting
one of those."

     "Oh, good.  Another computer to crash," Jim grumbled, shaking his head.

     "Truthfully, if I hadn't known Blair personally--a survivor of an abusive
situation--I probably wouldn't have had as much sympathy for this sort of project
either," Bill said honestly.  "I probably would have figured they could take care of
themselves--or should be able to."

     "That's a pretty common response to male victims--like there's something
*wrong* with them if they need help, or that they're weak, or they feel like society
has such a huge *stigma* on them that they're afraid to ask for help."  Blair laid
his fork aside.  "What really got me rolling with renewed conviction on this whole
thing was the death of one of my clients.  Well, he was only a client for a few
moments...he collapsed in my office while we were talking, and he died in the
emergency room."

     "My God."  Bill winced a little at the scenario.  "He was beaten up?"

     "He was abused by his girlfriend--yeah, I know, pretty unbelievable.  His
injuries went untreated too long, and he hemorrhaged.  By the time he came to me,
it was too late.  And his big fear was what his friends or his employer were going
to think.  That pressure we put on men in this society to be tough and
invincible...it killed him."

     "Using him in your proposals would be a good idea."

     "Oh, I plan to, anonymously," Blair said.  "I'd like to name the shelter after
him, but I think that's the last thing he'd want, truthfully.  He was very intent on
maintaining his anonymity and privacy.  But I guess if we can just make it
happen...maybe it'll seem like his death was a little less... pointless."

     "You can tell me to butt out if you want," Bill said as a preface to his next
words, "but I was concerned what happened after...after you were so ill the other
day, Blair."

     "I remembered what it was I'd blocked out," he responded simply. 
Knowing how cryptic that sounded, he added, "Vince showed me a videotape." 
After a long pause, and a drink of water, he continued.  "I always knew there was
something beyond the obvious that scared me about Vince, that made me believe
he was capable of every depraved thing he ever threatened to do.  Now I know
what that was.  He made a videotape of a murder."

     "He taped someone being killed?"  Bill's eyes widened in horror.

     "He killed someone with the tape rolling," Jim summarized.  "For kicks,
he showed it to Blair.  The victim in the video looks just like Blair."

     "That's the sickest thing I ever heard."

     "Apparently he took up with me because I reminded him of this guy he
killed."
  
     "Any luck identifying the victim?"  Bill asked, still looking stunned.

     "Yeah, we matched him up with a missing person.  Authorities up near the
resort where we think it happened--the same one where Blair and I went--have
been combing the grounds for the remains.  No luck so far."

     "Going there triggered all this, huh?"

     "I started having flashes as soon as we got there," Blair said.  "You know,
there's no way to know that the body is anywhere near there.  God knows what
Vince would have done with it.  I just wish I'd remembered it sooner so that guy's
family could have had some...*closure* all this time."

     "Maybe the remains were found but not identified," Bill suggested.  

     "You should've been a cop," Blair quipped, grinning.  Bill laughed, and
Jim smiled.

     "We're running a check on that right now, but so far, nothing."

     "I didn't mean to get you off on an unpleasant subject," Bill said, noticing
that Blair had abandoned his meal without finishing it.

     "It's not you, it's me.  I don't have much appetite right now."

     "You want dessert, Dad?  I bought Moose Tracks at the store today," Jim
said, goading Blair into rolling his eyes over the vanilla ice cream laden with
peanut butter cups and fudge.

     "Going through the grocery store with him is worse than taking your five-
year-old.  Chips, soda, candy, ice cream."

     "Somebody I know seems to always end up with his paws in my potato
chips while we're watching the game," Jim said, getting up and clearing away
plates. 

********

     Blair paused in the doorway of the bedroom, smiling at the soft golden
glow of candles and the music playing on the small stereo on the dresser.  Jim was
wearing his black silk robe, standing by the bed with a soft smile on his face.  Hair
loose, clad in his favorite plaid robe, Blair had just finished his final ablutions for
the night and was ready to crawl into bed with Jim.

     "They're playing our song," Jim joked, pulling Blair into his arms and
swaying them a little.  The music on the stereo was something romantic and
instrumental, but Blair couldn't immediately place it.  It didn't really matter,
though.  What mattered were the strong arms that closed around him, and the
safety Blair always felt within them.  He wrapped his arms around Jim and held
on tightly, resting his head on Jim's shoulder.  He felt a hand move up from his
back to stroke his hair.  

     "I love you, Jim," Blair said quietly, closing his eyes.  "I know I haven't
acted much like it lately, but I do."

     "You've had a lot on your mind, Chief.  A lot to deal with.  I'm real clear
on how you feel about me," he added, smiling as he kissed Blair's hair.  "In case
you were wondering, I love you, too."

     "I don't ever have to wonder."

     "You're right, you don't.  I'll always be here for you."

     Blair didn't say anything more, just burrowed into the embrace and clung
tightly.  He hadn't even realized how much he needed this, but somehow, Jim
knew.  They stayed that way a long time, just swaying a little to the music.  When
Blair felt boneless and sleepy, Jim guided them to the bed, where they tossed their
robes aside and slid under the covers.  Resuming their embrace, Blair realized it
was the first time he'd been naked in Jim's arms since the memories had begun
plaguing him.  The contact was healing.  It felt healthy and good and right.  

     Jim's lips trailed little kisses along Blair's jaw until they reached his neck,
licking and sucking gently, leaving little passion marks behind.  He was moving
slowly, in no particular hurry, and Blair relaxed and enjoyed the languid
sensations.  His body wasn't responding quickly, despite his desire to get close to
Jim and make love.  Still, he was relieved that Jim didn't take that as a signal to
stop.  

     They rolled over until Blair was on his back, and Jim was hovering over
him, kissing his way down Blair's neck to his chest. A gentle but assertive hand
massaged his balls, encouraging his somewhat unresponsive cock to harden and
take interest. Then, Blair felt a hot, wet tongue dragged across his left nipple. 
Then the tip of the tongue played lightly with the hardening bud of flesh.  Then it
licked again.  Blair groaned and arched into the teasing wetness.  The tongue
danced across the expanse of chest to the right side, and began lapping, then
teasing with just the tip.  

     Jim was tasting his nipples.  Mapping their texture, exploring them...and
yet not sucking.  

     "Jim...suck it...please," Blair gasped, longing for the intensity of that hot
mouth drawing his flesh in tightly.  Jim moved up until his mouth was against
Blair's ear.

     "I'm savoring you, baby.  I want you all over my tongue."  Jim pulled back
and smiled at the flushed, aroused look that earned him.  "But what my lover
wants, my lover gets," he added, grinning and kissing the end of Blair's nose
before claiming his mouth passionately. The lips left Blair's, then moved down to
suck hard on the left nipple, drawing a little cry of pleasure from Blair.  Jim took
his time, working each little bud until Blair was fully erect and eager, thrusting up
against him.  

     "What do you want, sweetheart?"  Jim asked, kissing his way back up to
Blair's neck.  "Tonight's yours.  You can have anything you want."

     "I want to feel something good inside me.  I want you in there, making it
feel good."  Blair paused a minute, reaching up to frame Jim's face in both hands. 
"You always make everything good again.  I love you so much I can't believe it
sometimes."

     "Believe it."  Jim moved down for a long kiss.  "You deserve all the love
there is, baby.  Just relax and let me give it to you," he whispered against Blair's
ear as he reached for the lube on the night stand.  

     Blair took in a deep breath and released it slowly as one coated digit eased
inside him.  He knew he was tight, and he knew he was still fighting the memories
that had plagued him in recent days.  Still, he wanted to feel Jim inside him; it was
almost a necessary reassurance of how good, gentle and wonderful things were
now that Vince Watson was a distant memory.  Pulling his legs up and apart
further, he hoped Jim wouldn't mistake the tension in his body for a lack of desire. 


     "When this is all over, we're going away together someplace special,
sweetheart," Jim said softly, his finger still working on relaxing the tight muscles. 
"Someplace brand new, someplace peaceful.  Maybe with a lot of sandy beach and
dark blue water, where all we have to do all day is lie around in the sand or make
love."  Blair felt another finger enter him, and it was getting easier to accept it. 
He closed his eyes and thought about the unnamed paradise Jim was describing,
about the waves lapping the shores, the sun setting over the water...

     A finger rubbed firmly over his prostate, and Blair lurched at the intense
pleasure of it, a little shout escaping him.  The finger repeated its gesture before
both fingers withdrew, and Jim coated himself with gel.

     "If it doesn't feel good, we'll slow down, or we'll stop--okay?"  Jim asked,
a little breathless himself now as he stroked his own hard flesh.

     "I know.  But it'll feel good," Blair said with a grin.  He pulled his knees
back further, and watched Jim's expressions as he began slowly sliding inside the
tight slickness: there was concentration, as if he were doing the most delicate life
and death process, and pleasure, and finally relief as he reached full penetration. 
It did feel good, like always with Jim, and as long as he kept focused on the
present, on the man he was with now, the past would be held at bay.  

