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Language:
English
Series:
Part 1 of Summer Writing Series
Collections:
Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-05
Completed:
2009-04-22
Words:
11,960
Chapters:
2/2
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21
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1,295

Guarded Optimism

Summary:

Summary: This is the first story of my summer project. It's not really a missing scene...well, it is...well, you'll see. References made to Switchman.

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Notes:

Rated: PGish

Chapter Text

Guarded Optimism
by Twilight

 

The small waiting room was stuffy and crowded. Jim sat in the corner, away from the noise of the busy corridor and elevators. The constant hum of the moving cars was making him batty.

Zeroing in on his watch, he closed his eyes. Three thirty in the morning. "Six hours...what's taking so long?"

"You say something, Jim?" Simon sat across from him, his shirt wrinkled; his tie pulled down and loosely knotted, perusing an outdated Modern Motherhood magazine.

Shaking his head he sat up, feeling the shifting of vertebra, hearing a snapping and whooshing sound as his stiff back came into alignment. "I was just wondering what was taking so long?"

Simon nodded, going back to his article.

Deciding to get up to stretch his legs...and maybe his hearing, he headed to the hall. "I'm going to take a walk. I'll be near."

Simon eyed him over the edge of paper, but didn't say anything.

The glass paneled doors opened automatically as he approached. The early morning air was cool and clear, caressing his arms and face and he took in a huge lungful, blowing it out slowly.

A black jeep turned into the emergency drop off and stopped in front of him. Brown rolled down the driver's side window. "Hey, babe. Any news?"

"Nothing new. You got anything?" Jim moved closer, nodding to Rafe.

"I talked to a few people from the club. They said Blair only had a few beers and left early. John Marks was acting drunk, so Blair got his keys and was going to drive him home."

Rafe nodded, pulling out his own note pad. "I talked to Molly Ranshaw. She said that Marks was making a scene. Said Blair talked to her on the way out the door and he seemed fine."

Jim looked back toward the entrance of the E.R. Simon was coming toward them, his face set, his dark eyes pinched and focused on the car in front of him. He dug in his coat pocket, locating a cigar to chump on.

"Something happen, Sir?"

"Marks just died on the table. They said his injuries were too severe."

Jim pawed at his face, rubbing a hand up over his nose and eyes. "Any news on, Blair?"

"The nurse said she check. I want Brown and Rafe back to the scene. See if CSU came up with anything on the car...maybe someone tampered with it."

"You got it. Jim, CSU gave me this earlier." Brown handed a tattered book bag out the window. Blood smeared the side; tiny specks dotted the handle where Jim grabbed it. "I thought you might want to hang onto it. It's got Blair's wallet and some books." He gave Jim's arm a little pat before rolling up his window and pulling off.

"Go on back in, Jim. I need a smoke." Simon skirted the corner of the building, lighting up before he turned from sight.

Jim's truck was still parked in the designated police space, but he didn't feel like moving it. Opening the creaky door, he tossed the bag in, an old leather bound book plopped out on the passenger seat.

The musky scent of Blair mixed with leather clung to the book and Jim fingered the ridged edges, carefully picking it up and sticking a few loose pages back in.

Earlier images of Blair's bloody mangled face raced behind his tightly closed eyes and Jim remembered he had to strain to hear...to understand the broken words that Blair mumbled when he realized Jim had come.

"I can't feel anything, man. God, Jim...help me."

*~*~*

The tiny cubicle was cool and dim, the only light coming from the curtained off hall. Beyond the partially open entrance, the sounds of the hospital assaulted his ears, his head pounded in concert with the beeping and whooshing machinery attached to the man in the bed he sat by, keeping him alive for just this moment.

People talked quietly near by, a man in the next room moaned and groaned, crying on and off in his drugged sleep, someone at the nurse’s station wrote in a chart, the slide of the pen grating Jim's ears.

Jim pushed himself up a little in the hard plastic chair, scanning the lifeless face of his friend. He had only been sitting with Blair for a few minutes, but it was so hard to look, to take in the battered face and body. Ever inch of his face was bruised and broken; traces of blood still clung to the wavy hair and smeared the edge of his right ear and jaw. His left cheek was swollen, the skin pink and splotchy and his nose was taped to hold the broken cartilage in place.

A thick tube invaded Blair's throat, delivering precious oxygen, making his chest rise and fall in a steady but artificial rhythm. Both eyes were puffy, twice the normal size and starting to blacken and his top lip had a huge cut, the jagged split extending up to his cheek and disappearing under the bandages covering his nose.

