For a long time I have wanted to explore the possibilities of Blair and his becoming a shaman, but gutless wonder that I am, felt it beyond my capabilities as a writer. Ever since I first read Agnes Mage's 'Stealing Memories' I have been in awe, not only of her writing skill, but her ability to explore and express the deeper meaning of our psyche. So it was with great trepidation that I approached her about a collaborative effort, she agreed and thus 'The Seeker Unaware' was born. But I must confess that the best thing to come out of this collaboration has not been the story, but the friendship that has resulted because of it. For that I will always be grateful. So, although it might seem a bit unusual, I'd like to dedicate my part of this story to the person I feel made it all possible...To Aggie, with my sincerest appreciation..... Star

This is StarPlaza's story, not mine. I am the road patch crew, filling in holes, smoothing over ridges, taking long breaks in the shade. This whole idea: the plot, the concepts, the complete story line is Star's doing. She pulled a sullen little brat out of her pouting corner and "got tough." I have learned a lot from this professional---she takes this writing stuff seriously, and it always shows in her work. However, the magic of this partnership is in the friendship and the joy of the writing. Star never put the story before the friendship and I have spent my happiest hours in the Senfic Realm with this collaboration.

I would like to dedicate my small contribution to friendship in a rather round about and personal way. I dedicate my part to: Maddie (I love you, little girl, I always will and I miss you so much), Jorji, and Bambi; K.C. (Kinda Cute), Smoke, Lightfoot, Remy and Angel; Samantha, Cricket, and Oreo; Bailey and Jake; Enqueri and Chief; Shasta and Thistle; M. Bison and Kira; Max and Jake; Libby (Her Royal Highness, Queen of the House), Dusty, and all the friends of my friends, here and gone, but forever---friends. (Aggie)

A special thanks to you, Wolfpup, for everything.

Please Note: This story is not predicated on any past interpretations of characters by either author, it is a totally original and unique creation based on the Third Season Opener, "Warriors."

It is so unfair of the dead to etch their needs into your soul, to hold you with their memory and bind you to promises that time cut too short for they themselves to keep. So you, the lost and left behind, you struggle to endure. You nobly take the task to hand, so confused, so bewildered, so unsure of what to do. You try to close the deal for those who said they always would, but never got the chance. Think on this, you heroes to the grave, they left you not with the purpose of their lives, but the reason for your own.

PART ONE: CHANGING COLORS

The huge fireball sat low on the horizon tinging the surrounding clouds with pink and purple hues as it cast the last of its dying embers. A lone seagull's cry rent the air adding its crescendo to nature's endless musical symphony as relentless waves caressed the shoreline, systematically reclaiming that which it had created. The magnificence of this harmonic splendor went unnoticed by the solitary figure sitting on the beach. Unaffected by even the briskness of the late evening breeze, Blair Sandburg's reflections were not on the rapture surrounding him. He had little time lately for such minor contemplations. Instead they were focused on the inner turmoil ravaging his sense of serenity.

The young shaman sought the comfort of the solitary landscape to help quell the dissonance in his soul. The cold, blue ocean reached out to grab him, longing to pull him back into her calming depths, but he was indifferent to her efforts. He sat but a short distance out of her reach, upon some driftwood. Blair Sandburg, anthropologist and Teaching Fellow, had little time and even less inclination to savor life's simple pleasures. His pockets were filled with accomplishments, by anyone's standards, but right now desolation, failure, and incomprehension marked the trophies on the shelves of his soul.

Finding a real live Sentinel had been a hell of a lot easier than he had ever imagined. Sure, getting the hard-ass cop to settle down after throwing him up against a wall had taken some bluffing on his part, but the mage of the moment had taken over and handled the situation quite nicely. Inner rage was the only way James Ellison, ex-Special Forces, Major Crimes detective, handled his fears and confusion. He took obstacles and literally shoved them out of his way, and at that particular moment, that's exactly what Blair Sandburg had been taken for, an obstacle.

Blair always needed to understand his fears before he could deal with them. Naomi Sandburg, flower child of the 70's, had long ago impressed upon her young son a philosophy of just packing up and leaving when things got "too hot to handle." They were children of the universe and travelers of the world, nothing could hold them. Along with this philosophy came a fear of any responsibility that pinned you down to anything for too long. True, getting his doctorate had shown an inordinate amount of commitment and stick-tuitiveness, but the anthropology degree had been its own ticket for travel, flight, visionary trips into the past, and an unfeathered existence in the academic world. Blair Sandburg wore the garbs of academia like wings on Icarus, he gained flight and freedom, but he avoided flying too close to the burning orb of commitment.

Well, that was not the case now, for there was friendship and need. There was a warm, encouraging smile at the end of a long, hard day. There was commitment and responsibility, duty and honor. There was a cozy home. That was a real shocker. Who would have ever figured the stoic, hard-edged Ellison for the domestic type. In fact when he first came to live with Jim...the temporary one-week warning light flashing constantly in his face...he never would have imagined the seemingly insensitive man changing his own dwelling place to tame the wanderlust in his new roommate. The spartan loft had slowly been folded, pressed, and laid back out into a space where both men could find peace and a sense of belonging. His needs were always somehow noted, never voiced, but always filled.

Unfortunately, these commitments to a very special friend made the thought of flight impossible...now, when flight was tugging so desperately at his heart strings. Friendship was just too important to Blair, and the bond he held with this man went beyond mere comprehension and analysis. This one, he knew in the deepest corners of his soul, was for keeps beyond time and space. Besides, he mused, if I ran, he'd only come after me and have me squirming on the hot seat as he pinned me under those blue lasers. The man was a force to be reckoned with in the best of times, never mind when he was angry or worried.

