Title: The Eighth Circle 
Author/pseudonym: Candy Apple 
Rating: MAO
Pairings: J/B and D/A

Status: NEW, complete
Date: 12-29-98
Archive category: Drama/Romance, Crossover, Christmas
Series/Sequel: NOPE.

Disclaimers: Pet Fly owns the denizens of the Cascade PD, Rainier
University and all canon things related to The Sentinel.  Alliance,
Crescent and Polygram Television own all things canon related to "The
Crow: Stairway to Heaven".  The story and all original characters
belong to the author.  No money is being made from this story, and it is
only posted for the purpose of sharing with friends.  No infringement
intended.

Notes: The following story is a crossover with the syndicated series
"The Crow: Stairway to Heaven".  The premise of the series, based on
the film, "The Crow", centers on Eric Draven, a musician who, with his
girlfriend and soulmate, Shelly Webster, is brutally murdered.  One
year after his death, Eric returns from the dead to "set things right",
following his spirit guide, The Crow.  What begins as an adversarial
relationship with Detective Daryl Albrecht of the Port Columbia PD
becomes a friendship.  For more info on the series, try these websites:
http://thecrow.fsn.net/crowtv or http://www.thecrowtv.com
Another point of interest to TS fans--this series is also shot in
Vancouver, and the distinctive Vancouver skyline, complete with the
hotel that hosted SentinelCon 98, is visible from Eric Draven's fateful
round window.

Jim and Blair need no introduction, right? :-)

Summary: As Christmas draws near, Jim and Blair visit nearby Port
Columbia in an attempt to tie up the loose ends of an important case. 
During their visit, Blair's life is saved by a mysterious man bearing a
shocking resemblance to one of his deceased friends... 

Warnings: Contains some spoiler-type information below, but the
warnings could be important to those who want to know the score:
S
P
O
I
L
E
R
S
In the series, Draven's character is treated much the way any immortal
is, but if the concept of a slash pairing between a mortal and
"immortal" or somewhat supernatural being is disturbing to anyone,
this is your warning.  There is also discussion of and depiction of a
mild sexual assault, but NO rape occurs in this story.  There is some
violence, though not overly graphic in nature.  Strong language and
m/m (surprise, surprise...).  Not for the kids.


***************
THE EIGHTH CIRCLE

by 

Candy Apple
***************

"I love you tomorrow,
I love you today,
I love you beyond what 
Mortal words can say,
I love you in fury,
I love you in control,
I love you in circles
Seven times around my soul."

           from "Seven Circles", Eric Draven's last song
           "The Crow: Stairway to Heaven"



SEPTEMBER 1997

     Blair Sandburg checked the time written on the slip of paper. 
He was running a few minutes late since his tutoring session had
dragged on a bit longer than expected.  Fitting play rehearsals into his
schedule had been completely outside of his original plan, but the
thought of participating in the Rainier Theater Guild's version of "Hair"
sounded like too much fun to pass up.  His role was nothing major--he
would only be an "extra hippie", but for these parts, the play's director
wanted to gather men with naturally long hair who could carry a tune
rather than cast a bunch of short-haired guys and outfit them in cheap
wigs.  
     
     He entered the Performing Arts Center a bit breathless, and
headed for the auditorium where the first rehearsal was taking place.  

     "You've gotta be heading for the rehearsals," a male voice came
from behind him.  Blair paused and turned to see a taller man, with
long black hair, carrying a guitar case.  The other man was dressed in
jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket, and looked as if he might have
some Asian heritage, with large, striking dark eyes and a pleasant
smile.

     "What was your first clue?"  Blair asked, laughing.

     "When they first asked me about doing this, my ego kicked into
overdrive.  I thought, 'oh, man, they've heard of me here and they want
me for the lead!'  I play in a band in Port Columbia."

     "Instead they said--'hey, you've got long hair and you're
breathing--wanna be in a play?'"

     "Just about."

     "Guitarist or bass player?"  Blair asked, relaxing a little and
falling into step with his new companion.  

     "Guitarist.  I thought I'd bring it in case they need any help with
the music."  He held out his hand.  "Eric Draven."

     "Blair Sandburg."  Blair shook the outstretched hand.  "So,
what's your major?"

     "The jury's still out on that one.  I'm taking a couple classes this
semester, racking up some of the general requirements."

     "I thought maybe you were a grad student--I'm in the Anthro
department.  I teach part-time as part of my fellowship."

     "Nah.  I didn't start college right out of high school.  But I've
been thinking now that I'd like to get my degree.  Maybe Music--or
Music Education.  I'd like to teach music someday."  There was a little
silence.  "So what do you do with an Anthropology degree?"

     "I'm working on my doctorate.  I want to teach at the university
level, and I love research."

     "Cool.  How far along are you?"

     "Almost an ABD."  He caught the other's blank expression. 
"All but the dissertation."

     "Ah," Eric said, nodding a little.  "So this must be a major effort
to squeeze play rehearsals into all that."

     "It's a stretch, but I think it might be fun."

     "I've been listening to the soundtrack from 'Hair' for the last
week or so, trying to get into the Zen of all this."

     "My mom *was* a hippie, so I have a real life role model."

     "That must have been an experience growing up."

     "It had its moments," Blair responded, laughing a little.  

     The two men arrived at the rehearsal, and took seats near the
back of the auditorium, as the male lead was belting out one of his
songs on the stage, accompanied only by a couple of electric guitars. 
Blair felt Eric leaning in to say something, so he met the other halfway.

     "That guy's a dork.  They're trying to sell him as a hippie?"

     "He's got a good voice."

     "Yeah, my high school math teacher did too, but I wouldn't
want to see him playing George Berger," Eric responded, leaning back
in his chair.  Blair had to chortle at that.  

     "They wanted Drama students in the leads."

     "Maybe the wig'll help."  Eric watched the mediocre
performance a while longer, not offering any further comment, then,
"You'd be good in that role."

     "I'm too short," Blair opined.

     "You're only as short as you feel."

     "I think that's supposed to be relevant to age--you're only as
*old* as you feel," he whispered back.

     "Whatever," Eric responded, pulling out his wallet and counting
through his money.  "Gotta stop and get my girlfriend a birthday
present on the way home."

     "You guys been together long?"

     "About six months."  Eric held up his wallet so Blair could see
the photo of a beautiful woman with long, curly brown hair and a
stunning smile.

     "Wow.  She's beautiful."

     "Thanks.  I think so."

     "What's her name?"

     "Shelly."  Eric tucked the wallet back in his pocket.  

     "Suits her."  Blair nodded, smiling.  

     The performance on stage finished, and the director started
rounding up his new recruits, and before long was trying to assess
which ones had some musical or dance talent and which ones merely
had lots of hair and would look good standing around in the
background.  By the end of the rehearsal, Blair and Eric both found
themselves cast in a couple of group dance numbers and as part of the
chorus of back-up singers.

     They walked out to the parking lot together, talking over the
rehearsal and grumbling about the grey, cold, wet weather that was
ushering in the Fall.  

     "Well, I gotta get back.  We've got a gig tonight at the
Blackout."  Eric unlocked the door to a white Camaro that had been
parked at the far corner of the parking lot.  "Shelly's.  If I get a ding in
the door, she'll kill me."  He loaded the guitar in the back seat and then
slid into the driver's seat.  "Where are you parked, anyway?"

     "Out in front of Hargrove Hall.  I guess we just got talking and I
sort of forgot I was going the wrong way."

     "Get in.  I'll drop you off at your car."

     "Thanks."  Blair hurried around to the passenger side and
climbed in.  "Nice car.  Smells new inside.  Did she just get it?"

     "Yeah, about two months ago.  It's a real strain, but she's having
a lot of fun with it."  He started up the engine and headed toward
Hargrove Hall.

     "I think you could sing the lead role better than Fitzgerald,"
Blair referred to the current student cast in that role.

     "Yeah, well, I don't think the lead character was part Asian. 
Besides, I don't really have time to do more than this.  But it might be
sort of fun.  Shelly'll get a kick out of it.  She's a photographer, so she'll
probably get some good shots of the performances."

     "Ever been to Club Doom?  It's near the campus."

     "A couple of times.  The band that played there last month--Shrapnel?  
I was in a band with their drummer in high school, so I got
in with no cover charge while they were there."

     "I don't get over there as much as I used to.  So what's the
Blackout like?  I've never been over there."

     "It's a great club.  Hey--what're you doing tonight?"

     "Grading papers," Blair responded, rolling his eyes.  
     
     "You don't really want to waste a perfectly good evening doing
*that*, do you?"  Eric asked, a devilish little smile curling the corners
of his mouth.

     "Actually, I have to."

     "That's why you're an ABC or whatever and I'm still technically
a freshman," Eric replied, laughing.  He pulled up slowly alongside the
parked cars in front of Hargrove Hall.

     "Mine's the Corvair."

     "Great car.  A real classic."

     "Thanks."  Blair paused a minute.  "What time are you
playing?"

     "First show's at nine.  That gives you four hours to grade papers
and still make the hour drive over to Port Columbia," Eric pointed out,
raising his eyebrows and smiling a little.  "I'll get you in free."

     "Can't turn down that offer.  See you there."  Blair got out of the
car.  "Thanks for the ride.  Tell Shelly I loved her car."  Blair said
through the open door.

     "She'll be there tonight.  You can tell her yourself."

     "Great.  Hey, would it be okay if I brought my roommate?"

     "Sure.  I'll tell the guy at the door to let you and a guest in."

     "Thanks.  See you tonight."  Blair closed the car door and
hurried to his own car, tossing his back pack in the backseat and
starting up the engine just as Eric sped away toward the main entrance
to the campus.

********

     Jim pulled the truck into a parking spot not far from the alley
where the entrance to the Blackout club was located.  He wasn't
entirely sure that an evening at a noisy, crowded club that catered to
people ten years younger was exactly what his frazzled nerves needed
after a hellish day on the job, but Blair had been so enthused about
taking Eric Draven up on his offer to see Hangman's Joke, Eric's band,
perform, that he hadn't had the heart to say no.  

     As soon as Blair gave his name to the muscular man in the
black Blackout t-shirt and jeans who was screening the guests at the
door, Jim and Blair were ushered in without hesitation.  Jim was
dialing everything down at once except for his sight, which he dialed
up a bit to see even more clearly in the dimly lit club.  It was 8:45, so
they didn't have long to wait for the first show.  

     "Did he say what kind of music he played?"  Jim asked over the
noise of the crowd.  

     "Nope.  But I'm assuming rock and roll."  Blair craned his neck. 
"Hey, that looks like Shelly."

     "Draven's girlfriend?"

