********

     The next morning, very little else was said about the ghost
conversation the night before.  Blair worked diligently at grading the
essay exams, and Jim sat across the big oak desk from him, checking
the objective portions of the tests against Blair's answer keys.  Blair
didn't seem much the worse for wear from his run-in with Borden, with
the exception of a healthy bruise and some swelling around his nose.  

     Jim left for work around two, not anticipating being home
much before midnight or after.  Blair took advantage of the quiet time
by himself to steam-roll through grading a mountain of test papers,
then settled into a wingback chair in front of the fireplace to read the
term papers from his junior-level course on Incan Civilization.  Despite
the dull throb in his head from the blow he'd taken the night before,
and some of the other tensions that plagued him about his dissertation,
Blair couldn't help enjoying the beautiful setting he had in his study. 
He sipped hot herbal tea as the fire leaped and crackled, and put his
feet up on the matching burgundy leather ottoman.  When at home, he
had a better office than Rainier's president had.  Chuckling at that
thought, he focused his attentions back on the task at hand and began
reading.

     The rustling of pages from his desk drew his attention away
from the paper in front of him.  The pages of a large book he'd left
open there were fanning back and forth, as if moved by a phantom
hand.  When they came to rest, Blair got up from his chair and
approached the desk cautiously.  

     The book in question was a Criminology text.  He and Jim had
gotten into a discussion about the corrections system when they both
got bored with the grading project, and had ended up debating a couple
points of theory.  Always prepared, Blair had retrieved the text off the
shelf.  Much to his chagrin, Jim won the argument, and settled back
down to correcting the tests with a satisfied grin on his face.

     The book was open to the chapter on domestic violence.  Blair
grimaced at it, acknowledging the personal relevance of it, and chilled
by the way it had randomly fallen open to that spot. //There was
nothing random about the way those pages moved...like someone going
through the book looking for something...//

     At that precise moment, a door slammed shut somewhere
upstairs.  After jumping at the noise, Blair walked cautiously out to the
entry hall and stood at the foot of the stairs.  A door somewhere up
there opened now, and could be heard slamming against the wall
behind it, as if it had been kicked open into the room.  What Blair
heard next chilled his soul and revived horrible memories of his own
experience.  The sounds of violence...fists making contact with flesh
and bone, someone falling, male voices arguing...both male voices.  

     Then the horrible crashing sound that made Blair jump back
away from the staircase, half-expecting to see someone fall, broken, at
his feet.

     Leaning against the front door, chest heaving with the fear and
shock of what he had experienced, Blair consciously worked at
controlling his breathing and calming himself down as the silence of
the house settled over him.

     "Who are you?"  he asked softly, and waited for a reply in the
silence that followed.  There was none.  The only sounds to reach his
ears were the usual sounds of the furnace coming on and all its
attendant creaks and snaps as old floorboards warmed.  "Please, talk to
me," Blair continued.  "I...I understand.  Please, trust me."

     For a few moments, there was no response.  Then, Blair
distinctly heard footsteps ahead of him, moving toward the kitchen.  He
followed the sound to the back door, and his indrawn breath was
audible as the door swung open by itself.  Grabbing his old jacket off
the hook near the door, he took the phantom's bait and followed it
through the door.

     Standing in the middle of the back yard, Blair was confused
what to do next.  He thrust his hands into his pockets as he stood on the
slightly mushy ground.  The snow had melted a few days earlier thanks
to some late April sun.  Now, however, it was windy, cold and cloudy.

     Whatever spirit had led Blair out of the house had deserted him
now.  Disappointed, he turned and trudged back up to the house and
shut and locked the door behind him.  He hung his coat back on the
hook near the back door and dropped into a kitchen chair, trying to
process everything he'd heard.  If the page the book was open to was
combined with the symphony of frightening sounds, and the odd
phrases Blair had uttered himself the night before, it was fairly simple
to deduce what had happened.  Obviously, there was a violent incident
upstairs, probably in the room they were using for the gym.  The
confrontation had spilled into the hall, and someone had ended up
falling, breaking his neck at the foot of the stairs.  The participants had
to be two men, judging by the depth of the faint voices Blair had been
able to discern.

     The ringing of the phone made him jump, then laugh at himself
a bit.  He got up and picked up the phone on the wall.

     "Hello?"

     "Hey there, professor.  How's the grading project going?"  Jim's
friendly voice came over the line.  Blair soaked it up like a tonic.

     "Okay.  I'm almost done, actually.  I'll probably work on my
dissertation this evening."

     "Is everything okay?  Your heart sounds like a jackhammer
from here."

     "I'm fine.  I, um, was in the basement when the phone rang." 
Blair rolled his eyes at the lie, but didn't want to explain the truth.  Jim
probably wouldn't believe it anyway, and Blair figured he was making a
good case lately to have himself hauled into mandatory sessions with a
shrink.

     "The basement?  Doing what?" //Oh, shit, Jim's not buying it,//
Blair thought.

     "The furnace sounded funny.  But everything looks fine down
there."

     "You're sure about that?"

     "Yeah.  I'm sure."

     "Okay.  Well, I'm going to be around here another hour or so
catching up some paperwork, and then I'm heading out with Ryf and
Brown on that stakeout.  I'm not sure when I'll be home.  Maybe around
midnight or so, if I'm lucky."

     "Get home by midnight or so, and you just might *get* lucky." 
Blair smiled as he heard Jim's responding laugh.

     "Wish my dinner break was long enough to zip out there for a
little afternoon delight."

     "You and me both.  Beats the hell out of reading students'
somewhat twisted versions of Incan Civilization."  Blair paused.  "I
know I haven't exactly been exciting lately.  I want to make that up to
you."

     "You don't have anything to make up, sweetheart."

     "Maybe not, but wouldn't it be fun if I tried?"

     "No arguments there, Chief.  I better get going.  Just wondered
if everything was okay."

     "Fine.  Be careful."

     "Always," Jim responded grinning.  "Love you."

     "Love you too.  Talk to you later, lover."

     "Blair?"

     "Yeah?"

     "You're sure everything's okay?"

     "Fine.  Just missing you, that's all.  Hey, listen to the radio on
your dinner break okay?"

     "Okay.  Any special reason?"

     "Just listen to 105."

     "Will do."

     "I love you.  Be careful."  Blair didn't want the conversation to
end, but he knew it was headed that way, and Jim had to get back to
work.

     "You too, Chief," Jim responded in a decidedly more platonic
tone.  He wasn't alone anymore.

     "Later, man," Blair concluded, grinning.

     "Don't work too hard," Jim responded, then hung up the phone.

     Blair reluctantly hung up the phone and stared around the cozy
kitchen.  There was nothing going on now to make it feel less than safe
and comfortable.  Determining that he should approach this situation
the same way he approached every other significant one in his life--by
researching it--Blair pulled his jacket back on, hurried through the
house, and grabbing his keys from the basket that had been placed on
the small antique table near the door, headed out to his car.

     His first trip was to the county clerk's office, to trace the
ownership of their new property.  The most recent records were on
computer, but for anything prior to 1972, the helpful older woman
behind the counter had to haul out large plat books and look the
information up by hand.  Surprisingly, most of the home's owners had
occupied the house since that time, with the exception of the original
owner and his heir.  

     Blair had a complete listing of the home's owners and a fairly
definite timeline of when each party had lived there.  Satisfied with his
afternoon's work, he left the county clerk's office only moments ahead
of the employees, as the five o'clock traffic kicked into full gear. 

     He turned on the radio, smiling as he heard the five o'clock
request show starting, knowing that Jim would be tuning in right about
then, too.  The DJ played a few songs and a couple dedications, then
Blair's ears perked up when he heard a familiar message.

********

     Jim flipped on the radio as he opened up his cheeseburger. 
Sitting alone in a cold truck with greasy take-outs was a far cry from
snuggling with Blair in front of the fireplace, feeding each other.  He
had indeed paid dearly for that unscheduled morning off.  But it had
been worth it to help Blair with the mountain of paperwork, and given
the younger man's emotional state in the last couple of days, Jim
wouldn't have felt comfortable leaving him any sooner until he was
sure Blair was his usual self.

     "Our next listener called me early this afternoon and wanted me
to be sure to get a song on the program for tonight, dedicated to Jim.  
Blair says to tell you 'thanks for this morning, and just seeing you smile
makes everything seem possible.'  Okay, Jim, here's your song."  

     Jim smiled as Natalie Cole's voice came over the speakers.

//Thought I'd seen everything,
There was to see in this world,
Now I'm not so sure,
I've really seen anything at all.
I thought life 
Could show me no surprises,
But then you came, 
And showed me I was wrong.

I have seen the bluest skies,
Rainbows that would make you cry,
I have seen miracles that moved my soul,
Days that changed my life,
I have seen the brightest stars, 
Shine like diamonds in the dark,
Seen all the wonders of the world,
But I've never seen a smile
As beautiful as yours.

I thought I'd been everywhere,
Climbed the mountains so high,
Sailed the sea, crossed the sky,
Still I was nowhere at all,
Until that day 
You came to my senses,
And your smile, 
It made sense out of it all.

I have seen the bluest skies,
Rainbows that would make you cry,
I have seen miracles that moved my soul,
Days that changed my life,
I have seen the brightest stars,
Shine like diamonds in the dark,
Seen all the wonders of the world,
But I've never seen a smile,
As beautiful as yours.

A smile so beautiful,
Comes one time in a lifetime,
A smile this beautiful,
I never dreamed I'd ever see.
 
I have seen the bluest skies,
Rainbows that would make you cry,
I've seem miracles that moved my soul,
And days that changed my life,
I have seen the brightest stars,
Shine like diamonds in the dark,
I've seen the wonders of this world,
But I've never seen a smile,
As beautiful as yours.//

     Jim smiled as the song faded, wishing even more intensely that
he could see Blair, maybe just hold him for a while. //Lovesick slob,//
Jim berated himself, laughing a little.  A knock on the window startled
him.  Blair stood outside the locked passenger door, smiling and
waving in the window.  In a flash, Jim had the door unlocked and Blair
hopped up into the truck.

     "Want some company?"  he asked, grinning as Jim pounced on
him, claiming his mouth and pulling their bodies close against each
other.

     "That was beautiful, sweetheart.  Thank you."  He kissed Blair
again, more gently this time.

     "I wanted to *thank you* for this morning.  It's not just the tests--I mean, that was like a
*major* help, but it was the moral support.  I
really felt snowed under last night, and I guess it was just not feeling
all alone in it...it just makes all the difference.  Plus every time you
flash me that smile, I believe everything's okay, even if it isn't."

     "I love you.  I know we say that a lot, but I mean it, Chief. 
You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

     "I don't know about that, but I know I love you more than my
life."

     "I *do* know about that."  Jim smiled down at the man in his
arms and stroked his cheek.  "I'm definitely *not* going to want to
leave you to go on this stakeout."

     "Can I come along?"

     "I thought you had to work on your dissertation."

     "I do," Blair admitted, grudgingly.  "Unless you need me," he
added hopefully.

     "This is a routine thing, baby.  Even *I* can't justify making you
sit there and drink bad coffee for four hours when you could be getting
something done.  Besides, we'll be in a van with Ryf and Brown, so no
roving hands allowed."

     "Man, that takes all the fun out of it."  Blair snuggled against
his lover.  "How much longer on your dinner break?"

     "About forty-five minutes.  I just got here."

     "See that motel over there?"  Blair asked, grinning.  "Know
what this is?"  He dangled a key in front of Jim.

     "This is like some kind of X-rated fantasy."  Jim laughed a
little, taking a hold of the key.

     "That's the idea.  Can't you think of anything better to do with
your mouth than wrap it around that cheeseburger?"  Blair let his hand
travel from it's resting place on Jim's thigh to his groin.  "I can tell you
like the idea," he leered.

     "Think lights and sirens would be overkill to get across the
street?"  Jim turned on the engine and zoomed out of the lot, taking the
first reasonable break in the traffic to get across the street to the motel. 
Blair directed him toward their door, and he brought the truck to an
abrupt halt in front of it.

     The moment the door swung shut behind them, clothing started
flying in all directions, and when they came together in an embrace, the
two men tumbled onto the bed, never pausing in their lovemaking to
acknowledge the change of positions.

     "Want you," Blair panted into Jim's ear while the other man
nipped and then sucked on the tender skin of Blair's neck.

     "I don't have anything," Jim finally responded, looking down
into the passion-glazed eyes of the man lying beneath him.

     "In my pants."  Blair gestured toward the jeans on the floor near
the bed.  Jim reached one long arm over the side and snagged the
garment, finding the small tube in the pocket easily.

     Blair rolled onto his side, drawing his knees up, while Jim
stretched out behind him, pulling the long hair aside and kissing Blair's
neck and shoulder while he carefully stretched and lubed the snug
opening.  He grinned a little devilishly when Blair cried out from Jim's
finger brushing over his prostate.  Feeling they had both been tortured
enough, Jim coated himself with a generous amount of lube and
whispered in Blair's ear.

     "Love you, my heart.  Relax, I'm coming in, baby."  And with
that, he slowly pushed past the slight initial resistance, then sheathed
himself to the hilt in the hot channel that received him willingly.  A
few moments later, he began rocking back and forth, sliding partway
out, then back in again.  Blair was grunting in time with his thrusts,
meeting him motion for motion.

     "Harder...come on, please...harder!"  Blair gritted out, letting
out a wail Jim feared would bring the police to the door when the
younger man's prostate was hit at a good force.  Jim kept up the intense
pace, dragging cries of pleasure out of Blair, who was thrusting
backwards as hard as Jim was thrusting forward, making their flesh
slap satisfyingly together.  Jim brushed Blair's hand away and took over
the task of pumping his lover's shaft.

     "Oh, baby, you feel...so good..." Jim ground out as he felt his
climax building and their pace became yet more frantic.  Blair let out a
final cry as his internal spasms pushed Jim over the edge with a shout
of Blair's name.

     Both lay there panting a long time, Jim holding the smaller
body firmly against him, soaking up the closeness with Blair, their
bodies still joined. 

     "That was...phenomenal," Jim finally said, rubbing Blair's chest
and belly gently.  He could detect the relaxation in Blair, and knew it
wouldn't take much for him to drift into a deep sleep.  "Don't go away,
baby.  You still have to drive home, remember?"

     "Ugh," Blair groaned.  "How long've we got?"

     "About ten minutes, tops."  Jim nibbled and earlobe, then
started trailing little kisses along Blair's sweaty neck.  "Feel okay?"

     "I want you to stay in there," Blair responded, a definite smile
in his voice.

     "We went at it a little hard.  Did I hurt you?"

     "No.  I'll feel it tonight, but that's what I wanted."

     "Is everything okay?"  Jim asked, a bit concerned.

     "It's great now," Blair sighed, wriggling his rear against Jim's
groin, stirring the softened organ that was lurking in the snug tunnel.  It
liked what it felt.

     "Sorry, sweetheart.  I've got to move while I still can."  Jim
carefully eased out of Blair and the younger man turned over so they
were face to face.  "This was an amazing surprise, baby."

     "Glad you liked it," Blair responded, moving in for a long, lazy
kiss.  "I really wanted you.  Badly."

     "Sure gives me something to fantasize about tonight."

     "Uh-uh.  Keep your mind on what you're doing, Jim."

     "Yes, sir."  Jim kissed the end of Blair's nose.  "I have to get
moving, sweetheart.  And as much as I might love smelling you on me
all evening, I don't know if Ryf and Brown want to smell the fruits of
our passion closed up in a van with me.  Wanna hit the shower?"

     "You go ahead.  I'll shower when I get home.  Love you, mine." 
Blair pulled him in for one more fierce hug, which was returned with
strength just barely restrained from bruising.

     Jim was showered and partially dressed before Blair convinced
himself to get off the bed.  When he did, he dressed quickly and the
two men left the ravaged motel room hand in hand.  Jim pulled up by
the door of the office long enough for Blair to return the key and then
headed back for the parking lot across the street where Blair's car was
still parked.

     "Miss you already," Blair said, leaning over for one more
intense duel of tongues before opening the passenger door decisively
and quickly exiting the truck.

     "Love you.  I'll give you a call later--but I'll probably be with
Ryf and Brown."

     "Okay.  I'll just talk dirty to you then, and you can listen."

     "You're hopeless.  Watch the traffic, Chief."

     "I'm a big boy, Jim.  I think I can handle the drive home."

     "Okay," Jim responded, laughing.  "Thanks for coming," he
said, then shook his head.  "You know what I mean."

     "Yeah, sure.  Same to you, man." Blair slammed the door of the
truck, laughing and waving to Jim before hurrying over to his own car
and getting into the driver's seat.  Jim watched him pull out of the lot,
feeling the same acute sense of loss every time he parted company with
Blair.  Of course, parting when you'd rather be swallowing each other's
tongues in the sleepy afterglow was just that much harder.

********

     Blair pulled into the garage and headed into the house.  The
earlier incident still had him a bit spooked, but he was determined not
to let it frighten him off.  So far, the spirit or spirits had shown him no
hostility.  From his perspective, it just seemed as if they were trying
desperately to communicate with someone...to tell a story.  At least the
poor guy who took a header down the steps was, anyway.

     Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as he hurried upstairs and
shed his clothes in the master bedroom, carrying them in a bundle
under one arm and his robe over the other.  After tossing the dirty stuff
in the hamper, he made a mental note to go downstairs and throw the
load of laundry in before Jim got home.  The smell of stale sweat and
bodily fluids would wreak havoc on his nose if it were left in the
bathroom hamper all evening.

     Deciding to treat himself to a soak in the tub instead of a quick
shower, Blair filled it with warm water and when the temperature and
water level suited him, climbed in and slid into its steamy embrace.  He
let his eyes drift shut, enjoying the relaxing water and the lingering
sensations from his passionate encounter with Jim.  

     The sounds of footsteps in the hall startled him, and his eyes
snapped open, immediately going to the open bathroom door.  His
heart froze in his chest.  Vince Watson stood in the doorway, smiling
just the way he always did when he had something special planned for
Blair.

     "No...this can't be happening," Blair said to the grinning
nightmare in the doorway.  He forced his eyes closed a moment, and
when he opened them again, the doorway was empty.  That either
meant it had been his imagination, or Watson had slipped away and
hidden somewhere else.

     Hesitantly, he got out of the tub and toweled off rapidly. 
Wrapping his robe tightly around himself, he stood at the point in the
room farthest from the door and tried to summon the courage to stride
through it into the hall and prove that Vince had been nothing more
than a figment of his imagination that had evaporated as soon as he
came.

     He had seen the corpse himself.  Vince had died right there on
the floor of the loft, taken down by one well-placed bullet from Jim's
gun, just before the detective had collapsed from the bleeding knife
wound in his side.  

     //Dead men don't come back.  They don't hurt you.// Blair tried
repeating the mantra over and over again, and still he couldn't make
himself walk through the door.

     //What if something went wrong?  What if he wasn't really
dead?  No, he has to be.  They did an autopsy.  You don't survive one of
those.  He's buried in Hillside Cemetery.  I've seen the grave.//

     "Vince?"  Blair asked in a hoarse, shaky voice.  He was
answered by silence.  "Vince, please, if you're out there, um, we can
talk.  But, please, let me know where you are, huh?"  Blair and made
his way toward the door, bracing himself.  He couldn't stay in the
bathroom until Jim got home.  He had no phone, no weapon...he was
easy prey for anyone who might be in the house.  There was always the
possibility the shadows had played tricks on him, and someone had
gotten into the house, but not Watson's ghost.

     Blair swallowed hard and walked quickly into the middle of the
hallway, eyes darting in all directions.  The hall was empty, and the
artificial yellow light illuminated most of the shadows.  The furnace
started up, making Blair jump a little.  The faucet in the bathtub
dripped a few times, and the phone rang, making him leap again as if
the hounds of hell were snapping at his butt.  He flew into the master
bedroom and pounced on the phone, figuring that if someone really had
gotten in, he wanted to at least get the connection open and make a
plea for help.

     No one jumped him or restrained him or attacked his person in
any way.