I have to stick with the issues at hand, he chastised his wandering mind. Ever since Incacha had passed on the role of shaman to him, he had begun to have strange dreams. Dreams of snakes and panthers had left him seeking answers. Perhaps it was Incacha himself who wandered the halls of his nightmare world. Perhaps Incacha was displeased with so little display of true talent in his chosen one. But just what the hell do shamans actually do? Blair wondered. I just don't know what's expected of me. I'm not sure I'm the right one for this job and the only one who will suffer will be Jim.

Just three short days ago, he had failed Jim miserably, almost getting him killed. Sure Jim didn't see it that way and quickly told Blair to forget it, but he just couldn't forget it. It still played over in his mind. Simple instructions to stay in the truck. Instructions he had rarely listened to before and never paid much attention to...much to Jim's frustration. However, now there was weight to these words. Now as Shaman every directive Jim gave him had new, added meaning. Simple decisions taxed his brain and set him off on long contemplative day dreams, weighing each choice like the whole of eternity depended upon it. He had never felt this way before. He impulsively acted most of his life and got along just fine.

He would have handled the situation just fine, before...before the added responsibility of Shaman to the City.

They were just pulling out of the restaurant parking lot. Jim had had an unusually hard day at the station, mostly with political bullshit and the bureaucracy. Now he just wanted a nice, quiet dinner. Blair had jumped at the magic words: my treat. He had just settled himself on the passenger side of the old Ford when the radio blared: "Breaking and entering, private residence 643 Mellon Drive."

"Hang on, Chief," Jim said as he popped the siren and flashers and picked up the radio to respond. "We're on our way."

Ellison sped off in the direction of Mellon Drive as Blair hung on for dear life and began his litany for salvation. Jim's driving had taught him to keep his karma in the black. The man had no patience behind the wheel of a vehicle.

For a moment Blair had a feeling of deja vu. He remembered another evening when he and Jim had just attended a sporting event and they received the call of an intruder in Susan Frazier's home. He paled visibly at the memory of Susan's staring eyes, the yellow scarf...

"Hey, Chief," Jim asked, concern showing on his face as he grimaced to take a sharp turn, "you okay?"

"Yeah, man, no problem," Blair lied as his heart rate increased and his voice went up that warning octave Jim knew signaled distress.

When they pulled up in front of the residence, evening had already dimmed the street. The landscapes around were dark; some of the homes off in the distance were softly lit with ground lighting. The rich homes looked warm and inviting to any passers by.

"Stay in the truck," Jim instructed as he cut the lights, released his belt and opened the door. He stopped briefly to point a warning finger at his partner. "Do as I say." Then he was off in the direction of the side driveway approaching the rear entrance to the home.

Farther down the street Blair noticed a car pulling into a driveway and saw automatic sensor lights go on. "Oh my God!" Blair cried out, as the ramifications suddenly clicked into place. If this house is similarly equipped and Jim triggers the sensors he could zone out. Knowing that the brightness of the lights could leave his partner helplessly stranded like a sitting duck, Blair quickly jumped out of the truck.

Jim told me to wait, he's not expecting me. What if he hears me and thinks I'm the intruder, or I distract him and he misses something he otherwise would be aware of. Man, what is the matter with me? I never hesitated before. His thoughts were a jumble of confusing directives. No path seemed the right one. He felt lost, confused, and totally out of control as he bounced around the truck on the balls of his feet.

"Move," his guide voice screamed in his head. Throwing off his indecision, Blair ran in the direction his sentinel had just taken.

As he rounded the corner the lights blazed to life. He saw Jim standing there frozen in time and space, pinned like a deer in headlights, waiting for the impact. Blair heard the shattering of glass and took off at full tilt slamming into Jim's chest knocking them both to the ground with a hard jolt. Just then two uniformed police officers came running around the other side of the house. Guns drawn, they yelled their orders, "FREEZE. POLICE! Keep your hands where we can see them." Jim's gun lay a few feet away and Blair raised both his hands, still shielding a dazed Jim with his own body.

"There's someone still in the house, I heard glass breaking." Blair said as he tried to keep from falling off of Jim while his hands were in clear view of the drawn guns aimed his way.

"Just keep those hands where we can see them," the older officer instructed as he picked up Jim's gun.

Blair was roughly hauled to his feet by the younger officer as the other kept a gun pointed at both of them. "Jim. Come on, man, I need you."

Ellison slowly came out of the zone out, somewhat dazed and confused, as the older officer pulled him to his feet.

"Hey, man, take it easy with him. He's a cop. His ID is in his coat pocket. I heard glass breaking. The intruder could still be inside." Blair said beseechingly, worried that Jim might make a wrong move and get the business end of these guys' night sticks, or worse yet, their guns.

The officer checked Jim's jacket pocket and pulled out the wallet with his I.D. He flashed the badge at his partner who was still pointing a gun at Blair.

"I'm Detective James Ellison. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg. We got a call of a possible B & E. We came to investigate. I must have gotten dizzy. Did you guys see anything?"

"No, Detective, we just got here. Sorry for the mixup. We got the call from the security company. We'll take over from here," he said, handing Jim's gun and ID back to him.

The younger officer then turned to Blair and said quietly, "You should get your partner home, he doesn't look too good." Then both officers turned to enter the house.

"Yeah, man, thanks." Blair said as he walked over to Jim.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine," Jim said somewhat caustically, angrily looking after the two uniforms as they cautiously entered the open back door. "Let's go."