     "Yeah.  Come on, let's go introduce ourselves."  Blair led the
way, the suggestion not really being a suggestion, but an announcement
of his plan of action.  Jim followed.  "Shelly?"  Blair asked the
attractive young woman, who was dressed in a simple red dress with
narrow straps over her shoulders.

     "Do I know you?"

     "My name is Blair Sandburg.  I just met Eric this afternoon and
he invited us to come see the band."

     "Oh, right.  Nice to meet you, Blair."  She shook hands with
him, and looked Jim's way.  

     "This is my friend, Jim Ellison.  Jim, this is Shelly...?"

     "Webster.  Glad you could make it."  She shook hands with Jim
also.  "Eric and the band ought to be getting started pretty soon.   He
said you had quite a time at the rehearsal."

     "It's been a while since I had to sing 'Aquarius'--that's an
experience I definitely didn't want to deal with alone."

     "I can't wait to see Eric as a dancing hippie.  I'll have to
remember to get lots of film on hand for that," she quipped, laughing.

     "Yeah, we're in a couple of the big production numbers.  Ought
to be interesting.  I think it'll be fun."

     "I have to get up front to be near the stage to get a few shots of
the band.  It was great meeting you both.  I hope you enjoy the show."

     "I'm sure we will," Jim spoke up.  

     "Nice meeting you too," Blair added as she smiled and headed
up for the stage area.

     "Pretty lady," Jim commented.

     "Really," Blair agreed.  

     After finding a table and ordering a couple of beers, Blair
noticed Eric weaving his way through the crowd.

     "Glad you could make it," he said as he approached the table. 
"Jim, right?"  He extended his hand in Jim's direction before Blair had
time to introduce them.

     "Right.  So you're the other hippie," he quipped.  Draven
laughed.
     
     "I've been called worse.  So, Jim, you like this kind of music?" 
He gestured vaguely at the club.  The throb of something Jim
considered tuneless and repetitive banged at the back of his brain
relentlessly.

     "This is more Sandburg's style than mine," he admitted. 

     "What do you like?"

     "He's a Santana man," Blair spoke up.  Jim shot him a look,
obviously having hoped to sound a bit less archaic.

     "They were a great band.  Well, I better head backstage.  We're
about due to go on.  Stick around after the set--maybe we can all grab a
beer together?"

     "Sounds great," Blair responded.

     "Later, then."  Eric turned and hurried back through the crowd,
disappearing into the shadows behind the stage.

     "Your hearing bothering you too much?"  Blair asked.

     "I think this beat is permanently imprinted on my brain, but
other than that, no."  Jim gave in and smiled at Blair's worried
expression.  "I can dial things down with the set starts, Chief.  Don't
worry about it."

     "You sure?"

     "I'm sure.  You've never heard his band before?"

     "No.  I just know he's got a good voice, and he said the band's
got a great local following.  They're still trying for a record deal
though."

     "Aren't they all," Jim responded.

     "I guess only a few actually make it.  Tough business."

     Within moments, Hangman's Joke took the stage.  While their
music was a combination of alternative and hard rock, and not really
Jim's style, he had to admit to himself that they were all competent
musicians and put on a good show.  Midway through the set, the lead
singer relinquished his spot to Draven, going backstage.  

     "This next one is an older song--a cover tune.  We don't usually
do covers, but I think we can make an exception."  Draven turned to
the band, and on his signal, the music began.  Jim laughed as the first
strains of Santana's hit, "Black Magic Woman", wafted through the
club.  The crowd didn't seem to mind, and Jim enjoyed it.  Draven was
a good singer, and he did justice to the vocals.  Jim personally
considered that no one but Carlos Santana could do justice to the guitar
work, but Draven did well nonetheless.

     The band played three more songs after that one before winding
up their first set.  About ten minutes after the band had left the stage,
Eric and Shelly headed over for Jim's and Blair's table, Eric's arm
draped loosely around his girlfriend's shoulders as he guided her
through the crowd.  

     "Thanks for the song--that was great," Jim said as soon as they
sat down at the table for four.

     "No problem.  I used to use that one to practice all the time. 
That and 'Smoke on the Water'."  Eric smiled gratefully at the beer that
was set in front of him, taking a couple of long gulps.  "You guys need
refills?  Drinks are on us."
     
     "Thanks, man, but we've got to drive back to Cascade.  We
don't want one of Jim's friends pulling us over."  Blair paused.  "That
was a great set."

     "Thanks."  He turned to Jim.  "You're a cop?"  Draven's eyes got
impossibly larger.  

     "I'm not going on a pot bust in here tonight, so don't worry
about it," Jim responded, snorting a little laugh.

     "The Blackout is usually pretty clean that way," Shelly spoke
up.  "There are a few jerks who show up every now and then, but not
too many."

     "Your photography--is it a hobby or your job?"  Blair asked her.

     "Both," she said, laughing.  "I love doing it, but I've started to
have some luck selling some of my work.  Mostly to local publications. 
What I'd really like is to get an exhibit at the Madison Gallery.  They
feature some of the best cutting edge photographers--they had a show
there last week that was very heavy with urban themes.  I take a lot of
shots of the city, the people..."  She smiled a little self-consciously,
stealing a glance at Eric, who was watching her adoringly, hanging on
each word as if he'd never heard her dreams before.  "Listen to me. 
Turn a simple answer into an essay."

     "You two should get along great, then," Jim said, motioning
between Shelly and Blair.

     "We're not too talkative.  We're *eloquent*," Blair defended,
and then held up his hand which Shelly slapped palm to palm in a high
five.  

     "How did you two end up roommates?"  Draven asked, taking
another drink of his beer.

     "I'm doing research on behavior in closed societies, and police
departments qualify, so Jim lets me ride along with him.  I had my own
place, but it got blown up last year."

     "Blown up?"  Eric repeated, raising his eyebrows.

     "There was a drug lab operating in the same warehouse where I
was living--my part of it was partially converted into living space. 
They got into a gang war, and the next thing I knew--kaboom!--no
apartment."

     "You're lucky you weren't hurt.  Were you able to salvage
anything?"  Shelly asked.

     "Yeah, quite a lot of my stuff, fortunately.  So I stayed with
Jim--"

     "And never left," Jim teased, shooting a little smile at Blair.

     The four of them visited a while longer until Eric and Shelly
excused themselves so Eric could get ready for the 11:00 set.  

     "We have to get going.  Early call in the morning," Blair said as
all four of them stood up.

     "I'm really glad you could make it tonight.  Good meeting you,
Jim."

     "Same here.  It was a great show."

     "Thanks.  I'll probably see you in a few days at the theater,
right?"  He turned to Blair.

     "Yeah, I'll be there," Blair responded, rolling his eyes.  

     "Oh, it'll be fun, you guys," Shelly added.  "I think you'll both
make very sexy hippies."

     "Thanks for the vote of confidence."  Blair smiled in response
to the remark.  

     After making their farewells, Jim and Blair headed back out to
the truck and started their short drive to Cascade.

********

OCTOBER 28, 1997


     "What's eating you today, anyway?"  Draven asked, biting into
the taco he'd selected from the buffet tables at the international food
festival taking place in Rainier's Student Union.

     "Nothing," Blair responded, poking listlessly at the almond
chicken he'd selected from the Chinese food table.  The two men were
seated on opposite ends of a big blue sofa which was part of a grouping
of furniture inhabited by a number of gorging students.  The play
rehearsal had just ended, and neither could resist the smells wafting out
of the Student Union into the cool October air.  

     "You haven't said two words since rehearsal, and normally you
never shut up."

     "Gee, thanks."  Blair took another bite.

     "You know what I mean."  Draven smiled a little.  "Is it
something I said?"  he asked seriously.

     "No, not at all."  Blair finally set the small carton of food on the
nearby table.  "Remember I told you about that trip I took with Jim to
Peru right before we met?"

     "Yeah.  Don't tell me--you and the lizard decided to renew your
affair."

     "Very funny," Blair shot back, having to smile a bit at Eric's
humor, and the devilish glint in the dark eyes.  "While we were there,
some things happened.  Strange things."  Blair hesitated.

     "And...?  Strange how?  Are you going to eat that?"  Eric
nodded toward the Chinese food container on the table.

     "Here."  Blair handed it over, not interested in eating. 

     "Sorry, but I have a rehearsal with the band after this, and
Shelly's taking some photos at fund raising event--meal money
photography, she calls it.  We probably won't eat until late."

     "I've got a thing for Jim," Blair shot out, waiting for Eric's
reaction.  The other man's jaw stopped mid-chew, and he continued to
stare into the food container for a moment before looking up to meet
Blair's eyes.  "Yeah, that was my reaction too.  If he knew, he'd kill me. 
And he was in Covert Ops.  He probably knows how."

     "Cops know the best spots to hide bodies."

     "You're a big help."

     "Are you gay?  I mean, I don't have a problem with it if you are. 
I just wondered."

     "No."

     "Bi?"

     "I guess I am, if I'm checking Jim out."

     "But not before this?"

     "No."

     "Huh."  Eric went back to his food.

     "Thanks for the advice, man.  I'm glad we talked."

     "What do you want me to say?  I don't know Jim all that well.  
But I will tell you this.  I think he's interested."

     "What makes you say that?  You've only seen him a few times,"
Blair recalled, referring to the night at the Blackout plus a couple of
times Eric had joined Jim and Blair for something to eat before
heading back to Port Columbia after an afternoon at Rainier.

     "Well," Eric began through a mouthful, "when I go out with my
buddies, I do things I like to do--stuff we all like doing.  When I go out
with Shelly, I do *whatever* she wants to do.  That's what Jim was
doing when he came to the Blackout with you.  Don't kid yourself, he
hated that place," Draven concluded, laughing.  "A cop spending the
evening at the Blackout?  You find as many cops there as you do at
Club Doom."

     "Jim and I are really different people.  So we have to meet in
the middle."

     "Think about it, Blair.  You pick your friends usually because
you have common ground.  You pick your lovers for what you feel for
them."

     "The big reason I didn't go with Stoddard on that expedition
was...I realized how I felt about Jim and I couldn't leave."

     "Here I thought it was because you couldn't give up the glamour
of our opening night."  Draven finished off the food, then smiled.  "I
sort of had that one figured out."

     "It's that obvious?"

     "It's always been obvious he was your best friend.  There's
nothing wrong with not wanting to leave your friends behind.  I was
guessing about the rest of it.  Does he know?"

     "I told him I didn't go because our partnership was more than
my research.  That it was about friendship.  He seemed really pleased
about that."

     "But he didn't say anything."

     "Jim doesn't say much, but he looked really pleased."