     "Hello?"  

     "Hey, Chief, what's up?  Blair--what's wrong?"  Jim asked
immediately.

     "Can you come home?"  Blair blurted before he even thought
about it.  Jim was in the middle of a stakeout, probably on his cell
phone in the back of a van with Ryf and Brown.  "I mean, I miss you.  I
was just kidding."

     "No, you weren't.  What's wrong?"

     "I...I saw something.  Or I thought I did.  Someone.  It just
spooked me, I guess."

     "Are you alone in the house?"

     "I...I think so.   I think it was my imagination."

     "You *think* but you don't know for sure?"

     "No, I don't.  Um, do you wanna hold and I'll go look around? 
Then if I don't come back--"

     "You stay on the line with Ryf.  I'm on my way."  Before Blair
could raise another objection, Jim was off the phone and Ryf's voice
came over the line.

     "What's going on, Blair?  Jim just jumped out of the van and ran
like a bat out of hell for his truck, which is two blocks away,
incidentally."

     "I think somebody's in the house.  I'm not sure."

     "You're not sure?  Why do you think someone's there?"

     "I dozed off and when I woke up, I saw someone.  When I got
my eyes really adjusted, no one was there."

     "But you're thinking they could be hiding somewhere?"

     "Yeah--exactly."

     "If they were, you probably wouldn't have been able to take the
call or stay on this long."

     "You're right."  Blair was watching the door of the bedroom, his
back pressed firmly against the wall.

     "Jim'll probably be there any minute."

     "Probably.  Look, if you want to hang up--"

     "If I hung up on you now, Jim would shove his cell phone so far
down my throat...never mind.  He'd be pissed."

     "It's been great talking to you too, man," Blair quipped.

     "You know what I mean," Ryf responded, laughing.

     The two men visited on the phone a while longer, Blair feeling
more and more relaxed and more and more stupid as the time went by. 
When he heard Jim's siren, and then heard the front door burst open,
Jim shouting to him, he thanked Ryf and hung up, hurrying into the hall
to meet his lover, who took the stairs at least two at a time until he
reached Blair.

     "Are you okay?"  Jim asked as Blair's body slammed into him
and two tenacious arms fastened around his middle.

     "I'm really sorry about this, Jim."

     "There's no one here but us, baby.  I don't hear any heartbeats,
or movements of any kind.  But I'll check everything to be sure."  Jim
patted Blair's back lightly.  "You want to tell me what this is all about?"

     "I...saw Vince," Blair mumbled into Jim's chest, shuddering at
the memory of that face looking at him so...hungrily.

     "You had a nightmare, sweetheart?"  Jim tightened his hold.

     "No.  I mean...maybe.  I was in the tub, and I closed my eyes for
a minute, and I heard someone, and that startled me, and I looked and
he was in the doorway.  It was so...*real*."

     "What happened to him then?  I mean, where did he go?"

     "I told myself it couldn't be him, couldn't be happening, and
closed my eyes a second.  When I opened them, he was gone."  Blair
pulled back a little, never having been so relieved to be with anyone in
his life as he was to be with Jim at that moment.  "I'm really, really
sorry."

     "Blair, you're still shaking like crazy.  You don't think it was a
dream, do you?"  Jim held onto Blair's chin gently, keeping their eyes
in direct contact.

     "No," he said in a barely audible voice.  "Some other stuff
happened today...before I came out to see you."

     "Come on.  Let's go downstairs.  I want to check things out
anyway."

     "I'm coming too...I don't wanna be alone right now, Jim."

     "Okay.  First let's get you into some clothes."  Jim kissed Blair's
forehead and steered the bathrobe-clad man into the master bedroom
where Blair located a pair of jeans and a favorite sweatshirt.  After
pulling on socks and shoes, he and Jim descended the stairs hand in
hand, and made a casual walk through the house, including the
basement and garage.  Nothing had been disturbed.

     "I feel like an idiot."  Blair curled up in the corner of the couch
in the back bedroom, which had been converted into a TV room.  Jim
joined him, flopping an arm behind him on the couch.

     "Don't.  You thought you saw something.  Better safe than
sorry."

     "I saw Vince."

     "Now we know it was a nightmare."

     "He looked at me the way he used to before..."  Blair closed his
eyes briefly and reopened them to see that Jim was still staring fixedly
ahead at the dark TV screen.  "What's wrong?"

     "What's wrong?!"  Jim shot back, standing up.  "That goddamn
bastard is managing to come back from the dead and remind you of
what a perverted fucker he was and scare the shit out of you and you
ask me 'what's wrong?'!"

     "Do you think I'm losing my mind, Jim?"  Blair asked the
question very quietly, and very solemnly.  Jim stopped his rampage in
its tracks and looked down into two very sincere, very worried blue
eyes.  "I wonder if this is how it feels to go insane.  To not be sure
what's real and what isn't."

     "You're not losing your mind, Chief.  You were tired--"

     "Jim, I'm not tired 24 hours a day!  I was just resting.  And there
he was!  And before, earlier--I was working in the study."

     "What happened earlier?"  Jim perched on the opposite end of
the couch while Blair told his story.

     "So I went to the county clerk's office, and they got all the
names for me.  She only had to find one in the hard copy files. 
Everything else was on computer.  I have a list of owners of the house,
and I'm going to do some research to find out who lived here before
and who might be a likely candidate to be haunting us now."

     "You're seriously looking for a ghost here?"

     "Jim, think about this a minute.  You've heard footsteps, felt
cold spots...I've heard that horrible noise like someone falling down the
steps, I've said some bizarre things, my whole life with Vince is
literally coming back to haunt me more than it ever has before...and
what about the book blowing open to that segment on domestic
violence?  Don't you get it?  The spirits are trying to tell us something."

     "Yeah.  We have a draft in the study."  Jim shook his head as if
he really *did* consider that Blair was losing his mind.

     "And the book just happened to open to the chapter on domestic
violence?  There's a reason these spirits, or at least one of them, is
trying to reach out to me.  I think it's a shared experience."

     "Excuse me?"  Jim asked, obviously annoyed to have been
called home from a stakeout for a lesson in the paranormal.

     "What I heard today sounded like...like a lot of one-sided
violence.  Believe me, man, I know what that sounds like.  It's the
sound of one person attacking and the other retreating, trying to hide,
trying to stop it somehow.  I think there was a lot of pain and misery
and abuse in this house at one time, and eventually, the worst
happened.  The victim ended up at the bottom of the stairs with a
broken neck.  I think they were both men."

     "Look, Chief, I can understand why you would interpret things
this way.  It's understandable you'd see it in the context of your
relationship with Watson, but still--"

     "So you do think I'm seeing things?  Imagining things?"

     "Do you think Watson's haunting us too?"  Jim demanded.

     "I can't explain that, okay?"  Blair said defensively.  "But the
rest of it makes sense, if you just open your mind a little."

     "Opening my mind a little is sitting in the middle of the floor
with you listening to Aborigine music to get my rhythms where you
think they ought to be.  This is...*insanity*!"  Jim was up and pacing
again.  "This is the kind of silly shit that happens in horror movies.  I
would think you of all people would be sharp enough to realize that."

     "And I would think you of all people would have some open-mindedness toward things
mystical."

     "There is one hell of big difference between my sentinel
abilities and this kind of cheap, theatrical haunting bullshit."

     "Oh really?  So if you told someone besides me that there's this
big black panther that shows up every now and then to act as your spirit
guide, and that you had a conversation with yourself in the middle of
the jungle, and that you can find me in the crowd at a Jags game just by
following your nose, they wouldn't lock you up?  Get real, Jim.  That
sounds as crazy as this does.  But it's true.  And it's real.  Man, your
whole life is proof that there are things beyond our mundane
understanding."

     "This mundane is going to call Simon and let him know why
I'm sitting on my ass at home instead of on the stakeout."  Jim headed
for the phone.

     "So go back to the goddamned stakeout!  I'll deal with this
myself!"  Blair snapped, getting up and stomping off toward the
hallway.

     "You just hold on a minute there, Chief."  Jim was hot on his
heels.  "You drag me back home on this panic call and then you
dismiss me and put on this self-righteous act and blow me off because I
don't agree with you?  Damn it, Sandburg, listen to yourself!  Ghosts? 
Spirits and shared experiences?"

     "You don't have to make fun of me, man.  If you don't believe
me, that's fine.  I'll deal with this myself."  Blair turned to walk away
but Jim grabbed his arm and spun him back around.

     "This conversation isn't over."

     "Oh yes it is."  Blair yanked his arm away and started for the
stairs.

     "Get your ass back down here, Sandburg!"

     "Why?  So you can tell me I'm crazy?  Guess what?  I don't
fucking need that from you so why don't you go back on your fucking
stakeout and leave me the hell alone?!  If I'd wanted someone to tell me
I was nuts, I could have gone to a shrink."

     "Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea!"  Jim shot back.

     "Fine.  If I need one, then take a look in the mirror, hot shot,
because the first time you tell your little panther-heightened senses-mystical mumbo jumbo story
to anyone but me, you're going to find
yourself in a room with nice soft walls and a preponderance of baskets
that need weaving!"  Blair started upstairs but Jim hurried up behind
him and grabbed hold of his arm again, this time yanking hard enough
to bring him back down a couple of steps.  Before Blair knew what was
happening, Jim's right hand was raised and began coming down in just
the right arc to deliver a resounding back-hand blow across Blair's face. 
The blow never landed, because the arm froze in mid-air as a look of
absolute horror swept over the larger man.  There were no words to
describe the look of shock, then fear, then betrayal, then heartbreak
that crossed Blair's expressive features.  

     "Oh, my God, Blair...sweetheart...I didn't...I wouldn't..."  Jim
stammered, unable to even form any words.  He wanted to pull Blair
into his arms and hold him, reassure him that the blow would never
have landed, but he honestly couldn't figure out how he had ended up
on the staircase with Blair when the last place he recalled being was in
the hall.

     "Jim?"  Blair's voice was a bit shaky, but he seemed to be
recognizing the disorientation on the larger man's face.  "Jim, are you
zoning on me?"

     "N-no, not exactly...I don't think..."

     "Come on, love, talk to me.  What's going on here?"

     "How did we get here?"

     "What?"

     "On the stairs?  How did we get here?  The last thing I
remember is fighting with you in the hall, and then the next thing I
knew, I was standing here, and my arm was up...Oh, God, Blair, you
know I'd never hit you."

     "I thought I knew that," Blair responded softly, twisting his arm
to free it from Jim's bruising grip, rubbing the spot with his other hand. 
Jim hadn't even realized he still had the restraining hold on Blair.  
     
     When he'd helped Blair with bathing and changing in the first
days after his hospital stay after being rescued from Watson, Jim had
cringed at the number of finger-sized bruises that had peppered Blair's
upper arms and shoulders.  He had vowed to never put any there
himself, but now he had, and the pain in Blair's eyes cut into Jim's heart
like a knife.  

     "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry.  I didn't mean to grab you and I never
would have hit you.  I don't remember what happened."

     "Like a black-out?"  Blair asked, trying to pull himself together
enough to really listen to what Jim was saying.

     "Yes."

     "Kind of like what happened to me in the kitchen that morning--you know, when I argued
with you about coming upstairs and then you
gave me the knife?  Remember?  And I honestly didn't remember
saying anything to you about nosebleeds, but then you said I did--when
I broke the cup?"

     "Yes!  Exactly," Jim responded, relieved.  "Did I hurt your
arm?"  he asked worriedly.

     "Probably just a couple bruises, no big deal," Blair dismissed,
moving his hand away from the spot.  It was more the pain of the
betrayal of his trust that had made him rub at the spot than any piercing
pains in his arm.

     "Is it okay if I hold you for a minute?"

     "I think that'd be a real good idea," Blair responded, moving
eagerly into Jim's arms and holding on tightly as the larger man
enveloped him in a hug.

     "I'm so sorry, baby.  I don't remember how we got here.  I never
want to hurt you...God, I'd never hit you."  He slid a hand into Blair's
hair and massaged his scalp, feeling the smaller body relaxing against
his.  "Please don't stop trusting me, sweetheart.  I don't even know how
we got here, but I never meant to hit you...or even to grab you that
hard.  I hate that you're going to have bruises because of me."

     "I know.  It's okay, Jim.  I know you didn't mean it.  I was
just...scared."  Blair shuddered a little.  "Heavy dose of deja vu, man."

     "I didn't mean all the lousy things I said to you, Chief.  I don't
think you're crazy."

     "I'm sorry too.  I acted like an ass.  I was just upset."

     "You've got a right to be.  It's been a rough few hours."

     "I'm sorry about your stakeout."

     "Forget about that.  You know you're more important to me than
anything else."

     "Tell that to Simon."

     "I don't think I *have* to tell that to Simon.  He knows."  Jim
smiled into the warm mop of hair.  "We have to talk...rationally this
time."

     "Yeah, you're right.  Let's go somewhere.  Maybe have a beer.  I
don't think we should talk here.  Things have a tendency to
get...confused."

     "Good idea.  Let's go."

********

     Both men had sat in silence for a while, sipping at their beer
and watching the other patrons of the bar and grill come and go.

     "I feel ridiculous," Jim finally said.  "Going out so I can talk
without my house overhearing me."

     "It's a little surreal, that's for sure," Blair responded, smiling a
little.  "I need to do some research on the past owners of the house to
find out what's going on, but just from the pattern of ownership, I
would say the problem originated with either the guy who built the
house or his heir.  See, all the other owners are clustered together from
1972 to the present.  And there have been twelve of them."

     "*Twelve*?  In less than twenty-five years?"  

     "I know, that was my reaction too.  I haven't spent a lot of time
on it, but it looks like a lot of that time, it sat vacant.  So it's been like
someone moved in, lived there a few months, then put it on the
market."  Blair took another swallow of his beer.  "I think the spirits
probably just scared people off.  But with us, I think we're connecting
with them."

     "And this is a good thing?"  Jim asked, brows raised.

     "Well, yes and no.  I mean, I'd like to think we could help these
poor lost souls find their way back where they belong.  On the other
hand, it really, really scares me, man.  When I saw Vince in that
doorway..."  Blair shuddered visibly.

     "You're sure it was him?"

     "It was his face, his...leer.  I'd know it anywhere."

     "So why are we 'connecting' do you think?"

     "I think there was a domestic violence situation in that house
that ended in tragedy.  And it's pretty obvious why that would connect
with us.  For me, I have all this...this misery and fear still in there I
can't quite get rid of, and with you, it's anger."

     "Rage.  Anger doesn't describe it."  Jim leaned back in the book
they shared and shook his head.  "But tonight, it turned on you.  The
part that's got me unhinged is that it's starting to make us *do* things."

     "I'm connecting with the victim, I think.  I know his pain first-hand, and he's reaching out to
me, trying to be heard.  He knows I
understand."

     "So that leaves me to connect with the killer?  There's a happy
thought.  Thanks a lot, Chief."

     "I haven't figured all this out yet, man.  I just know I've felt this
incredible sadness since I moved in there, and it's like there's this little
voice trying to tell me something, and sometimes I think it gets
through, like when I made that weird comment about nosebleeds that
time."  Blair exhaled loudly.  "Before he died, Incacha told me he was
passing on to me the 'way of the shaman'.  Well, part of a shaman's...job
description, for lack of a better term, is communicating with spirits of
the dead."

     "I'm not a shaman."

     "No, and no spirit is really telling you anything, either.  But
your senses are picking up on what experts bring in specialized
equipment to monitor and record."

     "Something else got a hold of me tonight.  I almost hit you."

     "Maybe the killer is tapping in to your rage.  Anger, hate...those
are negative emotions."  Blair saw Jim's mouth open to start an
objection, but he raised his hand quickly.  "I'm not criticizing you or
anything.  I feel rage, I feel anger--all of that.  But in your case, it's all
anger and rage, because you didn't live through it, so you aren't dealing
with that part of it.  You watch me suffer and you get angrier and
angrier and there's nowhere for it to go."

     "Short of digging Watson up and figuring a way to kill him
again, that's a pretty hopeless problem, Chief," Jim gulped the last of
his beer and nodded when the waitress showed up to offer a refill.

     "If there is a spirit that's...not good.  I hate to say something
campy like 'evil spirit'--"

     "If the shoe fits," Jim responded, chewing on one of the cooling
cheese sticks from the appetizer they'd ordered to keep the beer
company.  He had no interest in eating, but this conversation was
making him nervous, and chewing was something comfortingly
mundane to do.

     "Okay.  If there's an evil spirit involved here, it would feed off
negative energy."

     "So the bad guy picked me."

     "Well, sort of, yes.  I was mad when we were arguing, but I was
more hurt than anything else.  But I was making you mad.  Really
angry.  And wasn't it perfect for him to slip in and take advantage of
your anger, and even better, your anger *at me*."

     "I didn't have any intention of grabbing you, and I sure as hell
wouldn't have hit you."

     "I know that, Jim.  What I'm saying is that it was an opening,
and *something* took advantage of it.  Made you swing at me.  And
the cold and the footsteps--maybe those are the movements of the evil
spirit.  The fall down the stairs, the odd phrases, my being even more
obsessed with my past with Vince--maybe those are the sounds and the
influence of his victim."

     "Even if we assume all this is true.  What in the hell are we
supposed to do about it now?"

     "Find out what really happened.  I don't know exactly how thing
happened, or if any of it was ever dealt with.  Maybe the murder was
covered up, maybe the wrong person was accused, maybe it was
written off as an accident...it could be anything.  Maybe this is all some
kind of outcry for...justice."

     "I doubt the killer is crying out for justice."

     "No--but see, wouldn't it make sense if he were trying to stop it
from being uncovered?"
     
     "Why?  He's dead, whoever he is.  It's not like we'll be arresting
him anytime soon."

     "Protecting his reputation?  Habit?  If he spent his whole life
keeping it a secret, or covering it up, maybe he can't understand that
he's dead and it doesn't matter anymore."

     "What bothers me more than any of this is that I could have
really hurt you tonight."  Jim's eyes dropped down to the cheese stick
he was absentmindedly dismantling, albeit delicately, with the fingers
of both hands.  Blair reached over and covered the busy fingers and the
victimized cheese stick with his own hand.

     "No, Jim, you couldn't have.  Whatever took you to that point--it couldn't make you go
beyond it.  You were angry at me, so it all
flowed.  But it's so against everything in you to hit me that you wouldn't
do it.  I don't believe there's any force in that house, or anywhere else,
that would make you any real danger to me."  Blair noticed that Jim's
eyes had flicked away from his almost imperceptibly and then returned. 
Blair withdrew his hand and it rejoined its mate in his lap.  

     "I'm sorry, Blair.  I didn't mean to do that."  Jim finally tossed
the mangled food aside and took a drink of his beer.

     "It's okay.  You just usually don't mind."

     "This isn't exactly a fine restaurant, Chief.  I guess I'm not in the
mood for a redneck fist fight."

     "Vince and I used to eat here a lot."  Blair looked up at Jim, and
smiled at his shocked expression.  "He didn't keep me in the kitchen
with a ball and chain around my ankle, man.  We *did* go out to eat
once in a while."  

     "I guess I have trouble picturing the two of you doing
something...normal together."  Jim finished off his beer.

     "We went out a lot, really.  Moreso at first, but even when
things started getting bad...we still went places.  He defended my honor
in here once--I thought that was really cool," Blair admitted, laughing a
little.  "We hadn't moved in together yet, and he brought me here to eat. 
I was a little worried when he wanted me to sit in the same side of the
booth with him, but the audacity of it was fun."

     "What happened?"

     "I went up to the bar to ask for drink refills, because we couldn't
get the waitress's attention, and one of the guys up there made a
remark, and the guy he was with made the mistake of swatting me on
the butt."

     "And?"

     "See those shelves of booze bottles and that giant mirror behind
the bar?"

     "Yeah?"