When they were inside of the truck, Blair silently eyed the detective.

"Sandburg, what seems to be your problem?" Jim questioned irritably.

"Do you realize you could have been killed. I'm your guide, I should have been with you. I never do what you tell me, well, I mean I know when I should and when I shouldn't," he quickly amended as he saw the deep scowl etch its way across Ellison's face. "I should have known about those lights. I saw them go on down the street and I knew right off the bat how that could effect you, but I hesitated, man, I had to convince myself you needed me."

"Forget it. You should have stayed in the truck, like I told you."

"Jim, if those cops had come around the corner and saw you standing there with your gun drawn, no matter what they yelled to you, you wouldn't have heard them. They could have shot you for not dropping your gun."

Jim said nothing. He just started the truck.

"Jim? Jim, are you listening to me, man?" Sandburg said in an exasperated voice.

"I hear you, Chief. Believe me you're coming in loud and clear. Your heart is racing and your body temperature is up. Just relax will you. It's no big deal. I still think you should have stayed in the truck like I told you. Now just drop it, okay?"

Blair turned back to look out the window. Still shaking from the realization of how close his friend had come to getting shot, he tried to calm his nerves by breathing deeply, but he couldn't help glancing over at Jim to reassure himself that his sentinel was still there. Some shaman I turned out to be, he thought disgustedly.

Now he hung his head and stared down at the sand. He wished the ocean could wash over him like it did the stones on the beach. Maybe it could slough away the fissures of self-doubt and worthlessness, fill in the small holes of insecurity and past rejections, and polish him to a fine sheen reflecting only confidence and determination in his new role. If only nature could work her magic on man, the way she worked it on the landscape, Blair Sandburg might eventually be able to step up and meet this new challenge.

The slowly setting sun still warmed the air, but the cool breezes of autumn spoke of harsher times to come. He thought how appropriate this season was to the turbulence in his soul, the changing of the guard, and the shedding of the past. The leaves, falling and blanketing the earth, gave comfort to his heart. Perhaps their golden crispness could shelter his soul from the turmoil and chaos that threatened from within. Perhaps he could find a connection to the earth and an understanding of his place in it if he watched more closely the shaping of this fragile, introspective season.

Why didn't Incacha tell me what to do? He had no right to pass on this much responsibility and leave me with no idea as to what the hell I'm supposed to do! He picked up a stone at his feet and hurled it in his anger into an approaching wave. Suddenly he felt himself drifting, like his mind had shifted to some other plateau, incorporeal and ethereal. He saw the stone he had cast so furiously into the water rise from the depths and start rolling towards him. As it approached it morphed itself in a long slithering snake. When it neared his feet, the skin on its back started cracking, the noise so loud Blair was tempted to cover his ears. Instead he sat mesmerized by the striptease before him...the symbolic shedding of the skin.

Darkness had long since settled over the landscape. Hours had passed as he contemplated his newly implied responsibilities and yet no answers had been forthcoming. The vision of the snake held no significance, other than confirmation that he had slept very little and his mind was eager for distractions. He was so tired and yet it was a physical kind of exhaustion. Mentally his thoughts were as chaotic as ever. Perhaps he had been examining the situation too closely. Perhaps he just needed to back off. No, I can't do that, he thought. I have to figure this thing out. I can't risk the possibility of nearly getting Jim killed again. With a weary sigh, Blair inserted his key into the lock and entered the loft.

Jim Ellison sat on the sofa watching images flick before him. His concentration was not directed at the evening news, but on the absent heartbeat. Now that one particular rhythm was outside the door, beating a familiar cadence as his missing partner returned. "Chief, where the hell have you been? Weren't you supposed to fix dinner tonight?" A vexed Ellison pounced immediately upon Blair's arrival.

Blair looked up guiltily as the impact of his roommate's words hit him full force. Damn! He had been so caught up in searching for answers that he had totally forgotten it was his night to cook. Looking at Jim's angry countenance, he also felt guilty for not remembering to call his roommate and let him know he was going to be late. Blair tossed his keys into the basket on the table beside the door. "Sorry about that man," he replied while slipping off his coat and hanging it over the hook on the rack. Blair headed towards the kitchen. "I'll get started on dinner right away. Pasta sound okay?"

"No Sandburg, it's not. I already cooked dinner. It's in the oven." Jim shut the television off and turned, resting his arm along the back of the sofa. "Why don't you tell me what's been bothering you these last few weeks. You've been preoccupied, you don't listen to me half the time. Are you feeling all right?"

Blair ran a weary hand through his hair, pushing the long curly strands aside and tucking them behind his ear. "Sorry about that, man. Yeah, I'm fine. I've just got some things on my mind." He headed over to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. Turning to Jim, he asked, "You want one?"

"Yeah, then I want your butt over here," Jim said as Blair came around the couch and handed him the cold bottle. "What kind of things are on your mind, and don't give me the old song and dance routine."

Fingering the bottle in his hands, Blair paced a few steps away. He did so not want to do this right now. It was bad enough that his insecurities and lack of knowledge had nearly gotten Jim killed, he certainly didn't want to have to stand there and actually tell Jim in so many words what a complete failure he was. "Look, Jim, can't we do this some other time? I'm really beat man."

"No, I think you owe me a little more explanation here. It's your turn to cook dinner, you don't come home, you don't call, you've been quiet and distant...which has been a pleasant change around here...but you don't set the stage for an APB and then bug off with 'I'm really beat.'" Jim sat back and took a long pull on his beer, hoping it would calm him and avoid the argument he saw just over the horizon.