     "Well, that was mighty damn big of him," Eric said, a bit
sarcastically.  "You told me that expedition would be...how did you say
it?  'The defining moment of my career to date?' "
     
     "You don't know Jim.  He's...well, to say he's repressed is, like,
the understatement of the year.   His background is military, then the
police--and I get the feeling his luck with relationships isn't that great."

     "You know him better than I do.  And you obviously like what
you see."

     "Unfortunately, yeah," Blair responded, smiling and nodding.

     "So tell him."

     "We're back to where we started with this--him knowing how to
kill me and where to hide the body."

     "He isn't going to kill you.  The worst thing he'll do is get pissed
off.  Maybe knock your lights out.  Or things'll go well.  Either way,
you'll be alive to tell about it in the morning."

     "If he threw me out...  I value our friendship, a lot."

     "You know, the Byrds said it best.  There's a time to every
purpose under heaven.  You'll know when the time to talk to him about
this is right.  But do it eventually, huh?  Nothing ventured, nothing
gained."

     "I think the Bible came up with that quote first."

     "Yeah, but when the Byrds said it, you could tap your toe to it."

********

NOVEMBER 1, 1997

     Blair deposited his backpack by the door, and headed into the
kitchen to fix his breakfast shake.  He found himself humming the
refrain to "Hair", looking forward to the rehearsal scheduled for that
afternoon.  It would be the first dress rehearsal with the complete cast
present, scheduled on a Saturday so everyone could be present, even
those who had employment commitments off campus.  Eric was going
to bring Shelly to the rehearsal with him, and Jim was going to join the
three of them for dinner afterwards.  

     If he was doing well with his part in the chorus, he gave Eric a
great deal of credit for that.  Draven was a good musician, and a strong
singer.  Blair had a good voice, but not much experience.  Eric had
given him a few pointers, and they'd spent a couple of evenings
jamming on their guitars together--one of which had brought the police
to the door.  Jim hadn't been thrilled to deal with that little bit of
teasing from his colleagues, but he had tolerated it with quite a bit of
good humor overall.  Eric's advice about Jim adapting to what Blair
liked to do rang very true as Blair thought about that.  How many other
people could jam on electric guitars with a buddy in Jim's apartment
while he wasn't home, bring the cops to the door, and not end up with
the guitar inserted somewhere painful when Jim found out?

     "Blair."  Jim's voice was unusually soft as he stood near the
front door where he'd just come in with the newspaper.

     "Yeah?"  Blair turned around, shake in hand, and immediately
noticed the grim look on his partner's face.  "What's wrong?"

     "I've got really bad news, buddy."  He took a deep breath and
then crossed the room and laid the morning paper on the table.  Blair
moved over to it, dreading to see what Jim was talking about.  

     The bottom half of the "Cascade Herald" boasted a grim
headline:

     Police Investigate Bizarre Murder of Area Musician

     "Oh, God."  Blair dropped into the chair and started reading the
article quietly.  

     Eric Draven and Shelly Webster had been the victims of a
violent, home invasion-style assault in their loft apartment, ending in
Draven being thrown from the sixteenth floor window to his death. 
Shelly was listed in critical condition at the Port Columbia Medical
Center, due to injuries sustained in the assault.  The article quoted a
Detective Daryl Albrecht of the Port Columbia Police Department as
saying that the police were following up several leads, but no arrests
had been made.

     "I'm really sorry, Chief."  Jim rested a hand on Blair's shoulder.  

     "I was just...I just saw him two days ago."

     "Look, I know Albrecht.  I worked on a case with him a couple
years back.  I'll give him a call and see what I can find out."

     "Shelly...I wonder if anyone's there with her?"

     "Her family's probably been notified."

     "They're out of state, Jim.  What if she's alone?  I'm going
there." 

     "Okay.  I'll call Simon."  Jim smiled slightly at Blair's surprised
expression.  "I thought of them as my friends too, Chief."  Jim gave the
back of Blair's head a fleeting caress as he moved to the telephone and
called Simon to tell him he wouldn't be spending the morning catching
up on his paperwork.

     Blair got up and walked into his room, feeling numb with
shock, and afraid of the feeling that would come when the shock was
gone.  He'd made a lot of friends in his life, and he hadn't known Eric
or Shelly all that long, but there was something about Draven that
made him a special friend.  Something almost on a spiritual level from
the first time they talked.  Eric wasn't especially interested in Blair's
various meditation techniques or in seeking a lot of deep inner truths,
and yet, there had been something very deep about him.  It was as if he
could look at you with those startling dark eyes and see right down into
your soul.

     "I called Simon."  Jim was standing inside the open French
doors.  Blair just nodded.  He was both surprised and grateful when he
felt Jim move up behind him and place a warm hand on each shoulder. 
"You holding up okay, Chief?"

     "It was such a senseless waste, man.  God, what a horrible way
to die!"  A couple of tears leaked out as he fought with the lump in his
throat.  

     "I know.  Crimes like these...they're senseless.  Horrible wastes
of good people."

     "I should call the U and let someone know that we aren't going
to be at the rehearsal this morning."  Blair sniffed and brushed a hand
over his eyes, moving away from Jim and picking up his own phone.

********

     Jim didn't have to look far to find Daryl Albrecht.  As soon as
they arrived at the hospital, he spotted the other detective pacing
around in the waiting room, talking animatedly on a cell phone.  

     "Albrecht," Jim greeted as soon as the call ended.  The tall,
handsome black man with the close-cropped hair, mustache and goatee
turned on his heel at the sound of the voice.

     "Ellison?"  He extended a hand, smiling a little.  "What brings
you up here?"

     "The Draven/Webster case.  This is my partner, Blair Sandburg. 
Blair, Daryl Albrecht." 

     "Hi," Blair responded softly, shaking the man's extended hand.

     "Eric and Shelly were friends of ours."

     "Oh, man, I'm sorry.  When was the last time you saw them?"

     "Eric and I were at a rehearsal together two days ago."  Noticing
Albrecht's blank expression, Blair added, "Eric was taking a couple
classes at Rainier University--I'm a teaching fellow there.  We're both
going to be...we *were* going to be in the University's production of
'Hair' in a couple of weeks."

     "Did he give you any indication that there was something
wrong?  That he was maybe being harassed or threatened by anyone?"

     "Not at all.  Everything seemed fine.  He was in a great mood. 
He was all enthused about this song he'd just written for Shelly, told me
he was going to play it for her as soon as he got it just right.  He didn't
seem upset about anything.  Look, I'd like to see Shelly.  Is her family
here?"

     "Not yet.  Her father is deceased, and her mother is on vacation
in Florida at the moment, so we're still trying to get a hold of her. 
Come on, I'll get you in.  They're restricting it to family and me."

     While Blair went into the hospital room, visible through the
window into the hall of the ICU, Jim asked Albrecht more details about
the murders.

     "Any leads?"

     "Not much yet.  We're still gathering evidence, checking up on
the usual cast of degenerates who might do something like this.  We
figure there had to be at least three to four guys.  Draven was a
powerful guy--he was in great shape, and according to his band, he
knew quite a few martial arts moves."

     "Was he dead when he went through the window?"

     "Honest to God, I wish I could say I thought he was.  That's a
hell of a way to go."  Albrecht shook his head.  "I'm not positive.  We're
waiting for final results from the M.E., but everything points to the
injuries from the fall killing him.  I hope the poor bastard was
unconscious before it happened.  My theory is that they probably had to
rough him up pretty good to be able to subdue him and...have time to
do what they did to her."  He nodded toward the hospital room.

     "How is she, really?"  Jim watched Blair sit by the bed, holding
Shelly's hand and talking to her.  The beautiful young woman was as
white as the bedsheets, her hair fanned out on the pillow as the only
contrast.   Her hair, and a few dark bruises on her otherwise flawless
face.

     "It doesn't look good.  She suffered massive internal injuries. 
The doctor didn't sound hopeful.  The next 48 hours are critical."

     "Shit."  Jim rubbed at his chin, watching Blair.  "If there's
anything I can do to help...  I'm out of my jurisdiction, I know, but if
we've got anything in our lab you could use, or you need an extra hand
following up on leads--give me a call?"

     "I'll do that.  Thanks."  The two men were quiet a moment. 
"What did you think of Draven?"

     "He was a good guy.  Smart, friendly...good musician. 
Sandburg's a good judge of character.  They hit it off right away."

     "He was clean--no drugs.  At least nothing we've found so far. 
He doesn't have a record except for a couple of traffic violations and a
couple of juvenile disturbing the peace complaints.  I can't find
anything on her either," Albrecht stated, sighing a little.  "There's no
obvious reason anyone would want these two kids dead.  It sure as hell
wasn't for their vast fortune.  Although it looks like they took off with
Draven's guitar and the stereo.  Most of Shelly's photography
equipment is still there, though I can't find a decent camera in her
things, so I'm figuring they probably grabbed that too.  She keeps
flexing her fingers and saying 'ring'.  I think they must have taken one
from her, maybe something Draven gave her.  He was wearing a silver
wedding band-style ring."

     "That must have been new," Blair said, joining them in the hall. 
"He didn't have that a couple days ago."

     "Was she awake?"  Jim asked.

     "No.  And after all she's been through, I didn't want to try to
bring her around.  She needs the sleep.  How bad is it?"  Blair asked
Albrecht, but Jim answered instead, laying a hand on Blair's shoulder. 

     "It doesn't look good, Chief.  Her injuries were pretty
extensive."

     "Damn."  Blair swallowed, but kept his composure.  

     "You want to have a look around the crime scene?"  Albrecht
asked Jim.  

     "Yes, I would.  Look, Chief, why don't you stick around here in
case she wakes up?  This probably isn't something you need to see."

     "I really don't want her to come to alone."  Blair glanced back
through the window.  "Okay."

********

     Jim stood in front of the shattered round window, then ventured
closer to follow the path down with his eyes.

     "My God."  Images of Draven at the Blackout that night, singing
the Santana song just to make Jim feel at home, buying them a round of
drinks, and holding hands with his girlfriend swirled around in Jim's
mind.  His senses weren't giving him much to go on.  "Draven didn't
smoke.  Neither did Shelly."  Jim moved back into the apartment.  "I'm
smelling cigarette smoke."

     "I don't smell anything."  Albrecht looked puzzled.

     "Trust me.  One of your perps is a smoker."  Jim paused by the
rumpled, ruined bed where Shelly had been attacked.  "I wonder how
much he had to watch?"

     "Plenty, given the timing.  As soon as he fell, somebody called
the cops, and the response time was pretty good on this one, since there
were units in the area anyway."

     "Nobody else heard anything on this whole floor?"