The arm lying on the pillow near him was splinted, the fingers fat, the nails a strange shade of blue.

But the worse was the contraption he was laying in. Thick padded panels ran the outline of his body, holding his arms and legs straight. His neck was encased in a white plastic collar, various tubes and leads zigzagged over and under the thin sheet covering him.

The nurse told him that Blair was in a semi coma. They were keeping him under, so his battered body would be better able to heal. His head injury was bad, a few hairline fractures and some swelling, but so far the medicine they had given him was keeping the worse at bay...

The spine they repaired during the nine hour surgery was bad, but not life threatening.

Three crushed vertebra...

Two titanium rods and seven titanium screws held the mangled pieces together and only time would tell, when the swelling went down, when he became more lucid...

Dropping his head into his hands, Jim let the tears pressing the back of his eyes fall.

How could this have happened?

Minutes later, hours later, streaks of sunlight seeped through the slightly opened blinds, creeping over Blair's chest and face, making the molting bruises and yellowing splotches look even worse.

Jim reached slowly forward and rested his hand on one unmarred spot above Blair's elbow, using his fingertips to caress the smooth skin, trying to relay his presence and comfort, comfort for Blair and comfort for himself.

"What happened Blair? What made you lose control?"

Silence answered, but he kept up the gentle touch to his friend's cool skin, hoping that Blair knew he wasn't alone.

*~*~*

"Jim? How's Hairboy?" Brown jumped up from his desk, hurrying around to follow Jim to his own. His desk was covered with open files and piles of paper, just where he had left them a few nights ago in his hurry to get to the hospital. He scooped everything up and pushed the folders aside, plopping heavily into his chair. "He's still unconscious...in guarded condition. But the doctor seems optimistic. Said they're going to start decreasing his sedation in a few days. See how he responds. You got the autopsy report on Marks yet?"

"Yeah..." The other detective moved back to his desk and rummaged through a few folders there; pulling the one he wanted from the stack. "Rafe is over at CSU. They're working on a recreation of the scene."

Jim moved closer, perching on the end of his friend's desk.

"The M.E. said cause of death was loss of blood and shock. They released the body to family yesterday"

Jim nodded, scanning the report as Brown ticked off the major points. "Tox screen for drugs was clear, but he was legally drunk two times over. He had a crushed pelvis and spinal injuries. Head injuries...a punctured lung...he bled out, even with medical intervention."

"Hmm..."

Brown looked up at him. "Hmm, what?"

"Just a hunch...the report listed numerous and large taste buds as an oddity." He knew that Blair had documented cases of people with hyperactive scenes for his Masters.

"Yeah, so..." Brown closed the folder, looking at Jim with a small frown.

"It probably has nothing to do with the case, but I'm going to go check something out. I'll call if I find anything." With a slight wave, Jim hurried to the elevator, jabbing the down button.

This had to mean something...Blair could be facing criminal charges if they didn't find out what caused him to lose control and that was something Jim wasn't prepared to let happen. Blair wasn't drunk, but his passenger was. No one witnessed them going off the road and hitting the phone pole, but the CSU found skid marks several hundred feet from the scene, like the driver was trying to regain control.

The elevator deposited him on the garage level and he hurried to his truck, ignoring the gas fumes and car exhaust. The trip to Rainier was short, the traffic light in the early afternoon. Parking was a little trickier; he had to circle the lot a few times to find a space near Hargrove Hall.

The halls were mostly quiet, a few people milled about, walking from office to office, talking in hushed voices. His shoes made little clinking sounds on the hardwood floors as he walked toward Blair's office.

The small room was dusty, the wooden surface of Blair's desk covered with hundreds of tiny particles, they floated on the air, twinkling in the sunlight pouring in the small window and Jim had to cover his face, trying to smother a series of sneezes.

Wiping his nose and eyes with a hanky, Jim quietly shut the door behind him, turning on the small desk lamp and sitting in the chair. He opened several drawers, searching the bottoms and sides for the key to Blair's filing cabinets. Coming up empty, he moved to one of the cabinets and yanked at the drawer, testing the sturdiness.

He searched his pockets and pulled out his keys, finding the little nail clippers hanging between his house and car keys. Turning the top to reveal the short file and shoved it in the small lock when a glimmer of metal caught his eye. Above the window, resting on the sill was a small key.