     "Vince had to pay to replace those.  He literally tossed the one
guy over the bar and while in-flight, he took out the mirror and totaled
most of the booze."  Blair shook his head.  "Vince was bigger than
either of them, and when the first guy saw what his friend got, he ran
like hell out the door with Vince right behind him.  I never saw
*anybody* move that fast."  Laughing a little, Blair glanced over
toward the bar.  "Luckily for him, he got in his car and locked the door
before Vince got there.  He almost had to run over Vince to get out of
the parking lot.  He was so pissed off I thought he was going to kill
anything in his path."

     "Did the airborne guy press charges?"  Jim asked, enthralled,
and yet a bit jealous, of this seemingly happy memory Blair had of
Watson.

     "No.  We thought he would, but the bartender--he owns the
place--was going to make them split the cost of the repairs.  The bill
was major.  As soon as he could see straight, the other guy said if
Vince covered the bill, he wouldn't call the cops.  So Vince did and that
was that."

     "And you thought all this was pretty cool?"  Jim asked, smiling
a little.

     "At the time, yeah.  Now...?  I don't know if he was really
defending my honor or his property.  Maybe he was just looking for a
fight.  I don't know.  I'd like to think it was because the guy swatted me
and it was a degrading thing for him to do, but realistically, I think it
was a territorial thing.  As far as he was concerned, my ass was his
property, and someone else was pawing what was his.  He used to say
he wanted to take me out and 'show me off'.  He got in more than one
fight when we went to straight bars and clubs and acted like a gay
couple.  He wouldn't even let a funny look pass unchallenged."

     "You don't think any of that was genuine--motivated out of
love?"

     "I don't know.  I think he was proud of me.  Proud that we were
together.  He was very open about his lifestyle, so that wasn't an issue. 
He always told me I was 'stunning'.  Of course, that was before I moved
in with him and he decided I needed to lose weight, was too short, and
talked too much.  I don't know anymore what was real and what was a
lie.  He knew how to court somebody.  He made me feel like he was all
excited to have me.  Until he got me."

     "So, you want me to go toss a couple rednecks for you before
we leave?"  Jim smiled and Blair laughed.

     "I think we've had enough excitement for tonight," Blair
responded, still smiling.  "I didn't mean to imply I didn't think you
would do that for me.  Just ask Mark Borden."

     "Waste of oxygen," Jim commented.

     "Are we going back home?"

     "You know if we don't go now, we never will?"

     "I guess.  I'm just scared, that's all."

     "Of what?"  Jim caught Blair surprised expression. 
"Specifically, I mean?"

     "Seeing Vince again," Blair answered honestly. 

     "Do you think it was really him?  His spirit?"

     "I don't know, but I'm afraid of him, Jim.  I still am.  Just
thinking about that look on his face and what it meant..."

     "I know."  Jim reached across the table this time and took a
hold of Blair's hand.  "I know now to keep my guard up.  I won't let
anything hurt you, Blair.  I'd die first.  You know that."

     "Yeah, I do."  Blair squeezed Jim's hand, his whole body
shaking at the mere thought of the apparition of Vince.  "It was so real. 
I thought...I thought, if he touches me..."  Blair closed his eyes and
swallowed hard, his hand tightening painfully on Jim's.

     "Hey, sweetheart, try to take a deep breath and calm down.  It's
okay."  Jim watched intently as Blair struggled to follow the
instructions.  "We can stay at a motel tonight."

     "Could we?"  Blair asked, hope evident in his eyes.

     "Sure.  This'll look less horrible in the morning.  Come on." 
Jim got up and Blair followed suit.  After tossing some money on the
table for a tip and paying the check on the way out, they climbed into
the truck and headed for the same motel where they'd had their
passionate tryst that afternoon.

********

     Both men found solace in the ordinary surroundings of the
motel room.  After sharing a warm shower together and toweling each
other off, they slid naked under the blankets and met with a hungry kiss
and gentle caresses, bringing their aching arousals into contact,
grinding them maddeningly together.  Jim came first, and his
completion and shout of Blair's name pushed the younger man over the
edge to his own climax.

     "I'll get a washcloth," Jim offered, kissing Blair's forehead.  He
returned to the bed after cleaning himself and then gently cleaned his
lover, who was drowsing a little in the afterglow.  After tossing the
used cloth in the sink, he got back into bed and gathered Blair in his
arms.  "I love you, sweetheart."  

     "I love you too."   Blair waited a moment, just soaking up the
warmth, safety and scent of the big body that was wrapped around his. 
"Please, don't let him touch me," Blair pleaded in a small voice before
he began to cry softly against Jim's chest.  "I'm so scared."

     "I know, baby.  It's okay.  I won't let him hurt you.  Not ever
again."

     "He looked...at me...that way...before...he...he...that
night...when he..."  Blair gave up and let his emotions have their way
with him while Jim held him tightly, crooning little reassurances in his
ear.  And before he knew what was happening, the most horrendous,
dark secrets of his ordeal with Vince started spilling out in words. 
Every monstrous detail of the torture session that had left him bed-ridden for two days, all the
sadistic little things that were said or done
just as acts of cruelty as ends in themselves and for no good reason,
every fear and emotion...it all poured out with the tears that seemed
unstoppable.

     Through it all, Jim kept the shaking body in his arms held
firmly against him, and vowed to listen quietly to all of it.  Blair was
finally opening up, and the anguish that he could never voice before
was coming out in a deluge.  Jim cried with him, sobs that mingled
until neither knew where one ended or the other began, as Blair
described Watson's depraved, sadistic activities in graphic details that
made Jim waffle between the need to vomit and the need to kill a man
who was already six feet under.

     Two hours later, Blair lay exhausted in Jim's arms, having
passed out in the aftermath of the emotional release.  Jim gently kissed
the slightly parted lips and cuddled his armload close to his heart.  As
he gave in to a few more tears of his own, Jim felt a sense of peace
mixed with the pain.  Blair was finally taking a major step in the
healing process.  And if seeing a ghost was what it took to open the
flood gates, he found himself thanking the spirits as he slid into his
own restless sleep. 

     When Jim opened his eyes, the room was bathed in the greyness
of dawn.  His natural tendency to move and shift a bit was interrupted
by the tightening of the arm over his middle and a little whimper of
objection.

     "Shhh.  It's okay, sweetheart.  I'm not leaving." //Even though I
have to piss like a geyser at the moment,// Jim thought to himself.

     "Jim?"  The voice was sleepy and almost disoriented.

     "Right here, baby.  Go back to sleep."

     "Have to go," Blair mumbled and staggered off toward the
bathroom.  Jim had to laugh in spite of the darkness of his mood.  He
got up and waited for Blair to come out, and then he made use of the
facilities himself.  Upon returning to the bedroom, he found Blair
snuggled back under the covers but wide awake.

     "How're you doin', Chief?"  Jim slid back into bed and reached
over to brush a wayward curl out of Blair's eyes.

     "I don't know," Blair answered honestly.  "Hold me, okay?"

     "You have to ask?"  Jim grinned and pulled his lover close until
they were wrapped around each other on their sides.  The position
allowed Jim enough motion to rock them a little.  "It was a rough night,
sweetheart.  I know."

     "I didn't want to gross you out like that," Blair said, snuggling
impossibly closer to Jim.  "I couldn't help it."

     "What Watson did grossed me out.  You don't gross me out. 
Always remember that distinction, baby."

     "It really...hurts to remember."  A few tears slipped past Blair's
tenuous control.  "I'm sorry."

     "Don't apologize.  If you need a good cry, let it out.  Just you
and me here, sweetheart."  Jim tangled his hand in Blair's hair and
massaged his scalp as he felt the tremor of tears pass through the
smaller body.  "I'm glad you were able to tell me.  I know it hurt to do
that."  Jim closed his eyes and buried his face in Blair's hair.  "I love
you so much, sweetheart.  Don't you ever forget how much."

     "Don't leave me, Jim.  Please don't ever leave me." 

     "Never, my love."  Jim smiled, thinking that he knew just the
thing to soothe Blair's frazzled nerves--or make him laugh so hard he'd
stop crying, anyway.  Jim started singing.  "You ask me if there'll come
a time, when I grow tired of you...Never my love, Never my love.  You
seem to think this heart of mine, will lose its desire for you...Never my
love, Never my love...How can you think love will end, when you
know that my whole life depends on you..."  Jim continued with his
somewhat awkward, definitely not award-winning rendition of the
song, smiling as he felt Blair's heart rate even out and the tears subside
to an occasional sniffle.  In the silence that followed Jim's first, and
what Jim fervently prayed was his last, attempt at a capella singing,
Blair's arms tightened around him.

     "That was so beautiful, mine.  Thank you."

     "I don't know as beautiful would spring to mind, Chief, but I'm
glad you liked it."

     "It was beautiful to me.  I was so scared that when you heard all
of it, you'd...you wouldn't want me anymore.  I guess that's dumb, but I
still worried about it."

     "Your fear wasn't dumb, sweetheart.  But it was misguided. 
Facing all this again is scary, I know.  But there's nothing you could tell
me that would make me stop loving you.  After everything you went
through, do you know how much it means to me that you trust me? 
That we can be together the way we are and it's this good?"

     "I used to hug my pillows in the morning sometimes, after
Vince left.  I'd hold onto them and pretend it was us, doing this. 
Holding each other.  I missed you so much."

     "I'm no pillow, sweetheart.  I'm right here."  He rubbed Blair's
back in long strokes.  "You're my whole life, cuddlebug.  I'm never
going to leave you."

     "Jim?"

     "What?"

     "Make love to me, please?"

     "Are you sure that's what you want now?"  Jim asked gently,
kissing Blair's hair.

     "It's what I *need* now.  I need to feel you inside me."

     Jim didn't reply in words.  Instead, he began kissing a trail down
Blair's jaw to his throat, pausing to lick and suck, leaving a prominent
passion mark on the soft skin.

     "It might show," Blair protested weakly.

     "Hope so," Jim replied, his lips still against Blair's neck. 
"Relax, baby.  Let me love you," he whispered hotly in Blair's ear,
running his tongue around the shell.  His only response was a needful
little moan as Blair rolled onto his back while Jim began his oral love-making in earnest.  

     Blair's shoulders and chest were peppered with wet kisses and
licks before a hot mouth fastened onto the left nipple, drawing it firmly
into the wet velvet suction until it became a hard peak, and Blair
groaned from the intensity of it.  Jim ran his tongue in a path to its
mate, pleasuring it in much the same manner.  

     Sparing only a moment for a devilish glance upward at his
aroused lover, Jim moved unexpectedly outward to Blair's arms,
stretching each one out in its turn, kissing his way from shoulder to
wrist, pausing to nip at the soft skin inside each elbow.  The taste and
scent of his lover was filling his senses, stirring his arousal.  But this
was going to be prolonged.  Slow and worshipful, a tiny attempt to love
Blair enough to ease the pain of what he'd been through.

     Jim smiled against the soft skin of Blair's stomach as there was
a little rumble under his lips from Blair's laughter.  Knowing where the
ticklish spots and the erogenous zones were on his lover, Jim couldn't
resist doing some teasing with his tongue and lips, just to hear that
laugh.  It became a groan as Jim's tongue dipped into Blair's navel,
swirling around the little valley before following a trail of kisses to the
wiry hair surrounding the engorged shaft that begged for attention.

     Ignoring the obvious, Jim made his way to the creases where
thigh joined groin, kissing and nipping and beginning a journey down
the inside of both thighs.  Blair was panting and little whimpers of
pleasure mingled with frustrated desire filled the air.  Not wanting to
turn teasing into torment, Jim made his lip voyage back up Blair's left
thigh and then began running his tongue over the soft skin of Blair's
perineum.

     "Oh, God, Jim, touch me, please..."  he groaned, hips bucking
off the mattress.  The devil tongue was lurking between the two places
he wanted most to be touched, but not satisfying either one.

     Then the tongue slid purposefully down to the little pucker and
began darting in and out, probing and stretching Blair's center.  Letting
his legs come to rest on Jim's shoulders, Blair clutched the sheets in
white knuckled fists, thrusting in tempo with the motion of Jim's
tongue.

     "Need lube, baby," Jim gasped, looking at Blair from between
his raised thighs.  Blair's frenzied brain tried to compute, to focus on
what to use.

     "Spit's okay," he gasped finally.

     "No way."  Jim kissed Blair's thigh and brought the legs down
gently as he slid off the bed.  "Wait here," he managed, noting that he
was probably setting a world's record for the most upright motion
successfully completed with a telephone pole sticking out of his groin. 
He found some complimentary hand lotion in the medicine cabinet,
and returned to the bed.  

     Blair was lying there, his breathing labored, his knees bent and
feet flat on the bed, hands grasping at the sheets.  That sight alone
would have been enough to push Jim over the edge, but he made the
effort to actually get back to the bed, and took his place between Blair's
legs as the other man pulled his knees up to his chest.  Using the lotion,
Jim finished preparing the opening his tongue had already begun
stretching.  Coating himself generously, he brought the head of his
throbbing shaft to Blair's center.

     "Love you," he managed, slipping inside the precious body
under him, tuning in to everything about Blair's response so he knew
the precise moment to sheathe himself to the hilt without hurting his
lover.  He descended on Blair and claimed his mouth passionately as
the smaller man's legs came up around his waist.

     Tongues slid back and forth, swirling around each other until
Blair pulled back and let out a cry of pleasure, the thrusting of his hips
encouraging Jim to pick up the pace of his strokes.  Jim's hand closed
over Blair's cock, pumping it in perfectly rhythm with their
lovemaking.  Fingers gripped Jim's shoulders as their motion
intensified, until Blair let out a wail of Jim's name, spurting his
completion over his lover's hand, chest and stomach.  As soon as Blair's
internal muscles clamped down on him, Jim cried out his own climax
and the two men slumped together on the bed, a tangled heap of
sweaty, sated flesh.

     "Love you, mine," Blair murmured.

     "Love you too, baby.  You're safe now.  Let yourself drift.  Go
back to sleep."

     "What about work?"

     "Oh, man."  Jim looked at his watch.  It was already eight
o'clock.  "I'll call Simon."

     "You're going to get in trouble doing this all the time because of
me."

     "Shhh.  Close your eyes and relax.  This'll only take a minute." 
Jim picked up the phone on the night stand and dialed Simon's
extension. 

     "Banks," the voice came over the phone.

     "Simon?  Jim."

     "Ryf told me you had to leave the stakeout last night--you had a
prowler or something?"

     "Blair thought he saw someone, but by the time I got there, no
one else was in the house."

     "Do you think anyone ever was?"  Simon asked.

     "I don't know," Jim responded, looking down at Blair, who
seemed to be totally disinterested in the conversation anyway.  He had
found his sleeping spot on Jim's chest and his breathing was evening
out.  "Look, I'm sorry to do this, but I have to call in today."

     "You're kidding.  Come on, Jim.  I've got two guys on sick leave
and you know I was planning on you for the stakeout again tonight. 
Something's about due to go down--there's a known supplier due in on
a plane from Brazil this afternoon."

     "Simon, it's serious.  I wouldn't do it otherwise."

     "Something's wrong with Sandburg?"

     "Yeah, sort of.  I can't go into it right now, but--"

     "He's with you?"

     "Right."

     "All right.  Give me a call later when you can talk."

     "Will do.  Thanks, Simon."  And with that, Jim hung up the
phone and looked down at Blair, who had managed to doze off during
the telephone call.  Smiling at the feeling that they had passed a very
major obstacle in Blair's emotional recovery, Jim let himself relax and
join his lover in the peace of sleep.

********

     "Any luck?"  Jim walked into the study carrying two mugs of
coffee.  Having returned to the house by late morning, Blair had
finished grading his papers and now was surfing the Internet for any
available information on the house's previous owners.  

     "Not really.  Guess these folks weren't too interesting.  I've been
to a few genealogy sites, tried searching by their names...zippo."  Blair
took the offered mug, leaning back in his chair.  "Thanks."

     "Well, so far you've got the Wellesleys--"

     "The original owners.  But even on the property records they're
listed as Mr. & Mrs. Arnold Wellesley.  I don't see this as happening
between a married couple.  The voices I heard were male."

     "Their son, Benjamin Wellesley inherited the house in 1954,
and sold it in 1972."

     "Or his estate did."

     "Whatever."

     "I don't know if he was married or not.  That would be an obit
question.  I'll look him up at the library."

     "We've got Gavin Taylor on the books for '72, and he didn't sell
until 1988.  Between 1988 and 1998, there were nine owners.  Most
didn't stay a full year, and the house had to sit vacant some of that
time."  Jim took a drink of his coffee and sat in one of the chairs by the
unlit fireplace.  "So I see us having three possible origins of trouble--the original owners, their
son, or this Taylor guy, since he managed to
stick it out living in the house for 16 years."

     "I wonder if any of the other owners would be willing to talk to
us?"  Blair scanned the list of names.  "Maybe we could find out what
other people have experienced."

     "Let's work on getting to the bottom of this first.  I don't want to
call a bunch of people asking about ghosts and cold spots."

     "Like you think that's going to shock them after living here?" 
Blair smiled a little and then made a face at the monitor.  "This is
hopeless."

     "Library time?"

     "Yeah.  I have to stop by my office and post the grades, and
then I have to turn them into the Registrar.  You wanna drop me off
and go wait in the library?"  Blair logged out and turned off the
computer.

     "Nope.  I'll come with you, if that's okay with you.  Borden
hasn't been tried yet, and even when he is, he'll probably get probation. 
I don't want to take any chances."

     "Thanks."  Blair sat at the desk and just grinned at Jim.

     "For what?"

     "For loving me so much."

     "It's a pretty easy thing to do, Chief."  Jim smiled as he got up
and headed toward the door, with Blair close behind him.  

     "I thought talking about it would make it worse," Blair said as
they shrugged into their coats.

     "But it didn't?"  Jim asked hopefully.

     "I thought keeping it in that box I told you about--keeping it
buried--I thought that was the only way to cope with it.  But now, after
taking it out of the box, looking at it...I realize it doesn't have any more
real power than what I give it.  And it doesn't nag at me all the time.  It
was like there was this...*thing* there you didn't know about, and I was
afraid of what you'd think when you heard it.  I know you say all of it
doesn't matter but there was this part of me that always wondered what
you'd really think if you knew...that maybe you'd finally be disgusted
with me for not going to the cops, and figure I deserved it or
something.  I know all that was stupid, but it was part of what worried
me."

     "You look better.  Well, your nose still leaves a little bit to be
desired," Jim commented, laughing a little as Blair did the same.  "But
you look...I don't know how to describe it..."

     "Like me?"  

     "Yeah.  Like you."  Jim slid an arm around his smiling partner
and guided him out the door.  It seemed for the first time that he really
had the old Blair by his side, complete with his characteristic bounce.

     Blair wrapped up his business at his office and with the
Registrar quickly, and the two men made their way across the sparsely
populated campus to the library.  Winter classes were finished, and
Summer courses hadn't begun yet.  The first day of May was sunny but
cool, and Spring was making its presence known in the budding trees
and the appearance of a few perennial plantings on the campus.

     Blair happily chattered a mile a minute about the plans for a
new building to house some of the performing arts functions, his hand
casually held in Jim's as they walked to the library.  He had no
inhibitions about letting his colleagues or students see that he was part
of an all male couple, and since all the publicity and gossip about
Vince had been the talk of the campus for a while, he was just as happy
to let the world see that his life was back on track again.

     Finding a microfilm reader that was situated with enough room
for two chairs, Blair dumped his backpack on one of them to reserve it
and with the list of dates and names in hand, the two men searched for
the appropriate microfilm of the "Cascade Herald".  With about eight
boxes of film between them, they returned to their viewer and Blair
loaded the first roll.  

     "Who are we looking for first?"  Jim asked, leaning in to look at
the screen, his arm along the back of Blair's chair.

     "Ben Wellesley's obit."  Blair began the eye-straining process of
scanning the microfilm, then looked over at Jim, taking off his glasses. 
"Why am I doing this?"

     "What do you mean?"

     "Here.  Trade ya," Blair got up and switched chairs with Jim,
who smiled knowingly when he realized why Blair was moving. 
Sentinel vision could definitely make its way through the blur of
moving microfilm better than Blair's.  With a little smile on his face,
Blair watched Jim scan the material effortlessly, at a much faster speed
than Blair ever could.