     As soon as Jim was fully sheathed, Blair wrapped his legs around the firm
body above him, and accepted the powerful, passionate kiss that was bestowed on
him.  

     "Come up with me," Jim panted, and Blair nodded, as both men slid their
arms tightly around each other and Jim moved back up on his heels, bringing Blair
with him.  Still impaled, straddling Jim's lap, Blair began thrusting to increase the
friction of his hard cock against Jim's body.  "Eager little devil, aren't we?"  Jim
teased, and Blair fastened his mouth against the soft skin of Jim's throat in
response, sucking gently.  

     Then it was Jim's turn to thrust, setting a steady, firm rhythm, moving in
and out of Blair's body, cock rubbing over Blair's prostate more often than not,
making him abandon his work on Jim's neck to cry out with pleasure.  Blair's
thighs were writhing and squeezing on the outside of Jim's, and Blair was adding
his own motion to their sex, not satisfied to be a passive participant.  

     Blair composed himself enough to kiss his way down the smooth chest,
pausing to subject Jim to a little of the tongue action Jim had given him earlier. 
He dragged his tongue over the firm bud of one nipple, and when Jim gasped and
thrust harder in response, he tried it on the second.  

     Jim tilted Blair's chin up for another kiss then, his tongue moving in and
out of Blair's mouth in the same rhythm he was using to claim Blair's ass.  Blair
pulled away and rode Jim's lap wildly, speeding up their pace, gripping Jim's
shoulders and thrusting up and down on the hard column impaling him.  Jim
grasped Blair's cock and began pumping it.  With a hoarse shout of pleasure,
Blair's whole body vibrated with his climax, his internal muscles squeezing and
releasing Jim in that amazing natural rhythm of orgasm.  

     As Blair's body slowed and stilled, Jim reached his own peak, shouting
Blair's name as he filled him, gathering the languid, damp body against his while
they rode out the lingering aftershocks together.  

     Blair rested against Jim's chest, breathing heavily, closing his eyes and
letting his senses fill with the warmth and scent of what was, for him, the safest
place in the world: in Jim's arms.  He relaxed fully now, feeling that hand moving
gently through his hair, while another rubbed up and down his back.  He could
feel Jim's softened flesh still inside him, and he didn't want to give it up.  He
tightened his hold on Jim.

     "You okay, cuddlebug?"  Jim placed a kiss on Blair's temple.

     "Just want to hang onto you for a while.  Don't want to let you go."

     "Hang on as long as you want, baby.  I'm not going anywhere."  Another
kiss on the top of his head.  "Afraid of the ghosts coming back?" he asked gently. 
Blair shuddered a little at just how well Jim could read him.  He squeezed his eyes
tighter and nodded.  He knew once this embrace was broken, the new memories
that had haunted him would be there again, at the edge of his consciousness, ready
to reach up and grab him as he slept.  

     "I don't wanna dream about it anymore," he admitted, his arms tightening
around Jim.  "I see him in those dreams, Jim.  He's *right there*, and he's...and I
can't stop him..."

     "I wish I could come into your dreams.  God, Chief, you don't know how
badly I want to kill him again--only slowly this time.  Make him pay for what he
did to you.  Make him pay over and over again."

     "I want to stop remembering his face, and how he...how he *felt* and how
scared I was."

     "I don't know if you can stop remembering, sweetheart, but I'm right here
to hold onto, and he's gone.  He can't touch you, baby.  Not ever again."  Jim
added a slight rocking motion to their embrace.  "I promise if you have a bad
dream tonight, I'll come and get you out.  Okay?"

     "Yeah, okay," Blair said, laughing a little.

     "I mean it.  Trust me?"

     "You're serious."

     "Sure I'm serious."  Jim pulled back a little.  "I'm gonna hold you close all
night, and if Watson shows up in your dreams, I'll find a way to kill the bastard in
there, too."

     "I believe you," Blair said, stunned that he actually did.  The thought,
combined with his post-sex lassitude, made it difficult to keep his eyes open. 
Jim's hands were at his waist now, gently encouraging him to lift up long enough
for Jim to slip free of his body.  

     They stretched out on the bed and pulled the covers up, Blair snuggling
happily into the embrace that kept him securely against Jim, his lover's heartbeat
thumping quietly and steadily beneath his ear.  He held onto Jim's promise,
impossible as it seemed, and dozed into a deep sleep.  Wherever in Blair's
subconscious Watson was lurking, he was held at bay all through the night.

********
          
     The old house on Hanover Street soon had new owners.  The offer had
been accepted happily, as the previous owners were already living in their new
home and badly needed to unload the old one.  Blair spent his days between part-
time office hours at the DVU and spearheading an ever-rotating team of
volunteers in cleaning, painting and preparing the house for use as a shelter.  Jim
spent many of his off-duty hours there as well, his very real commitment to the
project's success never ceasing to make Blair feel incredibly loved, and
remarkably lucky.  

     Fortunately, zoning hadn't proven to be a problem, and they gained
clearance for housing as many as ten adults in the dwelling's five bedrooms.  Jim
had led a group of volunteers in a hasty renovation of the attic into a bedroom in
order to satisfy the inspectors they were suited to house that many.  As he had
with the DVU, Blair again tapped his University contacts to persuade a faculty
member who was also a licensed psychologist and another who was a former
domestic violence caseworker to volunteer their time on an as-needed basis.  

     Students from the Rainier Social Work program set to work on a plan for
making the shelter's availability known to the student population.  Students from
the Criminal Justice program signed up to work as security once the facility
opened, as the University agreed to make the shelter one of the options for their
field work requirements.  Based on his own experiences with Watson, and his
work with the DVU, Blair was unpleasantly aware that enraged abusers were very
likely to seek out their victims or those who were helping them.  

     Blair spent many long hours on the 'net, putting the word out to online
support groups, as well as various law enforcement agencies in the state, and even
a few in the states immediately surrouding Washington.  Being there were very
few shelters for male abuse victims, for both the good of the people who needed
the help and the survival of the project, clients drawn from a greater population
than just Cascade alone would not only serve a need but also increase their
chances for funding.  

     After a long day off working on the last of the renovations, Jim had looked
forward to a relaxing evening alone with Blair.  Instead, he found himself making
coffee for a prolonged session of paper-shuffling between Blair and Bill, who was
volunteering his time to help Blair navigate the necessary paperwork to establish
the shelter as a non-profit organization.  He also came armed with grant
applications from two of the local foundations on whose boards he served.

     "If you two can muddle through without me, I think I'll go take a look at
the game for a while," Jim said, setting another pot of coffee on the table.  What
he really planned was to turn on the game and sleep in the TV room until Blair
was finished for the night and they could head up to bed.

     "We're fine, Jim," Blair said, barely sparing him a glance.  Jim smiled as
he watched the scene for a few more seconds, and then headed into the TV room. 
It was good to see Blair engrossed in something again.  It brought out the "old
Blair" -- the one with the fire and passion and commitment -- the one who had
been somewhat invisible during the difficult weeks as Blair dealt with his
emerging memories of his horrible encounter with Watson at the cabin.  

     Jim turned on the TV and plopped on the couch, finding the game with the
remote and leaning back in the cushions.  Sleep was so close...until the phone
rang.  Reaching for the cordless on the end table, he grumbled, "Ellison."

     "Jim, Joel.  They just called from up north.  They've got a skeleton. 
Medical examiner said it looks like an adult male."

     "Damn.  Where'd they find it?"

     "You're not gonna believe this."

     "Try me."

     "Well, it seems they've got this medium up there--"

     "You're shittin' me, Joel," Jim said, shaking his head with an ironic smile. 
"We've had search parties up there for weeks."

     "They tore up the floorboards in a newly constructed storage barn on the
resort property based on something she told them following a vision.  It seems
they didn't go very deep with digging to put the storage building up--it was just a
wood floor and one of those storage shed kits you get at the lumber store.  The
owner confirmed it wouldn't have been there at the time Daniel Harris was killed."

     "Oh, man."  Jim ran a hand over his face and sighed.  "Have Records pull
the file on Watson.  I have a feeling Danny Harris might not be the only victim."

     "You mean you think Watson was a serial killer?"

     "Think about it, Joel.  What he did to Blair alone is proof he was a violent
sadist.  We know he killed one guy and taped it to show to another one he was
abusing.  How is it a stretch to think he did this more than once?"

     "Dear God.  You coming in?"

     "Yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can.  If they're going to stick around in the
M.E.'s office up in Bradford County, I'll take Harris's dental records up there
myself."

     "They'll be there.  This is a big case for them--their first homicide in forty
years."

     Jim hung up the phone and looked up to see Blair standing in the doorway.

     "Dad's getting pretty tired, so he's going home."

     "How long have you been there?"  Jim asked, thinking back of his
conversation with Joel.

     "Long enough."  Blair walked into the room and sat on the arm of the
couch.  "It's okay, Jim.  I'm not going to freak out just because you talk about it."  