"Only Sandburg." Jim grabbed the key and opened the cabinet, sorting through the over-flowing files. He checked all four sets, going back to the first when he couldn't find Marks name. On his third time around he found a thin folder labeled Master. Inside a red floppy disk was taped to a piece of paper with a hand written list of names.

Pocketing the floppy, he searched the listing and found the name he was looking for. Knowing that Blair's office computer was password protected, he headed home.

The loft was equally as dusty, but Jim didn't care, cleaning had not been a priority over the last few days. He dumped his keys and gun, jogging up the steps to grab his laptop, and then headed back to the couch to boot it up. Jim had no problems pulling up the word document, but was disappointed when the password cue popped up.

He typed in the first thing that entered his mind, but he got an error message. "Not Sentinel, than."

He thought for a bit, then tried Burton, senses, Mayan, Eli and on and on until he sat back and pushed the computer away.

Think, think, think.

His stomach growled a little later, so he stood and stretched, heading for the kitchen to get a beer and heat up a piece of leftover pizza. Popping the top to his brew, he took a big swallow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The password had to be something familiar...

An idea struck and he hurried back to his computer, hearing the microwave ding, sitting his beer bottle on the side table near by.

He clicked on the file again, typing in two words.

Holy Grail.

The computer beeped and ticked, the program opened and pulled up an index of files.

There were hundreds of names...two Marks, but only one J. Marks.

Clinking on the name, a summary appeared. Jim scanned down to see that J. Marks was subject number 132 and had answered a posting for volunteers from McNany Winery, although he was a Rainier student, majoring in Horticulture.

The file gave basic stats, including a heighten scene of taste and smell, personal information on work history, medical records and participation in the study Blair was conducting.

"The subject seems well adjusted. Over active senses seem a natural occurrence and subject has had no adverse effects."

Scrolling down Jim noted that Marks participated through out the entire study. At the end of the report was a reference mark indicating additional notes in Blair's personal journal.

Closing the program, Jim popped out the floppy and went to Blair's room. He knew Blair kept personal handwritten journals, but he also had a stack of disks with work related notes.

Searching the desk tucked into the corner, Jim found a stack of disks, some red and some blue. They were only labeled with numbers, so he took them all back to the living room, starting with the first floppy.

Draining his beer, happy to see that a password was not required he looked at his watch. He still had a few hours before he would be able to get in and sit with his friend. Sighing, he settled in, sifting his way through hundreds of entries. They all seemed to contain more personal facts about Blair's subjects. Adverse reactions to tests, medical complaints like headaches and stomachaches, hallucinations and even psychosis.

There had to be something here on Marks, something to help explain the accident.

*~*~*

The smooth, long legged stride and smell of vanilla and tobacco weed had Jim looking toward the hall even before Simon entered the ICU cubicle.

"I though you might be here when I couldn't reach you on your cell." Simon sank into the chair near the foot of the bed, his eyes scanning Blair from foot to head and back again. "How's the kid doing?"

Jim shifted the laptop to the side table, leaning forward and resting his clasped hands between his knees. "He's about the same."

Blair lay still in the same bed, his body tilted, head above hips and feet, listing just a smidge to the right. The nurses came in five times a day to shift him, moving the whole contraption that held him straight, checking his IV's and tubing, changing waste bags and recording his vitals.

"I got Rafe's and Brown's report on the accident. CSU recreated the scene. Blair lost control of the vehicle three hundred yards back from the crash sight. They say he over compensated and the car spun out. I'm going to put it to low priority, see if Blair can tell us what happened when he wakes up, but since he wasn't intoxicated..."

Jim nodded, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his friend's chest, listening to the hollow sound of air entering and exiting Blair's lungs. "I found a few things on Marks."

"Brown said you saw something on the autopsy report...what is it?"

Turning to look at his boss, Jim shifted, reaching for his laptop. "Marks was a participant in a study Blair did to obtain his Masters Degree. He had a heightened scene of taste and smell...worked part time at McNany's as a quality control specialist."

"Blair did a paper on heightened scenes?"

"Yeah, thing is he followed the lives of a lot of his subjects and some of them turned out to be real nut jobs. I got into his files and it seems Marks started out okay, but as time passed he became more aggressive, complained of headaches and ringing in his ears. His medical records are clear, but I think he may have been experiencing scenery spikes...his hearing may have been coming on line."

"Christ, Jim. You saying the guy was a Sentinel?" Simon's eyebrows rose as his lips turned down.