     "They were the only unit rented up here.  The building is being
restored, and the two floors between this and the rest of the tenants are
still being finished."  Albrecht was quiet as Jim squatted to look at a
photo in a shattered frame.  Eric and Shelly, laughing together.

     "You need to see anything else?"  Albrecht asked.

     "No.  I think I've seen enough."

********

NOVEMBER 2, 1997

     
     Albrecht walked slowly out of the room, the commotion of
hospital personnel and the high-pitched keening of the flatline on the
heart monitor following him into the hallway.  He closed his eyes a
moment, wondering why this case had affected him so much more than
all the others he'd worked.  Why Shelly Webster's expected death was
hitting him so hard, and why Eric Draven's brutal and unthinkable
death hit him that much at all.  Homicide cops are supposed to be able
to put it all in some sort of objective perspective...
     
     "Shelly?"  Blair asked as he and Jim reappeared with the coffee
they'd gone downstairs to get.

     "She's gone.  They're working on her now, but...  It's over."

     "I thought she was getting better."  Blair dropped into a chair. 
"She was conscious for quite a while earlier."

     "I know.  I was hoping she'd pull through, and I thought that
was a good sign."  Daryl shrugged and came to sit in a chair opposite
where Blair sat.  The younger man had been convinced, finally, to go
home with Jim the night before, get some sleep, and come back first
thing that morning.  His real concern for Shelly was obvious, but the
fact he was trying to be there for her because Eric couldn't was his
main motivator.  Sandburg hadn't known Draven long, but the two men
had become good friends in that short time.

     "Now it's a double homicide," Daryl said tiredly, rubbing a hand
over his face.  "Damn it."

     "Her mother never got here," Jim commented, taking the chair
next to Blair's.  Sandburg was staring straight ahead, working to keep
his emotions in check.

     "We just reached her this morning.  She's on a flight back as we
speak.  Timing was just off."  Daryl took in a deep breath and then
released it.  "I have to get into headquarters, get the paperwork going."

     "I think we'll head for home as well."  Jim stood up, tugging a
little on Sandburg's sleeve until he followed suit.

     "What about Shelly's mom?  Will anyone be here when she gets
here?"

     "I will be," Albrecht assured, standing up as well.  "She won't
be here until this afternoon.  I'll pick her up at the airport and...give her
the news."

     "Come on, Chief.  Let's go.  Albrecht--keep me posted, huh?"

     "Will do," he responded, shaking hands with Jim, and then with
Blair.  "I wish things had turned out differently," he said, turning to
watch the medical personnel walking somewhat defeatedly out of the
young woman's room.

********

     "You want something to eat?"  Jim asked, going into the kitchen
after they arrived home, ready to fix his silent roommate something if it
would help.  Anything that would lift the veil of pain from Sandburg's
big blue eyes.  Anything that would break the silence that had lasted all
the way home.

     "Not now."  Blair made a beeline for his room and closed the
doors behind him.  Jim leaned on the counter with both hands, staring
into space and listening to the sounds of Blair sobbing his grief out in
the questionable privacy of his room.  Unable to stand by and listen any
longer, Jim moved toward the doors and opened them quietly, then
walked in and sat behind the shaking body that was curled up on the
bed, facing away from the door.

     "Blair, I'm so sorry."

     "It's so fucking unfair, man.  They were good people.  They
didn't deserve this!"  Blair shouted through his tears.

     "Nobody deserves something like this, pal.  Nobody but the
animals who committed this crime."  Jim laid a hand on Blair's
shoulder and rubbed it gently.  "I'm here, Chief," he said quietly,
waiting for Sandburg to turn to him.  In a moment, he did, sitting up
and wrapping his arms around Jim, holding on for dear life and crying
out his grief on the larger man's shoulder.  "Shhh.  It's okay, Blair.  Let
it out."  Jim patted his friend's back and then moved a hand up to stroke
his hair.  

     "I was just...with him...a couple days ago.  I didn't know...it
would be the last time..."

     "It's never a good time to lose a friend.  There's always stuff left
unsaid."

     "Jim?"  Blair sniffled a couple of times and pulled back. 
"You're right."

     "About what, Chief?"  Jim asked softly, keeping a hand on
Blair's shoulder, thumb rubbing slowly against the taught muscles.

     "We don't say the things we should say until it's too late."  He
swallowed a couple of times.  "I...I love you."  Jim's easy smile and
calm reaction let Blair know that the other man didn't understand what
kind of love they were talking about.  And suddenly, the thought of
putting that in so many words terrified Blair.

     "I love you too, Chief."

     "I'm glad we said it," Blair responded in a choked voice,
looking into the clear blue eyes of the man he loved. //And I wish I had
the strength to say what I mean...//

     "Me too, buddy."


********

MAY, 1998

     "How're you feeling, Chief?"  Jim watched as Blair's bleary eyes
took in his surroundings in the hospital.  It was his first sign of
consciousness since being revived by the side of the fountain three days
earlier.  

     "Jim?"

     "That's me, partner."

     "Shelly said...you needed me."

     "What?"  Jim responded, a little chilled at Blair's reference to
the young woman who had died seven months earlier in Port Columbia.

     "She...wouldn't let me cross over.  There was a
bridge...and...she said I had to go back."

     "You saw Shelly, Blair?"  Jim took a hold of Blair's hand.

     "Yeah."  He smiled slightly.  "She looked really pretty."

     "Do you know where you are now, Chief?"

     "Hospital," he responded, squeezing Jim's hand.  

     "Do you remember what happened?"

     "Alex...  I...I remember her coming to the office.  The rest
is...foggy."

     "It's okay, Chief.  Just rest.  Don't try to talk too much now."

     "Jim?"

     "What?"

     "Was she right?"

     "Who?"  Jim frowned, wondering if Blair meant Alex.

     "Shelly...she said you needed me."

     "I do, partner.  I do, so much," Jim responded in a hushed voice,
stroking Blair's hair.  

     "I told her...I shouldn't go back...because of how I felt."  Blair
was obviously getting tired, so Jim interrupted him.

     "Sleep now.  I'm going to stay right here."

     "Love you," Blair murmured as he drifted back off to sleep
again.  Jim stared at his friend, the one he had hurt so badly in the past
few days.  The one who had taken all the light and laughter and love
with him when he'd been thrown out of the loft so suddenly.

     "I love you too, Chief," he whispered, leaning forward and
kissing Blair's forehead.  "Next time you're awake, I'll tell you for real."

********

DECEMBER 1998


     Eric Draven set his guitar aside and moved to stand by the
round window, feeling the cool, damp December air swirling around
him.  The whole world was gearing up for Christmas now, the streets
below alive with about half again as much traffic as usual.  When he'd
been alive, he had been in the middle of all that panic, all that hustle,
and somehow, he'd cared about the season and the parties and the
hoopla...  Now it was nothing but a painful reminder of his current,
strange state of...afterlife?  Undeath? //Undeath...sort of like the Un-Cola,// 
Eric thought, his own dark humor bringing an ironic smirk to
his face.

     A knock on the door startled him.  

     "Eric?  It's me," Sarah's voice carried from the other side of the
door.  He ambled over to the locked door and opened it.  He normally
counted on Sarah to be his ray of sunshine, but she looked as blah as he
felt as she made her way to the step in front of the window and sat
down.  The thirteen-year-old girl looked far too somber for her age at
the moment as she tossed her backpack of schoolbooks on the floor and
leaned her elbows on her knees, letting out a mammoth sigh.

     "You want to tell me what's bothering you?"  he asked, moving
over to sit next to her.  He'd lost count of how many hours they'd spent
in this very position, sitting side by side in front of the place where he
died, contemplating the meaning of life and death, among other
subjects.  She tucked a lock of her sandy blonde hair behind her ear
before answering.  Her nails bore a pink nail polish, and her hair no
longer hid under the stocking cap she used to like so well.  Sarah, the
tough little tomboy, seemed to be discovering her feminine side, even
if it was sneaking up on her.

     "I don't know why I ever let you talk me into signing up for that
lame-o choir at school," she groaned.

     "Maybe because you like to sing?"

     "I can sing in the shower."

     "Not with an audience."  Eric smiled at her grim expression.  "I
thought you liked the choir.  You even told me about...oh, what's his
name--the one that looks like Brad Pitt, only shorter."

     "Andy," she supplied, still staring straight ahead, resting her
chin on the heel of her hand.

     "Okay.  Andy.  Did he do something that ticked you off?"

     "No.  Andy's fine.  In fact, he's great.  He even picked out the
desk next to mine in math class, and we walked down to the
auditorium for choir practice together.  I think he likes me," she said,
smiling just a little before she recalled how miserable she was
supposed to be.

     "I give up then.  What is it, Sarah?"

     "This."  She handed him a bright red piece of paper,
emblazoned with black letters declaring "Holiday Concert".  

     "This is a bad thing?  Sounds like fun.  You hate Santa Claus or
something?"

     "Yeah, like he's ever done me any favors," she responded
grimly.

     "Come on, Sarah.  Tell me what's got you so down, huh?"  Eric
asked, losing the humor from his voice.  Whatever was making Sarah
this unhappy, he wanted to fix.  Soon.

     "We have to get all dressed up for this thing.  I have to wear a
stupid dress."

     "That's it?"  he asked, laughing a little. 

     "I don't have one, okay?"  she shot back angrily.  "At least, not a
nice one," she added in a softer tone.  "Darla's short on money this
month, with Christmas and bills and everything."

     "You know, that consignment store over on Hill Street--"

     "Eric!!"  she protested loudly.  It was on the tip of his tongue to
remind her that half the stuff there was more expensive quality stuff
than either one of them could ever afford new, and some of it hardly
used at all, for prices they could handle.  Then he considered he was
talking to a thirteen-year-old, and a female one at that.  The reply died
in his throat.

     "Sorry, bad idea."

     "It gets worse."

     "You have to wear high heels too?"

     "No!"  she responded, unable to keep from laughing a bit. 
"They're having a mixer after the concert. *Mixer.*  Like, dorky kind
of dancing."

     "Dorky dancing?"

     "You know, like *waltzing* or something."

     "Ah," Eric replied, nodding knowingly.

     "I can't dance."

     "Most of the kids you're in class with probably can't.  I wouldn't
lose much sleep over it.  Besides, they'll play music you guys like."

     "Guess again.  Our music teacher is a total dork.  She'll
probably play disco."

     "Ouch."  Eric winced, then smiled.  "You might get to dance
with Andy."

     "Yeah, right.  I'll probably step on his feet and I'll be dressed
like a moron.  I'm not going.  That's it."