     "Did Dad leave already?"  Jim realized he hadn't even scanned the house
with his heightened hearing but rather had all his attention focused on Blair.

     "Yeah, he just drove off.  His eyes were getting pretty tired reading all that
fine print.  Guess we better get started, huh?"

     "Blair--"

     "Don't even think about telling me to stay home."

     "This isn't gonna be pleasant, Chief."

     "I lived with Vince, Jim.  There's not too much I can hear about now that's
going to shock me."

     "I guess you've got a point there."  Jim reached up and circling Blair's
waist, pulled him off the arm of the couch and into his lap.  Blair accepted the
cuddling willingly, bringing his face to rest in the curve of Jim's neck.  "No matter
what we hear, or what we find in the next few weeks," he began, rubbing Blair's
back slowly, "remember that it's over, he's gone, and I've got you now.  He can't
ever hurt you or anyone else again."

     "I can't think about it.  About the fact that maybe he had...that maybe he
killed people.  It's bad enough knowing he'd killed one person.  But to think of
him as some sort of serial killer, and all along, he was just building up to me being
another one of his victims..."

     "Don't think too much about it, baby.  You survived.  That's what counts." 
Jim kissed Blair's hair, squeezing him tighter.  "I can handle this, sweetheart.  You
don't have to come along."

     "I know.  I have to follow this through.  I want to.  I want to feel like I can
do it.  As long as I hide from it, he's still calling the shots."

     "Sometimes you really blow me away, you know that?  I think about what
rough shape you were in when I got you back from that son of a bitch, and
sometimes I just can't believe you're the same person.  I'm so proud of you, Chief. 
So proud of your strength."

     "I wouldn't have been that strong by myself.  You make me strong."

     "No, I don't make you strong.  You've always been made of good stuff,
Blair.  Whether you were telling Lash to fuck off...or standing up to that horse's
ass you were living with."  Jim took Blair's hand and brought it up to his mouth,
kissing it gently.  

     "We better go."  Blair straightened and moved away, standing up and
holding a hand out to Jim, who grabbed onto it and let Blair give him a pull to his
feet.  Sometimes he just liked to feel Blair's healthy strength, to see him lift, pull
or move without pain.  

     Too bad no one had been able to rescue Danny.

********

     The small police department serving Bradford County was abuzz with the
discovery of a possible homicide victim and the impending visit of cops from
Cascade.  The medical examiner's office was on the second floor of the three floor
municipal building which held the courthouse, jail, and police department as well. 


     The medical examiner, Dr. Edward Falkner, was a stout man of about
sixty, with silver hair and silver-rimmed glasses.  Blair had no real desire to see
the skeleton for himself, so the three men spoke in the office, which consisted of a
terribly cluttered desk, two old gray file cabinets and a couple of padded vinyl
visitors' chairs which had seen better days.  

     "What are your thoughts on the cause of death?"  Jim asked, laying the
envelope with the dental records on top of a pile of papers and folders.  

     "The only serious trauma I find evidence of is in the vertebrae in the neck. 
My guess would be strangulation, but's that's a preliminary finding.  I'll compare
these records so we can get an ID."

     "Strangulation would be consistent with the cause of death for Daniel
Harris," Jim said.  "I was hoping to talk to the detective in charge of the
investigation here.  I understand a psychic was instrumental in finding the
remains?"  Jim prodded, raising an eyebrow.  "Is that common here?"

     "Using Annie to help out when we're at our wit's end is pretty common,
yes."  The older man smiled.  "She's really somethin' else.  Found a whole barn
full of stolen merchandise for us last year.  She's a good lady.  Lived here all her
life, raised a nice family.  No reason to suspect her of being involved in anything." 
He paused.  "Isn't that usually what you boys on the police side of things suspect
when a psychic comes up with the answers?"

     "Sometimes."

     "Oh, and Ron Pierce, the detective in charge?  He'll be here anytime now. 
He's divorced and has his two boys to take care of, so he had to find someone to
watch the kids before coming back in."

     "Must be tough juggling a cop's schedule and raising two kids alone,"
Blair commented.

     "Well, we don't have the kind of excitement here you boys have in
Cascade, but it's a challenge.  He works hard at it."

     "Was anything else found with the body?"  Jim asked.

     "A little jewelry.  The lab boys bagged some debris found around the
corpse, but my guess would be it's just junk that was on the ground when he was
buried.  That part of the property on the Lakeview Resort is a popular make out
spot for teenagers, or at least it was back then.  They've put up fences and made it
tougher for the kids to hang out there now, but at the time this guy was buried,
there would have still been quite a bit of litter and junk around there."

     "If the dental records match up, Daniel Harris does have surviving family
who will want to claim the body."

     "Excuse me, Nate said our guests were up here?"  A man in a plaid shirt
and jeans stuck his head in the door.  He appeared to be in his early thirties, with
dark hair and a mustache.  

     "Ron Pierce, this is Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg from the Cascade PD,"
Falkner introduced.  Jim and Blair rose and the three men exchanged handshakes. 
Ron sat against the edge of Falkner's ratty desk, nearly causing an avalanche with
the pile of folders on the corner of it.  

     "I understand we got you away from your kids," Blair said, smiling.  The
other man chuckled.  

     "Yeah, the day care center is open until seven, and then she closes the
doors, so I have to get 'em before that.  I would have stayed otherwise.  'Course, if
this ends up being Daniel Harris, there isn't much for me to investigate.  You have
the dental records?"  He stared at Blair, his gaze lingering on him longer than on
anyone else in the room.

     "I've got 'em," Falkner spoke up, rising a little stiffly from his chair,
cursing at the snapping of a couple joints.  "Think the poor guy in the lab's got
better bones than I do," he groused, making his way stiffly into the lab.  

     "I think I'll go have a look," Jim said, and Blair nodded.  Detective Pierce
also rose to follow them into the lab, looking a bit curiously at Blair.

     "Sorry, but I was noticing the resemblance between you and the photo in
the files you guys sent up here." 

     "Yeah, I look quite a bit like Daniel Harris, I know," Blair said.  "That's
probably why the killer picked me to get together with."

     "You think there's a danger we have more than just this guy out there
somewhere?"  Pierce asked Jim.

     "We don't know for sure that this would be the place Watson would
always choose as some sort of 'killing ground' even if we knew he'd done this
more than once.  I do think it would be worth searching the area where this corpse
was found very thoroughly."

     "I was thinking about calling Annie back in to take a walk around the
grounds."

     "Your psychic?"  Blair asked, intrigued.  

     "Right.  We were getting ready to shut down the search and I thought it
couldn't hurt to show her the photo and tell her about the case and see if she came
up with anything.  I didn't even tell her we were searching at Lakeview.  She rode
in the car with me and directed me there, and then right to the spot.  She's pretty
remarkable."

     "I'd like to meet her," Jim said.  "If you trust her, and she's that sharp, by
all means, let's bring her in on this."

********

     There was nothing remarkable about the skeleton they'd recovered from
the Lakeview Resort property.  Still bearing traces of the dirt in which it had been
buried, a few ragged strands of hair still clung to the skull.  Obviously long,
somewhat curly brown hair.  

     "Poor kid," Jim muttered, more to himself than Pierce, who nodded.

     "Hell of a way to die.  Then to be missing all this time.  Ed said he thought
it was strangulation."

     "That fits with what Blair remembered from the tape."

     "Yeah, I read his statement.  That Watson character was one sick son of a
bitch.  Can't say I'm sorry he's six feet under."

     "No, I can't really find too much to regret about that either."  Jim paused. 
"A friend of mine at the Cascade PD is going over Watson's file.  We're going to
take a look at the photos we have on the men he had relationships with prior to
Blair.  I think we should cross check those against the missing persons cases in the
appropriate PD's and see if there are any possible repeats of this situation."

     "We've got a match, boys," Dr. Falkner said, rejoining them.  "That's
definitely Daniel Harris.  I should be finished with him by morning, so if the
family wants to claim him and make arrangements, they can do so right away. 
Unless you want to hold him here for evidence?"  he asked Ron Pierce, who
looked at Jim.

     "You think there's any risk that Mr. Sandburg could be wrong about
Daniel Harris?"

     "Well, it's not too likely you would have found his body up at Lakeview if
Blair was mistaken.  I don't doubt the accuracy of his memories on this issue."

     "Okay," Pierce agreed, nodding.  "The family can claim him and make
arrangements for burial anytime then.  You'll get back to me with any information
on other missing persons cases you're investigating?  I mean, just in case this was
a favorite spot of Watson's to do his sick business."

     "Yeah, sure.  I don't anticipate finding anything else here, but it's possible."

     "He ended up living with a guy who looked like his victim and working at
the same university the kid attended.  He's probably the most arrogant son of a
bitch I've heard of yet in terms of M.O.  Why would it be surprising he'd use the
same killing and burial site more than once?"

     "Just for old times' sake, huh?"  Jim nodded.  "Wouldn't surprise me. 
Nothing about that maniac surprises me anymore."