"No. Not exactly." Jim waited for the screen to flicker on, scrolling back a few paragraphs in the Word Document. "Blair has entries of calls and visits. Early last year Marks dropped out of his studies and took a sabbatical. When he returned Blair describes him as irritable, more reclusive. He finished school, but didn't pursue a career in his field."

"As interesting as that is, what's it got to do with the here and now?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Jim shook his head. "I'm not sure, but I think it has something to do with what happened. Think about it...if this guy had a repressed sense coming on line, it was probably causing him all kinds of trouble and drinking on top of that...Blair has another sixty pages on this guy and he makes reference to his personal journals. I'm going to finish this then look through them when I get home, see if I can find any specific behavior that points to this guy having a short wire."

Simon stood, patting his pockets. "Just keep me informed. The funeral is tomorrow and the family wants answers."

"I'll be in early, but I'm coming back over here after lunch. They're going to start bringing him around, see if he can go without the respirator."

His boss nodded, backing toward the hall. "Tell him we're all pulling for him and let me know when he's coherent enough to talk with Rafe and Brown."

"Will do, sir." Jim watched as Simon pulled the curtain and listened to the heavy footsteps until they entered the nearby elevator.

Closing the lid of his laptop, he stood near the bed, finding the smooth patch on Blair's arm. "Hey, Chief. It won't be long now."

He looked a little better today; the swollen lips and eyes were almost back to a normal size and some of the bruising on his face was yellowing and fading. His broken wrist was cast this morning and the steroids and anti-seizure meds were doing their job.

"I gotta go for a bit, buddy but I'll talk to you tomorrow." With a final gentle pat, Jim headed for home.

*~*~*

He sat with the heavy book open on his lap and his dinner sitting cold on the coffee table. Jim had made good time getting home and decided to order out. The Chinese had arrived about twenty minutes ago, but he was already engrossed in the neat handwritten script on the yellowing pages.

Instead of pulling out the leather book tucked into Blair's book bag, he pulled one out from the bookcase in Blair's room. Naomi send a new one each year on Blair's birthday, but they were similar in size and color, each hand sewn and engraved. Figuring that Blair went through one a year, he grabbed the one third from the end.

Jim found recorded encounters on Marks, but they were sporadic. Instead of searching the pages for his name, Jim decided to read from the beginning, skimming unrelated things until he got to a certain day a little over three years ago.

"Johnny is still having headaches. I told him I would stop by later if the mediation doesn't work and note to self: always recommend unscented candles."

With a warm smile Jim reread the next part again.

"Melissa called and man I can't believe it. She's faxing the medical file now, but if it's like she says...this could be the real thing..."

Letting the words flow over him, Jim imagined what Blair thought about their first meeting; almost able to see the scene through the words scrawled on the pages he held.

Blair jogged into the ward, hardly able to contain himself. Melissa met him by the nurse's station and ushered him away to a room at the end of the hall. Kissing him hard on the lips, she pointed to a white lab coat hanging in one of the cubbies and produced a nametag from her scrubs pocket. "You owe me," she kissed him again, their tongues twining briefly before she pushed him away. "And I'm collecting tonight."

She moved to her own locker, spinning the dial lock quickly and pulled out her purse. She dug around for a minute, finding a single pink rubber band. With a silly smile on her face she moved closer to him, using one slender finger to indicate she wanted him to turn around. He pulled on the coat and buttoned it all the way up to cover the bright colored vest and most of the tattered jeans as she finger combed his hair, pulling the unruly curls back to the nape of his neck.

Looking both ways before exiting the room, she grabbed an empty chart and pushed it into his hands, whispering the room number as she gave him a final kiss.

Blair walked down the hall, heart pumping, seeing the door partly open. It took a few seconds, but he got his breathing under control and entered. The man looked at him expectantly and Blair almost lost it, beginning to back up when the man stood and started to button his shirt. He had to think fast when the guy questioned the nametag, but the bullshit story just flowed from his mouth and before he knew it, he was shoving his card at the guy. "See the man."

He bumped into someone on the way out, but Blair didn't care...he was so pumped. Shedding the jacket quickly, he dumped everything into a hazmat can sitting at the end of the hall and mouthed the words 'thank you' on the way by the nurse's station.

"God, please let this guy show."

Humming and bouncing all the way back to his car he thought about the possibilities and how he was going to pay his debt to Melissa.

Should be an interesting night.