     Eric didn't respond to that, but just stared straight ahead, his
position parallel to his young friend's.  Since the Blackout had closed
down following the murder of the club owner, a good friend of his, he'd
been out of work.  His $750 rent payment was due on December 24th,
and he had exactly $800 in the back of the drawer where he kept his
money stashed.  Since he'd crossed over from the other side, nothing
had been easy, but when India had given him the job at the club, in
gratitude for his role in saving her from her abusive husband, things
had started to look up.  He'd been able to pay the rent on the loft where
he died, which he also considered to be the site of the portal to the
other side.  He had seen more than one vision of Shelly here, felt her
presence so acutely that it was almost physical at times...  So despite
the painful memories that hovered over him every minute he was there,
he couldn't leave.  

     Sarah had been the first person he revealed his identity to upon
his return.  And from the start, she had believed in him without
question, and had been his friend and ally when no one else was on his
side.  She was almost like a legacy from Shelly, since it was her
photography work that brought Shelly into contact with Sarah, who
was spending a good deal of her time on the streets since her mother
was an alcoholic.  After a visit from Eric, Darla Mohr had stopped
drinking.  He smiled at that thought.  Usually seeing him after he'd
transformed was something that could get people started drinking.  His
deceptively normal appearance would give way to the startling persona
he'd come to think of as The Crow, which left his eyes rimmed and
accented in black, his face ungodly white, and his mouth painted in the
mask of an evil black smile.  Even the pads of his nails went partially
black, reflecting the evidence of the death he was currently cheating by
taking part in life.

     The abilities that came with this transformation were amazing. 
He'd always been a strong fighter, and he'd known a few martial arts
moves, but now, he was almost unstoppable. 

     Sarah had even helped him understand what he was, why he
was exiled back among the living instead of being allowed to join
Shelly in the Land of the Dead, where he'd met her only briefly after
their untimely and violent deaths.  She had found volumes of
information on the role of the Crow as a spirit guide, and the obligation
of the spirit it carries back from the dead to use his gifts to set things
right in the world.  To balance the cosmic scales.  So even after Draven
had hunted down the contract killers who'd ended his and Shelly's lives,
and even after he'd defeated the man who ordered the killings, an evil
man who possessed the same powers Eric now had himself, he was not
allowed to rest.  He had more to do.

     And just a few weeks earlier, he'd been offered a golden chance
to be with Shelly.  An emissary from the other side had appeared to
him, and informed him that the score was settled, and it was time to
move on.  Eric had been ecstatic, and just when he was prepared to
make his journey to be with his love, Top Dollar, a.k.a, Jason Danko,
had escaped from the mental hospital where he was being held.  The
man who engineered the murders had gone free, and preyed on
Draven's friends one by one.  

     He'd held Sarah and her mother prisoner, then he'd attacked and
beaten Albrecht badly enough to put him in the hospital, and then taken
India hostage in her own club.  In the zero hour, when it was time to
move to the other side, Eric couldn't leave.  In the process of working
to attain the right to his own death, he'd found a new life and friends
that meant something special.  It had left him torn between the two
worlds, and he had to risk one to save the other.  He had been unable to
save India from Top Dollar, though he'd finally killed the murderer in a
battle to the death.  But Danko was convinced he would return,
possessing the same powers Eric now had.  So in essence, Eric had
sacrificed his reunion with Shelly to defeat a murderer, and in the end,
had granted the bastard what he wanted all along.  To be killed by
Draven and granted eternal life.  

     Whether or not he had been granted eternal life remained to be
seen, but when all was said and done, India was still dead, Danko
actually got what he wanted, and all contacts with Shelly had ceased. 
He felt truly alone on his side of the barrier, and that had made his
friends, like Sarah and Albrecht, that much more vital to him.  

     He went to the drawer, and out of the range of Sarah's vision,
stuffed the cash into his pocket.  Then he turned back to face her.  

     "When do you have to get home?"

     "Not 'til later.  Darla's got an AA meeting after work."

     "Come on."  Eric stood up and headed for the door, pulling on
the long black jacket that topped off his black t-shirt and black jeans.

     "Where?"

     "Just come with me.  You can leave your stuff here."

     By the time they were walking along the sidewalk, participating
in the bustle of the Christmas shoppers in the downtown business
district, Sarah couldn't stand it anymore.

     "Where are we going?"

     "You'll see."  He smirked a little at her exasperated sigh, but he
also knew she'd continue walking along with him if he crossed the
Sahara and back.  

     Christmas music wafted into the street from a few stores with
outdoor speakers, and Salvation Army Santa Clauses rang their bells
with an almost violent determination to be heard over the noises of the
city.  

     Their destination was Harmon's, the most exclusive department
store in Port Columbia.  Eric had only ventured once to buy a dress for
Shelly, since he'd been unsure of the size and unsure of what she'd like,
but when she opened the package and saw the Harmon's box, her eyes
had almost bulged out of her head.  When he'd gotten his credit card
bill, his eyes bulged as well, but it had been worth it.  He had teased
her that she could always throw out the dress and wear the box.

     "We're going in there?"  Sarah asked, visibly stunned.

     "Yeah.  You have a problem with this place?"

     "The last time I walked inside and spent five minutes looking at
some stuff they had on a sale table, security threw me out."

     "Really?"  Eric grinned wickedly.  "Let's see security throw
*me* out."

     "Cool!"  she responded enthusiastically as they headed into the
stately old building, Eric holding the polished oak and glass door for
Sarah to pass through first.  

     Eric approached the first clerk he saw, a young woman with
short blonde hair, dressed in a silk blouse and short black skirt,
arranging a table of men's sweaters. //New clothes...what a concept...//
Eric thought as he surveyed the extensive men's department.

     "Excuse me.  We're looking for girls' dresses--like holiday or
party dresses."  Eric fought off a smile as he heard Sarah's little
indrawn breath.

     "That would be on the fourth floor.  Take the elevator, and then
take a right.  You can't miss it.  That whole half of the floor is girls'
clothing."

     "Great.  Thanks."  Eric headed toward the elevator and looked
back to see Sarah frozen to her spot on the polished wood floor.  "I'm
going to look a little stupid shopping in girls' dresses by myself."

     "Yeah, they'll probably think you're some sort of perv and have
you arrested."  She hurried to catch up and they walked toward the
elevator.  "Daryl'd love that."

     "Might be worth it just to see the look on his face," Eric opined
as they rode up in the elevator.  When they stepped off on the fourth
floor, Sarah's eyes turned to saucers.  The girls' department sparkled
with various Christmas lights and wreaths, and its own Christmas tree
in the center.  There was a table with two easy chairs near the tree, a
plate of decorated Christmas cookies and a pot of coffee set out to
placate and relax parents into spending a small fortune on their
daughter's holiday wardrobe.  "Well, go see if you can find something
you like."

     "I don't get it.  How can you--" Eric cut her off with a finger
over her mouth.

     "It's Christmas."  He moved the finger away.  "Don't you believe
in Christmas miracles?"

     "For either one of us to be able to buy *socks* in here would
qualify as a miracle."

     "Just look around.  Leave the rest to me."

     "You're not going to steal it, are you?"

     "No, Sarah, I'm not going to steal it."

     "Am I going to steal it?"

     "Nobody's going to steal anything."  He spotted an older woman
in a tailored gray dress, accented with a small poinsettia pin
approaching them.  "You're my niece."

     "Gotcha."

     "May I help you?"  Her expression was pleasant, but there was
already a slight tone of skepticism that these two could afford anything
she had to offer.

     "My niece is going to be singing in a holiday choir concert, and
she needs a new dress.  Is it all right if she just browses around until
she finds what she'd like?"

     "Of course.  Any ideas which color you'd like, dear?"  she asked
in a sacchariney tone that made Sarah cringe.  Eric just smiled and
headed for one of the chairs.  

     "I'll just wait over here."  He excused himself and watched as
Sarah wandered around the department with the saleslady showing her
a variety of things she wrinkled her nose at every time.  Leaning his
head against the chair back, he let out a long sigh and pondered what
the landlord would think about getting half the rent for December.  His
head snapped up straight at the sound of a familiar voice not far away.

     "Doesn't look much like sporting goods, does it?"  Blair said,
exasperation plain in his voice.

     "Must've gotten off at the wrong floor," Jim responded.  

     Blair Sandburg and his friend/roommate, Jim Ellison, were not
forty feet away, standing near the elevators, slightly baffled at why
they'd ended up on a floor with girls' clothes instead of the fishing gear
they started speculating about as they headed back to press the button
for the elevator.  

     Eric watched the other men, torn between making himself
known, and the uncertainty of the implications of making himself
known to any cop other than Albrecht, whom he trusted with his life,
quite literally.  While he'd liked Jim Ellison, he didn't know him all that
well.  
     Before stepping on the elevator, Blair paused, as if sensing
Eric's gaze from around the curve of the wing of the wingback chair in
which he sat.  Resisting the temptation to catch the gaze he knew was
sweeping over his way, Eric shifted in the chair, turning toward the
opposite direction.  He heard the elevator arrive, and when he'd heard
the sound of the doors closing, he turned and looked a bit regretfully at
the empty space.  

     The loneliness of his present existence could be almost
crippling at times, and the thought of renewing and old friendship
tugged at him temptingly.  The damn stereo system booming out "Blue
Christmas" wasn't making him feel any happier. //Yup, it's official now. 
Christmas sucks,// he thought dismally.  

     I'll have a blue Christmas 
     Without you,
     I'll be so blue
     Thinking about you,
     Decorations of red
     On a green Christmas tree,
     Won't be the same
     If you're not here with me...

     //So what the hell's new about Christmas?  I'm blue thinking
about Shelly every day.  Now I just get bombarded with six or eight
weeks of reminders that I'm not part of anyone's family, that I don't
have anyone waiting at home for me, and that the person I want to be
with is on the other side of a barrier I'm not allowed to cross and when
I do see an old friend I might get together with, I have to hide from him
and stay alone instead...//

     "Sir?"

     "Yes?"  He snapped out of his daze to stand at the sales
woman's greeting.  

     "Your niece asked if you would come back and see the dress
she tried on.  I told her she could come out and show you, but she
asked for you to come back instead."

     "Sure."  Eric followed her to the fitting room area, staying
outside while the clerk brought Sarah out from the back.  "Wow," he
said genuinely, smiling at the transformation.  Sarah had chosen a
simple dark green dress with a velvet bodice and short sleeves, a full
satin skirt that ended just below her knees, and a matching dark green
sash which boasted a small, tasteful, tailored bow situated to the left of
the center in the front.  

     "I look like a dork, right?" she asked immediately.

     "Wrong.  You look beautiful.  Do you like it?"  he asked,
smiling.