     "Sandburg forgot this for three years?"  Pierce clarified as they walked
away from the remains.

     "You read the statement.  Watson was assaulting him while he ran the
tape.  The whole incident was a repressed memory, and when we showed up at
Lakeview, it triggered him remembering it."

     "He never filed charges against Watson."

     "I thought you'd read the case file."

     "I did.  You've just got to understand that before we write this off and don't
investigate any further, it's good to know the witness is credible."

     "The witness is credible," Jim said icily.

     "Okay, fine.  You know him, we don't.  This is my case, even if it *is*
open and shut and a matter of paperwork.  I just want to be sure it's handled
thoroughly.  Given your record in Cascade, I'm sure you can appreciate that."

     "You checked me out?"  Jim frowned.

     "Damn straight I did.  About the same time you were checking up on me."

     "Okay, touche," Jim admitted, chuckling a little.  

********

     The ride back to Cascade was a quiet one, both men somewhat lost in their
own thoughts.  Blair wrestled with the images that seemed to flash through his
mind without warning now, and his regret for burying the secret of Danny's
murder for all those years.  Jim couldn't get the image out of his mind of that poor,
bedraggled skeleton with its few remaining strands of long, curly brown hair.  He
reached over and took Blair's warm, living hand and entwined their fingers.

     "I'm okay, Jim," Blair said quietly, squeezing Jim's hand.

     "I came too close to losing you."

     "But you didn't."

     "I sent you away and you ended up with that son of a bitch--"

     "Whoa.  Stop right there.  First, you didn't send me away.  I left.  Second,
it is *not* your fault I met and got lured into a relationship with Vince.  I did all
of that all by myself."

     "But you wouldn't have been all by yourself if I hadn't pushed you away."

     "Why are you doing this now?  You know I don't blame you for anything
that happened with Vince."

     "I know that.  But you should.  I blame myself.  I hurt you, and then I
just...let you go."

     "Because I wanted to.  Because you weren't ready for what we have now. 
That's not something you should feel guilty or ashamed about.  It just happened,
love.  You didn't do anything wrong.  You didn't fail me.  It just happened."

     "I guess it was seeing that kid tonight...what was left of him..."

     "I'm alive, Jim.  I'm not in a drawer somewhere or on a slab.  I'm fine.  I'm
fine because you came and got me and then you protected me and you fixed
things.  You saved my life, Jim.  You have nothing to apologize for or feel bad
about.  Okay?  Don't be dissing the man I love, or I'll have to kick your ass all the
way back to Cascade, got it?"

     "Got it."  Jim smiled, pulling Blair's hand up to kiss the back of it.  

********

     Back in the bullpen, Joel was staring intently at his computer screen,
scribbling a few notes.  When Jim and Blair walked in, he leaned back in his
chair.  

     "Positive ID on Daniel Harris," Jim said as he and Blair sat at Jim's desk
several feet away.  "I'm going to get in touch with his father about claiming the
body."

     "We're going back up there tomorrow to meet with their psychic," Blair
volunteered, smiling. 

     "Their what?"  Joel asked, raising his eyebrows.

     "Believe it or not, a local psychic led them to Harris's body," Jim said,
shrugging.  "We're going up there tomorrow to meet with her.  Any luck with the
missing persons files?"

     "Well, I talked to Serena earlier, and there are no unidentified corpses in
her database that match up to the physical descriptions of any of Watson's former
boyfriends.  We only have two possibles out of the missing persons cases that I've
found so far."  Joel typed something into the computer and Jim and Blair walked
over to look at the screen with him.  "Ryan Whitman, age 30 at the time of his
disappearance," he said, then held up a snapshot from Watson's file of Keith Park. 
"Keith Park.  Not a real striking resemblance, and Park ended up dead anyway, so
he was likely one of the victims himself, though that wasn't proven."

     "We'll pull the Whitman file, but I'm not real impressed with the
resemblance," Jim agreed.  

     "This is the other one.  Uh, Blair, I don't know if you want to see this or
not."

     "What?"

     "This one looks like you, too."  

     "Go ahead," Blair said grimly.  Jim put his arm around Blair's shoulders,
squeezing a little as the image came up on the screen.  The facial features weren't
as similar as Daniel Harris's had been, but the hair was very similar, as was the
height and build.  From a distance, Aaron Metzler would have made a great
double for Blair.  

     "Damn," Jim muttered.  "When did he disappear?"

     "About a year before Daniel Harris," Joel said.  

     "Why didn't he kill me?"  Blair asked, the shock in his voice making it a
bit thin.  "I was the type he liked to kill.  Why did he let me live?"

     "Blair, we don't know Watson had anything to do with this guy's
disappearance," Jim said, fighting the sick chill he was feeling.  

     "We have to give that photo to the psychic tomorrow."

     "We will, Chief."  Jim was quiet a minute.  "Do we have any of Watson's
stuff in evidence yet?"

     "Probably.  Why?"

     "I want to take it with us tomorrow.  Something that was his.  I want to see
if the psychic has any reaction to it."

     "I'll call Holmes down in Property and see what he can come up with." 
Joel picked up the phone and dialed the internal extension while Jim and Blair
went back to their desk.  

     "He told me I wasn't the first person he'd killed," Blair began slowly.  "Just
the one he was going to make last the longest and beg the hardest," he concluded,
hands balling into white-knuckled fists.  "It was all just one long prelude to killing
me.  All of it.  He was playing with me, Jim.  The whole time.  Like a cat plays
with a mouse.  Chewing at it and hurting it and making it suffer before finishing
the job."  He brought one fist down hard on the desk, but not hard enough to draw
the attention of the few detectives in the immediate area.

     "We don't know for sure that Watson had anything to do with that guy's
disappearance," Jim reapeated.  "Let's not jump to conclusions."

     "Can we go home now?"  Blair asked.

     "Yeah.  I'm just going to call Mr. Harris, and then we'll go."  Jim rested his
hand in the middle of Blair's back, rubbing a little.  "No matter what we find out,
Watson's still dead, Chief.  He can't touch you."

     "I know.  It's just that he keeps touching me from the other side, and no
matter where I go or what I do, I can't ever get away from him."

     "I know, baby," Jim said in a hushed tone.  "I wish I could make him go
away once and for all.  Get him right out of your head."

     "You do a pretty good job of keeping him at bay," Blair said, managing a
little smile.   

     It was after three in the morning when the two weary men returned home. 
Too tired to worry about showering, they tossed their clothes on the floor and
crawled into bed in their boxers, wrapping around each other and dozing off to
sleep.

********

     Blair came to with a start, his eyes bulging in horror as he felt the
restraints on his arms and legs, the horrific pain and pressure in his gut.  His
surroundings were distorted, but rustic, like the cabin.  He tried to scream but the
gag in his mouth reduced it to a agonized sound deep in his throat.  His eyes were
wet and his vision blurred with tears.  

     "Watch the tape, bitch."  A sharp yank on his hair jerked his head back
into position to see the horrible images on the screen, the distorted face of a young
man who looked too much like him in the final throes of death as a leather strap
bit into the flesh of his neck.  "All I'd have to do is pull this a little tighter,"
Watson hissed, close to his ear, tugging on the leather collar around Blair's neck. 
"Now you can see what you're going to look like while I'm killing you."
     
     The words no sooner came out of Watson's mouth when a shot rang out in
the room.  Watson, looking shocked, stumbled back off the bed, blinking a couple
of times over glassy eyes before collapsing in a heap on the floor.  And then Jim
came into view, still carrying his gun in plain sight. 

     Blair tried to swallow, but couldn't.  He didn't want to think what he
looked like to Jim now, strapped open and on display, plugged and leaking
helplessly.  Jim holstered his weapon and checked the form on the floor. 
Obviously satisfied he'd done his job, he turned off the horrible images on the
television and moved to the bed, producing a knife, which he used to hack through
the restraints he seemed unwilling to take time to unfasten.  The gag was removed
carefully, preserving most of the sensitive skin beneath the tape.  Blair found all
that came out were a mixture of gasps and sobs.  He wanted so much to say
something, but it was all too much.

     Strong arms lifted him, carrying him into the bathroom and setting him on
the side of the tub.  He hid his face against Jim's shoulder, partially in shame,
partially from exhaustion, as a gentle but assertive pair of hands managed to ease
the oversized plug out of his abused opening.  When the horrible, retching
experience of voiding was over, he was wrapped in large, fluffy towels and
cradled against Jim's body, sitting there on the floor of the bathroom.  

     "It's over, it's all over now, baby.  It's over, I've got you," the soft voice
assured, one hand pressing Blair's head securely against what now felt like a bare
shoulder.  Though it didn't make sense to Blair's addled mind, he relished the feel
and scent of the smooth skin beneath his face, and let loose the wracking sobs of
fear and anguish that had been held back by the gag.  "Shhh, I've got you,
cuddlebug.  You're safe now.  Always will be," the voice continued, rocking him
slightly.  "I love you, Chief.  I'm right here."