"I forgot, okay? I said I was sorry!" Blair felt his anger rising under Jim's penetrating blue gaze and took refuge in his anger. "Just because I forgot doesn't give you the right to pry into my personal life. Everything doesn't concern you, Jim, so just back off!" he stormed before pivoting and heading for his room.

Jim sighed. Why was it never easy? he thought. The damn kid made his own tight-lipped, stoic facade seem weak. Sandburg did high drama when it came to Jim opening up about himself or his feelings, yet would bar the doors of his own soul. Usually he would just counter attack, leaving Jim playing the heavy. He slowly rose and stood outside Blair's room. "Sandburg, have you eaten yet?"

Flopping down on his bed, Blair rolled over onto his side, setting the untouched beer down on the nightstand. He heard the concern in his partner's voice and felt guilt rear its ugly head yet again. "I'm not hungry Jim," he called through the closed door. "You go on ahead. I think I'm just going to hit the sack early tonight."

"Blair," Jim said through the barriers of glass and anger, "I ate earlier. You need to eat. Come on out, Chief. I promise, no more third degree."

"What part of I'm not hungry didn't you understand Jim?" Blair snapped, immediately regretting the harsh words as soon as they left his mouth. With a groan he pulled himself up off the bed and trudged to the French doors. He pulled them open and unable to look Jim in the eyes, studiously studied the floor. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you like that."

"Hey, no problem, Chief," Jim said as he studied the dark circles and the drawn features of his usually vibrant roommate. "It's just that I made chili. Thought it might help take the chill off. As a matter of fact, it was pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. I think I'd be willing to join you in another bowl. How about it?"

Blair recognized a peace offering in the making. Considering my behavior since Incacha died, I should be the one making the effort, not Jim. He looked up into the face of his roommate and although the mere thought of food made him nauseous, Blair summoned a smile. A smile that never quite reached his eyes. "Chili, you said? I guess I could eat a little something."

Jim walked over to the oven and took out the casserole dish with the leftover chili. He filled two bowls, snatched a roll of crackers off the counter, and joined Blair at the table. "You're lucky that you weren't at the station today," Ellison began, putting an end to the stalemate of silence. The Mayor's getting pressure from the council about some old cases that have never been solved. He's suggesting to Simon that every detective in Major Crimes take one of the old, open files and add the case to his workload. Simon's tap dancing, but I don't think he knows this number." Jim got himself another beer from the fridge. "You want another beer?"

Blair made a face. "Damn, I knew I forgot something." Hurrying back to his room he returned with the untouched beer he had opened earlier. Resuming his seat, Blair looked at the bowl of chili sitting before him and wondered how the hell he was going to eat it when a golf ball-size lump of fear and uncertainty was constricting his throat. He took a swig of beer hoping to wash away the offending emotions, disappointed when they appeared to have taken up permanent residence. Picking up the spoon he began drawing it back and forth across the bowl of chili in a swirling fashion.

"So did you get assigned one of the cases?" he asked, his eyes intent on the patterns he was drawing.

"Nope, Simon's still fighting the issue, but I think it's a losing battle. The Mayor's up for re-election and he's doing any routine he knows will impress his supporters," Jim said as he surreptitiously watched his young friend push, swirl and mix the chili without ever putting a spoonful near his mouth. "Do you think you could meet me at the station tomorrow to help push some of the paperwork on my desk back into the system? You're the one with the knack for reporting, Darwin."

The corners of Blair's mouth turned up, smiling slightly upon hearing one of Jim's favorite nicknames for him. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He had already failed Jim so much lately. Paperwork? Yeah at least that he could handle. "Sure Jim, no problem. I've got classes until 1:00, followed by office hours until 3:00. I could be there, say, about 4:00?" he looked up questioningly.

"Fine. Have you even tasted the chili?"

Chili? Blair looked momentarily confused, then remembering he was supposed to be eating, glanced down at the rapidly cooling meal before him. He grinned sheepishly at Ellison, knowing he'd been caught in the act. Just great, I'm really going to have to eat this aren't I? he thought. Scooping up a spoonful, he took a tentative bite. He nodded his approval at Jim, all the while hoping he'd be able to swallow it.

Jim sat back and finished the last of his beer as he watched the transparent display at normalcy unfold before him. He would have to bide his time. Sandburg was not going to make this easy. Something was eating away at the kid and storming the walls right now would only put up more barriers than he had the patience to deal with. He'd back off for now, but if Sandburg didn't snap out of it soon, he was going to meet with a gale-force wind named Jim Ellison.

You do not know what it is like to be me. You do not know my pain, my regrets, my sorrows, but then you do not know the causes of my joy, the passions of my heart, nor the song of my life. You are not me. I am a book with pages missing. Mark carefully what interests you, the chapters hold my dreams, and the story is not over.

PART TWO: A GUIDE TO YESTERDAY

The day was bright and chilly. Blair Sandburg had just left the university. He had promised Jim that he would meet him at the station by four, it was now three-fifteen. Traffic was already increasing in volume as he shifted the Volvo and tried to make the light up ahead. He noticed the red brake lights increasing as he heard the sound of crashing metal and the squeal of brakes. Instinctively he whipped the car to the right and turned into the side street. He would just have to take an alternate route to the station.

He had never been in this section of town before. It was one of the older neighborhoods, many of the streets were lined with two-story houses and duplexes, some even had basement levels with beauty shops, tax preparers, and other personal businesses beneath their living quarters. Up ahead of him he saw a long shape making it's way across the road. He frowned in confusion, Snakes in the city? Then he saw a laughing little boy along the side of the street, between the parked cars. It was a child's kite that had landed across the street. Blair patiently waited for the precious toy to clear the street, laughing at his own ridiculous musings. But as he waited, he looked over to the right. Below one of the duplex houses a sign in the window read: Antique Books; Rare and Unusual.