     "It's okay...for a dress."  She checked her look in a nearby
mirror, unable to hide the fact that she was pleased with what she saw. 
"Eric...it's $250!"  she looked at the dangling price tag with wide eyes.

     "Good.  We'll have enough left over for shoes then."

     "Really?!"  she asked, trying to fight the excited smile that was
tugging at her mouth.

     "Think of it as a Christmas present from Shelly and me."  Eric
watched as Sarah got ready to effervesce, and then remembered her
characteristic reserve.

     "Cool," she responded, smiling brightly.  

     "Why don't you get changed so we can check out the shoes."

     "Okay."  She got a few steps down the hall toward her fitting
room when she turned around and smiled again.  "Thanks."

     "My pleasure," he replied, meaning it sincerely.  The only thing
that would have made it more complete would have been Shelly there
with him, maybe tugging Sarah's hair around and opining how it should
be swept up or curled for the occasion.  Shelly with her sense of style
and grace managing this little project and finessing the snooty
salespeople as if she were one of Port Columbia's rich and famous.  

     Sarah emerged fairly quickly from changing, and with the dress
boxed and in a big gold shopping bag emblazoned with the "Harmon's" 
red logo, they made their way to the nearby shoe department.

     The first thing Sarah picked up was a pair of two inch heels.

     "Don't even think about it," Eric admonished.  "I'm going to be
in enough trouble with your mom without sending you home with high
heels."

     "Why would Darla be mad about this?"

     "We didn't exactly get her O.K. for this expedition."

     "She'll be cool with it."  Sarah relinquished the pump and
started browsing through shoes that were a bit more appropriate for her
age.  

     "How about these?"  Eric pulled a shoe off a display shelf that
was the same dark green velvet as her dress, with satin bows on the
toes, and small, slightly tapered heels.

     "They're perfect!"  She took the shoe out of his hand and looked
them over.  "Do we have enough left for these?"  She held up the shoe
so he could see the small, discretely printed price sticker on the sole.  It
read $85.00.  With a little gulp and a couple of blinks, Eric nodded.

     Now armed with two Harmon's bags, Eric and Sarah made their
way downstairs.  They were joking about a few of the expensive
delicacies they'd tried off the sample trays in the gourmet food
department as they emerged onto the sidewalk.  Eric froze in his tracks. 
Blair was standing on the curb with his back to them, waiting for a
chance to cross.

     "What is it?"  Sarah asked, continuing to walk closer to Blair so
they, too, could wait for the chance to cross the street.  Eric grabbed
her collar and hauled her back toward him.  

     "Somebody I used to know."

     "Him?"  she asked, nodding toward Blair.

     "Yeah."

     "Guess you didn't like him much, huh?"

     "No, I did.  His best friend's a cop, and I don't know as it's a
good idea for me to renew old friendships like that one right now."
     
     "Good point."  They waited until Blair stepped off the curb and
headed into the street, the lone pedestrian at the intersection.   Without
warning, Eric's whole expression changed, and he shouted at the top of
his lungs.

     "Blair, lookout!!"

     The car that was speeding around the corner showed no signs of
stopping, and Blair had no time to move out of its path on his own.  It
was only the flying leap Eric made, pushing him to safety and taking
the impact himself that prevented him from being hit.  

     "Eric!!"  Sarah shouted, tossing the bags aside forgotten as she
ran into the street where a crowd was gathering, and both men lay
motionless in the street.  She dropped to her knees next to her fallen
friend and pulled the dark hair back from his face.  The familiar pallor
and black rimmed eyes looked back at her, the gash on his head healing
and disappearing before her eyes.  

     "Let's go!"  he directed in a breathy whisper, getting up and
hustling out of the circle of curious onlookers, some of whom tried to
grab at him to keep him at the scene.  Sarah was adept at ducking the
grabs, and Eric was capable of throwing off any unwanted restraints. 
Scooping up the forgotten bags, they raced down an alley until they
were safely ensconced in a doorway.  

     "Blair!"  Ellison's voice carried to their hiding place, and Eric
ventured a look out as Ellison battered his way through the crowd to
his fallen partner.  Blair, for his part, was starting to sit up now and bat
away all the well-meaning hands offering to help him up.

     "He's okay," Eric said, obviously relieved.  "Let's get out of
here."

********

     "That guy didn't even stop," one of the witnesses told Jim as he
helped Blair back on his feet, still probing at him and questioning him
to be sure he hadn't broken anything.  "He ran right through the
stoplight and if the guy in the black coat hadn't pushed your friend
here, he'd be history," the young man informed him.  Dressed in jeans
and a Port Columbia Central High jacket, he looked to be about
eighteen.

     "Where's the guy who pushed him?"  Jim asked.

     "He took off.  Over that way," the blonde girl with the witness
added, nodding toward the alley.

     The symphony of horns was sufficient to move the crowd, as
well as Jim and Blair, out of the intersection and onto the sidewalk. 
Most of the gawkers dispersed, their lust for a little live gore thwarted. 
Those who were willing to serve as witnesses remained in the area,
milling around on the sidewalk.  

     "Okay, folks, what's going on here?"  A man's voice cut through
the jumble of voices and fragmented accounts of the man who, by all
accounts, should be dead, but instead ran from the scene as if he'd
committed a crime and not saved a life.

     "Albrecht," Jim said, a bit surprised at the coincidence of
running into the only cop in Port Columbia that he knew.
     
     "What happened?"

     "I waited to cross the street with the 'walk' sign, and I got out in
the middle of the street, and the next thing I know, somebody shouts
my name and then slams into me full tilt.  I guess I banged my head
when I fell, because the next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes and
about fifty people were hovering over me."  Blair paused to smile a
little.  "Hi, Daryl."

     "Too bad you had to get hit by a car for us to make connections
on this trip," Albrecht said, smiling back.  "Look, I need to get some
descriptions from these folks.  Did you see the car at all?"

     "Not really.  I think it was light colored, but I only glimpsed
something in my peripheral vision before I fell.  I'd have never been
able to move out of the way in time."

     "Where were you?"  Albrecht asked Jim.

     "Blair wanted to look at a couple more things in Harmon's, so I
went across the street to that shoe store.  I was browsing around when I
heard someone shout Blair's name."

     "Must've been a loud shout to hear it all the way in there."

     "I guess so," Jim responded, shrugging it off as Daryl made a
couple notes on his notepad.   "Anyway, I ran outside, and this guy
dressed completely in black with long black hair was slamming into
Blair from behind while a white Sedan deVille was heading right for
both of them.  I think it was a '82 or '83, but I'm not positive.  I was
pretty focused on Blair."

     "No license number?"  Daryl asked, raising an eyebrow at his
fellow cop.

     "Blair wasn't moving.  I didn't give a rat's ass about the guy's
license number," he snapped back.  

     "Okay, okay, just checking," Albrecht replied.  "Did you get a
look at the face of the guy who pushed Blair?"

     "That's the bizarre part."  Jim hesitated.  "He was a dead ringer
for Eric Draven."

     "Oh, man, this is *so* weird."

     "What?"  Albrecht asked, his face betraying no sign that he
knew perfectly well it could be, and probably was, Draven.

     "Earlier, in the store, you know when we got off on the wrong
floor?"

     "Yeah," Jim responded.

     "I just got this feeling...like someone was watching me.  And I
started thinking about Eric.  I know we're in Port Columbia, and that's
probably why, but still...  When I heard that man call my name?  It
sounded just like Eric used to when he'd yell to me across the parking
lot at Rainier."

     "What brings you two here, anyway?"

     "We had to talk to a witness in the Morgan homicide case--a
lady who works at the marina--you probably read about that one?"  Jim
watched as Albrecht nodded, and rolled his eyes a bit.  The wealthy
young man who had beaten, raped and murdered his barmaid girlfriend
had been the star of all the regional headlines for weeks.  Putting the
case against him together had taken a lot of hard work and some dumb
luck.  Jim continued.  "We decided to stop at Harmon's to check out
their sporting goods--we were looking for a gift for the captain of our
unit."

     "Well, it doesn't help me too much to be told you were saved by
a dead man, but at least I can keep my eyes open for a Draven look-a-like."  

********

     "You realize there's no way in hell that was Eric who pushed
you out of the way earlier?"  Jim asked as he pulled up to the edge of
the grass and stopped the truck.  Blair had flowers for both Eric's and
Shelly's graves.

     "I know.  I've just thought about him a lot today.  I won't be
long."  Blair got out of the car and walked up to the graves, placing the
small mixed bouquets on each one.  Something about seeing Blair
among the tombstones made Jim shiver involuntarily.  Blair had come
so close to dying at Alex's hands, and now, this afternoon, with the
lunatic in the white Cadillac.  He'd made it clear to Albrecht before
they left that he would be participating in this case, and that he
wouldn't be off their backs until the driver of the car had been collared. 

     Blair stayed crouched in front of Draven's tombstone for a few
long minutes.  Jim felt a chill dance up and down his spine as a large
crow landed on top of the stone, cawing loudly and flapping its wings. 
Blair started a little, but then watched the bird, which became strangely
still, as it watched Blair.  In a moment, the bird was in flight again, and
Blair stood, watching it go, as if he longed to follow it. 

     Glancing around to see that they were the only ones still in the
cemetery as dusk was encroaching, Jim gave the horn a light tap to get
Blair's attention.  All he wanted to do was gather up his lover and get
the hell out of that cemetery as fast as the Ford pick-up would carry
them.  Seeing the man who could have been Draven's twin save Blair's
life, and now, watching this surreal exchange between a giant black
crow and Blair, Jim had experienced enough brushes with the bizarre
to suit his tastes.

     Blair moved quickly toward the truck and got inside, pulling the
door shut.  

     "Sorry.  I didn't mean to take so long."

     "It's okay, sweetheart.  I just figured we better get out of here
before they lock the gates."

     "Yeah, I guess."

     "What's wrong, Chief?"  Jim asked, driving toward the entrance
much faster than he'd driven into the cemetery in the first place.

     "I don't know, man.  There's just...something.  It's like Eric's
trying to tell me something."

     "I know you guys were friends, but Eric's dead.  You may think
of him or feel closer to him because we're on his turf now, but he isn't
here."

     "I thought you believed in life after death.  After everything that
went down with Alex...Jim, I *know* there's something on the other
side."

     "I'm not doubting that there is.  I just don't believe in ghosts."

     "Why do you suppose Eric's grave still hasn't grown over with
grass?  It still looks like it was just filled in recently.  Like it was...like
someone exhumed him or something."

     "I'm sure Albrecht would have mentioned something like that."