     Blair jerked, opening his eyes and blinking rapidly.  He was wrapped in a
blanket, held in Jim's arms as they sat on the floor near the bed.  Their bed.  At
home.  Their home.  His rescuer...the man who had never been there and yet now,
seemed as if he had been...

     "You back with me, sweetheart?"  Jim asked gently, still rocking him.  

     "You were there," he muttered, pulling his head back enough to look up at
Jim.  This man looked a bit more tired than the man in the dream had looked, his
hair tousled from bed.  But the man in the dream was Jim all right.  But that
wasn't how it had happened.  Not really.  He shuddered when he thought of how
the evening had really ended, and how he'd lain in that bed, torn and bleeding,
sobbing because Watson hadn't made good on his promise to put him out of his
misery when the night was over.  

     "I was in your dream, Blair.  I saw what he was doing to you," Jim said,
his own voice a little unsteady and he held Blair impossibly closer.  "Dear God
help me, I saw what he was doing to you."  He buried his face in Blair's hair. 
Blair felt the vibration of Jim's own sobs as they seemed to come from the pit of
his soul.  

     "You came and got me.  You promised you would...and you did," Blair
said, incredulous.  "You said you'd come into my dream.  I didn't really think you
could..."

     "He can't have you.  Not in this world, not anywhere else.  You're mine,
Blair," Jim said brokenly.  "I'll go right down into Hell to kill him again if I have
to, but he can't hurt you anymore.  I won't let him."

     The two of them stayed like that a long time, huddled together on the
floor, until they finally found the strength to crawl back into bed, moving into
each other's arms.

     "How...?"  Blair's question trailed off.  The scientific part of his brain
demanded an answer.  His heart and soul simply leapt for joy with the knowledge
that his nightmares were no longer Watson's safe haven.

     "Must be love," Jim said, finally smiling a little as he rested his forehead
against Blair's.  "They keep saying it conquers all."

     "You made me a promise, and you never break your promises to me,"
Blair said, finally accepting the miracle for just that--a miracle.  He smiled then,
accepting kisses that peppered his eyes, nose, cheeks, chin, and finally his mouth.  

     "The way you look at me.  Makes me crazy sometimes," Jim admitted,
grinning like a lovestruck sap.  Blair drank in the expression hungrily.  Jim's love
had a healing quality he couldn't get enough of.

     "You came and got me," Blair repeated, still unable to believe the dream,
or the fact Jim had truly shared it.  

     "I always will, baby.  I promise."  

     It was a promise Blair would never doubt again.

********

     Jim woke to the sound of the alarm, surprised not to find Blair curled up
beside him.  It was almost eight, and by ten, they were scheduled to meet with
Ron Pierce and the Bradford County PD's favorite psychic, Annie Maxwell. 
Feeling a little stale from a long, tough day and no shower the night before, Jim
got out of bed and scratching at his disheveled hair, let out a long yawn.  

     Then the memory hit him like a ton of bricks.  It wasn't just the horror of
seeing what Watson was doing to Blair--really being there, seeing it for himself--
but the fact that somehow he'd crossed the barrier and shown up in Blair's dream. 
And it wasn't just some delusion Blair had, or some new wrinkle in the dream. 
Jim had been there.  He knew if he compared the events one by one with Blair,
their accounts would match.  Jim sat on the bed and mulled that over a moment.

     Since they'd moved into this house, both of them had to seriously evaluate
their preconceived notions about psychic phenomena and the paranormal.  Ever
since they'd met the elderly Mae and watched her perform a seance, they'd been
hard pressed to dismiss the value of psychics.

     "Thinking about last night?"  Blair asked, coming into the room now with
two steaming mugs of coffee.  He handed one to Jim and happily accepted the
outstretched arm that invited him to sit on Jim's lap.  

     "That why you were up so early this morning?"  Jim asked, pausing for a
good morning kiss.  Blair hadn't showered and his kiss was a bit bristly from
overnight beard growth.

     "I had some thinking to do," he admitted.  "Since last night, it's really
weird, but when I make myself look at my memories of that night with Vince, the
thing that stands out is how it felt when you showed up, and how it felt when you
held me.  I mean, I know that's not what happened.  I'm not going delusional on
you or anything," Blair said, smiling a little.  He took another drink of his coffee. 
"It's just that the main thing that I take away from that memory now is the image
of you saving me."

     "But I didn't.  Not really."  Jim rested his head against Blair's shoulder. 
Jim could feel Blair's cheek move where it rested against his head as Blair smiled,
hugging Jim closer.  

     "Yes, you did.  You saved me from my nightmares.  Jim, that place...that
place where you couldn't come to help me..."  Blair shuddered a little.  "That was
his hiding place.  That was the place where he waited for me, where I was
helpless, trapped there with him until I woke up.  I thought I was going to be
haunted by that bastard for the rest of my life.  And now, I don't feel like he's
waiting somewhere in my head to get me."

     "I still don't understand how it happened."

     "Don't you?"  Blair's fingers stroked lightly through Jim's hair.  "We have
a bond, Jim.  It's more than just friendship or even love.  It's soul-deep.  It always
has been.  You made me a promise and when you said it, you meant it, even if you
didn't know how you were gonna pull it off," Blair said, a little smile in his voice. 
"When I needed you, when I was in pain...when my *soul* was in pain...you felt
it, and you kept your word."

     "You accept it so easily."

     "I believe in you.  You never let me down.  End of story."

     "I don't deserve that.  I've let you down plenty."

     "You're not perfect, lover.  Neither am I.  We let each other down
sometimes, but not when it really counts.  I can't explain the mechanics of what
happened between us last night, but I know it happened, and I know what it means
to me.  What you mean to me.  And that's what matters."  

     "I wish we didn't have a meeting this morning."  Jim moved his face from
Blair's shoulder to kiss his neck.  

     "Yeah, me too.  But we do.  Drink your coffee.  I'm gonna start up the
shower.  Join me?"

     "You have to ask?"

     The shower felt good, and for a brief time, both men went about the
business of washing, moving around together in a practiced dance that got both
soaped and rinsed with equal time under the spray.  Jim did Blair's back, with a
proliferation of kissing and groping, and Blair returned the favor.  When he
wrapped his arms around Jim's middle, Jim covered Blair's hands and squeezed.  

     "Make love to me, Blair."

     "You want it like this?"  Blair asked, nudging his rapidly hardening cock
against Jim's slick cheeks.  

     "More than anything," Jim admitted, kissing one of Blair's hands.  To
illustrate his wishes, Jim braced his arms against the tiles, spreading his legs.  He
smiled as Blair hugged him from behind, then began trailing kisses down his wet
spine.  He was out of the spray, at the opposite end of the tub.  He imagined it was
still pelting Blair's back, running in little rivulets over the perfect, water slick ass
cheeks.  He wondered if the shower massage would set the rhythm once Blair was
inside...

     Blair moved lower, the trail of kisses moving down to the seam of Jim's
buttocks until strong hands parted them, kneading the flesh.  Then a hot tongue
was there, probing and teasing his hole, poking persistently until it breached the
tight muscle.  Jim closed his eyes, giving in to the sensations, moaning low in his
throat.  

     As much as the physical arousal was setting him on fire, feeling Blair do
this for him always touched his heart.  Blair had held one thing back from Watson,
the lone thing Watson could not physically force him to do, and he'd taken more
than one beating for it.  Blair had saved this for Jim, and Jim only, no matter what
the cost.  

     Just as he thought he would come from the motion of Blair's tongue alone,
the stimulation left him, and he felt the brief intrusion of cool air from the
movement of the shower curtain.  A moment later, warmth was restored and Blair
was close again, a slick finger sliding into the wet passage that had been relaxed
by that insistent tongue.  Jim groaned and rested his head on his arm, thrusting
back onto the probing digit.  

     "Come on, Chief, main event," Jim panted, and he heard Blair chuckle a
little.

     "Easy, lover.  Relax for me a little more.  Don't want to hurt you."  Blair
planted a kiss on his back while the hand not busy with his ass slid around front
and cupped his balls, massaging them gently, then moved up to close around his
cock, pumping in time with the motion of the finger.  They didn't make love this
way often, and it always took Jim a while to relax to Blair's satisfaction.  One
thing Blair would not accept was entering Jim if it would cause him any
significant pain.

     Blair's finger grazed Jim's prostate, and he jerked and cried out with the
intense pleasure of it.

     "Oh, God.  It's gotta be soon, baby," Jim gasped, knowing if Blair didn't
give up the preliminaries soon, the party would be over before it really got started. 


     Blair withdrew, leaving him empty, but a moment later was back, the
slick, blunt head of his cock pressed against Jim's center.  He rested his forehead
on Jim's back.  

     "I love you, mine," he said, his voice a little husky.  And then he was
pushing, gently but insistently, his cock sliding into the tight sheath of Jim's body
little by little.  One hand cupped and rolled Jim's balls while the other grasped and
pumped at his slightly flagging erection.  The renewed stimulation relaxed Jim
enough that Blair slid the rest of the way inside quite easily.  