He quickly looked behind him. Acknowledging the car that had stopped and was waiting for him to move, he signaled that he was turning. He inched forward into the parking space several cars up. Locking the Volvo, he eagerly headed for the lower-level bookstore.

This particular lower level took up both basements of the duplex house above. It smelled musty and old, but the smells were pure heaven to a lover of the old and antiquated. The leather volumes called out from their quiet dwellings, speaking of mystery, adventure, and knowledge.

"Hello," Blair said into the dimly lit room, squinting up at the bare light bulbs hanging from the ceiling over each row of bookshelves that filled the space. This was not his idea of a cozy little book dealer.

"Hello, Hello, I'm coming," came a tinny voice from the shadowy corner of the farthest row.

His hair was pure white. Wire-rimmed spectacles kept falling down his nose as he walked, forcing him to push the offending object up with his index finger. "Damn glasses, damn doctors," he muttered to himself.

"What can I do for you, young man?" He asked as he made his way behind the sales counter that looked more like an old kitchen bar than an actual sales counter. He assumed his position as though information could only be imparted from behind this sacred barrier.

"I was just driving by and I noticed your sign. I was wondering if you had any old books on shamanism, Peruvian culture, medicine men, and other tribal rites of mysticism."

Blair's expression changed from friendly good humor to astonishment. The old man began to cackle in a high-pitched, stringy laugh that ended with a violent coughing fit.

"Are you all right? Can I get you some water?" Blair asked, concern darkening his face.

The old man continued hacking and pointed toward the back of the shop, towards an open doorway. Blair dropped his backpack and raced to the back to discover a small bathroom with paper cups in a dispenser. The bathroom was surprisingly clean and tastefully decorated in direct contrast to the stark storefront. He grabbed a small Dixie cup and filled it with water, carrying it carefully back to the old man.

He gulped the refreshing liquid gratefully, then sighed. "Thank you, son. I should know better than to do that. It's just that my granddaughter was telling me last week that there was this one book she didn't think we'd ever sell. Perhaps it would interest you." He slowly started his long journey from behind the counter again.

Blair followed him, hiding the smile on his face. This ancient one was Blair's conceptual idea of the typical old grandfather. He reminded him of a little elf, crusty and cynical, yet charming as all get up. Old people to Blair Sandburg, who had rarely had a chance to visit with his grandparents, were wellsprings of knowledge. They were the torch bearers of customs and rituals, and he sadly missed exposure to this natural source of his own heritage. He relished any time he could get in the domain of antiquity.

"Right here, we have several on religious customs and traditions, but my granddaughter put the most esoteric of the lot down below. I like to know my books before I put them on the shelf, study them and familiarize myself with their secrets and mysteries, but my granddaughter with her college education says you have to merchandise your product. Merchandise, smerchandize...for every book there is a reader somewhere out there. Oh, well, what do old men know, so I put them on the bottom. We get very old and unusual books here. Most of these books come from personal estates and personal home libraries." He looked up at Blair who topped the old man by a foot. "Well, take your time, we're open until six. Oy vey, I forgot this is the book I think will interest you."

The old man stooped down and pulled up a cloth-covered book, well-worn around the edges and watermarked in areas. No doubt coming from someone's basement or attic, the book had been discarded as worthless long before it left the family's home.

"I like the drawings in this one, quite unusual," the shopkeeper said as he flipped the pages of the book before Blair's hungry eyes. Black-inked sketches of snakes, dragons, eagles, panthers, plants, and leaves flashed before him. He eagerly extended greedy fingers wanting the treasure. There was something about the layout of the book, something personal and unconventional in the drawings scattered amidst the writing.

"Here you are. See if this isn't what you were looking for," he said as he gave the prize to the eager young man. "If not, this shelf up here," he said, pointing to the third row from the top, "should have similar books, but none as interesting, in my opinion, as this one, but I'm just an old man, what do I know."

"Oh, man, I forgot. What time do you have?" Blair asked the shopkeeper.

"Five minutes to four."

"Damn! I'll never make it now anyway." The old man just shook his head not really understanding the kid's distress and began his slow journey back to his chair behind the counter.

Jim's going to kill me, Blair thought, but this thought was fleeting as all his thoughts had been lately. Then his fingers tingled and he lost himself between the old, musty covers. Blair had been raised around books. His solitary childhood, never conducive to extended friendships, had long been spent in the comforting pages of books. Like the old man, Blair acknowledged the sketches were the most appealing feature of the book. He read the short bit about the author and decided the man had spent enough time in Peru to have a basis and foundation for the book. He quickly scanned the remaining selection, and quickly agreed this was the treasure find.

Taking his precious discovery up to the counter, Blair noticed that the old man was once again gone from his post. Then he heard water running and realized he had taken a short trip to the bathroom. Blair smiled and amused himself by scanning some of the titles in the rows closest to the counter. A soft, red-leather volume, a diary, caught his eye. The leather, aged like soft skin, looked more like old wine stains against the grain of the old book cover. The pages were gilt-edged and of fine quality linen paper. He opened the book and saw it was indeed a diary. The penmanship was a beautiful soft scroll that danced across the page in neat and even lines. Curious, Blair turned to the first page: Darren Boyd 1973. In Search of Myself.