     "Why?  What was he gonna say?  'Oh, by the way, we dug Eric
up last month?' "

     "If they did something like that, it would have to be for a damn
good reason--something significant to the case.  I asked him to keep me
posted.  The last thing I heard from him was when Danko and his
goons were arrested."

     "Uh-huh.  And Jason Danko claimed that one of his victims had
come back from the dead an attacked him."

     "Danko was a lunatic who spent his time strapped to a bed
drooling ever since his arrest.  I wouldn't put a lot of stock in his
account of things."  Jim let the silence hang in the air for a few
moments, seriously uncomfortable with the direction this conversation
was taking.  

     "When I...was on the other side, I saw Shelly."

     "I remember you telling me that, sweetheart."  Jim reached over
and took a hold of Blair's hand where it rested on the seat.  

     "I didn't see Eric.  Don't you think that's odd?"

     "I never thought about it that way, I guess."

     "I liked Shelly, but I didn't get a chance to know her as well. 
Eric and I were becoming good friends.  Why wouldn't it be him I
saw?"

     "I don't know.  I'm just grateful she told you to turn back."

     "Maybe he wasn't there."

     "How do you mean?"

     "I mean maybe he's not really dead."

     "Look, Blair, I know you liked the guy a lot, and I know you've
gone through a lot of personal losses in the last couple of years.  But
dead people just don't show up on the sidewalk in front of Harmon's on
a Monday afternoon."

     "Okay.  I guess you're right."  Blair's tone was completely
unconvincing.  He still harbored suspicions that something supernatural
was afoot, and Jim knew perfectly well that his lover was placating him
by agreeing.  Relieved to be driving out of the cemetery, and every
moment of his life, relieved and grateful to have Blair alive and by his
side, Jim didn't pressure him any further.  Blair had looked death right
in the eyes, and if believing it was less absolute that it really was made
him feel better, Jim had no intention of harassing him with rational
explanations.  

     And even Jim Ellison couldn't shake the uncanny feeling that
there was more than a December chill in the air of Port Columbia.

********

     "Maybe you ought to talk to that Blair guy.  I mean, you don't
exactly have a lot of social contacts,"  Sarah opined as they walked
along the sidewalk toward her apartment building.

     "I trust Albrecht.  I know he's on my side.  But I have no idea
how Blair's friend, Jim, would respond to this."

     "The big guy that ran out after you took off?"

     "That's the one."  Eric sighed.  "Besides, Blair was probably at
my funeral.  Seeing me again...it would freak him out."

     "I was at your funeral.  I dealt."

     "Yeah, you did," Eric responded, smiling down at her.

     "Um, look...thanks for the dress and the shoes.  They're really
great."  She stopped by the building's front door, trying to contain a
smile that was too big to hide.

     "The only thanks I want is you getting up there and singing for
all your worth.  And dancing a couple times with this Andy character at
that mixer thing."

     "I don't know about the dancing part," she responded, curling
her lip a little.  "But the singing I can deal with."

     "Great.  Now get inside and lock up, huh?"

     "You sound like my mom."
     
     "Just do it, squirt.  See you tomorrow.  Oh--do you need your
books tonight?"

     "Nope.  Did my homework in study hall this afternoon.  I can
pick 'em up tomorrow morning if that's okay."  When Eric nodded, she
smiled and said, "See ya," and headed inside.  After Eric heard the door
lock behind her, he continued on his way back to his own apartment.

********

     Night was falling, and Port Columbia's skyline was accented
with even more sparkling dots of light as it prepared for the Christmas
holiday.  Eric sat on the floor just inside the window, leaning the side
of his head against the frame, letting the cold air nip at his face. 
Emotionally drained from tears that had welled up and refused to be
squelched, he wallowed in the agony of picturing what it would have
been like to prepare for Christmas with Shelly.  How beautiful she
would have looked in the soft colored lights of their very own
Christmas tree.  How intense their love would have felt in this season
when the ties to those you love are at their strongest.

     Instead, he sat alone in the place where he died, gold
candlelight flickering and casting dancing shadows on the walls.

     "Eric?"  A man's voice made him jump a little.  Albrecht was
standing about ten feet away.  "Sorry, man.  I knocked--a lot--and when
I tried the door, it was open."

     "I must've forgotten to lock it."  Eric swallowed, belatedly
realizing his face was still a bit damp around the eyes.  

     "Bad night?"  Albrecht sat on the step, not far from where Eric
sat near the window.  The gentleness of the other man's voice warmed
something in Eric that had been frozen by the misery he lived with
every day, and every night in the loft.

     "Sometimes...the memories hurt more than other times," Eric
responded softly.

     "They say the holidays are the hardest time of the year when
you've lost somebody."

     "They ought to try it when you're supposed to be dead yourself." 
He stared out the window.  "You don't really belong anywhere."  He
felt the swell of emotion threatening him again, but he pushed it back
down.  "You must've had some reason for looking me up tonight."  

     "That was you this afternoon--the guy who pushed Blair
Sandburg out of the path of that car."

     "Yeah."  Eric didn't move his gaze from the view of the city
below them.  "He was a good friend."

     "But you didn't want to see him?"

     "His best friend's a cop."

     "And you don't think you could trust Ellison?"

     "I don't know him.  I would trust Blair, but I know that he
wouldn't keep a secret like this from his partner."

     "Ellison saw you.  He doesn't believe it was you, so there's
nothing to worry about there."  Albrecht paused.  "Did you see the
license number on the car?"

     "No.  I saw it coming, but I didn't have time to really look at it. 
I just had to move to get Blair out of the way."

     "So what are you doing for Christmas anyway?"  Albrecht
asked.

     "What I'm doing now, probably.  Why?"

     "I just wondered," he responded, and Eric nodded a little and
looked back out the window.  "I have to go to Cordelia's mother's for
Christmas dinner on Christmas Day.  My folks are going to spend
Christmas at my sister's in Arizona."  He shrugged.  "I can't get that
kind of time off right now."   Silence prevailed for long moments. 
"You want to do something Christmas Eve?"

     "Like what?"

     "I don't know.  Watch corny holiday movies, go to Church,
whatever."

     "What about Cordelia?"

     "One full day of the Waring family is more than enough for me. 
She has a big clan, all of them have kids...it's a zoo."  Daryl laughed
affectionately at the mention of his girlfriend's big, at times vocal,
family.  

     "She isn't mad you're not spending Christmas Eve there?"

     "No.  She likes some time with her family, and she knows I
need some downtime.  I have to work all day on the 24th anyway."

     "Sure."  Eric nodded, then felt a little smile tug at the corner of
his mouth.  "Just promise me we aren't going to watch 'It's A Wonderful
Life'.  I don't know if I can handle that whole angel getting his wings
thing right now," Eric joked.

     "Deal."  Albrecht laughed quietly, then punched Eric lightly on
the knee as he stood.  "I better get going.  I'm on a stakeout tonight."

     "Okay.  Thanks for stopping in," Eric said, looking Albrecht in
the eyes and meaning it sincerely.  The loneliness this night had been
crippling, and these few moments of camaraderie would be treasured in
the long, empty hours that would follow.

     "Doesn't it depress you--being here?"

     "Yes.  Very much."

     "Why do you stay then?"

     "To be near Shelly," he answered honestly.  "It's my link to her." 
Albrecht nodded in response, then walked closer to the front door.  

     "Maybe you should contact Sandburg."

     "I'll think about it."  Draven paused.  "He's been to the other
side too.  I could feel it."

     Albrecht didn't say anything else, though he stopped to ponder
that thought before pulling the door shut behind him.

********

     "Today was too close for comfort," Jim said, his hot breath
stirring the curls near Blair's ear as he took a hold of his lover's
shoulders from behind.  Blair was working on his laptop at the kitchen
table, both of them having been strangely silent about the close call,
and even more uneasy since the specter of Eric Draven had been, quite
literally in Blair's opinion, hovering over them.  

     "Whoever it was who pushed me out of the way, I owe him big
time."

     "We both do."

     "When we were in Harmon's?"

     "Yeah?"  Jim was leaning down again behind Blair's chair,
nuzzling the younger man's neck.

     "It was like someone was watching me."

     "Someone was."  Jim's hands slid down to find the first button
on Blair's dark burgundy shirt.

     "Besides you," Blair responded, giving in and smiling.

     "Lots of people watch you, baby."

     "I'm serious."

     "Okay."  Jim withdrew and moved to sit in the chair next to
Blair's.  "Was it a bad feeling?"

     "Not at all.  On the contrary.  I wanted to find whoever it was.  I
just really felt...a presence."

     "Look, Blair, I know that Eric Draven's death was something
you found very hard to deal with, and the brutality of it makes it that
much harder, knowing that it was a violent and painful ordeal.  I wasn't
that close to the guy, and even after all my years as a cop, it still gives
me a few chills when I think about it.  No one should have to
experience something like that.  But the fact remains that, as unfair and
brutal and unjust as it is, he's still dead."

     "I can't accept that, Jim," Blair said simply.
     
     "I beg your pardon?"  Jim asked, stunned.  He'd never expected
such a literal--or unnerving--response to his statement.

     "This past May, I was dead for a few minutes.  I traveled to the
other side."

     "I know that, Chief.  I'm not saying I don't believe that Draven
may be alive *somewhere* on another plane.  I just don't believe he's
Christmas shopping at Harmon's."

     "Let me finish.  You never want to talk about this, but I need to
talk to somebody about it, and since you're my best friend, you're it."

     "I'm all ears, Blair.  I never mean to cut you off about this.  It's
just...talking about what happened with Alex, and how close you came
to...how close we came to not even...*being* a 'we'...it's hard."

     "I know.  For me too."  Blair smiled slightly, briefly.  "I went
through a lot of the classic experiences people claim--I traveled out of
my body, I saw all the rescue efforts going on below...  But when I
passed through this sort of misty...barrier, I was at the foot of a
suspension bridge.  It was up in the mountains, and it was so...surreal. 
And while I was standing there, trying to figure out what I should do, I
saw someone on the bridge.  This really beautiful woman in a long
white dress with long, curly brown hair.  As soon as she got closer, I
could tell it was Shelly.  I knew then I was dead for sure.  But even
then, I was puzzled because Eric wasn't with her--or maybe because it
wasn't Eric coming to greet me in the first place."

     "There aren't any concrete explanations for things like that,
sweetheart."

     "She didn't waste any time.  She just said, 'Blair, you aren't
supposed to be here.  You can't cross over now.'  And I said, 'My
purpose is over.  There's no reason for me to go back--' "

     "Is that what you thought?  That there was no reason for you to
come back?"  Jim asked, horrified.