     The fullness was a little uncomfortable at first, but soon that feeling gave
way to pleasure, and Jim was pressing back against Blair, encouraging him to
thrust.  The hands that were pleasuring his most sensitive areas continued their
skillful work, until Jim didn't know if he wanted to thrust into Blair's hands or
thrust back onto his cock.  

     Blair made the decision for him, squeezing his cock harder and faster as he
began to thrust in and out in a steady rhythm that caused the sounds of slapping
wet flesh to rise around them.  Jim was panting and moaning with every move,
blocking out everything else in his world and focusing on the sensations.  With
Blair, he was safe to take that kind of flight with his senses, knowing he was
securely grounded with his guide close by.   

     "So...gorgeous...  God, Jim...perfect," Blair managed, his voice broken and
breathless as he began thrusting faster, his own excitement reaching its climax. 
"Love you so much," he croaked as Jim's internal muscles contracted around him. 
Jim was coming, delighting in the sensations and at the same time, wishing it
could last longer.  Blair's own orgasm made him thrust faster and more wildly, his
voice coming out in little cries until he shouted Jim's name, filling him.  

     With Blair plastered against his back, recovering, Jim found he had
considerable weight to support on already shaky legs.  Blair soon moved, though,
gently easing out of Jim's body, kissing the damp flesh of shoulders and back.  Jim
turned around and pulled Blair into his arms, kissing him eagerly, ravenously,
pushing him back against the tiles, unable to get enough of the taste of his mouth. 
Jim's senses were flying high from the sex, and though his body could do no more
about it for the moment, he wanted to lose himself in Blair's scent, taste and touch
for just a little longer.  

     Then he pulled back, realizing that he'd just pushed Blair against the wall
of the shower and kissed him hard.  Blair had no control over the move, and little
choice but to give in to it.  He searched his lover's face for some sign of distress.  

     "Jim?"  All Jim saw was surprise.  "Why'd you stop?"  Blair frowned now,
and Jim felt compelled to kiss it away.  Thoroughly.  When he was finished, he
kissed the end of Blair's nose.

     "I didn't mean to be so rough," he said, rubbing Blair's upper arms, which
he had grabbed quite hard in the heat of the moment.  "I'm sorry, sweetheart.  I
was...I just..."

     "Why are you apologizing?  You didn't hurt me."

     "I pushed you."

     "Yeah, I guess you did," Blair said, realization dawning now why Jim was
so uneasy.  "You didn't hurt me and you didn't remind me of anything ugly."  Blair
reached up and touched Jim's cheek gently.  "I always want to get close to you.  I
never want to push you away, so you don't have to worry about whether or not I
could."

     "I love you, baby."  Jim pulled Blair into his arms, burying his nose in the
wet curls, trailing kisses down Blair's cheek to his neck.  "I never want to hurt
you."

     "You don't.  You know what felt good?"  Blair waited until Jim backed
away enough to look at him.  "You getting all excited with me and just doing what
you wanted.  I'm not afraid of you, lover.  You're the person who always makes
my pain go away.  Why would I think you'd cause it?"

     "You used to be afraid sometimes, of a move, or something I'd do, and I
don't want to scare you.  I don't want you to feel like...like because I'm bigger, it's
another V--" Blair's hand clapped over Jim's mouth.

     "He's not even fit to be in the same *species* with you.  Sometimes I think
you think more about him than I do."

     "I probably do," Jim said, moving Blair's hand from his mouth and kissing
it.  

     "Promise me something," Blair said solemnly.

     "Anything," Jim agreed readily.

     "Love me the way you want to, touch me the way it feels good to touch
me, and don't worry about my past.  If I'm scared or uneasy or don't like something
you do, I'll tell you, because I know you love me enough to listen.  And I trust
you, Jim.  With everything I am and everything I have.  You read me like no one
else could, and not just because of your senses.  If you were reduced to average
levels on all of them tomorrow, you'd still be able to read me, because you're part
of my soul and you love me so much that I just can't even believe it sometimes."

     "I promise, sweetheart."  Jim kissed his forehead.  "How'd I get so lucky,
huh?"  Jim asked, grinning and bumping noses with Blair.

     "Hey, right place at the right time, man.  Sometimes things just work out,"
Blair said.  Jim laughed softly, hugging his lover close.  

********

     Annie Maxwell was a woman in her mid-fifties, with medium length
graying brown hair cut in a simple pageboy style.  She seemed undecided whether
to use her glasses to look at the photos she was being shown, or to raise them up
and look under them.  Dressed in jeans and a blue sweater, she sat at the head of a
rectangular table in her large, old fashioned kitchen, while her guests occupied the
other seats, sipping at coffee and nibbling homemade cookies.  

     Ron Pierce, Jim and Blair waited for her reaction to the photo of Vince. 
After staring at it intently for a few moments, she tossed it on the table. Still
staring at it, a look of disgust sweeping over her, she said, "He enjoys pain.  Not
his own, but that of others.  His eyes are cold and dead...evil," she added.  

     Jim placed a reassuring hand on Blair's thigh under the table as his partner
shuddered at that assessment.

     "That's a keen observation, Mrs. Maxwell," Jim stated.  "It fits his rap
sheet perfectly," he said, look at Ron Pierce, who nodded.

     "Annie doesn't usually miss by much."

     "You're right about his eyes," Blair said, swallowing.  "They were
frightening."

     "Give me your hand," she said, reaching toward Blair.  He did so, with
some hesitation.  Her fingers curled around his tightly, and she closed her eyes.  In
a moment, an expression of anguish swept over her features.  "He's killed before,"
she said, shaking her head.  

     "Before what, Annie?"  Ron asked, frowning.  

     "Before Daniel Harris."

     "He's suspected of killing another man he was involved with before he met
Blair.  We never had conclusive proof of that before Watson died."

     Suddenly, she jerked back in her chair and let go of Blair's hand.  She
stared at him a moment, as if trying to regain her composure.  Blair looked at Jim,
and the two men exchanged startled expressions.

     "Annie?"  Ron prompted, watching her intently.

     "It was just a strong sensation," she said, smiling unconvincingly.  Jim
could hear her respiration speeding up and her heart pounding rapidly.  "What I
can tell you is that your Daniel Harris is not the first person this man killed," she
said, tapping Vince's photo with her finger.  "And he was far from being the last
he planned to kill."

     "He almost killed me," Blair said, and the woman nodded. 

     "I know that.  But when you nearly died was not when he planned to kill
you.  He didn't know you were hurt as badly as you were."

     "You saw what he had planned, didn't you?"  Blair pressed.

     "No," she said hastily--a bit too hastily for Jim's liking.  "I merely felt that
sensation, that he had other plans."

     "He was actively planning to kill me?"  Blair persisted.

     "Yes, he was.  It would have been soon."

     "Don't know why that should be any surprise," Blair said, smiling a little
sickly.

     "We have another photo, Annie," Ron said, pushing the picture of Aaron
Metzler closer to her.  She picked up the photo and stared at it for a long moment. 
Her hand went over her mouth, her eyes filling.  

     "He didn't die easily," she muttered, moving her hand away from her
mouth.  She closed her eyes.  "He couldn't scream anymore," she said, her brows
knitting as if in confusion for a moment.  "He killed him somewhere where he
could hear him scream.  He wanted to hear him scream," she repeated.  

     Blair got up and walked out the kitchen door onto the porch.  Reluctantly,
Jim didn't follow him immediately.  He wanted to hear what the woman would
say next.  

     "It's cold.  There's no heat, and he's naked.  Restrained.  Oh, God," she
gasped, shaking her head.  "No more," she said brokenly, tears escaping from
under her closed lids.  In a moment, she opened her wet eyes, laying the photo
down to lift her glasses and wipe at them with her napkin.  "He screamed until he
lost his voice.  When he couldn't scream anymore..."  She shook her head,
covering her mouth a moment as a couple more tears escaped.  "When he couldn't
scream anymore, this man strangled him with some kind of cord," she added,
taking in a deep breath.  "He wasn't enjoying himself as much without the
screaming."

     "Did you see anything distinctive about the surroundings?"  Jim asked.

     "It was a house.  There was no heat, and it was late afternoon, nearing
dusk, with no lights on, either.  Um, the room was almost empty, needed paint,
and there was no carpeting on the floor.  It was hardwood.  This man was
restrained on a metal bed with a dirty bare mattress."  She was quiet a moment,
thinking.  "That's all I remember.  Oh, there was an open doorway that must have
led into the hall, and it had a wood frame around it, painted a darker color than the
walls."  She sighed.  "That's all."

     "Thanks, Annie.  You've been a big help."

     "Mrs. Maxwell," Jim said, smiling slightly and shaking hands with the
woman as they all rose from the table.  "I'm going to find my partner," he added,
heading for the door, hoping Pierce would stay behind a few moments to talk with
their hostess.

     Blair wasn't immediately visible, but it only took Jim a second to locate
the familiar heartbeat and follow it across the sprawling, rolling back yard to its
source.  Blair was leaning against the trunk of a huge oak tree, his arms across his
chest, staring somewhat blankly into space.