He didn't even remember the drive back to campus, but he knew he nearly floated back to the storage closet he claimed as his office. Moving to the stereo, he put his new CD on shuffle and listened to the heavy beat of drums, pounding in concert with his heart.

This was sooo incredible.

The phone rang and he jumped on it, clearing his dry throat before answering. "Hello. Oh, hey man. Well, did you try lying in a dark room with a cool cloth over your eyes? Hmm...how about you try some visualization? Yeah, man...find a comfy spot and picture say...a radio. Yeah, now look at the dials...one for the volume and one for the channel. Start with the channel first. Turn the dial to the easy listening channel...a nice, smooth ballet."

Blair dropped the pitch of his voice, talking a bit slower. "Now look at the volume dial. Turn it down a notch at a time until the music is barely audible. Great Johnny. I'll catch ya later, man."

Time passed, the CD started a new tune and Blair couldn't help but pick up his pencil and tap out the tune, startled when the guy from the hospital showed up.

He made small talk, nervous, but determined not to let it show. Turning down the stereo and clearing a seat he did his best to show Ellison that he knew what he was talking about, but the shove against the wall was a little over the top.

Jerk.

Blair shrugged it off, figuring the guy had to be at his wits end.

He followed him to the hall, calling after Ellison to reconsider when he remembered something important. Flicking the tumbler lock, he patted his pockets to make sure he had his keys before closing the old wooden door and racing down the hall, his sneakers squeaking on the wooden floors.

When he cleared the outer door he spotted the man in the middle of the street, rooted to the spot, a large dump truck barreling down the one-way road.

Crap.

Taking the stone steps two at a time, he hurried toward the cop, swearing as he pulled them both down and praying the truck had enough room to pass over them.

Jumping up as soon as it was clear, he squirmed and shook with the sudden rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins, only picking up on a few words the cop said, allowing Ellison to pull him along to a red Jeep parked in a faculty spot.

"Get, in kid."

Blair sat in the passenger seat, letting his heart slow as he breathed deep. "Where are we going, man?"

Ellison shot him a weird look, but pulled off the next exit and into the street market parking lot. "I don't live too far from here...let's just walk a little."

Blair got out and followed behind the guy, his heartbeat and breathing back to a more normal rhythm. He wasn't sure where this was leading, but he knew it was going to be a wild ride.

Jim rubbed his eyes, sticking a take out napkin in the spine of the leather book to hold his place. There wasn't really any system to Blair's writing and he could have mentioned Marks on any given entry. Not wanting to delve too deep into Blair's personal writings, he decided to call it a night and ask Blair himself when he woke up.

Putting the book on top of his computer, Jim gathered the takeout cartons and put them in the microwave, going to Blair's room to gather a few things. He packed a tote bag with the portable CD player and a selection of music. He grabbed a few books that Blair might like; all though he was sure he would have to read them out loud at first.

Task completed, he sat everything together and went back to the kitchen to eat his dinner. The phone rang just as he was dumping the leftovers into his Tupperware and he hurried to pick up the receiver. "Ellison."

The urgent voice on the other end had him feeling a little faint and sweaty. He sat down heavily on the dinning chair. "Yes, I understand. I'll be right there."

*~*~*

He wasn't even sure how he made it to the hospital; the drive was a blur, headlights bounced off the windshield as he jerked to a spot in emergency parking.

He jogged to the elevator, punching the button to the fifth floor, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Finally the door parted and he walked as fast as his legs could carry him down the hall and to the double security door to the ICU.

A buzzer sounded and he pushed the heavy door open. A nurse in scrubs strode toward him. "Mr. Ellison?"

"Yeah...I got here as soon as I could."

She pivoted away, looking over her shoulder to make sure he was following. "He spiked a fever a little while ago and suffered a seizure. He's in imaging; they're trying to determine if his brain injury is causing it or if something else is going on."

She stopped in front of another set of double doors, using her card key to open them. A few chairs lined the hall and she asked him to sit.

Jim could just make out the machine on the other side of a window as she entered the room to his right. Heart pounding, he sunk into the chair on the end, raising shaking hands to his face, taking a calming breath and tried to listen.

The voices were distorted and hallow and he had to strain and concentrate to make them out.

"His head's stable. We're doing a belly scan to check his liver and kidneys."

A few minutes passed in relative silence and Jim could hear the machine spinning and sputtering as it took three-dimensional pictures of his friend's insides.