     "Here," he announced, backing up the film and zooming in on a
narrow obituary listing.  Blair read aloud.

     "Benjamin R. Wellesley, 73, passed away Sunday at Cascade
General Hospital, following a lengthy illness."  Blair looked back at his
notes.  "This is dated February 19, 1972.  The next owners moved in
during '72 sometime."  He looked back at the screen.  "Check out the 
survivors.  A wife and two grown daughters."

     "So much for same sex couples," Jim concluded.  "Who's next?"

     "Well, there's no reason to expect that Gavin Taylor is
necessarily dead, but I figured we should look for him in 1987 and
1988, just in case."  Blair handled unloading and reloading the
machine, happy to have turned the eye-popping job of scanning the
information over to Jim.  "You know, I never thought of testing you
with microfilm before--you know, moving it and seeing how much
you--" Blair was cut off with a gentle hand over his mouth.

     "Dissertation defense in two weeks.  You aren't going to conjure
up any new chapters, hear me?"  Jim hesitantly removed his hand,
expecting the flood that, of course, came.

     "But this is a major issue--the speed you can read."

     "Why would my reading skills be any better."

     "They're not necessarily, but the amount of information you can
see and interpret from a moving source like this--"

     "Blair, slow down.  Look, the only thing that's really going to be
good for is tipping other guides off that they need to make their
sentinels do all the dirty work when they search microfilm.  This isn't
worth upsetting the apple cart with your defense date."

     "I guess you're right."  Blair chewed his lower lip a moment.

     "But...?"

     "Would you just try it for me?  So I can see what you can do?  I
promise I won't make a big thing out of it."  Blair turned on his best
puppy-dog eyes, and Jim rolled his, knowing he'd been had, yet again.

     "Okay, Chief.  Fire when ready."  Jim sat back to let Blair move
the film.

     "No.  You go ahead.  Then you can slow it when you have to."

     Blair watched with rapt fascination as Jim adjusted the speed to
the maximum level he could still interpret.  While he was unable to
actually read at an accelerated speed, he could search for specific
words at a speed much higher than normal.

     "Satisfied?"

     "Yeah.  Man, that was great!  I never even thought about this
before."

     "Thank God."  Jim rubbed the bridge of his nose and blinked a
few times.

     "Eye strain?"  Blair asked guiltily.

     "Oh, just a little," Jim retorted, smiling slightly.  "If you weren't
so damned cute I'd be pissed off right now."

     "I'll make it up to you later.  Take your mind of your head...at
least one of them, anyway."

     "It's a good thing this place is almost deserted," Jim
admonished.

     "Wanna do it behind the file cabinets over there?"

     "Sandburg," Jim growled. 

     "What'd you find?"  Blair asked, laughing a little as he turned
his attention back to the monitor.

     "Taylor's obituary."

     "So he *did* die.  Any survivors?"

     "Nope.  Well, just a sister in Oregon.  He was 49, says he died
suddenly at his home--September 29, 1987."

     "Terrific."

     "You think he's the one who took the fall?"

     "I don't know."  Blair jotted a few notes from the information
on the screen.  Think there'd be anything on him in the PD's
computer?"

     "'Suddenly at home' can mean anything from a heart attack to
suicide to murder to slipping in the bath tub.  I can look him up."

     "I wonder about his sister," Blair pondered, writing down her
name.  "I could call her, and tell her I was checking with previous
owners to see if they'd had any problems--ask if her brother ever
mentioned anything."

     "Worth a shot.  You want to look these other people up?"

     "Not yet.  Let's follow up on Gavin.  I have a feeling about
him."

     "Okay.  I think I can tear myself away from this machine."

     Back at the house with their information, Blair tracked Karen
Taylor Kennedy through Information, finally getting a phone number. 
He dialed on the cordless phone, sitting in one of the study's wingback
chairs while Jim sat in the other, confident he could easily tune into the
conversation.

     "Hello?"  A female voice came over the line.

     "Mrs. Kennedy?"

     "Yes?"

     "My name is Blair Sandburg, and I'm calling from Cascade,
Washington.  I know this is going to sound a little odd, but I live in the
house your brother, Gavin, owned?"

     "And?"  Her voice wasn't irritated or rushed, but reflected her
confusion at his call.

     "Well, like I said, this is going to sound a little weird, but we've
had some...disturbances in the house, and I was wondering if your
brother might have ever mentioned having problems with odd noises,
drafts, that kind of thing."

     "How did you get my name?"

     "Well, I got your brother's name from the county clerk's office--the property records--and I
got your name...from his obituary.  I'm sorry
if that sounds morbid, but it was the only way I could think of to reach
anyone who might know something about the house.  And I am really
sorry to impose on you with questions.  But we have a bad situation
here, and we love the house, and we want to know if anyone can shed
any light on the problem."   

     "My brother wouldn't have been a reliable source for
information.  He was...disturbed."

     "He had psychological problems?"

     "Yes.  Serious problems.  He committed suicide.  He was
seriously depressed, and hallucinations were not unusual for him."

     "What kind of hallucinations?"

     "I really don't want to continue this conversation, Mr.
Sandburg."

     "To be honest with you, I think the disturbances could be
connected to your brother--to some tragedy that happened in the house. 
Did he commit suicide in the house?"

     "No.  He did it in the woods behind the house," she responded. 
Her words were short and clipped, as if anything more would draw out
emotions long-buried.

     "Would you please tell me what kind of hallucinations he had? 
You see, I've...seen some things too, and heard some things, and it's
made me seriously question my own sanity."

     "I'm sure it had nothing to do with the house.  Gavin had a
companion who lived with him for a number of years--a young man
who made his living as a musician--well, what little living he made,
that is.  My brother was...my brother was homosexual."

     "I'm in a committed relationship with another man also, Mrs.
Kennedy.  Believe me, I understand."

     "His...friend just disappeared one day.  Packed up and left. 
Gavin was devastated.  It was after that he started seeing things,
imagining things, becoming depressed...he killed himself two years to
the day after Michael left him."

     "Michael...?"

     "I don't know his last name."

     "No one ever saw or heard from him again?"

     "I don't know if *no one* did, but I know Gavin didn't."  She
was quiet a moment.  "I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

     "You don't know how much we appreciate this.  We love the
house--it's our first house together--and if there's something wrong
here...but most especially if there's some*one* here who isn't at rest...I
know it sounds ridiculous and unbelievable, but if there's a spirit
trapped here, we want to help."  Blair waited through a long silence.

     "You think it's Gavin?"  she finally asked, her voice very
strained now.

     "I don't know.  But it could be.  Did Gavin ever fall--take a
really bad fall--that you know of?  Here in the house?"

     "No, I don't think so.  We kept in pretty close touch.  He would
have mentioned anything significant."

     "Mrs. Kennedy--thank you, so much.  If we have any other
questions, could I call you back again?  I can't tell you how much I
appreciate your cooperation."

     "I suppose that would be all right.  But if you don't get me on
the phone, please don't leave a message.  My husband and my brother
didn't see eye to eye, and he'd be very...upset that I was involved in this
now."

     "I understand.  I won't.  Thank you so much again."

     After breaking the connection, Blair looked over at Jim.  

     "Suicide?  Good reason for a haunting."

     "Yeah, but whatever happened to Michael?"  Jim narrowed his
eyes a moment.  "One day, Michael just vanishes.  Hmmm."

     "You're thinking maybe Michael is the one who fell down the
stairs?  I wondered about that myself."

     "Michael the musician.  1972 to 1988.  He may or may not have
lived with Taylor all that time.  Probably not.  We need to look through
the missing persons reports for the mid 80s.  Gavin killed himself in
September of 1987, which means Michael disappeared in September of
1985.  I think we're ready to take a little trip to headquarters and look
through the missing persons for that time."

     "What about Simon?"

     "I'll talk to him when we get there."

     "You're going to tell him...about...what we talked about?"

     "Of course not, sweetheart.  That stays with us unless you tell
me differently.  I was just going to tell him that you had a rough night
and I wanted to be with you for a while."

     "He must think I'm a real head case."  Blair shook his head and
sighed.  "I guess I am."

     "He doesn't think that at all.  Anyone who's seen the way you
put your life back together doesn't think you're a headcase, Chief."

     "I'm glad we talked...well, that *I* talked.  You know, I thought
keeping it buried in its box was the best way.  But now that I let it out,
let all the demons out, and I'm still standing...it's like I don't have to be
afraid of it anymore.  In a weird way, I owe that to our ghost, whoever
he is.  If I hadn't thought I saw Vince, I probably wouldn't have been
shaken up enough to talk about all that last night."

     "I figured it would come out when you were ready.  Oddly
enough, I don't think forcing someone to relive a trauma is always a
good thing.  I think you do it when your mind can handle it without
shutting down."

     "I think you're right."  Blair nodded, staring into the dark
fireplace in front of them.

     "Ready to go?"

     "Yup."  Blair was out of his chair in a heartbeat, ready to
continue their investigation.

********

     "Simon?"  Jim poked his head in the captain's office after
tapping on the door.

     "Jim--didn't expect to see you today.  Come in," Simon
responded, motioning to a chair across from his desk.  "How's the kid
doing?"  He looked out his window as he sat at the desk and saw Blair,
tapping away on Jim's computer.

     "Better.  He had a rough night--some pretty stiff flashbacks. 
Let's just say I know now how Watson used the rest of those toys we
found in the storage facility."  Jim watched as Simon just closed his
eyes a moment and took a breath.  Neither Jim nor Simon had felt the
need to tell Blair about the rest of Watson's collection of trinkets they
had found.  The perp himself was dead, so there would be no trial, and
Blair had been humiliated and interrogated enough about Watson's
sexual perversions.  Simon had turned his head while Jim took the
carton of items out of the evidence lock up and built another little
bonfire, similar to the one that had consumed the videos.

     "My God," Simon stated gravely.  Glancing back out at Blair,
Simon shook his head.  "He's got a lot of strength.  More than I would
have guessed when I first met him.  He's come through all of this
remarkably well.  I can't believe I'm saying this, though--I wish he'd
talk more."  Simon chuckled a little at that, and so did Jim, albeit
briefly.

     "Watson thought he talked too much, and frequently asked him
if he ever shut up.  My guess would be he was strongly encouraged to
do so more than once."  All traces of humor had left Jim's face, and he
released a long breath.  "It's hard stuff to hear.  God, I just want to rip
that motherfucker's throat out and I find myself hating him more
because he's dead and I can't do it."  Jim averted his eyes back to his
lap.  "I needed the time off as much as Blair did.  Maybe more."

     "If you ever need to talk about this..."

     "I can't do that, Simon.  I promised Blair that it was between us. 
But I appreciate the offer."

     "Just don't let it eat you up, Jim.  Hate can do that without much
effort.  It's negative energy."

     "That's scary--now you sound like Sandburg," Jim responded,
smiling.  "He said the same thing, essentially."

     "Makes you wonder if there's any part of Blair's head Watson
didn't mess with."

     "Not very many, no."

     "So what're you working on now--or more specifically, what's
he working on?"  Simon asked with a little laugh, taking in Blair's
intense posture and furious pecking at Jim's keyboard.  He also knew
Jim was ready for the change of subject.

     "Well, it seems our house came with a few surprises of its
own."   Jim smiled a little.  "You'll probably think the stress has finally
cracked me."

     "Just say it."  

     "The house is haunted."  Jim watched Simon, waiting for the
other man to burst out laughing.  Instead, he wrinkled his brow.

     "Haunted?"

     "Yeah, haunted.  Funny noises, cold spots, dead guys showing
up in the hall--haunted."

     "You're serious about this?"

     "Very.  Last night, when I left the stakeout, it wasn't because
Blair thought someone live and real was in the house.  He saw
Watson."

     "That could have been his imagination, even a nightmare he
mixed up with reality, Jim."

     "No.  Blair had nightmares on a regular basis when he was in
the hospital."  Jim took a deep breath at the memory of spending 24
hours a day at Blair's bedside, easing him out of nightmares that
tormented him most of the night, and generally taking over anything
the nurses would let him do.  "In all that time, even with pain meds and
tranquilizers and the trauma being that fresh, he *never* hallucinated. 
Not once.  His mind was crystal clear.  Besides, it's more than that. 
Blair isn't the first one to notice something wrong."

     "You had the furnace guy over.  I remember Blair telling Joel
and me about the cold spots--I think it was Joel who mentioned
ghosts," Simon recalled, smiling a little.

     "Along with that, when I was there painting and Blair was at the
campus, I heard footsteps on more than one occasion.  Significant
enough that I searched the house probably three or four times, most of
those times with my weapon.  I was *that sure* someone was prowling
around the halls.  Blair didn't hear the footsteps or feel the cold.  But
he's heard some other sounds, and had brief...well...almost blackouts
where he's said something totally off the wall he didn't remember
saying later.  And last night, we were arguing, and..."  Jim sighed and
shook his head.  "I almost backhanded him."

     "What?!"  Simon's face was suddenly a mask of shock, tinged
with a bit of anger.  Jim fully suspected if he had lost it and hit Blair,
he'd have one very large, very angry Simon Banks to answer to.

     "We were arguing, and the last thing I remember was being
downstairs, in the hall.  I followed Blair out of the TV room, and then
it's all a blank until I found myself standing there with my hand raised
as if I were going to backhand him right across the face.  Dammit,
Simon, you know I'd cut off my arm before I'd hit Blair.  I never would
have thought of it before, but I *really* wouldn't think of it now--hell, I
try not to even raise my voice to him.  The point is, *I* blacked out this
time."

     "So maybe you should just sell the place."

     "Think about it, Simon.  Do you think he'd let me off that
easily?"  Jim nodded toward Blair, who was now taking notes from
something he saw on the screen, then stuck the pencil in his mouth and
frantically typed something else in, watching the screen intently.

     "Forgive me.  I forgot myself," Simon responded, deadpan.

     "Actually, I wouldn't feel too comfortable selling the place,
knowing what's going on there.  It could be dangerous to someone else
who bought it.  Anyway, we think we may have found the origin of the
problem with one of the house's previous owners.  He committed
suicide in the woods behind the house, but two years before that, his
lover disappeared.  We're looking for him in the missing persons files."

     "Him?  The lover was a 'him' also?"

     "Yes."

     "Do you think that has anything to do with why things are
acting up with the two of you in the house?"

     "Frankly, sir, I think it's Blair.  Blair seems to feel there was a
traumatic event *in* the house--that someone took a fatal fall down the
stairs, and that domestic violence was part of the problem.  He feels
that's why it's...reaching out to him.  To us."  Jim regarded Simon with
a wrinkled brow of his own now.  "It surprises me that you're
this...accepting of all this."

     "Well, Jim, I've had to accept one of my detectives showing up
with five superhuman senses, I've approved a partnership between said
detective and a civilian anthropologist, then I've had to get used to you
and Sandburg as a couple--did you seriously think a ghost was going to
shock me?"  Simon smiled, seeming relieved to see Jim really laugh for
the first time in a long time.  Possibly the first time since he'd had to go
through Watson's "toy collection".

     "I suppose we have put you through the paces, Simon."

     "You could say that.  So you think the guy who killed himself is
haunting the place?"

     "Possibly, but I also want to know what happened to the guy he
was living with.  Most people don't just 'vanish'.  They go
*somewhere*.  Unless, of course, they're dead."

     "How long would you need to run with this?  Get it figured
out?"

     "Probably a few days.  We'll find out as much as there is to find
out at this late date, and if we can't get an answer in that time, we
probably aren't going to."

     "Go ahead and take care of it.  I'll make sure things are covered
here.  Get Ryf and Brown up to speed on anything you've got pending
right now."

     "Sure thing.  Thanks, Simon."  Jim stood to leave.

     "Oh, I almost forgot," Simon spoke up.  "When exactly is Blair's
dissertation defense?"

     "May 17th."

     "I know a few of the guys would like to throw him a little bash--think he'd be up for it?"

     "I think it would mean a lot to him."

     "Okay.  We'll put something together and let you know where
and when to show up with him."

     "Sounds great."  Jim smiled and made his way back out to
where his partner was enthusiastically taking notes.  With a quick scan
of the room revealing that no one was really paying attention to them,
Jim landed a quick kiss on the top of Blair's head and then sat down
next to him.

     "What about that fraternization thing?  The video cameras?" 
Blair teased, grinning.

     "If they need surveillance videos to figure out we're
fraternizing, Chief, this department is in a hell of a lot of trouble."

     "Good point."  Blair laughed a little and pushed the notepad
over toward Jim.  "Michael Crandle, 26, caucasian male, 5'7", 155
pounds, long auburn hair, green eyes.  Reported missing on October 3,
1985 by a friend who also played in a band with him."

     "Let's get the hard copy file on him.  Probably a photo in there." 
Jim got up again and led the way to the file room.
     
     Settled back at Jim's desk with the file, Blair studied the young
man's photo.  Michael was standing with a man who could have been a
fellow musician, sporting long, shaggy blond hair.  Both men were
dressed in garish, glittery stage clothes, smiling widely.  

     "Check out his mouth," Blair pointed to Michael's smile.

     "Yeah?"

     "See how it's kind of crooked?  There's swelling right here." 
Blair ran his finger over a small portion of the photo.  He'd just gotten
swatted, and none too lightly, not long before this was taken."

     "Could have been a fight with another musician--you know,
barroom brawl kind of thing."

     "Not all musicians fight in bars and throw TVS out of hotel
windows, you know.  Besides, I don't think Michael was really part of a
famous, or infamous, group.  Anyway, it's not a big bruise.  It's more
like a swat.  You know, back of the hand kind of stuff.  The kind of
facial hitting you can get away with that *almost* doesn't show to the
casual observer."

     "He was reported missing by Brian Nolan, who played bass in
the same band Michael played guitar for.  Looks like that's Brian in the
photo with him," Jim commented, checking the written material in
front of him.

     "Did they question Gavin Taylor at all?"

     "Oh, yeah.  His statement's in here.  The gist of it is that he
hadn't seen Michael since the end of September, and he claims they
had a falling out.  Said he packed his bags and took off."

     "Did they find any of his stuff still at the house?"

     "Oh, a few things.  According to this, most of the clothes were
gone, his guitar was gone.  Looks like they pretty much shelved the
case."

     "Who's the detective?"

     "Sherman.  He retired in 1991." Jim flipped through the
paperwork.  "I think we should go see this Brian Nolan.  Probably not
at the same phone number anymore," Jim commented as he picked up
the phone and dialed the number listed.  

     "Hello?"  A female voice came over the line.
     
     "May I speak to Brian Nolan please?"

     "Just a minute," she responded, then as she held the phone
away, "Bri!  Phone for you!"  Jim waited through the sounds of
movement, voices and then the phone being picked up again.

     "Yeah?"

     "Mr. Nolan, this is Detective Ellison with the Cascade PD.  I
know this may sound strange, but I'm calling in regard to the Michael
Crandle case."

     "You found him, huh?"  There was a sharp note of sadness in
the words, but it was the statement of a man resigned to the news long
ago.

     "Actually, no.  This is more personal for me than it is
professional.  I just moved into the house he used to live in with Gavin
Taylor.  I recently found out about Michael's disappearance, and you
can probably imagine that it's got me curious, being a cop."

     "What do you want to talk to me about?  Everything I know's in
the file."

     "Probably, but I'd like to re-open the case.  To do that, though, I
have to come up with something that would convince my superiors. 
Would you be free if we stopped by in say, half an hour?"

     "We?"

     "My partner and I."

     "I guess so.  I have a gig tonight, so I don't have long.  I have to
be at rehearsal in about two hours."

     "We're on our way--same address?"

     "Yeah, same place."

     "Thank you very much."  Jim hung up and the two of them
hurried out to the truck and headed for the address in the files.

     The Crestwood Arms Apartments were a series of
contemporary redwood-sided two-story buildings whose exteriors were
slightly the worse for wear.  Building G was somewhere in the middle
of the complex.  As soon as they pulled up in front of it, a man with the
same mane of long, shaggy blond hair they'd seen in the photo opened
the main door and waited for them to walk up the short sidewalk.