     "Our partnership and our friendship was over, I had failed
everyone involved in the whole mess that ended up with what
happened at the fountain.  My academic life was a disaster, my sentinel
project had ended up pretty much like Dr. Frankenstein's last research
project, and I didn't see a reason to go back.  I felt at peace in this new
place, and I didn't want to face my life again.  I wanted to be done with
it."

     "I'll never forgive myself for what I said to you, baby.  Never.  I
was confused, and--"

     "Jim, I know how you feel.  And I know you weren't playing
with a full deck with Alex around either."  Blair took Jim's hand in both
of his.  "I love you, and I know you love me.  I'm not telling you this to
make you feel bad."  Blair paused.  "I asked her why she wouldn't let
me cross over, and she said it wasn't her decision, but that she knew it
was wrong, and that my purpose on earth wasn't finished, *just like
Eric*.  Then, before I could ask her what she meant, she says 'Jim won't
live without you.  Go back to him, Blair.  He needs you.  The wolf will
lead you.'  And then she started back across the bridge, and I turned to
look back in the direction I'd come, and there was a large grey wolf
standing there.  He started running into the trees, and I followed him,
and then all of a sudden I was watching the rescue efforts again, and
you were begging me to breathe, and Simon and Henri were pulling
you back and then you got away from them and started in again, and I
knew you wanted me back.  I could feel it.  So I did what Shelly told
me to do and went back."

     "You told me about seeing Shelly on the bridge before.  I still
don't see--"

     "Jim, what did she mean by *just like Eric*?"

     "I assume she meant that he was murdered before his purpose
on earth was finished or even realized yet.   How old was he anyway?"

     "I'm not sure.  Late twenties, I think.  I never asked."  Blair was
silent a few moments, staring at their joined hands on the table.  "I
think she meant he wasn't there.  That he wasn't on the other side."

     "Blair, look, I don't want to keep dwelling on this and being
morbid, but I saw the crime scene, and I saw the drop from that
window.  I also read the coroner's reports.  Trust me.  He's dead."

     "Then why did I have the feeling all day like he was two steps
behind me?"

     "Because he was--at least in spirit.  You were back in Port
Columbia, and you were thinking about him."

     "And the guy who saved my life--who looked and sounded just
like Eric?"

     "Coincidence."  Jim shrugged.

     "I saw a crow at the grave today."

     "I saw it too."

     "Then at least I know it was real."  Blair smiled slightly.  "You
know the significance of a crow, don't you?"

     "No, but I imagine you're going to tell me."  Jim pulled one of
Blair's hands up and kissed it.

     "There's a legend that says that when someone dies, a crow
carries their spirit to the land of the dead."

     "There are lots of trees in cemeteries, sweetheart.  There are
always crows around in places like that."

     "It also says that if the soul can't rest, like in the case of a
terrible tragedy...like what happened to Eric and Shelly...that the crow
can bring the soul back to set things right."  Blair looked Jim in the
eyes. 

     "That's all it is, baby.  A legend.  Come on.  It's late, and we've
got an early call tomorrow.  I think we've dwelled on death enough for
one night."  Jim stood up and pulled Blair with him.  "I need someone
to wash my back--you busy right now?"  Jim asked, draping an arm
around Blair's shoulders and steering him to the bathroom.

     "I think I could pencil you in for a while."  Blair was quiet as
they entered the bathroom and Jim started up the water.  "I'm still not
forgetting about Eric.  Jim, I really think--"

     "Look, Chief, I don't know what it is with this guy that you can't
let it go.  Let it rest.  He's dead and has been for well over a year," Jim
snapped, the words coming out harsher than intended.  He started
stripping off his clothes and tossing them in the corner.  

     "I can't help how I feel."

     "How *do* you feel, Sandburg?"  Jim stood with his wadded up
jeans in his hands.  Blair had only taken his shirt off so far, and hadn't
remembered yet that he was still wearing his glasses. //And there's all
that hair to release from the hairband,// Jim thought, his irritation
vanishing.

     "I feel like he's still around somehow.  I haven't thought of it
that way since he died, but I felt it today."

     "We haven't been back to Port Columbia since the funeral last
year, sweetheart."  Jim watched as Blair sat on the closed toilet and
leaned his elbows on his knees.  He finally crouched next to the other
man and ran a hand gently up and down Blair's bare back.  "I'm sorry I
snapped at you, Chief.  It's just that this conversation is quite frankly
giving me the creeps."

     "You felt something in the cemetery today too, didn't you?  And
when you saw that guy, the one who saved me--"

     "I thought, 'damn, he looks like Draven'.  I never thought, 'oh
look, there's Draven'.  He's dead, Blair.  Dead men don't come back."

     "I did."

     "Listen to me."  Jim took a hold of Blair's chin and gently
turned his lover's face until their eyes met.  "You are not now, nor were
you ever, a *dead man*.  You stopped breathing, and your spirit may
have traveled, but you didn't die at the fountain that day.  There is a big
difference between a few minutes of clinical death, and permanent
death and burial."  Jim sighed at the expression on Blair's troubled face. 
"Sweetheart, I wish there were some way that I could make what you
want to be true, true.  But it can't be."

     "I just know what I feel."  Blair shivered a little.  

     "You know what I want to feel?  Life.  Us together.  I want to
make love to you."

     "I want that too."  Blair ran his hand gently over Jim's cheek,
and finally smiled.  "You figure all that water's cold by now?"

     "Oh, man."  Jim sprang from the floor and pounced on the
knobs, turning off the water.  "I think it's cold because I didn't get
around to turning on much of the hot water."  Jim re-adjusted the
temperature, and when he turned around again, he smiled at the sight of
a naked Blair...still wearing his glasses.  "I think you forgot something,
baby."  Jim reached up and carefully removed the glasses, kissing the
end of Blair's nose before setting them to safety on a shelf.  "And this," 
he continued, releasing Blair's hair from its restraint.

     "You forgot these," Blair noted, hooking his fingers into the
elastic of Jim's boxers and giving it a tug until they were pooled at the
larger man's ankles.  Jim kicked them aside and pulled his lover into
his arms, swooping in to bury his face in the warmth between Blair's
neck and shoulder, licking and nibbling at the soft flesh there.  "Maybe
we should skip the shower," Blair panted, thrusting against Jim as a
possessive hand slid down to grasp his left buttock.

     "Want to get you nice and clean for what I have in mind, baby."

     "Sounds good," Blair muttered back, pulling away long enough
to capture Jim's probing mouth in a lengthy kiss.  

     They stepped under the spray of water together, soaping each
other, limiting the fevered caresses, trying to save the mounting arousal
for the real lovemaking that would follow.  When Blair turned around
and braced his hands against the tiles, thrusting his ass out toward Jim,
waiting for his lover to wash him, all thoughts of prolonged romance
and delayed gratification seemed to disappear from Jim's mind.

     He moved up behind Blair, running his hands over the warm
wet body, sliding them around front to tease and arouse nipples, one
hand straying down to find the straining hardness.  

     "Gonna have you now, baby," he growled into his lover's ear. 
Blair just groaned his reply and thrust into Jim's pumping hand.  

     Using the shower gel, Jim carefully but efficiently prepared
Blair's snug passage, fingers probing, stretching and teasing until he
was confident Blair was in as much need of their union as he was.   He
let one long finger reach deeply enough to put pressure on the hyper-sensitive
little nub deep inside his lover.

     "God...Jim...*do* it..."

     "Hang onto those tiles, Chief," Jim teased, smiling at Blair's
little answering wriggle of hips.  Coating himself with the shower gel,
Jim carefully positioned himself at Blair's slick opening, and began
sliding slowly into his lover's waiting body until they were fully joined. 
"You feel so good, baby," he said softly, using one hand to stroke and
caress Blair's chest and belly, the other to pump his lover's cock.

     "Ooh, yeah, feels good...come on, move, lover," Blair urged,
clenching his muscles around the invader inside his body.  Driven to
the brink now, Jim began moving, pumping in rapid, steady strokes. 
His mouth fastened on Blair's wet shoulder, the water from the
showerhead raining down on Jim's back as his body sheltered Blair
from the spray.

     Blair let out a cry of Jim's name, and the wild clenching of his
muscles dragged cries of agonized ecstasy out of Jim as his movements
became more rapid and erratic as his own climax tore through him,
filling Blair.  He lowered them both to their knees, still joined, and
closed the drain to trap some warm water, making the unforgiving
porcelain a bit less brutal.  

     "So good, lover," Blair opined drowsily, his head back against
Jim's shoulder.  

     "Shhh.  Relax baby.  Gonna take care of you now," Jim
whispered, slowly withdrawing from Blair's body and groping for a
washcloth.  He washed his lover's center thoroughly, and then brought
the languid body against his chest, turning Blair so they faced each
other.  

     "What're you doing?"  Blair asked, only curious enough to
watch, but not enough to participate.  It had been a long day, and this
delicious, post-sex lethargy was too wonderful to waste on moving. 
Especially when Jim seemed inclined to do all the work for him.

     "Just going to wash your hair for you, sweetheart.  Otherwise
you're going to smell like a wet dog once we get in bed."  Jim smiled at
the laugh-turned-pigsnort against his chest.

     "Now *that's* a romantic metal picture.  What happened to
loving my smell, huh?"  Blair challenged, still chortling.

     "I do love *your* smell.  It's just the smells of the day that are
all nice and hot and wet now in your hair that I can live without."

     "Good thing you clarified that point, man.  I was deeply
wounded," Blair said, through a jaw-stretching yawn, smiling as Jim's
nimble fingers worked the lather into the long curls.

     "I can see how upset you were."

     "Mmm."  Blair let out a long breath and relaxed as Jim finished
working on his hair, and then rallied to get out of the water.  After
drying each other off, and a few minutes with the blow-dryer to get the
sogginess out of Blair's hair, they retreated upstairs to bed for the night.

     As he turned out the light for the last time and then snuggled
under the covers with Blair, Jim felt the impact of how close he'd
come, once again, to losing his life partner.  And how close he'd come
to spending the night either by Blair's hospital bed, or God forbid, in
this bed alone, with Blair permanently ripped away from him.  

     His arms tightened around Blair's body in almost a death grip. 
Instead of complaining, Blair just matched the pressure with his own
powerful arms locked around Jim's midsection.  

     "Don't you ever dare leave me, Sandburg," he managed, closing
his eyes and clinging to Blair for all he was worth.

     "No matter what happens to me, Jim, you know I'd never leave
you...not really."

     "I love you, baby.  More than anything."

     "I love you too, lover."  Blair breathed a bit more easily as Jim's
grip relaxed a little, and they settled into a comfortable tangle of limbs
and drifted off to sleep.

********