     "You okay, Chief?"  Jim asked, resting a hand on Blair's shoulder.

     "Yeah, I guess so.  It's not like I hadn't figured Vince was going to kill me
eventually.  I just thought it would be an accident.  I can't believe I blocked out the
whole thing about Daniel Harris and the video and Lakeview...  And at what point
did I block it out?  I lived with Vince day in and day out and never consciously
remembered it until we went back there."

     "The trauma was too much.  Blair, I don't remember which day of the
week it was when I blocked out Bud's death, or my father's reactions, or seeing the
killer.  I know now that it happened, and I know I remembered it immediately
after it happened, and at some point, I blocked it out.  Even though I lived with my
father every day, I heard all the talk about Bud's death, and I even heard the talk
about the killer being caught and going to trial.  I didn't do anything, say anything,
and I don't recall consciously remembering that I knew a different story.  You
ought to know that about repression by now, having dealt with such a great test
case all these years," Jim concluded, smiling.  Blair had to chuckle at that. 
"You're blaming yourself that you didn't say anything about the murder."

     "Yeah, I am.  I know it was a repression thing.  I just feel so sorry for the
family.  And this guy--"

     "Was way before your time, even before Daniel Harris's time.  You'd have
had no way of knowing about this."

     "I lived with a serial killer, Jim."  Blair's whole body seemed to shake at
that statement, and Jim pulled him into his arms.  

     "He was really planning to kill me the way he killed them.  He kept me
with him so he could keep reliving the rush of killing them.  He kept torturing me
and not finishing the job because he was enjoying himself!"  Blair sobbed into
Jim's shoulder.  "I was just a toy to him.  My pain...it was just a game."

     "I know, baby.  I know."  Jim longed for something profound to say to
that, but found there was nothing.  Watson was what he was, and Blair was right. 
He'd kept Blair with him, tortured him, frightened him, intimidated and terrorized
him--and used Blair's reactions to get his thrills, to remind him of the riskier and
more final business of killing his victims.  Ultimately, Blair would have died from
the abuse, because Watson was subjecting him to treatment that he used on men
he killed.  Only Blair had to live through it and keep surviving it over and over
again.  "It's all over, baby.  It's all over.  You're with me now, cuddlebug," Jim
whispered into Blair's hair.  

     "I gotta pull myself together."  Blair pulled away, wiping at his eyes and
sniffling.  Jim pulled him back into the hug.  

     "Just relax.  Pierce is still in the house.  I can hear them talking.  We've got
a minute."  Jim stood there silently, holding Blair, letting him calm down until he
pulled back again.  "Here.  Blow."  Jim covered Blair's nose with his
handkerchief, and Blair laughed.  It was an old joke, but it worked every time. 
Blair wiped his nose and eyes and blinked a few times.  

     "How bad do I look?" he asked.

     "Here."  Jim pulled out his sunglasses and handed them to Blair.  It was a
partially overcast day, and Blair hadn't bothered to bring his own.  

     "That bad, huh?"  Blair put on the glasses. 

     "It looks like you've been crying.  I won't need those anyway."

     "Thanks."

     "We'll find Aaron Metzler, just like we did Daniel Harris.  It's because of
your memories, and the fact you're willing to face up to this now that is allowing
us to solve these cases and give these families some closure.  It's not your fault
you didn't know before.  Okay?"

     "Okay."

     "And it doesn't matter what Watson had planned for you, because none of
his plans are ever gonna happen.  He's gone.  For good."

     "I know."  Blair smiled a little, and nodded.  "Because you even kicked his
ass in my dreams."  Blair looked up then.  "You know you're my hero, right?"

     "We're even on that, sweetheart.  You're mine."  Jim smiled as he tucked a
few locks of windblown hair behind Blair's ear.  "We saved each other,
remember?"

     "I love you, you know."

     "Yeah, I know."  Jim grinned smugly.  "I love you, too."  He looked
toward the house.  "Pierce is just coming out the back door.  We better head
toward the car."

     "Okay."  Blair put on Jim's sunglasses and they headed back to join the
other detective.

     "How do you want to handle this?"  Pierce asked as they got into the car. 
"You want to take it on your end of things, or you want me to follow up on it out
here?"

     "Aaron Metzler's in our Missing Persons files, so we should probably take
the lead on this one.  Knowing Lakeview Resort was one of Watson's murder
sites, it's possible the house she's visualizing is around here, so I'd welcome your
department's involvement."

     "Man, this guy must've been some piece of work."  Pierce turned to look
out the rear window of the car to navigate the long, somewhat curving driveway
that led to the road.  When they were driving toward the station, he added, "Good
thing he ended up on the wrong side of your gun, or there's no telling what he'd
have been up to by now."

     "More homicides, probably," Blair said, his tone a little dismal.  "At least
one more, anyway."

     "I didn't expect her to get so personal in there, Sandburg.  Sorry if she said
something that made you uncomfortable," Pierce said.

     "Remembering Watson is always going to make me uncomfortable.  That
wasn't her fault."

     "So what does the Domestic Violence Unit do, if you're not a cop?"  the
detective asked, and Jim was grateful for the change of subject.  They could work
out case logistics later.

     "We're more like a social services branch of the Cascade PD.  People who
are in abusive situations can come to us for shelter, counseling, and help, if they
want to press charges.  I'll go through each step of the process with them, go to
court, even go along while the make a statement and sign a complaint.  I
coordinate getting one of the cops to help victims get their stuff out of the home,
if they're going to move out, and barter with the brass for protection in extreme
cases.  Sometimes cops will volunteer to help with that in their off time, since the
PD can't really afford bodyguards for most of these people.  I'm good at begging
for volunteers."

     "Sounds like a great program."

     "We're also putting an emphasis on getting help for male victims.  There
are shelters for battered women and children, but very few for men.  It's not a big
statistical need, but it's there."

     "I don't think we've ever handled a male abuse case.  Of course, we've only
had probably a half dozen wife beatings in the last couple years.  The crime rate
here is pretty low."

     "We're opening a shelter for male victims," Jim added.  "We just bought
the house and are finishing up renovations.  We're in the process of begging for
grant money so we can get out of debt," he said, chuckling a little.  "If you give
Blair an e-mail address, I'm sure he'll put you on the list to let you know when
we're open for business.  Bradford County is close enough that you guys could
refer someone there if the need ever arises."
     
     "Sure, sounds great.  You think most guys are going to go into a shelter? 
Not too often they'll admit there's a problem, even if there is."

     "You nailed a big challenge right there.  I'm hoping if we talk more about
it, get it out in the open more, that men are going to start understanding that there
isn't something wrong with them because they were victimized or need help." 
Blair paused.  "Once we get the shelter running, I know I've got to get out there
and talk more, get more attention for it.  It's like any other social service issue that
you bring out of the closet for people to deal with--whether it was child abuse,
incest, even the sexual abuse scandal in the Church--any of those issues needed
someone bringing them out in the open."

     "True," Pierce agreed.  "I doubt we're going to get too many referrals for
you up here, but if we do, we know where to send 'em now."

********

     "It's freezing out here, Chief," Jim came out onto the back porch, pulling
his robe tightly around himself, surprised to see Blair sitting on the top step,
staring out at the woods behind the house.  

     "I know what to name the shelter."

     "What?"  Jim's curiosity was piqued, even if he would have preferred to
have the conversation in the house.

     "Crandle House.  After Michael."

     "I think Michael and Brian would both like that," Jim agreed, smiling a
little.

     "I know they would," Blair said a little cryptically, still staring at the
woods where Michael's body had been found.  "I still feel him sometimes.  It's a
good feeling.  Like he's looking out for us."

     "How about Brian?"

     "I don't know.  I think Brian's probaby so content being with Michael that
he doesn't haunt at all.  I think there will always be a little thread of pain in
Michael for the way he died, the fact he didn't want to die.  Brian wanted to go,
even though he died violently.  He knew Michael was on the other side waiting,
and he wanted to go there.  Michael's life was taken from him and he didn't want
to give it up.  I don't think he's willing yet to relinquish his life force entirely and
stay on the other side of the boundary.  And I'm kind of glad.  I'd miss not feeling
him around here."

     "Sounds like Michael's taken a permanent job as your guardian angel." 
Jim leaned against the railing, smelling the fresh night air.  There were times he
loved his life more than he felt comfortable with, wondering if anyone could be so
happy forever.  They were together, they had made a home together that suited
them perfectly, and on a night like tonight, chilly and yet beautifully clear, they
could be outside and just hear the sounds of nature and smell fresh air.

     "He looks out for both of us.  Because we helped him."

     "Come in the house, huh?"  Jim caressed Blair's hair, then reached a hand
down toward him.  Blair took the pull and followed Jim inside, the warm kitchen
still holding the lingering scents of dinner.  "There's no good time for me to tell
you this," Jim said, locking the door behind them.  "I just got a call from Megan. 
Seems the DA's office left a message for us while we were in Bradford this
afternoon.  Brandy Klosowski's attorney accepted a manslaughter plea bargain
offer."