     "I'm Jim Ellison.  We spoke on the phone."  Jim shook hands
with the other man, who appeared to be about the same age as he was. 
"This is my partner, Blair Sandburg."  He waited while the other two
men shook hands.  "I appreciate you taking time out to talk to us."

     "Come on in."  He stepped back as they walked past him into
the hall.  "I'm on the first floor, right at the end of the hall here."  He
led them back through the door he'd left open, into a cluttered, cramped
living room.  "Have a seat if you can find one," he said, with a slightly
apologetic chuckle and shrug.

     "Hi--do you guys want some coffee or anything?  I'm just fixing
Brian's dinner."  A pretty brunette appeared from the kitchen.

     "This is my wife, Kelli."

     "Hi, Kelli.  No thanks, I'm fine," Blair spoke up, and Jim smiled
and nodded in agreement.  Kelli smiled back and returned to the
kitchen, working on something that smelled extremely tasty.

     "So, you want to re-open Michael's case?"  Brian began, finding
a seat himself on the opposite corner of the couch from where Blair sat,
across from Jim's position in a matching chair.

     "Well, I'm not convinced he just packed up and walked away. 
Something about it doesn't feel right."

     "Was Gavin Taylor abusive to Michael?"  Blair asked bluntly. 
Jim's head snapped around to stare at him, dumbfounded.

     "What makes you ask that?"  Brian wrinkled his brow.

     "You knew they were lovers--Gavin and Michael?"

     "Yeah, I knew that.  I knew they were screwing each other.  I
don't think I'd call them lovers."  Brian sighed loudly.  "Gavin was an
overbearing asshole.  I never understood why Michael hung out with
him, anyway.  But who knows?"

     "How long were they together?"  Jim asked, hoping to get back
in the game of asking the questions.

     "About two years.  You asked if Gavin was abusive--what made
you ask that?"  Brian pinned Blair with an intense gaze.  

     "I was in an abusive relationship myself not very long ago, and
when I saw the file photo of Michael, it looked like he had a mild fat
lip on the left side."

     "I knew something wasn't right with them from the start.  But
Michael was really in love with Gavin.  Michael was the best friend I
ever had.  He was a brilliant musician, dedicated...he really turned my
opinions around about a lot of things..."  Brian's mind seemed to
wander, then he jolted himself back to the conversation at hand.
"Anyhow, he wasn't a very big guy, and he had a weak leg from an
injury he got as a kid.  He just wasn't the physical type.  Gavin wasn't
all that big, but he was about my height--I'm six feet even--and pretty
well-built."

     "When did you first notice something?"  Blair turned in the seat
to face the other man, and Jim finally relaxed into just watching.  As
long as their witness was talking, he didn't intend to split hairs about
who asked the questions.

     "We were playing mostly the local club circuit.  Michael and I
put the band together--we met at a jam session for local bands in 1982
in L.A., and when we found we were both from this area, we decided to
jam together, and the rest is history--Shockwave was born."

     "Shockwave?  Now I know where I've seen you before.  Did you
used to play at a club called Drifters?"  Jim asked.  Brian smiled
slightly.

     "All the time."

     "You did a great job covering some Santana stuff, if I'm
recalling correctly."

     "Thanks, man.  Yeah, Michael loved Santana.  He spoke a little
Spanish, so when he did stuff like 'Oye Como Va', he had the
pronunciations down pat."

     "I remember him now--the little reddish-haired guy with the big
set of pipes."  Jim laughed a little, and Brian joined him.

     "Best description I've heard of Michael in a long time.  Yeah,
that was him."

     "I never noticed a limp."

     "Most people didn't.  He moved very well on stage.  He was
pretty amazing."  Brian shook his head, still smiling, the admiration for
his missing friend evident in his voice and his expression.  "Long time
ago...  Anyhow, Gavin was at one of our shows, and he hung around
and wanted to meet Michael--you know it's weird.  Michael was so
quiet one on one, but turn him loose on that stage, and he *owned* it,
man."  Brian laughed a little.  "He hauled that bad leg around so
damned fast nobody really noticed it until he slowed down and tried to
walk somewhere.  It was bad enough to keep him out of sports or
anything like that.  But he never bitched about it.  He just accepted it. 
Maybe that was the problem--he accepted too much shit without
griping about it."  Brian paused, running a hand back through his mane
of hair.  As he was only dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, Blair found
himself wondering what this man's stage persona was.

     "So Michael sang lead and played guitar?"  Blair clarified.

     "He had magic hands.  He could make that guitar *talk* for
him."  Brian was still smiling slightly.  "You wanted to know when I
saw something?  Well, backstage, about two months after he'd moved
in with Gavin, I walked into the half-assed dressing room they'd set up
for us at the club, and he was changing.  His back was..."  He shook his
head.  "His back was covered with bruises, like someone had really
pounded the shit out of him with either their fists or a weapon of some
sort.  He said he'd fallen down the steps--which wasn't too surprising. 
He was sort of clumsy with steps.  It wasn't real noticeable unless he
was tired, but his bad leg slowed him down, made it awkward."

     "And you believed him about the stairs?"  Blair asked.

     "There wasn't much reason not to, until I saw the way Gavin
was acting around him.  He'd show up and pick Michael up after the
gig, *right* after, so he couldn't even get a couple swallows of beer
with us.  He'd show up and call Michael out of there like he was a dog. 
He did all but yell 'heel' when they walked out.  It was just something
in his tone.  Then Michael showed up at my door--this was before Kelli
and I were together.  It was about four in the morning.  Gavin had
beaten the shit out of him for talking to some girls after the gig."  Brian
took a deep breath, and Jim could well identify with the pain and anger
he saw in the other man's icy blue eyes.  "I cleaned him up, but he
wouldn't let me call the cops--or even a doctor.  Get this--he was telling
me it was his fault because he was flirting with the girls."

     "So Gavin had him convinced that he deserved it?"  Jim
interjected.

     "It wouldn't have been hard to do.  Remember that leg injury I
mentioned?  He was an abused child.  His mother walked out, his
father was a drunk.  There were two kids--Michael and his sister, Tara. 
The old man apparently wasn't into hitting girls, but hitting boys didn't
bother him.  Michael's leg was broken in three places at one point, and
he never would tell me exactly how it happened.  The reason it was a
permanent injury is that it went untreated for several days.  The old
bastard wouldn't take him in to get it set because he was afraid of
getting caught.   The kids were put in foster homes after that, but
Michael was already twelve, so the mindset was there--you know, that
someone beating you is okay.  So when he ran into Gavin, he was a
perfect victim."  Brian snickered a little.  "Tom Myers--he was our
drummer--he and I paid Gavin a little visit while Michael was resting at
my place.  Oh, man, we kicked his ass but good," he concluded, leaning
back in his seat.  "I told him if he ever laid a hand on Michael that way
again, I'd beat his fucking head in."

     "You guys beat him up?"

     "Yeah, pretty good.  We were furious.  You'd've had to see
Michael.  I mean, shit, the guy was just one big bruise.  Not to mention
the fact that the son of a bitch raped him at the same time."

     "Oh, my God," Blair murmured, catching Brian's attention.  

     "You too?"  he asked, surprising Blair a little at being on the
receiving end of the questions.

     "Yeah, more than once," he responded softly.

     "I was so goddamned mad that Tom had to pull me off the
bastard and drag me out to the car.  I would've killed him right there
with my bare hands and not lost any sleep over it.  Dumb thing to tell
the cops, huh?"  Brian laughed, rolling his eyes.

     "I've been down that road," Jim responded.  "See, Blair and I are
partners in every sense of the word.  We bought the house together."

     "You know the score then.  So what happened to the asshole
that was beating on you?"

     "He's dead," Blair responded simply.

     "You *were* pissed, man," Brian said, turning back to look at
Jim.

     "By the time I shot him, I had no choice.  He was going to kill
Blair."

     "Geez.  Sounds like a great guy."  Brian let out a long breath
before continuing.  "Anyway, Michael stayed with me a couple days,
and then the bullshit started.  Gavin was calling, whining on the phone
to him how he couldn't get by without him, blah, blah, blah, blah--the
usual shit.  Michael really loved the asshole, so he packed up and went
back home.  He knew we were there for him, but he didn't want the
help.  He wanted to be with Gavin, so there wasn't much we could do,
even though he had bruises all the time.  When Michael disappeared--what a crock of
shit--anyway, when he supposedly 'disappeared', I went
out to see Gavin, and we had it out.  I told him I knew he'd killed
Michael, and someway, somehow, I'd figure it out and nail his ass."

     "Why were you so sure he'd killed him?"  Jim asked.

     "Because Michael was with me the night before he disappeared. 
He had asked me if he could come home with me, and if we could
leave right from the stage.  I knew it had something to do with the
asshole, so I went along.  And all I had to do was watch him on stage to
know he was really messed up.  He hardly moved at all."

     "What did he say was the reason?"  Blair leaned forward a little.

     "We came back here, and Michael told me he just needed a
couple nights away from Gavin.  He finally told me that Gavin had
gotten rough with him--which meant he'd raped him again, but Michael
didn't use the 'R' word-- and he was bleeding and he was scared
something major was damaged."

     "Why didn't you take him to a hospital at some point along the
way?"  Jim asked, still incredulous that abuse cases like Blair's and
Michael's could go untreated for so long.

     "He was embarrassed, and he didn't want to report it.  He
figured the cops would make a laughing stock out of him, and the
hospital would report the assault so he couldn't avoid their involvement
in it."

     "Why did he think the cops would make a laughing stock out of
him?"  Jim challenged.

     "Think about it.  A long-haired hard rock musician--a gay one at
that.  You tell me how well he'd have been treated by your colleagues." 
Brian shook his head.  "*I* had to drag it out of him what was wrong. 
He wouldn't have told me at all except I heard him up moving around
through the night, and he was really scared because the bleeding wasn't
stopping."  Both Brian and Jim glanced over at Blair, who was quietly
wiping at his eyes.  "I really didn't want him going back to that jerk,
and for a few hours there, I thought he wasn't going to.  I told him we'd
*all* go out to the house with him while Gavin was at work and get his
stuff.  He agreed to that.  I had a full-time day job at the time, so I had
to go to work.  He was feeling better by the time I had to leave, and the
bleeding had stopped, so he stayed up long enough to lock the deadbolt
behind me after I left and he said he was going back to bed.  I told him
to sleep in my room during the day since there was a phone on the
night stand in case he needed to make an emergency call--you know,
for Gavin showing up, or if he didn't feel good or something."

     "So what went wrong?"  Jim asked.

     "I don't know.  I called home about ten-thirty--I left home about
seven-thirty--and there was no answer.  I tried a couple more times, and
then I went home to check.  He was gone when I got here.  There was a
note from him on the fridge that said he had changed his mind and
wanted to get away from here, work things out on his own.  To this
day, I don't buy that.  I didn't buy it then.  I don't buy it now."

     "What do you think happened?"  Blair seemed to have reined in
his emotions from reacting to the news of Michael's sexual abuse.

     "I think Gavin came and got him, made him write the note, and
hauled him back to the house.  Probably beat the shit out of him and
either got carried away..."  Brian swallowed hard, and for the first time,
Jim could detect traces of tears in the man's eyes, "...or intentionally
murdered him."

     "He fell down the stairs," Blair stated quietly.  Brian's head
snapped around to face him.  "I heard it," Blair met the eyes with an
unfaltering gaze.  "The reason we're here is because there is a presence,
maybe more than one presence, in that house.  And it, or they, have
been trying to communicate with both of us."

     "Hold on a minute.  You're trying to tell me that Michael is
haunting your house?"

     "Yes," Blair stated simply, not flinching under the disbelieving
words.  

     "Possibly Gavin too," Jim chimed in.  "Gavin committed suicide
on the property, and Michael died in the house--at least Blair thinks so,
based on his experiences."

     "And what exactly were *your* experiences?"

     "Cold spots, footsteps.  No one else felt it or heard it but me."

     "And when Michael tried to communicate--"

     "Gavin interfered like he always did," Kelli spoke up from the
doorway between the kitchen and the living room.  "Sorry to interrupt,
but I really do find all this spiritual stuff very fascinating."  She sat on
the arm of the couch next to her husband.  "My grandmother is a
medium."

     "Really?"  Blair looked over at Jim, then back to Kelli.  "Does
she do seances?"

     "Yes, quite regularly."

     "Do you think she'd do one for us?"  Blair asked, hoping Jim
wasn't too furious with him for asking.

     "I can ask her.  I think she would."

     "Hold up a minute," Brian interjected.  "All this mumbo jumbo
about seances and mediums is all real nice and everything, but--"
     
     "Waterfall," Blair said quietly.  

     "What did you just say?"  Brian stared at him, brow wrinkled. 
Jim just watched the scene with shocked interest.

     "I don't know why it keeps going through my head, but I keep
thinking of the word, 'waterfall'--especially when I'm upstairs at home."

     "Oh, man."  Brian stood up and walked slowly toward the
window that looked out on the parking area.  With his back to the
group, he said, "No one would know that but Michael and me."

     "Know what?"  Jim finally asked, unable to remain silent any
longer.

     "Waterfall.  It was a song--or the start of one.  Michael had this
phenomenal idea for a guitar riff, and it sounded just like a waterfall--delicate, intricate, but still
powerful.  When I told him that's what it
reminded me of, he got this big smile on his face and said 'yeah, that's
it'.  And we wrote some lyrics, got a basic melody down--but it was
*our* project.  No one else in the band was in on it, or knew about it." 
He turned back to face Blair.  "Either Michael's alive, and he told you,
or you did talk to his ghost.  Nobody else would know that, man. 
Nobody."

     "He's not alive, Brian.  He died the day he disappeared," Blair
replied.  "I wish that weren't true."

     "Now can I call grandma?"  Kelli asked, looking directly at
Brian.

     "Yeah.  Call her, honey.  Right now."

********

     Jim glanced at the clock for the fifth time in so many minutes. 
If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was lying in bed when he
couldn't sleep and Blair could.  To add insult to injury, the warm,
cuddly body he wanted to mold himself around was sprawled in some
ungodly position that defied Jim to figure a way to hold him.  And he
was facing the other way.  And he was wearing boxers and a tank shirt.
Not even a good set up for the spectator sport of Blair-watching that
Jim enjoyed so much.

     The younger man was sleeping deeply, not having stirred at any
of Jim's unnecessarily loud sighs or yawns.  

     Jim turned his attentions back to the ceiling, contemplating the
upcoming seance.  The whole thing seemed like so much theatrical
crap.  He glanced back at Blair. //Why are you dragging us through all
this stupid shit?// he found himself silently asking the sleeping man. 
His gaze returned to the ceiling. //Seances.  Next, he'll want to dance
naked in the moonlight, praying to some pagan deity to purify the
house.//

     //Blair naked in the moonlight.// Jim looked over toward the
window. //Got the moonlight covered, Blair's here, it's just the naked
part that's missing.// He re-evaluated his lover's sleeping position, and
with an evil little smile, began his work.

     Blair stirred, then came awake at a familiar--and unwelcome--
sensation.  He was on his stomach on the bed, and while he slept, his
underwear had somehow vanished.  He was pressed into the mattress
by the hot weight of a much larger body.

     "Jim?"  There was a little panic in the voice.  He almost never
dozed off on his stomach because during his time with Watson, he'd
always come to in this same situation when he did.
     
     "You're up," a voice growled in his ear.  "So'm I."

     It wasn't Jim's voice. 

     "Jim!"  Blair called at the top of his lungs.  

     "Screaming *his* name while *I'm* fucking you, huh?"  The
voice sneered.  "When I'm done with you, you won't remember your
own name, bitch."  

     Blair's stomach contracted and threatened to expel its contents
at the feeling of large hands roughly exploring places only Jim was
supposed to touch.  He consciously worked at calming himself and
turned his attentions to figuring a way out of his dire circumstances. 
As he breathed as deeply as he could, he realized that the body on top
of his smelled and felt very much like Jim's.  It was just the behavior
that was wrong.

     Strong hands seized his waist and pulled the lower portion of
his body upward, encouraging Blair's knees under him.  It was then that
he struck.  A strangled yelp of pain and sudden absence of the presence
followed a powerful backward kick that Blair assumed hit somewhere
very close to the attacker's genitals.  

     When he sat up and turned around, Jim was on the floor, his
face a mask of pain, clutching a very significant part of his anatomy
with one hand while holding onto the edge of the mattress with the
other.  
     
     "What the hell...?"  he ground out, finally looking up at Blair,
still panting.

     "Jim!"  Blair slid out of bed and crouched near his fallen lover. 
"Are you okay, man?  Oh, God, I didn't mean to hurt you!  Did I do any
damage?"

     "Will you just shut the fuck up a minute?"  Jim grunted in pain
and finally made his way back up onto the bed.  "What the hell's the
matter with you?"

     "Why did you...you stripped me, man.  And you were on top of
me.  You wouldn't let me up, and you sounded like...like him," Blair
blurted.  "You called me a...a bitch, just like he used to."

     "Oh, man!"  Jim flopped back on the bed, still breathing
heavily.  "What the hell's gotten into you, Sandburg?  If this is your
idea of a joke--"

     "I don't joke about Vince.  You know that."

     "I didn't call you 'bitch' and I sure as hell wouldn't strip you
naked and pin you down in your sleep."

     "Well you did, all right?"  Blair shot back angrily, getting up
and snatching his robe off the nearby chair.

     "Maybe I just rolled on you.  I was thinking about holding you
but I couldn't figure out how to do it the way you were sleeping and--"

     "You figured it out, all right."  Blair tied his robe and stormed
out of the room.  Jim heard the bathroom door slam behind him.

     "Oh, for God's sake, Blair."  He hauled his still-pained body off
the bed and went to the door of the bathroom.  His anger evaporated at
the sound of choking sobs from the other side of the door.  "Blair? 
Sweetheart, come on, open the door," Jim pleaded, rattling the locked
knob.  "I'm sorry.  If I did all that, I honestly didn't mean it."  The
crying continued but Blair made no move to unlock the door.  "I know I
scared you, baby.  I didn't mean to.  I didn't mean to do anything.  The
last thing on my mind was that I wished I could hold you or that you'd
turn over so I could get close to you.  You had your underwear on, last
thing I remember."  Jim waited through a few sniffles, then winced at
the sounds of retching.  "Blair?  Are you all right?  Blair?"

     "Leave me alone," came the strained reply.

     "Look, I don't know how to explain this, because I honestly
don't remember doing anything to you.  I can only imagine how that
made you feel.  God, I'd never do something like that to you,
sweetheart.  You know that."

     "You said I could always say 'no'," Blair responded, still crying. 
"I can't say 'no' when I'm sleeping, man.  You gave me no choices--just
like Vince.  Were you even going to use lube?"  Blair demanded
brokenly.

     "I don't know," Jim replied honestly.  "I don't know because *I*
didn't intend to do *anything*."  Jim waited a few beats, hating to hear
Blair crying on the other side of a locked door because of him.  "Are
you okay, baby?"

     "Don't 'baby' me.  Just leave me alone, dammit!"

     "I'm not leaving you here alone, Chief.  I'll sleep in the guest
room if you want but I won't leave.  There's too much weird shit going
on in this house for that."

     "Weird shit?"  Blair demanded, swinging open the door.  His
pale, tear-dampened face was etched in anger.  "You stripping me
naked and trying to fuck me while I'm sleeping is *weird shit*, man. 
Gavin and Michael look like a walk in the park by comparison."  Blair
pushed past Jim and headed for the bedroom.  "As for where you sleep,
I don't give a shit."  Blair yanked open a dresser drawer and started
throwing clean underwear and a couple of t-shirts in a pile on the bed,
then moved to the closet.

     "What're you doing?"

     "I'm doing what the hell I should have done when Vince raped
me the first time.  I'm getting the hell out before I really get hurt." 
Blair stormed over to the closet and pulled out a suitcase, opening it
and tossing the items on the bed into it haphazardly.