He glanced at the small sticker price on the back of the book and for some reason unknown to him, felt compelled to buy the book. Perhaps, he reasoned, because Naomi was on a similar search at this time in her life. He was just four at the time, but his mom had instilled a need for adventure and growth early in his young life. Naomi was a woman on an eternal quest for her own inner spirit, yet, roots, commitment, and nesting were not qualities high on her spiritual totem. Perhaps Darren Boyd, a seeker at that time, had some personal discoveries to share that were a little more in tune with Blair's learning curve...needs to help him cope with responsibility and duty, enlightenment concerning survival in a world that demanded synergism.

"Find something you like?"

Blair jumped. How much time had passed. He had lost himself within the first few pages of the diary. He had literally zoned out. Here he was Blair Sandburg, Guide and Shaman to probably the only living Sentinel, and he couldn't stay focused himself. How could he be there for Jim, when he needed a guide himself lately.

"Yeah," he smiled at the old man and brought the two books to the counter to be rung up.

"I see you took my suggestion. Good choice for the pictures alone," the old man winked at him.

"That's Fifty-Five Dollars."

"Oh, man," Blair said as he checked his wallet. All he had on him was a five dollar bill.

"You take credit cards?" Blair asked tentatively, not really expecting such a small operation in a basement to take plastic.

"Who doesn't?" the old man asked as he took the offered card and completed the transaction.

Exuberant at his purchases, Blair practically skipped out of the old book store and headed towards his car. Inserting his key into the lock, Blair's enthusiasm waned as visions of his partner came to mind. Jim was going to have puppies, then kick his ass. He was just complaining last night how unreliable Blair was, how he couldn't seem to keep appointments and concentrate on anything for too long. Well, Jim, I'm sorry man, but maybe you should have asked me if I wanted to be a shaman. Maybe Incacha should have chosen a little more wisely. I'm doing the best I can, man. I need to find some direction, and I think I just found the ticket. He lovingly hugged the two books to his breast, finding hope and promise in their rectangular shells...their familiar structure and form reassuring him. For the first time in weeks, the Shaman to the Great City of Cascade felt uplifted and competent.

Blair bounded off the elevator on the 7th floor of the Cascade Police Station. He entered Major Crimes, not with the trepidation and concern befitting the two-hour delay in his arrival time, but with eager anticipation and joy. The treasures in his backpack firmly held him in their thrall. There were very few forces on the face of the earth that could bring the young anthropologist down, but the look on James Ellison's face as he looked up from his desk was definitely one of them.

Stopping dead in his tracks, Blair swallowed hard as he took in Jim's angry countenance. Straightening, he forced himself to move forward. "Hey, Jim, you won't believe what happened..."

Jim glanced up at the ebullient face of his partner. Angrily he looked back down at the pile of paperwork that would have been more than half completed by now if Blair had kept his promise. He ignored his partner and continued filling in the form before him.

Dumping his backpack onto the chair beside Ellison's desk, Blair pursed his lips in thought. Okay, so he's going to give me the silent treatment. "Look man, I know I'm late and I'm sorry, but wait until you hear about the books I found." Blair dug the treasured volumes out. "This one," he said, displaying the first book, "is by a guy who spent five years exploring Peru. It is so cool and wait until you see his drawings," Blair enthused, "but that's not the best part, well, not for me at least," he grinned, brandishing the second book. "This one is about a personal journey of awareness. I've only had a chance to glance at it, but..."

Jim slammed his pen down on the desk and turned towards the clueless young man beside him. "Chief, I've got two hours of paperwork sitting here that needs to be completed before I leave tonight. Simon lost his little battle with the Mayor and the Council which now gives me five old cases to sift through and put some time into. I've got current cases that need my attention, and all I ask is that you help me with some paperwork ...something that you seem to be a whiz at and you can't do that for me. Yet, you come in here talking about some books, that I personally don't give a rat's ass about, and expect me to share your excitement. Well, sorry, Chief, look at this face," Jim said as he pointed towards his dour countenance, "this is not excitement."

Blair sighed and looked away, unable to stand the look of anger on Jim's face. Damn, he had done it again. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "It's just that I found this old bookstore and then when I came across these books, it was like it was meant to be, you know?" He glanced up hoping to see understanding on the older man's face and was disappointed when Jim simply glared back at him. "Here, why don't you let me finish up with those reports and then I'll help you with this other stuff," he offered.

Jim saw the hurt in the young man's eyes, but his anger was still too near the surface. However, Blair really was good at pushing this paperwork out. "Okay, Junior. See what you can do with this mess. I need to go down to the lab and pick up some reports. Simon's in a foul mood, so I suggest you keep a low profile, like everyone else around here. The Mayor decided we each get five old open cases instead of the one he originally planned. Every detective here has bitched to Simon about it already and he's got a closed door policy right now." Jim rose from his chair and allowed Blair to slip in. He turned back to the eager grad student who had already started on the form before him. "Chief, I...," his voice trailed off. No, he was still too upset to apologize. Instead he opted to say, "I'll see you later." Then he left the bullpen.

Letting out the pent-up breath, Blair started in on the back log of reports. He had barely started when the diary called to him like a siren's song. Glancing up to make sure Jim hadn't returned yet, he snatched up the cherished volume. Running a hand over its smooth, cool surface, he opened it and was soon engrossed in the magic of the written word.

One hour's time had passed and Jim had compiled a list of old cases for his review. He piled the folders high in an old cardboard box. He would just have to read some of them every night before bed. There just wasn't any time during the day, and time at the station was spent on reports, unless Blair came in more often to help out with that end. He stopped by at the lab to get the latest report on the car jackings that were taking place all over the city and entered the bullpen loaded with work and the promise of many long hours of reading. He stopped in his tracks as he noticed the pile of paperwork, untouched and demanding, while his partner leaned over the desk totally absorbed in a book. "Sandburg, what the hell are you doing?"