     "Manslaughter?"  Blair responded, his voice rising.  

     "Involuntary manslaughter.  She'll see little or no jail time, most likely."

     "Damn it!"  Blair pounded the kitchen counter with both fists.  "She killed
him."

     "Yeah, she killed him all right, but it wasn't premeditated.  We knew going
in that first degree wasn't going to happen."

     "I know, but Jim, involuntary manslaughter?  That's the fucking runt of the
litter when it comes to felony charges!  What about the sexual assault?"

     "Apparently they bargained that away to get her guilty plea on this one."

     "Oh, shit."  Blair dropped into one of the kitchen chairs.  "Sometimes I
wonder what's the fucking use.  The DA could have done better if he'd just taken
it to trial.  But no, the roster's full, so let's turn a killer loose."

     "Do you really think she meant to kill Alan?"  Jim sat at the table,
watching Blair seethe quietly.  The deep blue eyes were full of fire when Blair
first looked up in response to the question, but then the expression softened a bit.

     "No, I'm sure she probably didn't.  But she forced him, and she didn't listen
to him--"

     "And for that, she's facing criminal charges.  Maybe not the ones we'd like
to see, but charges, nonetheless.  If Alan had never come to you, he'd have died
and been buried and she would have cried with the rest of the mourners and that
would have been that."

     "You don't think the cops would've investigated his death?"

     "Well, they'd have been much more likely to accept her story that it was
consensual sex play that got out of hand.  Alan wasn't exactly a weak, frail guy. 
His own words that he didn't want it to happen, the things he told you...that's what
turned the tide here and gave credibility to the idea it wasn't totally consensual."

     "Because how could a woman possibly abuse or assault a man, right?"

     "Well, yeah, right.  That's the way most people would look at it.  I'm not
agreeing with that, Chief.  I'm just saying that's how most people see it."

     "Sometimes I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle with this shelter.  With
the whole issue of trying to help male victims.  It's just one tiny tip of this
*massive* iceberg," Blair said, gesturing largely with both hands.

     "Don't you think it's worth it in the long run?  I mean, if we only helped a
couple guys and saved their lives, this whole project would be worthwhile."

     "Sometimes I wonder how it's possible I love you as much as I do, and
then you say something like that, and I know."

     "Blair, I know fighting an uphill battle is tiring work.  I just want you to
know I'm right behind you, pushing."  That drew a bright smile from Blair. 
"Think we could turn in for a while?"

     "Sleep is good," Blair agreed, chuckling a little.

********

     Blair stared at the phone on the desk in his home office as if it were a live
viper, coiled and ready to strike.  He looked at the phone number he'd written
down, copied from his computer address book, and taking a deep breath, picked
up the phone and dialed.

     "Hello?"  Mary Ellen Watson's voice sounded harmless enough, but it was
sufficient to stifle the words in Blair's throat, at least momentarily.  "Hello?"  she
prompted again.

     "Hello, Mary Ellen?"

     "Yes?"

     "This is Blair Sandburg."

     "Blair?  I didn't expect to hear from you again," she said, surprised.

     "I...I didn't expect to be contacting you again, but...I need your help."

     "I don't understand."

     "I have a few questions about Vince, and I think you're probably the best
person to ask."

     "I'll help if I can," she responded.

     "Did Vince own any property, like a house that might have been out in the
country?  Secluded?"

     "Vince didn't own any property.  He rented his apartment where you two
lived, and he'd always lived in apartments prior to that."

     "Is there anyplace like that he might have gone to spend time?  A friend's
house, a relative's place, anything?"

     "What is this about?"  She sounded suspicious now, and Blair couldn't
blame her.

     "I had a flashback of something, and as I've been trying to piece it
together..."  Blair hesitated.  "There's no good way to say this, Mary Ellen.  We
have evidence that Vince was involved in the murder of a college student from
Rainier, and he's implicated in another homicide upstate."

     "Blair, I know things weren't easy with Vince, and I know my son had
serious problems, and that he treated you badly, but--"

     "This isn't about me.  Well, it was somewhat about me, but nobody wants
to let this go and move on more than I do.  Except when I started having
these...*flashbacks*...  I remembered a tape Vince showed me.  One of the murder
victims was on that tape.  The property I'm asking about is a relevant point in the
second case."

     "You want me to help you destroy my son's memory?  Or what's left of it?"

     "There's another family out there who would like to bury their son, too. 
All I want to do is help them find that closure.  If Vince didn't do it, then giving
me the information can't hurt."

     "I'm sorry, Blair.  There's no such place I can think of that Vince would
have gone--at least, no place that our family owned.  I don't know who all his
friends were.  Maybe you'd know more about that."

     "Not really.  We didn't exactly have an active social life."  Blair paused,
staring at a framed picture on his desk of Jim and himself, taken the past
Christmas.  He had to smile.  "Thanks, Mary Ellen.  If you think of anything,
would you give me a call?"

     "All right."  She waited while he read off the number, and by the sound of
rustling paper, found something on which to write it.  "Blair, I wish you well.  I
think you know that.  I just feel sometimes as if my son is being turned into
this...this...*bogeyman* who is guilty of something new every day.  He's dead,
Blair.  I know he hurt you, and I've told you how sorry I was for that, but for God's
sake, can't you let him rest?"

     "Believe it or not, this isn't about Vince anymore.  It's about two men who
ended up dead whose families have never been able to know the truth about how
they died or lay them to rest properly."

     "I feel for those people.  Really I do.  I know what it's like to lose a son. 
But villifying Vince isn't going to bring their sons back."

     "This isn't about villifying him.  I'd like to move on, too.  I just can't ignore
this, now that I remembered that video."

     "The police never found any such tape."

     "He may have destroyed it," Blair said, thinking back of Jim disposing of
Vince's video collection before Blair could be humiliated by having them dragged
out in court.

     "I have to go.  Good luck to you with your...investigation."

     "Thank you.  Thanks for talking with me."  

     After he'd hung up, Blair stared at the telephone with some dismay.  Then
he realized he wasn't alone in the room.  Soon, Jim was next to him, handing him
a cup of coffee.  Not due in until second shift, Jim was enjoying a little downtime
at home.

     "Vince's mother doesn't know anything about a house."

     "You think she'd tell you if she did?"  Jim asked, sitting against the edge of
the desk.  

     "I believe her.  She's pretty honest, even if she isn't entirely honest with
herself about Vince and what he really was."

     "I'll give Ron Pierce a call, see if his guys found anything around their
area."  Jim shrugged.  "The house could have been just any vacant house Vince
figured a way into.  Didn't have to belong to him or Metzler or even be connected
to them in any traceable way.  This could take a while."

     "I've gotta get dressed," Blair said, looking at the clock.  "Your dad's
taking me to lunch with a couple guys from the board of the Cascade Community
Foundation.  I just finished the last of the revisions he suggested on my grant
proposal, and I'm going to try to 'bring it to life' a little at lunch.  Hey--why don't
you come with us?  I thought you were working first shift when he set this up, but
now that you're off, you could go, too."

     "I don't know, Chief.  Schmoozing old rich guys at 'the club' doesn't really
do it for me."

     "It's not my first choice, either, but if we can get them on our side, we
might be able to get a grant for the shelter."

     "Just don't get your hopes too high.  I know Dad means well with this, but
they're a conservative bunch.  If they approve a grant to a facility that will end up
possibly serving a significant number of homosexual men, it'll frankly shock the
hell out of me."

     "With your dad on our side, that's bound to carry some weight."

     "Did he tell them you're his son's lover, or just that you're a Ph.D. who
runs the Domestic Violence Unit and perceives a need for this worthy service to
the community?  I could do you more harm than good if they think he's backing
you solely because you're with me."

     "I don't really believe he's doing that."

     "Neither do I, but they might.  You probably would stand a better chance
presenting this on your own.  If something about me comes up--"

     "I'm not lying about it.  If they can't tolerate me because I'm in a
homosexual relationship, they're never going to give us grant money anyway. 
Jim, we have a home together.  If these guys are friends of your dad's, how could
he lie about our relationship?"

     "These aren't friends who spend a lot of time together.  These are friends
who go to the same club and will possibly show up at his funeral, but that's about
it.  Besides, he wouldn't lie.  He'd just...obfuscate a bit," Jim said, grinning and
kissing Blair's forehead.  "Go get dressed and then dazzle those old buzzards. 
You can do it, sweetheart."

     "I'd really like for you to come with us, Jim," Blair said solemnly.  "I'd like
the moral support, okay?"

     "Okay," Jim agreed, smiling and pulling Blair into a hug.  

     "It's been kind of hard to talk about the past...with what I've remembered,
and what we've found out about Vince lately."

     "I know.  It's okay, Chief.  You know I'm here for you, whatever you
need."

     "I need you."

     "You've got me, cuddlebug.  I'm here for the duration."

********