     "Will you just slow down and think about this for a minute? 
Remember what happened on the stairs?  I was about to hit you but
didn't remember how I got there?"

     "I bought that line of bullshit until this happened.  At least when
Vince was abusing me, he owned up to it.  You're trying to blame it on
a fucking ghost."  Blair swiped angrily at the tears on his face and
pushed past Jim to pick up a couple items off the dresser.   "Do you
mind getting out of here?  I want to get dressed and the last thing I
wanna be is naked in the same room with you right now."

     "I'll be downstairs," Jim responded quietly, pulling on his own
robe and heading for the hall.

     Jim sat in the living room in a daze.  Beyond the mind-numbing
shock of knowing that something else lurking in the house was capable
of controlling his behavior was the equally massive shock that this
time, Blair didn't understand that.  What he had done under the spirit's
influence--presumably Gavin's influence rather than the reputedly
peaceful Michael--had been so traumatic for his lover that the younger
man couldn't see past it to the truth.

     His morose thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Blair
making his way slowly into the living room from the stairs, still in his
robe.  He wordlessly approached Jim where he sat in one of the room's
ornate chairs and knelt at his feet.

     "I'm *so* sorry about the way I acted upstairs," Blair began,
keeping his eyes downcast.  "Whatever you want to say to me...if you
want me to leave anyway, I understand.  I deserve it."

     "Anything I want to say, huh?"  Jim asked, moved almost to
tears by the contrite figure at his feet.  The curl-covered head nodded
slightly.  "Would 'I love you' work?"  Jim reached down and raised
Blair's face with a gentle hand under his chin.  "Come here, huh?" 
Blair rose from the floor and Jim pulled his lover into his lap and a
tight embrace.  

     "I'm so sorry, mine.  I didn't mean it."  Blair wrapped his arms
tightly around Jim's neck.  "I don't blame you if you're mad at me."

     "I'm not mad, sweetheart.  It's okay.  The last thing I want is for
you to go anywhere."

     "I acted like such an ass."

     "What made you change your mind?"  Jim kissed the side of
Blair's head and rubbed his back in long strokes.

     "Michael.  I...I was looking in the dresser mirror, and I didn't
see myself.  I saw him.  And he told me to stay and fight.  That my
leaving was what Gavin wanted.  I know it sounds crazy, but that's
what I saw."

     "I believe you."  Jim closed his eyes and buried his nose in
Blair's hair.  All this talk of spirits and ghosts and psychics and
seances...Jim shuddered.

     "I'm sorry."

     "I know.  Nobody's sorrier than I am, baby.  Do you know how I
feel to have done that to you?"

     "But you didn't do it.  It wasn't your fault.  I should've
understood that."

     "Blair, look at me."  Jim smiled when the younger man pulled
back and looked him in the eyes.  "You fought me.  You fought back,
you told me off, and you packed your stuff.  You know what that
means?"  Jim asked, smiling a little at the puzzled expression in front
of him.  "It means I just tangled with the old Blair.  The one who could
get good and pissed off and tell me so.  You didn't back down from me,
baby.  Not even in a situation that scared and upset you like that did."

     "I didn't, did I?"  Blair responded, smiling a little.

     "You read me off but good, Chief."

     "And I wasn't afraid--just mad."  Blair seemed to be reviewing
the situation in his mind.  Then he became troubled again.  "But I
kicked you."

     "Ooh, yeah, you did.  I always told you there was plenty of
strength in those sturdy legs of yours.  Plenty of strength, man," Jim
added, chuckling a bit regretfully.

     "Did I hurt you a lot?  Oh, man--if I did any damage...I couldn't
live with that."

     "You didn't do damage, Chief.  You just," Jim cleared his
throat, "left your impression on things.  I'll be okay tomorrow."

     "Are you sure?"

     "Positive."  He guided Blair's head back down to his shoulder
and continued to cuddle his lover close.  "You're on your way,
sweetheart.  You're really beating this thing, once and for all."

     "Michael thinks that Gavin is trying to drive me away, so we
won't do the seance."

     "Do you communicate with Michael a lot?"  Jim asked, toying
with a few soft curls.

     "Not in so many words.  But I feel him here all the time.  He's a
friendly, warm presence.  Not like Gavin."

     "Gavin is the cold spots," Jim added quietly, still stroking
Blair's hair lightly.

     "And all the ugly things that happen."

     "He's the one communicating with me.  Shit, I wonder what that
means?"

     "That you're protecting me, and he has to either turn us against
each other or get you out of the picture somehow in order to get to me
before I help Michael.  He never let him have help before, why would
he now?"  Blair sighed.  "Besides, Gavin was probably the sneaky
ghost.  He didn't want to be detected, but because of your senses, you
felt the cold and heard the footsteps when he wasn't planning on
communicating."  Blair shifted a bit in Jim's lap to make himself more
comfortable.  

     "You want to go back upstairs to bed?"

     "No.  I mean, I'm tired, but I don't want to be in that bed right
now."

     "I'm so sorry, sweetheart.  I'm just glad you reacted the way you
did.  If I had forced you that way...I couldn't have lived with that."

     "You wouldn't have gone all the way with it."

     "How do you know?"

     "Because you're stronger than Gavin, but mostly because you
love me too much to do that to me."

     "I wish I had your faith.  I've got to tell you, Chief...losing
control of myself that way--" Jim was cut off with gentle fingers
pressed to his lips.

     "You have to have faith, Jim.  You can't be afraid of Gavin and
you can't let him think you are.  Or that he's made progress.  You can
beat him, but you have to believe that.  All your power is in that belief,
that faith."

     "All my power is right here in my lap, wrapped up in a blue
bathrobe."  Jim kissed the fingers he had moved from his mouth and
squeezed Blair's hand.

     "Our power is each other," Blair responded softly.

     "Let's go back to the TV room and stretch out on the old couch
in there.  We can leave the TV on if we want."

     "Might make it seem a little...friendlier."

     "Okay," Jim agreed as Blair slid off the larger man's lap back to
his own two feet.  

     As they shifted and wiggled to find the right sleeping position,
Jim mentally cursed himself for turning this into a TV room at the last
minute and having the one spare bed in the house on the second floor.  

********

     Blair stood at the kitchen window, drinking his morning coffee
and wondering when he'd get around to planting anything in the weedy
mess that occupied the land where a garden belonged.  Ellen had urged
him to get at the planting of the roses if there were going to be any, but
for now, it was a weed patch.  Jim had to testify in a court case that
day, so Blair planned to use the time while he was gone to do a little
more reading up on spiritualism and mediums, Blair refilled his coffee
cup and headed for the study.  As he arrived at his large antique desk,
the phone rang.

     "Hello?"

     "May I speak to Blair Sandburg, please?"  A woman's voice
came over the line.

     "Speaking."

     "This is Mary Ellen Watson...Vince's mother."  

     There was a period of silence.  Blair was stunned, and honestly
didn't know what to say to that.  Sensing that they could be there like
that all day, Mrs. Watson spoke up again.

     "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm in town to visit friends, and I
hoped maybe I could see you."

     "Why?"  Blair asked directly.  He couldn't fathom why Vince's
mother would have any interest in seeing him, considering that her son
died at the hands of Blair's current lover--even if it was unavoidable.

     "That's a fair question.  I would like to meet you, and I have a
few things I'd like to talk to you about.  Would you meet me for
lunch?"

     "Ah...yeah, okay," Blair agreed, somewhat hesitantly.

     "Is Mandarin House all right?  It's the only restaurant I'm
familiar with here, to be honest," she said, a slight smile in her voice.

     "That's fine.  What time?"

     "Would 11:30 be all right?"

     "Fine.  I'll meet you there.  How will I know you?"

     "I have short brown hair and glasses, and I'm wearing a blue
flowered blouse."

     "Okay.  I've got long--"

     "I know what you look like.  Vince sent me photos."

     "He did?  Okay then, I'll see you at 11:30."  

     Blair stared at the phone for a long time after making the lunch
date with Mrs. Watson.  Part of him didn't want to go, another part felt
like he should be calling Jim and talking it over, and another part felt
compelled to do it.  The third part won, and he leaned back in the desk
chair, reading a book on mysticism and spiritualism he'd plucked from
his expanse of shelves before the phone rang.

     Mrs. Watson was a rather ordinary-looking woman, average
height, slightly heavy, dressed just as she said she would be.  Blair
didn't know what he really had expected--perhaps some kind of fanged
she-devil?  Something about Vince having a normal, ordinary mother
didn't ring true.  She should have been something remarkable,
startling...and she certainly shouldn't have looked kind and pleasant.

     "Mrs. Watson?"  Blair approached the woman he assumed was
Vince's mother as she sat on a padded bench in the restaurant's foyer,
waiting for him.  Her head snapped up quickly, and she was on her feet
in a moment.  

     "Thank you for coming--is it all right if I call you Blair?  Please
call me Mary Ellen."

     "Sure, Mary Ellen," Blair responded, smiling and shaking her
offered hand.  After a petite, attractive Asian girl seated them at a
remote table in the dimly lit Chinese restaurant, he spoke again.  "I was
really stunned to hear from you."

     "I didn't expect you'd come," she replied honestly.

     "I don't exactly know why I did.  I guess part of it was
curiosity...maybe another part is this hope I have to find some kind of
closure, even though I'm not sure that's possible."  

     The conversation paused while they absent-mindedly ordered
the lunch special.  Food was the last thing of importance to Blair, and
he guessed Mary Ellen probably felt the same way.

     "First of all, I wanted to thank you for not suing my son's estate. 
I know that was an option."

     "What would it have solved?"  Blair paused to take a drink of
his water.  "You didn't do anything to me.  And there's nothing about
what I went through with Vince that money was going to fix."

     "I wanted you to know that I believed what you said.  What you
accused Vince of doing.  I loved him very much, but I still know what
he was capable of, and maybe I just want to apologize for not doing
something to stop him sooner.  After Keith."  The last words were
barely audible, and she didn't appear remotely interested in the plate of
food the waitress set in front of her.   Blair nodded and smiled slightly
at the girl as she delivered his meal, and then looked back at Mrs.
Watson.

     "You knew that he killed Keith?"

     "No, I didn't know that.  I don't know it now.  But I met Keith,
and I knew Vince was beating him.  I was just grateful my son wasn't in
jail.  I never thought it would go that far.  I live with that every day...
that maybe that young man might have lived if I had just intervened."

     "A lot of people knew about my situation, but intervention
doesn't help when the victim won't cooperate.  The cops showed up at
the apartment every few days when we were fighting, and I covered for
Vince every time.  Unless Keith was prepared to press charges and
walk away from Vince, your interference might have only exacerbated
the situation."

     "How do you mean?"  She wrinkled her brow slightly.

     "How frank do you want me to be about Vince?"

     "Tell me the truth."

     "Vince used to punish me for the cops showing up.  I mean, I
didn't call them, but the neighbors did, because I knew almost everyone
in the neighborhood after I'd lived there a few weeks--I mean being in a
four-unit, the other three tenants were so close to us that we kind of got
to know each other by accident.  And then there was the elderly man
behind us--I used to shovel his driveway and I did his lawn in the
summer.  It was no big thing--it was a tiny yard anyway.  The point is,
it got so I had a few friends in that neighborhood, and when they heard
what was going on, and I kept showing up with either new bruises or I
had to beg off doing Mr. Franklin's driveway because I was in too much
pain to lift the shovel, they got angry...upset.  So they called the cops
on Vince every time he burped off schedule."

     "And he took that out on you?"

     "Every time.  It was a bigger favor when they kept out of it,
really."  Blair pushed a couple colorful vegetables around on his plate. 
"So Keith might have appreciated your concern, but he'd have paid
dearly for it, and he probably wouldn't have cooperated."

     "I know you'll find this hard to believe, but Vince really did
love you."

     "You're right, I do find that a bit hard to swallow," Blair said
softly.  "Sometimes I thought he did, but then he'd hit me or do
something else so...sadistic...and he enjoyed seeing me in pain."  Blair
pushed the plate away and sat back in the chair.  "Hurting me was
entertainment.  How could he have loved me?  I'm sorry to ask this of
you.  I know you don't have answers, and I don't really want to take it
out on you."

     "When Vince was born, I was a widow.  His real father died in a
car accident about three months before he was born.  I was lonely,
didn't have much money, and had a new baby.  I made the mistake of
marrying a man just for the sake of having a husband and father figure
for Vince."  She paused to nibble at some of her rice, but soon chased
what little she'd eaten with a drink of water and continued.  "He
worked nights, so it was perfect.  He took care of Vince through the
day while I worked.  I'm a legal secretary, so I had to work days.  We
were together until Vince was 8 years old.  I never realized that there
was anything...wrong going on until then."

     "Wrong?  Was your husband abusing him?"

     "I should have seen the signs.  But Vince didn't say
anything...and you have to understand, Blair--those days were so
different.  Children weren't as...as 'street smart' about abuse as they are
now, and parents weren't as wary.  At least this parent wasn't.  It didn't
all come to a head until he killed Vince's cat."

     "He killed Vince's cat?"  Blair repeated, shocked.

     "It was a stray cat, a grey and white.  I'm not sure what it was. 
But Vince found it in the field behind the school, and with no collar or
tags, it was a stray, so he kept it.  Marv, my husband, didn't know I'd
come home early from work--I wasn't feeling well.  He was yelling at
Vince about something--I think something the cat did.  Marv grabbed it
and broke its neck--right there in front of Vince."

     "My God," Blair almost whispered, covering his mouth briefly.

     "What was most frightening was Vince's reaction.   There was
none.  It was as if he were mute."  She looked out the window that
wasn't far from their table, and watched the cars moving about on the
road in front of the restaurant.  "When I looked into Vince's eyes, after
Marv left the house, it was frightening.  His eyes were dead.  He was
alive, present, coherent--but his eyes were dead...cold."

     "I remember that look," Blair responded, shivering a little
despite the stuffiness of the room.   "But once in a while, I'd see
something more--like something trying to break free."

     "Vince never told me much.  He wouldn't tell me anything until
Marv left for good.  I always expected a lot of problems with my ex-husband stalking us or
harassing us.  But he didn't.  He moved on.  I
told him I wouldn't press child abuse charges provided he never came
near either one of us again.  He agreed, and I never did see him after
we signed the divorce papers."

     "Did that abuse go on all those years?"

     "Yes.  Apparently, Marv picked up the pace as Vince got older.  
I *did* notice some bruises sometimes that I didn't understand, but
children fall, hurt themselves.  I didn't see every bruise as a signal he
was being beaten."  

     "But he was?"

     "Yes, and punished in other, more sadistic ways.  Marv used to
lock him in closets, break his toys...  I didn't realize that my husband
was a paranoid schizophrenic when I married him."

     "Dear God...how did you find out--I mean besides the obvious?"

     "His sister.  When I was going through the divorce, she warned
me about being careful dealing with him--getting him angry.  She told
me he had been diagnosed that way shortly after he graduated from
high school.  He was supposed to be on medication for it, but
apparently, he didn't like the side effects, so he stopped taking it, and
stopped going to the doctor."  She shook her head slowly.  "I thought
that by marrying again, having a father there for Vince...I thought it
would be better for him than being with babysitters, or being raised
without any male influence."

     "Was there sexual abuse involved?"

     "All along, he was...he was touching him."

     "Molesting him?"

     "Yes."  Mary Ellen nodded solemnly.  "I put Vince in
counseling groups, paid therapists.  He seemed to get better, to adjust. 
He excelled in sports in high school--predominantly wrestling.  He
went off to college, finally, and then one day he told me he was gay.  I
wasn't thrilled, but I wasn't overly upset.  He'd been through so much I
was just grateful he was okay.  Or at least I thought he was.  Then I
started noticing how violently angry he got with his...partners.  With
Keith, it was the worst.  He did the same kinds of things to him that
Marv had done to Vince.  He was sadistic.  Keith liked to do jigsaw
puzzles.  He'd get most of one done, and Vince would break it up.  He
killed Keith's parrot."  She took a sip of water before continuing. 
"They were having a fight about something, and he did to the parrot
what Marv did to his cat."

     "How do you know?  Did he tell you?"

     "Yes.  Vince was quite open with me.  Strangely enough, he
used to confide things to me...things that should have resulted in my
contacting the authorities.  But I didn't."  She looked down at her
neglected plate.  "He said he got angry with Keith for seeing an old
friend without telling him--a male friend--and when Keith didn't back
down from the argument, Vince killed his pet."  

     "Didn't you ever think of trying to suggest therapy to Vince--as
an adult?"

     "I did suggest it.  And then I wouldn't hear from him for
months.  He always reacted violently, yelling and insisting he didn't
need an 'overpriced headshrinker'."

     "I always felt there was something that had to have happened to
make Vince act the way he did.  There was one time...when he got
carried away.  Afterwards, he was actually...*nice* to me for a couple
of days.  It was like he really cared that he'd hurt me."

     "I've tried to tell you, Blair.  He loved you.   He told me once
that he had finally found 'the one'."  She made little quote marks in the
air with her fingers.  "He said you were smart, funny, kind, and that you
understood him."  She smiled a little sadly.  "I was relieved.  I never
understood how to get through to Vince.  So if you could do it, I was
delighted that he'd found you."

     "Did you know he was beating me?"

     "No.  Not until he was arrested."

     "You bailed him out of jail."

     "I'm his mother, Blair.  I loved my son even if he was messed
up.  I felt so responsible for what happened to him as a child.  For the
nightmares he probably lived that he would never tell me about.  How
could I sit in judgement of him?"  She paused as the waitress removed
both barely touched plates and refilled their water glasses. "Ironically, I
didn't want him in a jail environment, because I didn't want him to
experience something similar to what he had done to you.  I don't care
if he was 6'4" and solid muscle.  He was still my little boy and I didn't
want him hurt."

     "What about your husband now?"

     "Don is a wonderful man.  I met him right after Vince left for
college.  We had both had bad previous marriages, but this one has
been very happy.  He supported me in trying to help Vince, even
though he didn't think much of what he was doing.  In the end, I
suppose I helped him right into his grave.  If he'd been in jail, he
wouldn't have been shot."

     "He came after me.  He stabbed Jim and left him for dead in the
alley.  He was holding a gun to my head--Jim didn't have any choices."

     "I know that.  At first, all I could think of was that it was a
revenge killing.  That your current lover was extracting payment for
what Vince had done to you."

     "Jim wouldn't do that.  Though I know the anger and pain inside
of him from *not* doing it is a demon he lives with every day."

     "I can't expect you to forgive him, but I thought you should
know that he did love you, as much as he could love anyone.  And I
wanted you to have these."  She pulled a small bundle of envelopes out
of her purse and handed them to Blair.

     "What are they?"

     "Letters Vince wrote to me during your time with him.  He
didn't mention anything about the abuse.  But those are the words of a
man very much in love.  There are also a few photos in there he sent
me of the two of you together.  I guess it's important to me that you
know this, and see those, because I want you do have maybe even one
little memory of my son that isn't painful or dark or ugly.  I loved him
with all my heart, and God help me for saying this, but he wasn't fit to
be in a relationship.  The things my second husband did to him drove
him insane.  I knew he wasn't sane from the moment I ordered Marv
out of the house.  It was in his eyes, his reactions.  His obsession with
wrestling later--and some of the violent behavior that got him in
trouble throughout high school.  Vince loved Marv.  He'd cared for
Vince every day I was at work for eight years.  So Vince learned that
love was half of a horrible mirror image--the other half being sadism."

     "I wish I could say something to all this, Mary Ellen.  I know
there was something more inside of Vince than the monster I saw most
of the time.  And we had a few times scattered through our relationship
that weren't bad.  But they were imbedded in so much anguish that I
don't want to travel through all that to remember them.  Maybe
someday...maybe I'll be able to read these and look at the photos.  But
I've had a real tenuous hold on my own sanity since all this happened,
and I think a trip down memory lane right now would be more than I
could handle."