Blair started guiltily at Jim's unheard approach. He gulped and looked up into the angry face of his partner and then down at the book he was reading. Oh shit! he thought. Quickly he shut the book. "Um, sorry, I just, um....," he stammered.

"You just what? You just decided to take a break from the one line you wrote when I left here an hour ago? You just decided the paperwork can wait because your damn book is more important. Blair, this isn't working. I can't depend on you anymore. Why don't you just go home, Sandburg. 'Cause quite frankly, Junior, right now you're just in the way." Jim slammed the box down on the chair next to his desk and, with a jerk of his thumb, motioned for his guide to get up.

Blair's heart plummeted to his stomach when he heard Jim utter the words ' I can't depend on you anymore.' It was true, he couldn't, but that's why the book was so important to him. He just knew that the book held the answers, that it would help him get back on track. "Come on Jim, you don't understand. I know I've been letting you down a lot lately, but that's why this book is so important. If you would just let me explain..."

"Sandburg, you've been acting strange ever since Incacha died. I chalked it up to stress. Seeing someone die right before your eyes, it makes you think. I know how hard you take things. Hell, I took that hard and you were there to keep me in line. But it's been weeks, Chief. I have a job to do. I have to check my emotions and get on with the work. I really don't have time for a book report right now. Why don't you go back to the loft, we'll talk about this later." He reached down and picked up the book, closed it with a slam, pulled Blair up by the arm and handed him the book in a final act of dismissal.

"Okay, fine!" Blair stormed, shoving the diary into his backpack, his anger rising to match that of Ellison's. "I am like so outta here, man." Starting for the elevator, he paused, turning back. "I know I screwed up Jim, but would it really have killed you to just listen for once to something that's important to me? No," Blair held up a staying hand when Jim would have spoken, "there's nothing else to say, you've made your feelings extremely clear."

As Jim stared after his departing roommate, residual anger warred with conscience. Is Sandburg right? Do I set my own priorities ahead of what's important to him? With a weary sigh he resigned himself to discussing the issue with Blair. He'd try to be understanding and supportive, but the kid had to understand that sometimes work had to take precedence over flights of fancy.

Settling back into the monumental task of backlogged cases and paperwork, Jim periodically found his mind wandering back to the earlier scene with Blair. For some reason he just couldn't get the hurt expression he'd seen on Sandburg's face out of his mind or forget Blair's parting shot. With a growl of frustration he opened the next folder and began reading.

James Ellison arrived home to find the loft dark and no sign of his guide in evidence. Not surprising, considering his state of mind lately. He knew Incacha's death had shaken Sandburg, but it had been the Chopec's final act of passing on the role of shaman that seemed to send Blair into a tailspin. Sure, he knew at times his guide was uncertain, but in the end he'd always found a solution to the problem. So why were things different now?

Shaking his head in confusion, Jim strode over to the refrigerator and opening the door, scanned the interior's contents. I guess I could heat up the chili, he thought, not really caring for the idea. Closing the door, he decided to call for take-out. Sandburg's arrival halted his motion.

"Where have you been, Chief? I was getting worried."

Blair hung up his jacket and carefully removed the recently purchased books from his backpack. "I was at the university making arrangements to have my classes covered for a few days." He moved into the living room and set the volumes down on the coffee table. "Sorry about dinner," he added, striding for the kitchen. "I'll have something whipped up in a minute."

"It's not a problem," Jim assured him. "I was just about to call for take-out."

"I've got it covered, Jim," Blair replied, reaching into the refrigerator and pulling out two chicken breasts.

"So why do you need your classes covered?" Jim asked nonchalantly as he made his way over to the kitchen.

Blair continued with his dinner preparations. "I'm going out of town for a few days."

"Oh?" Jim's eyebrows rose in question. "Some place specific or are you just taking some time off?"

"A little of both," Blair said as he tucked the chicken breasts into the broiler to cook. Gathering up the ingredients, he began making a salad.

Jim's hand came down on Blair's, halting the chopping motion. "This is rather sudden, isn't it?"

Blair shrugged off the staying hand and continued chopping the vegetables. "Yeah well, you know me, Mr. Unreliable." DAMN! He had meant to say 'spontaneity.'

"I thought I did," Ellison grumbled.

Angered by his own Freudian slip, Blair blurted out, "What do you care anyway? You made it perfectly clear that you could care less about..."

"Whoa, wait a minute. Are we talking about those damn books again?" Jim asked, interrupting Blair's tirade.

Blair carefully set down the knife. "Yes Jim, it's about those damn books or more specifically the one book."

"All right." Jim expelled a sigh and leaned back against the counter. "I'll bite. What's so important about the book?"

"You wouldn't understand," Blair responded, scooping the vegetables into a bowl.

"Try me." Jim saw the hesitation. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened earlier. You caught me at a bad time. I didn't mean to snap at you."

"No, you were right," Blair conceded. "I was supposed to be helping you, not wasting time reading."

"So, what's so fascinating about this book that you couldn't put it down?"

Blair deliberated before answering. "It's a personal diary about this guy's journey of self-awareness back in the seventies."

Jim snorted.

"It's not what you think," Blair said with a shake of his head. "This guy, Darren Boyd, spent nine months in the wilderness communing with nature."

"Okay, so what's this got to do with you?"