"Damn it...call the O.R."

A flurry of activity followed and then the door down from the control room slammed opened as Jim jumped up. A few men in blue scrubs quickly exited, one pushed and the other pulled until the rolling bed was completely in the hall. Another person walked briskly by the head, rhythmically squeezing a bag attached to Blair's breathing tube. "Clear the way."

The nurse followed along, pulling on Jim's arm. "He's got a bleed in his belly. They're taking him to surgery."

Jim nodded, following the gurney down the corridor and to an elevator. When the doors parted, he pushed his self in, scanning his friend's body. Blair's face was red and flushed his lips pale and dry, everything below the brace on his neck covered with a thin sheet and Jim could make out the panels holding him straight and still.

Standing this close, Jim could feel the heat rising from Blair's body. "What about his fever?"

One man snapped, "No time to wait", as the metal doors parted. Jim grabbed Blair's lax hand, walking beside and waiting as one guy went ahead.

They stood in the hall for a few minutes and Jim leaned forward, whispering into Blair's ear. "Hang in there, buddy...you hear me? Stay with me."

Before he could say more, the gurney was pulled away, Blair's still hand slipping from his own and then the doors closed and Blair was gone.

"Hang on, Blair."

*`*`*

"He's afraid of heights, you know?"

Simon nodded, draping his coat over an empty chair and sitting across from him. "I know, Jim. Joel told me about that pep talk Sandburg gave him years back."

"I didn't know. Not right away." The sun was rising and Jim moved to the large windows over looking the parking lot, glancing at his watch. It's been hours and he didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He called Simon a while ago, figuring that he would be awake early.

A case specialist, whatever the hell that was, came in during the night to ask if Jim needed anything. What he needed was to know what was happening in the operating room on the other side of the third floor.

Jim tried to listen in, but too many noises assaulted his ears...he couldn't seem to find his center.

Wandering back over to the bank of chairs, he plopped down, closing his eyes. "He never said a thing."

He could sense Simon shifting, angling his body toward him. But his friend didn't say anything, sensing that Jim just needed to talk. "You should have seen him." He said, opening his eyes. "The first day we spent together I had him climbing trees. You should have seen how he scaled to the top and tossed down that nest."

"Nest?"

Smiling at the memory, Jim nodded. "He bitched all the way up, but didn't say no...he never says no."

"He's not that kind of man, Jim." Simon eyes sparkled, a soft smile on his face.

"I know...he helped out so much on the case. We would have never caught Sarris if he didn't pull a few rabbits out of his hat." A smile split his face and a little chuckle escaped. "He was so frustrated that he couldn't go into the Needle with me. Called me Kojak."

"What?"

"Yeah, yeah. I told him to wait with the truck, 'course I know now that I was wasting my breath. He caught sight of Veronica helping passengers onto the bus and sneaked on. I was sooo pissed when I got back to ground level and saw the jeep being towed and no Sandburg."

"I remember dispatch saying he was waiting on the line for me.” Simon said. “I didn't even know who he was."

"He did good, keep his cool, helped me find the bomb before it blew us all up." Jim stood again, stretching his neck and looking at his watch. He could hear more activity in the halls now. People scheduled for surgery were arriving and checking in. "I knew right at that moment, Simon."

"What Jim...what did you know."

Jim looked down at him, dropping back into his chair, hanging his head. "That night I took him out to dinner. He was so excited and had no idea what he was getting into. We argued over what line to feed you to get him on as a ride along...I knew I couldn't go it alone anymore. I knew he was my last chance."

"Come on, Jim."

"No Simon, I mean it." He looked his boss right in the eyes. "If he hadn't come along I would be crazy...I know it. That's why I think Marks caused the accident somehow. I know what it feels like for everything to spin apart..."

"Mr. Ellison."

Head jerking up, Jim saw the case specialist from before standing in the doorway to the waiting room. Her face was impassive, so totally neutral that he couldn't get a read on her.

"I have some news...can you come with me?"

*`*`*

Something was buzzing near his ear...

The incessant hum was maddening and he tried to raise his hand to swipe it away, but his hand didn't budge.

So he tried to pry his eyes open, even raising his eyebrows didn't help, but that was okay...

It was nice here, wherever here was...except for that buzzing sound.

"Raise to 300...CLEAR."

A rush of warmth flooded his chest, tendrils of electricity zigzagged down his arms and he knew his hands jumped, but he felt numb, he felt...nothing.

 

end part 1