     "Would you keep them?  Just put them away somewhere, and
maybe when that time comes, you'll look at them?  I know that Vince's
love isn't something you want, it isn't even a memory you want, but his
feelings for you were real.  He was sick, Blair.  As sick as someone
who has a disease.  Vince was destroyed very early in his life.  But
there was a little part of him that survived, and that part loved you. 
Maybe if you can look at those someday, it will help you to know that
the violence against you wasn't driven by hate--at least not hate for you. 
It was anger and hostility...and a very perverse perspective on love."

     "I know this had to be difficult for you to come here, and meet
with me.  I appreciate what you're trying to do.  I just can't give you
anything.  I can't say that it's okay, that I forgive him.  I've tried so hard
to do that, you know?"  Blair paused, feeling tears sting his eyes.  "I've
wanted to be a big enough person to do that.  I mean, I know part of
this was my own fault.  I cared for Vince, but I didn't really love him. 
It was always only Jim.  And I'm so sorry I hurt Vince that way.  At a
point, he realized it, and the abuse got...it was...unthinkable sometimes. 
He was angry with me, angry that he couldn't force my feelings to go
away."

     "It was wrong of you to use him, if that's what you were doing. 
But he still had no right to beat you."

     "I didn't mean to use him.  I never thought Jim would want me
that way, and I thought it was over forever.  I never expected to love
anyone that way again, so I didn't feel at the time like I was doing
anything bad to Vince by getting together with him.  I tried to be a
good partner.  I just couldn't help how I felt.  I never said anything, but
once he got a hold of that information--he listened in on a phone call
with my mom--he got much worse."

     "I can't change what he was or what he did, anymore than I
could change what Marv had done to him.  But at least now you know
the whole story, and someday, when you feel able, read the letters.  It
might be your only chance to get to know that person you say you saw
in Vince's eyes once in awhile.  He did exist.  He wrote those letters. 
He fell in love with you."

     "I'll try."  Blair forced a little smile.  

     "I should probably be going.  My plane leaves in two hours."

     "Back to L.A.?"

     "San Diego, now.  We moved last year."

     "Mary Ellen, I don't have any bad feelings toward you.  And I
really appreciate you coming here and telling me about what happened
to Vince.  It makes things a lot clearer...maybe someday it will make it
easier."

     "Thank you for meeting me.  You really didn't have any reason
to."

     "Maybe it was for the man I saw hiding inside of Vince--the one
who could have been a good partner."  Blair stood up as she did.  Over
his protests, she paid the bill.

     "Well, Blair, I want to wish you the best."  She extended her
hand as they stood in the sunny parking lot.  He shook it, smiling as he
thought immediately of Jim.

     "I've got that.  I'm very happy.  I wish the same for you."

     "It's getting easier.  Don is very supportive."  She forced an
answering smile.  "Take care of yourself."

     "You too.  And I'll take care of these too," Blair said, motioning
to the letters he held.

     When Mrs. Watson had pulled out of the parking lot in her
rental car, presumably heading back to rejoin her husband at their hotel
to leave for the airport, Blair sat in his car and stared at the letters on
the passenger seat.  Curiosity getting the better of him, he looked
through the letters for the photos she mentioned.  The first one he
found was tucked in with a letter, and showed Vince with his muscled
arm around his smaller lover.  The photo had been taken at a Rainier
Homecoming party following a victorious football game.  

     For a long time, Blair sat alone in the car, staring at the photo
and finally crying at the falseness of the smile that had been plastered
on his own face.  Tucking the photo back in its envelope, he resolved
not to explore the pile again anytime soon.  Blair felt the pain for the
child Vince had been, but his own pain was far too fresh to spend a lot
of time reminiscing and looking for the good in his tormentor.

     He started up the engine and headed for home.

********

     When Jim arrived home from his dull day hanging around the
courthouse to give only brief testimony, he expected to hear the
rhythmic clicking of the computer keyboard coming from the study, or
smell some evidence of dinner.  Neither stimulus reached his senses. 
Instead, he heard Blair's heartbeat, and followed it upstairs to the
master bedroom, where he found the younger man curled up on the
bed, fully dressed, lashes wet with tears as he slept with Jim's bathrobe
held tightly in his arms.

     "Wake up, sweetheart.  It's me."  Jim leaned forward and kissed
his lover's forehead.  Blair stirred and opened his moist eyes.  "What's
the matter, Chief?"

     "I saw Vince's mother today," Blair responded softly.  "I thought
I was okay.  Guess not."

     "What happened?"  Jim kicked off his shoes, removed his
holster and stretched out on his side so he was facing Blair on the bed.

     "She called and asked if I'd meet her.  She was really nice about
everything.  She told me Vince had been abused by his stepfather--since he was a toddler until he
was eight.  Lots of real sadistic stuff, I
guess."

     "You always thought something had happened to make him the
way he was," Jim replied, lifting a stray curl out of Blair's eyes.

     "Yeah, well, it did.  And she gave me some photos and stuff
that Vince had sent her.  She said he really loved me.  I just don't want
to think about this anymore."

     "She shouldn't have harassed you."

     "She wasn't harassing me.  She just asked if I'd meet her for
lunch, and I was glad to find out some of the stuff she told me--like the
fact that Vince had been abused.  At least now I know there was some
reason behind it.  But I looked at this photo, and it just brought it all
back."

     "I think we can lose the robe.  You've got the real thing right
here, baby."  Jim gently disentangled the robe from Blair's clutches and
pulled the smaller body against his, wrapping both arms tightly around
Blair and rocking him slightly.

     "I needed to feel close to you."

     "You could have called me."

     "You couldn't just take off when you were due to testify just
because I'm having a bad day."  Blair clung to Jim fiercely.  "Tell me
he's gone.  That he can't come back."

     "It's all over, sweetheart.  He's gone.  He won't ever come back. 
He can't.  I'm right here."

     "Would you try something with me?"

     "Anything, angel.  Anything at all."

     "Would you make love to me...with me on my stomach?"

     "We've never done it that way--because of...well, bad
memories."

     "I know.  But since I told you everything about...about
when...about the night he...when he tortured me, it doesn't have power
over me anymore.  And I'm thinking, the one thing I can't handle is that
feeling of being pinned down."

     "You don't have to handle it.  We're doing just fine with a whole
lot of other positions."

     "But if I could...if we could make love that way, and it would be
beautiful and gentle and good...then the last demon would be gone. 
He'd really be without power over me anymore."

     "The minute you say 'stop', we stop."

     "I know.  Just stay here a minute.  I want to...oh, man, this is
embarrassing to really say it."  Blair blushed and smiled a little as he
sat up.

     "What?"

     "I want to...to strip for you."

     "Are you sure?"  Jim knew Watson had made Blair put on a
show for him when they had sex, and as much as Jim loved seeing
Blair nude and relished the thought of watching him undress, the last
thing he wanted him to feel was exploited.

     "I'm sure.  I want to do the things...all those special things...for
somebody who loves me."

     "Let's get the bed turned back first," Jim suggested practically,
getting up and pulling at the spread while Blair moved to the other side
and helped.  In moments, the bed was turned back.

     "Don't get undressed, okay?  That's going to be my job."  Blair
smiled and flexed his eyebrows a little.  Jim reached over to the CD
player by the bed and started a little quiet piano music in the
background.

     "We ought to have a little mood for this, sweetheart," he
explained softly.   

     Blair stood there a little uncertainly, eyeing Jim where he sat on
the edge of the bed.  Then he reached for the buttons of his brown plaid
shirt, and loosened them, one by one, finally pausing to pull the
shirttails from his jeans.  In one shrug, he slid the garment off his
shoulders and tossed it aside.  The t-shirt was still in place, and Blair
crossed his arms over himself, grasping the fabric and slowly pulling
upward, treating Jim to a full view of the flat, hair-dusted stomach as
he removed the t-shirt, and stood there naked from the waist up,
looking hungrily at Jim.  

     Next, he released his hair from the band that held it back,
shaking it until it fell loosely over his shoulders.  He quickly removed
his socks, then slid his hands from his sides very purposefully toward
the buckle of his belt, which the nimble fingers unfastened before
moving to the zipper and releasing it.  The jeans were slid to the floor
and kicked aside. 

     Looking directly into Jim's eyes, Blair slid his graceful hands
under the waist of his boxers, and in a languid, breath-takingly sensual
manner, slid them over his hips and the swell of his buttocks and let
them fall to the floor, stepping out of them and leaving them in a heap
near his jeans.  

     Jim watched the naked vision before him move closer, the scent
of Blair and Blair's arousal swirling into his senses like a hypnotic
vapor.  The younger man knelt at his feet and removed his shoes, then
his socks, kissing the top of each foot.  Jim wanted badly to pull Blair
up, to get him off his knees.  There was something about a subservient
Blair that was as unsettling to Jim as it was mind-numbingly sexy. 
Blair had been forced into a subservient role for so long, Jim had never
wanted to see him reduced to it again.  

     This Blair was not reduced to anything.  He was embracing this
role, choosing it, and with each delicate motion of his fingers on the
buttons of Jim's shirt, he was capturing and controlling the very man he
was serving.  When he'd finally dispensed with shirt and t-shirt, Blair
set to work at planting hot, hungry kisses on every inch of Jim's neck,
shoulders and chest.  Jim slid his hands into the mound of silky hair
that moving about over his chest and finally down to his stomach.  He
encouraged Blair to look up into his eyes.

     "I love you," he whispered, a little too breathless to find his
whole voice.  Blair just smiled, and turned his attention to unfastening
Jim's belt, then carefully sliding the zipper down over the growing
bulge lurking behind the pants.

     "Lie back, lover," Blair commanded gently.  Jim complied
easily, lifting his hips so Blair could slide pants and boxers down in
one fluid motion.  Raising himself up on his elbows, Jim watched his
lover lean back over and begin kissing his way from knee up to thigh,
abandoning kisses to drag his tongue in hot little laps up the insides of
both thighs.  

     Jim's legs spread involuntarily, and he let out a groan of
pleasure mixed with tortured arousal.  Blair responded by trailing the
wicked tongue up to Jim's burgeoning erection, dragging it up the
underside and lapping at the head.  Smiling at the larger man's moans
and thrusts against the mattress, Blair engulfed the head in moist, hot
suction, dragging a cry of surprised pleasure out of Jim, who had
slumped back flat on the bed, a willing victim of the oral assault.

     "Wha--?"  Jim found the strength to object when the mouth left
him.  

     "I want you to finish in me, lover."  Blair crawled up on the bed
next to Jim, lying on his stomach.  Jim could hear the precious
heartbeat move from normal arousal to almost a panic mode.  Despite
Blair's best efforts, he was afraid.

     "Relax, angel.  Just want to make you feel good," Jim
whispered, the sobering thought of how frightening this position was
for Blair taking much of the urgency out of his own arousal.

     Finding a small bottle of massage oil in the night stand, Jim
opened it and straddled the smaller body, beginning a languid rubbing
of the tense back with gentle hands.  He smiled at Blair's little purr of
pleasure, and the slight calming of the thundering heart.  He continued
the massage, rubbing the light, musk-scented oil into taut muscles,
smiling as they relaxed under his hands.

     "Do you know how beautiful you are, baby?"  Jim asked softly,
moving to Blair's lower back, but concentrating his massage safely
above the swell of the other man's buttocks.  A little sigh was his only
answer.  "Do you know how much I love you?"  Jim watched a little
smile curve the full lips under the veil of curls that had fallen over the
side of Blair's face as he lay on the bed.  "Do you know that you're my
whole life?"  Jim ventured a little lower, but only noticed a slight
increase in Blair's excitement.  The panic seemed to have faded.

     Encouraged, he moved lower, carefully kneading the soft flesh
of Blair's buttocks.  The younger man groaned a little, and ground
against the mattress.   

     "Raise your butt up a little for me, sweetheart?"  Jim asked
gently, fearful of how Blair would react to the request.  He was relieved
when Blair did so, with nothing more than a little groan of need.

     Presented with Blair in a position Jim had only dared dream of
since they'd become lovers, he capped the little bottle of oil and tossed
it aside.  He drew his tongue in a long path over Blair's perineum and
the treasured little puckered opening to his body.  Using his hands to
stroke the silky skin on Blair's hips, Jim lovingly tongued Blair's
entrance, ignoring his own painful need to sink himself to the hilt in
the pliant body before him.  

     "Jim...oh, God...so good...want you...in there," Blair panted,
trying to reach under himself to ease his own raging hard-on.

     Jim reached for the lube, and began the task of preparing his
lover.  He had never really been able to watch the process this way
before, with Blair open before him this way, accepting his fingers and
finally thrusting down against his hand, ready for more.  

     "Relax, angel, it's coming.  Nice and slow."  After coating
himself with an overly generous dose of lubricant, Jim pressed the head
of his now-painful erection against Blair's center and eased inside.  "I
love you," he breathed, easing himself inside the tight channel much
more slowly than he normally did.

     Careful not to crush Blair under his greater weight, Jim
supported himself on his elbows as he fit himself to his lover's back. 
He felt Blair straightening, and soon was lying on top of his back, only
supporting very little weight on his arms now.  He began to rock slowly
between Blair's widespread legs, grunting his own pleasure as he
fastened a combination of lips, tongue and teeth to a particularly
succulent spot on Blair's neck, loving the taste of the few strands of
hair that were caught in the hot, wet prison of his mouth as it left a
large passion mark on soft flesh.

     "Ugh...harder..."  Blair encouraged, thrusting his hips back to
meet Jim's strokes.  Jim laced his fingers with Blair's covering the
backs of the smaller hands with his palms, burying his face in the
warm, fragrant hair.  He picked up his pace just slightly, vowing that if
any lovemaking between them ever left Blair a bit tender, it wasn't
going to be this time.  This time was different.  There was no room for
losing complete control.

     He felt the telltale clenching of Blair's internal muscles, and
heard the younger man's cry as he came.  Jim lost a little control over
himself and finished his own climax with a few rapid thrusts into the
willing body beneath him.

     Sweaty, panting and sated, Jim started trying to move away
from Blair, to relieve the weight that pressed the other man into the
mattress.

     "Don't move.  Please, not yet," Blair whispered.  "Stay with
me."

     "Always, for the rest of my life, baby," Jim whispered in
response, lazily kissing and licking at Blair's warm, moist neck.  

     "I love you, mine," Blair said softly.

     "I love you too, sweetheart.  That was beautiful."

     "It's so good with us.  And he can't scare me anymore, Jim.  It's
over.  He can't scare me anymore."

     Jim slid aside, easing out of Blair, and turned the smaller body
in his arms until he held Blair tightly against him.  The tremor of tears
passed through Blair, and Jim responded with a tighter embrace.

     "He's gone, Jim.  He's gone for good.  You made him go away. 
Made it disappear.  I was so scared of this...of doing it...this way."

     "I know, baby.  I know.  Shhhh.  It's okay.  I understand."

     "He's finally gone.  He doesn't...own that part of me anymore."

     "Nobody owns any part of you, sweetheart."

     "You have my heart," Blair countered in a hushed voice.

     "And you have mine," Jim responded, lowering his head to
capture Blair's mouth in a prolonged, love-affirming kiss.

********

     When Blair opened his eyes, he was still in Jim's arms, only
they were spoon-style now, having shifted to accommodate their need
for a little shut-eye after their lovemaking.  The clock on the night
stand read 7:30.  Their seance guests were due at 9:00.  Blair sighed a
little, not wanting to move from the bed, and least of all away from
Jim's warmth.  It was in this sleepy half-awareness that Blair was
seized with an idea that he considered might be the key to dealing with
Gavin's spirit.

     "Jim?"  Blair turned a little in the older man's embrace, and
smiled as he watched the first agitated, then contented, expression
spread over Jim's face.

     "Is it morning yet?"  he asked, lapping at Blair's ear and then
down to his throat like a giant cat tending to its mate.  He smiled when
Blair giggled a little.

     "It's 7:30.  But that's not why I'm waking you.  I have an..." 
Blair broke off, giggling again at the wandering tongue.  "Jim, come
on, I wanna talk to you."

     "So talk."

     "I can't when you..."  Another giggle.  "...do that."

     "Okay.  Fine."  Jim abandoned his licking project and started
nuzzling Blair's hair and neck with his nose.  "God, I love the way you
smell."

     "I thought of something--something about Gavin."

     "Talk about a mood-killer," Jim responded, pulling back a little
while Blair turned over to face him.

     "He's tapping into your anger and your hatred where Vince is
concerned--"

     "Then he's found a goldmine."

     "Exactly!  But think about this: Vince is dead.  And as near as I
can tell, he's going to stay that way.  I don't think it was Vince I saw in
the hall here that day--I think it was Gavin trying to freak me out. 
Playing a trick--a mind game.  What I'm driving at is that there's no
useful outlet for your hostility, as long as it's directed at Vince."

     "Tell me something I don't know, Chief."  Jim looked mildly
annoyed, but the sight of a sex- and sleep-touseled Blair was keeping
him mellow...and getting him hard again, if the spear poking Blair in
the thigh while they cuddled was any indication.

     "Gavin is dead, but his spirit is still here--somehow, it's still
holding onto Michael, keeping him trapped.  You can't help me by
being angry at Vince.  But you might be able to free Michael's spirit by
directing that anger *at Gavin*.  Don't let him use it.  Turn it on him. 
Think about what he did to Michael--the same kinds of sick things
Vince did to me.  You couldn't rescue me any sooner than you did, but
you have a chance to help rescue Michael now.  Sure it's his spirit, and
it's too late to save his life, but we're talking eternity here.  You have to
turn that anger on Gavin instead of letting him enter your psyche by
tapping into it."

     "Sort of like holding up a 'psychic mirror' and reflecting all the
hate right back at him, huh?"

     "Exactly!"  Blair replied enthusiastically.

     "How do I do that?"

     "You told me one time that your anger at Vince was just
this...this thing that ate at you all the time.  If that's true, it's there now. 
Tune into it, but make the object of it Gavin, not Vince.  Vince is dead. 
He's gone.  Gavin is a force you can fight--a jerk that did so many of
the same lousy things to Michael that Vince did to me.  I'm safe now,
and for the first time since I got home, I feel like I'm really healing. 
Like I'm really gonna be okay.  Michael isn't safe.  He's trapped, he's
crying out for help and we can both help him."

     "So every time I think a poisonous thought about Watson, it
should be aimed at Gavin instead?"

     "Right.  Then he won't have any foothold in your anger, because
it's going to be channeled toward him, not an opening for him to use."

     "I'll try it."  Jim lowered his head to capture Blair's neck in a
vampire-like fashion.  "Want you," he breathed hotly into a nearby ear.

     "It's getting late," Blair objected weakly, while at the same time
rolling easily onto his back and wrapping his legs around Jim's hips as
the larger man loomed over him.  Both men seemed to be content to
rub against each other, grunting and panting at the intense friction
between their bodies.  Time was short, and more intense lovemaking
deserved a slower pace.

********

     Brian and Kelli Nolan arrived promptly at nine that evening
with Kelli's 85-year-old grandmother in tow.  The elderly Mae Devon
was a tiny woman with a swirl of white hair and piercing blue eyes. 
She took her seat at the head of the dining room table with the
authority of a ruling monarch.

     A candleabra that was usually positioned on the antique buffet
in the dining room had been placed in the middle of the table, filled
with white candles and fully lit.  Blair had followed her requests to the
letter in preparing the room and the table.  As soon as they were all
gathered there, Mae reached over and took a hold of Blair's hand as he
sat next to her.  Her eyes drifted shut as if she'd felt the impact of some
great power at the contact.

     "You may walk easily in the world of the dead," she stated
quietly.  He shot a disconcerted look at Jim, who was seated across
from him, with Kelli and Brian sitting across from each other next to
Jim and Blair respectively.  "You have a great power...a strong
sensitivity to the voices of the spirit world.  You had a mystical
experience a few years ago...you gained entry into the other realm.  The
way of the Shaman has been passed to you.  The power is yours."

     All in the room were silent a few moments as the elderly
woman appeared to be lapsing into a trance, still holding only Blair's
hand.

     "You have suffered great pain in this house," she began, and all
were startled at the reply, which came from Blair, but not in his voice.

     "The stairs," the voice stated softly.

     "Michael, what happened to you on the stairs?"  Mae asked,
opening her eyes and staring directly into Blair's, which had taken on
the greenish tint of the dead man's eyes.

     "Gavin," Michael replied through Blair.

     "Did Gavin push you down the stairs, Michael?"  Mae asked
directly.  Blair slumped forward slightly and tears shook his frame.

     "Yes," came the strained reply.  Kelli put a restraining hand on
Jim's arm as he began to rise to go to Blair.

     "It isn't Blair," she whispered.  "He's channeling Michael.  He's
okay."

     "Did you die in this house, Michael?"

     "Yes," came another slightly teary response, though the voice
was gaining strength again.  Kelli glanced over at her husband, to see
the beginnings of tears in his eyes as he heard his best friend's grief-laden, pain-filled voice
through Blair.

     Suddenly, the door between the kitchen and dining room began
to swing open and shut, and all the glass shattered in the doors of the
china cabinet.  A current of wind whipped through the room, and
seemed to direct itself toward Blair.  

     Undaunted by Kelli's warning grasp, Jim shot up out of his chair
and shouted at the unseen force.

     "Gavin!  You stay the hell away from him!  It's over!"  Jim
brought both fists down on the table, and they slowly opened until he
was leaning, flat palmed, on the surface of the table.  Only Blair, who
still appeared to be under Michael's influence, was oblivious to the
battle going on between Jim and the intruding entity.

     The strain in Jim's entire being was evident in the bulging cords
in his neck and the taut muscles in the portion of his arms revealed by
his rolled up shirt sleeves.  His eyes took on an intensity and
determination that would have been frightening to anyone on the wrong
side of that gaze.

     The candles were extinguished and the windows exploded
outward, letting in a blast of fresh night air.  The small chandelier over
the table swayed back and forth menacingly.  Jim was not distracted by
Kelli's gasp or Brian's mumbled disbelief at what was happening.
Whatever held Jim's unwavering stare, no one else could see.  There
was no doubt, however, that he could see it.  All of Jim's anger and
hostility toward Blair's tormentor was effectively channeled toward this
entity who was the remnant of a foul man cut from the same cloth.  All
of his urges to kill Watson in a variety of prolonged and horrific
manners came together in this battle with the invading entity. 
Whatever Gavin would do, he would not touch Michael/Blair in any
way whatsoever.

     Jim effectively dodged the plates that flew like missiles out of
the china cabinet, shattering against the wall behind him.  If there was
power in Blair's Shaman abilities, there was a very real power in Jim's
anger.  Anger and hatred which had never found a proper vent until
now.  Rage so overwhelming that it hit the evil entity that was Gavin
head on and pushed, pushed, pushed until the very foundations of the
house rattled.

     And then everything fell unnaturally silent.

     Jim let out a long breath, and slumped back into his seat.  Mae
smiled, patting Blair's hand reassuringly.  It was Michael who took the
comfort from it.

     "It's safe for you to talk to us, Michael.  Gavin is gone.  He can't
hurt you any longer.  Tell us what happened to you," she urged gently. 
"Did you die on the stairs, Michael?"

     "Yes."

     "Where is your body, dear?  Let us lay you to rest in hallowed
ground," she said soothingly.

     "The woods.  Where Gavin died."

     "Why did Gavin kill himself, Michael?  Was it remorse?"

     "Never," he retorted, with the first trace of bitterness in his
voice.  "It was the sounds of the house," he concluded cryptically.

     "You communicated with Gavin after your death?"

     "My *murder*," Michael responded emphatically.

     "Your murder.  You haunted him?"

     "I communicated with him," Michael replied a bit evasively. 
Then the green eyes of Michael Crandle fixed on Brian.  "Feel my spirit
wash over you like a waterfall," he almost whispered to the other man,
before Blair slumped forward and sat there limply, with no further sign
of movement.

     "Blair?  Can you hear me?"  Mae asked softly.  Slowly, Blair
shook his head a little, then raised it to look at her, and around at the
others at the table, and the destruction in the room. "Blair, are you back
with us now?"  she persisted.

     "Yeah, I'm back."

     "Do you remember Michael speaking through you?"

     "Yes.  I could hear him...like I was listening from somewhere
else."

     "Is he at peace now?"

     "No."

     "What has been left undone?"  Mae asked.

     "I'm supposed to talk to Brian."  Blair turned his eyes to the man
sitting next to him.  "But it's personal."

     "Should we leave?"  Kelli asked.

     "No.  Michael wants to talk to Brian in the music room."

     "That's the back bedroom on the first floor," Brian spoke up. 
Michael had a lot of his stuff in there--tapes, stereo, guitars."  He stood
up, pushing his chair back.  "I'm game if you are," he said to Blair.

     "Wait just a minute.  Is this safe?"  Jim asked Mae.

     "Gavin is gone from this house.  You drove him out by the
sheer power of your hatred for the man who hurt Blair, and by your
love for Blair."

     "I was trying to channel that into negative energy toward
Gavin," he responded.

     "And so you did.  But what made it work so smoothly was that
Gavin made the ultimate mistake--he attacked Michael while he was
being channeled through Blair--hence, the force that came with him--the wind--was directed
toward Blair.  That triggered not only all the
hostility in you that you were trying to channel, but you own natural
protective instincts toward Blair.  The two forces together were too
powerful for him to withstand."

     "So can he come back at some point?"  Jim asked.

     "There are no absolutes in the spiritual plane, Jim.  But I would
be very shocked if his presence was ever felt in this house again."

     "Ready?"  Blair rose from his chair, speaking to Brian, who did
the same.

     "I've been ready for over a decade," he replied honestly.

     The two men walked back to the small bedroom that was now a
TV room.  Brian closed the door behind them, and when he turned to
look at Blair, was shocked speechless to be face to face with Michael.

     "Is there anything you want to say to me?"  The voice was also
very distinctly Michael's.  Brian stared at him a moment, then crossed
the room in a couple of long strides and pulled his long-missed friend
into his arms.  At this moment, the body in his arms smelled and felt
like Michael.  It was the same body he'd held and comforted the last
night of Michael's life.

     "I loved you," he whispered brokenly into soft auburn hair. 
"God, I was so stupid.  I never was with a man before and I didn't know
what to do when you came along and you were everything...you were
the only one.  You'll always be the only one."  The taller man gave in to
tears, clinging to the warm, living body that for this miraculous
moment in time housed the spirit of a love he'd thought was lost
forever...before it had ever been voiced.

     "I knew.  I knew," Michael responded softly.  "And I knew you
weren't ready.  I should have waited...but I thought we'd never be
together that way."  Michael clung tightly to Brian, relishing the power
that Blair was giving him: the power to express himself physically one
last time.

     "If I let you go...you'll disappear," Brian whispered hopelessly.

     "I won't disappear.  I'll wait.  There's a place for us in the next
life, love.  And I'll be there, waiting for you."

     "I should have never left you that morning.  God, if I hadn't,
you'd still be--"

     "Shhh.  That won't gain us anything, looking back to the past. 
You did what you could for me.  And I love you for it."

     "Don't go.  There has to be a way..."  Brian pulled back and
looked down into moist, clear green eyes.  

     "This moment is a gift.  A gift from Blair, who let me come
back to you, who cared enough about me to be my voice.  It's a gift I
can't abuse.  The next time you hold me, we'll be on the other side.  But
you have to promise me that you're going to live, and do all the great
things we dreamed about doing with the band."

     "Oh, man, I can't do that.  I'm in a fifth-rate 80s retro band that
does glam rock shows at bars."

     "You're better than that. 'Waterfall' was better than that.  Make
it happen, Bri--for me.  For us, and what could have been.  And live a
long, healthy life.  See the things I can't see, hear the music I can't hear,
and when you come to me, bring it all with you and share it with me. 
Do that for me?"

     "I'd do anything for you.  You know that."  Brian lowered his
head a bit hesitantly, then captured Michael's mouth in a passionate
kiss.  A first, last and only kiss that would have to last him a lifetime. 
When he pulled back, Michael was smiling.  "Let me love you.  Just
one time.  Let me make love to you."

     "No.  Because when it was over, you wouldn't have made love
to me.  You'd have violated Blair.  And he doesn't deserve that.  That
gift isn't mine to give anymore.  But you have my love, always and
forever.  Goodbye, love.  I'll be waiting."

     "No!  Michael, please, don't do this!  I love you!  I always loved
you!"  It was a half sob, half shout as he grabbed Michael and shook
him, only to look down and see Blair's startled face looking back at
him.

     "Brian, you have to do as he says.  Know that he loves you. 
And that he's waiting."

     "Why couldn't he have let me...just one time?"

     "He could have.  But Michael and I had an unspoken deal...a
trust between us.  And if you know him at all, you know Michael
wouldn't betray a friend."

     "No, he wouldn't," Brian responded, letting go of Blair and
regaining a little of his composure. 

     "He knows how much you love him.  And now, he's at peace. 
Truly at peace."

     "He's really gone?"

     "Yes.  But his love will always be with you.  And he *will* wait
for you."

     "I have to do something with 'Waterfall', for him."

     "You have to do something with your life, Brian.  Don't settle
for that loser bar band.  Michael believes in you.  Make him proud. 
Make your success a monument to your love for him."

     "Oh, God, what about Kelli?"

     "Has anything really changed?  You loved Michael before.  You
just had to live with never having had the chance to tell him.  Kelli
loves you, and she's your chance to have a life--a life in this world.  He
wants that for you, man.  He doesn't want you to cry and mourn and be
miserable.  You've done that for ten years and it's eaten you alive,
destroyed your chances for success."

     "So I guess it's up to me to make something worthwhile out of
this life, huh?"

     "That's what he wants for you.  And he'll truly sleep in peace
when that happens."

     "I don't know how to thank you."
     
     "You don't have to.  Michael helped me recover from
something I never thought I could.  This whole experience brought me
the rest of the way back from my own ordeal.  No one could thank me
more than that."

     "I'm sorry I grabbed you--or kissed you."

     "You kissed Michael.  And he liked it," Blair added, grinning. 
Brian released a little chuckle at that.  "Ready to go back out there
now?"

     "Yeah, I guess so.  All these years, he's been right out there,"
Brian looked out the window of the small room toward the woods.

     "He isn't out there anymore.  Only the physical remains. 
Michael is finally free."

********

     Jim was putting the last of the plastic over the gaping, glassless
windows in the dining room while Blair swept up the mountains of
rubble comprised of dishes and glass.   The forensics team had come
and gone, taking with them the meager skeletal remains of Michael
Crandle, along with the two suitcases and guitar that had been buried
with him as part of the plot to fake his "disappearance".  

     Jim had been strangely silent since their guests, and then the
forensics staff, had left the two men alone together.

     "Do you want to talk?"  Blair asked, dumping another dust pan
load of debris into a trash bag.

     "About what?"  Jim responded curtly.

     "About what?!"  Blair repeated. "Pick a subject, man. 
Possession, levitating dishes, seances..."

     "Kissing other men."

     "Oh, man, you were eavesdropping."  Blair threw down the dust
pan and broom and dropped into a chair.

     "What the hell did you expect me to do?"  Jim turned away
from his completed project.  "One minute you're possessed by some
spirit and speaking in someone else's voice, and the next minute, you're
inviting Brian down the hall for a little privacy."

     "You're making this sound like I took him back there and gave
him a blow job.  This had nothing to do with me, man.  It was--"

     "I know.  Michael."

     "I had a choice to make.  I could either fight Michael or I could
help him.  I've been where he was, and frankly, I wanted to help him. 
He deserved a chance to at least resolve all the things that were left
hanging when he was murdered."

     "I don't like you kissing another man.  Period.  I'm sorry if that
makes me that throwback to the caveman days, but I still don't like it."

     "If Vince had murdered me, how would you have felt?"

     "That's a fucking low way to win an argument, Blair," Jim shot
back sharply.  Blair closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

     "That's not why I'm saying it.  But think about it a minute.  You
say you loved me before you rescued me from Vince, but you couldn't
handle it.  If you eavesdropped on what went on with Brian, you know
that he was in the same place you were.  Only Gavin killed Michael
before they ever had a chance to be together.  We were lucky.  But only
by, like, *minutes*.  If you hadn't come for me when you did, and
Vince had...had attacked me again, with my spleen rupturing, I'd have
died from any more rough treatment from him.  The thing is, we came
*that* close to being Brian and Michael," Blair concluded, gesturing a
minute distance between his thumb and forefinger.  

     "So you felt compelled to kiss him."

     "He kissed Michael.  I was just the means, not the spirit."

     "So Michael was in control?"

     "Yes.  I let him...take over.  I trusted him, and he respected that. 
He could have done anything he wanted with my body.  I gave it over
to him because I felt the pain from him at not being able to ever make a
real connection with Brian in this lifetime.  Everything...it was like
watching it and hearing it from a distance.  Like it was happening to
someone else.  And it was."

     "You didn't have anything to do with it?"

     "Not beyond the moment when I let Michael drive, so to speak. 
I trusted him.  My connection with him led me through a part of my
recovery I couldn't get through alone--or even with you.  I had to
overcome it, and conquer it, because I had to save Michael.  He gave
me that strength and the courage to face things that...that still terrify
me.  They probably always will.  But not in the crippling way they did
before I met Michael."

     "I'm sorry I snapped your head off," Jim said tiredly, pulling out
the chair closest to Blair's and plunking down on it.  

     "Are you okay?"  Blair reached out and took Jim's hand.

     "Just...worn out, I guess."

     "Do you want to talk about it?"

     "Not now.  Maybe not ever.  Let's just say that the images of
Gavin...what he was, what he was about...were everything that's ugly,
malignant and evil about human nature."

     "Michael drove him insane, you know," Blair said quietly.

     "I kind of figured as much."

     "Michael tried to never scare me.  He was so subtle most of the
time.  I'd say something or feel something...it wasn't until he got
desperate that he even started making noises or leading me to what he
wanted me to know."

     "He must have put on his scary routine for Gavin."

     "Probably.  How do you feel about staying here?"

     "Bad time to ask me.  Right now, I want to run out the front
door with the clothes on our backs and forget this fucking nightmare
once and for all."

     "We can do that if you want.  Well, I guess I'd like to pack first,
but I mean, we can get out of here."

     "I've got to admit, Chief--I don't think I could handle another
head-on collision with Gavin."

     "Love is stronger than hate any day of the week, man.  You
could do it.  But if you think that would happen again here--"

     "I don't know.  Mae didn't think it would."

     "What did he show you?"  Blair placed a gentle hand on the side
of Jim's face, looking into still-haunted blue eyes.

     "There was a manifestation in this room that I guess no one else
saw.  Gavin was not an attractive spirit."

     "Let's go to the motel tonight."

     "No.  We fought for this territory, and I'm not about to walk
away from it now."  Jim smiled and moved Blair's hand from his face
to hold it in his hand.

     "You think this place is safe to live in?"

     "Yes.  Mae's been in the medium business a long time.  She
probably knows what she's talking about.  Besides, if Michael's spirit is
free, and the truth is out, there's nothing more for Gavin to hang around
for here."  Jim paused.  "I'm glad you gave Brian the chance to make
contact with Michael.  If I'd lost you to Watson that way, I don't
think..."  Jim's voice faltered, and Blair tightened his grip on Jim's
hand.

     "You didn't lose me.  You *found* me."

********

Epilogue: Three Months Later...

     Blair checked on the chicken that was baking in the oven, and
went back to tearing lettuce for the salad that would go with their
Saturday afternoon meal.  It was a rare, relaxed day off with no special
commitments, which was to be spent eating and lying in the corner
watching TV and maybe fooling around a little when the spirit moved
them.

     "Hey, Chief," Jim greeted, coming in the back door, sorting the
mail.

     "Anything interesting?"  Blair wiped his hands on a nearby
towel.

     "Just a couple things for *Dr.* Sandburg," Jim handed him the
envelopes, smiling with obvious pride.  Blair had finagled an extension
after all, and had won the coveted degree in August instead of the
planned May.

     "Hey, this is from Brian!"  Blair tore into the envelope with the
hand-written address.  "He got a record deal!"  Blair exclaimed waving
the letter.  "Listen to this: 'Finally got someone to listen to the demo we
made'--he's talking about his new band--you know the new line-up of
guys he put together after the last one fell apart?"

     "I remember," Jim responded, looking in the window of the
oven at the chicken.

     "Staring at it doesn't make it cook faster, man," Blair teased
gently before turning his attentions back to his letter.  "'Finally got
someone to listen to the demo we made of "Waterfall" and "Across the
Planes", and they sent someone out to see us at the club.  Just like in
the movies, they signed us right then and there.  It's not a big label--Diamond Music--but they
take good care of their acts and do a lot with
promotion and artist support.  It feels like things are finally taking off.' 
And then he goes on to update us on all the stuff going on with Kelli
and a bunch of other stuff you can read if you're interested."

     "I'm glad things are working out for him."

     "But...?"

     "I notice he's still addressing the letters just to you."

     "Jim, you *don't* have to be jealous of this guy.  It's kind of
understandable he feels a bond.  But I told him back at the start that I
didn't want to see him or hear from him if he was coming with the
expectation I was going to lapse into a trance and turn into Michael
again."

     "You told him that?"

     "Yeah.  He showed up at the campus one day, and we had a
talk.  He was fine after that.  He just wanted to know if there was any
chance he could ever talk to Michael through me again.  He didn't
really want to do anything physical.  He wanted to run the final lyrics to
'Waterfall' by Michael.  He ran them by me instead, and that was that. 
Since then, I've gotten just the two letters you know about.  And now
this one."

     "I'm overreacting, right?"

     "I don't know.  I kind of like the whole caveman thing.  Maybe
you can drag me back to your cave and have your way with me."  Blair
flexed his eyebrows.

     "After dinner, Chief.  I'm starving."  Jim sniffed appreciatively
at the cooking smells.

     "Gee, I wondered how long it would take for the fire to leave
our love life."  Blair laughed as he opened the rest of his mail. 

     "Relax, baby.  The chicken's no match for you.  I'd much rather
nibble on *your* thighs any day,"  Jim quipped, flexing his eyebrows.

     "Oh, man, I don't believe you just said that."  Blair dropped his
head on his folded arms for a moment and laughed.  Regaining his
composure, he picked up his other piece of mail.  "This is interesting,"
he commented.

     "What, sweetheart?"  Jim came to stand behind the kitchen
chair where Blair sat, and kissed his temple.

     "Mark Borden dropped out of Rainier altogether.  You know,
they tossed him off the team after he got convicted on the assault
charge?"

     "The arrogant little shit probably needed the time to do that 200
hours of community service at the domestic violence hotline," Jim
responded, chortling evilly.

     "I feel sorry for Amy," Blair commented, shaking his head. 
Amy was the long-suffering counselor who ran the hotline, which was
part of Rainier's Social Work Department.  "This note is from Tom
Houghton--you know, the new Dean of Students?"

     "Yeah."

     "Says here that Mark's leaving college, and that he was allowed
to withdraw with credit for courses in progress because he left due to a
doctor-certified psychological problem.  This is cc'd to me--I guess they
thought I had a right to know, even though he isn't in my classes this
term."

     "Psychological problem, huh?  I know the bastard had a major
attitude problem, anyway.  Good riddance to him."

     "You don't think..."  Blair looked up at Jim.   "Nah.  That's a
stretch."

     "Is it?"  Jim responded, smiling at the thought of Michael's
mischievous spirit bedeviling Mark Borden.

     "Well, he managed to drive Gavin off the edge," Blair replied,
with something that distinctly sounded like pride in his voice.  Blair
had indeed forged a strange friendship with the long-dead musician
who had haunted their house.  "You know, I was thinking," Blair said,
picking up Brian's letter again.  Then he said, a bit sadly,  "I still wish
that Brian and Michael had had the chance we had."  Blair sighed. 
"Their love was...intense."

     "Made for each other, huh?"

     "Yeah, like us."  Blair grinned and leaned in to capture Jim's
mouth in a prolonged kiss.

     They ate burned chicken much later than planned.