"His journey took place right here in Washington state. I want to re-create at least part of that trip. I was hoping you'd come with me." Blair's blue eyes pleaded with unspoken eloquence as he looked at his best friend.

"Even if I wanted to go. Which I don't. I can't right now. You know how backlogged I am at the station."

Blair's disappointment was almost palpable. "Yeah, I know."

Jim ran a hand of frustration over his face. "Couldn't you put the trip off? At least until I can catch up a bit and come with you?"

"No, I have to do this now." Before my insecurities get you killed. "Besides, now or later, it's obvious that you don't really want to go."

"I've got nothing against communing with nature, Chief. It's all this self-awareness crap that I've got a problem with. Why is this trip so important to you anyway?"

Blair saw the confusion and underlying frustration clearly etched on Ellison's face, yet he couldn't bring himself to explain further. He'd already failed Jim so much of late. If his partner had even the vaguest of notions of how really screwed up he was...No, Jim would never understand.

"It's not important," Blair said, finally picking up the threads of their conversation. He looked down at the salad, his appetite now nonexistent. "The chicken should be done in about twenty minutes," he told Jim as he gathered up his books and headed in the direction of his room. "I've got some last minute things to take care of and then I think I'm going to turn in early."

"Sandburg," Jim called.

Blair paused at Ellison's entreaty and looked back. If you really cared, you'd come. Blair's unspoken thoughts went out over the cosmic airwaves.

"I'm sorry," came Jim's reply and with a nod Blair disappeared into his room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Blair flopped down on the bed in a fit of pique. Trust Jim to dismiss something that's important to me. Yeah, right. It's not like it's the first time it's happened. I've seen how he rolls his eyes and tunes me out when he doesn't want to listen. Well, fine. Be that way. See if I care. Determined not to let Ellison's attitude destroy his enjoyment, Blair picked up the diary from the nightstand and began to read.

The diary proved to be fascinating. In the turbulent times of the early seventies, a young man by the name of Darren Boyd had shunned the more popular method of using drugs and had instead chosen to seek self-awareness in the wilds of Washington state. With the barest of necessities such as suitable clothing, a canteen, a knife and a blanket, he had set forth by foot on a journey that traversed nearly the entire length of the Cascade Range from Snoqualmie to Mazama. For nine months he observed mother nature in all her wondrous glory and fought to survive her harsh realities. With his new-found awareness of her multitude of creatures, big and small, came lessons of survival of the fittest, self sacrifice, family structures, community, interdependence and love.

With each passing second Blair became more and more enraptured by the revelations revealed by the young man and how they had affected not only his physical, but spiritual well-being. By the time the first shimmering rays of the sun peeked over the horizon and Blair turned the final page, he knew where to begin his own search for answers. Time and responsibilities would not permit him to embark on the entire nine-month journey, but he could at least re-create the last leg of it, a route that would take him from Rainbow Falls to the now abandoned mining town of Coopersville.

Laying the book aside, Blair turned off the lamp and snuggled beneath the covers, knowing he should at least try to get some sleep, but his mind refused to cooperate as it replayed one by one the vivid scenes painted by the words in the diary. Within the first ten pages Blair had known he not only wanted to, but needed to make this trip, and more than anything he wanted to share what he hoped would be a profound experience with his best friend. However, considering Jim's earlier reticence, Blair had grave concerns as to the feasibility of that prospect ever occurring. No matter. As much as he wanted Jim to accompany him, deep inside Blair there was a yearning, a persistent voice that would not be silenced, urging--no demanding--that he go, alone if necessary.

Of mixed emotions, but resigned nonetheless, Blair conceded the notion of trying to get any sleep. Throwing off the covers, he turned on the light, rose and made his way over to the bookshelves on the other side of the room. A quick search procured a map of the state, and carrying it back to his bed, Blair began planning his trip.

There is a geometry in exclusion. The circles that men draw alienate the few. There is hurt in the hovering around the edges, there is loneliness in corners, and there is no solace in perpendicular passions that we think bind us to a group. We stand back outside the perimeter and watch the square dance with expectant eyes and hopeful hearts; the isosceles triangles of camaraderie, equally leaning on each other. Then we see across the room a lone person, standing outside the fringes of the welcomed, a line unconnected---eyes meet and in the quiet distance that bridges souls---parallel hearts connect.

PART THREE: THE PARALLEL HEART

Blair Sandburg pulled the Volvo into the lot marked "Hikers - long term parking." He had decided to start his quest from the park. Boyd had taken this exact same trail over twenty years ago in a different time, but with parallel purpose. A young man finding himself overburdened by responsibilities placed upon him by parents and tradition, the young Darren had sought deeper purpose to his life.

Blair went into the ranger station. A youthful park ranger sat at his desk showing some young campers a map of the region. He excused himself briefly and walked over to the counter.

"Going to hike up to Washington Pass?" the ranger asked him, smiling warmly.

"Yeah, I hear there's some old mining camps up there," Blair said, returning the smile with a bright one of his own.

"I have some brochures here. Snakes, bears, moose, any other animals you might encounter; rules concerning camp fires, garbage, and hunting and fishing. Plus, you need to sign the hiker's log. Need your name, driver's license, person to contact, and a time of return," the ranger said as he turned the log in Blair's direction and offered a pen.

Blair took the pen and watched warily as the ranger piled up several brochures neatly in front of him. Man, he didn't realize there were so many rules and regulations. This ranger was about as anal as Jim on his most permissive days.

"Would you happen to know how long it should take me to reach Mazama?" Blair asked to get an idea of when he should be expected back, before they called one very pissed off detective, finding themselves with a real live sentinel running lose in these woods looking for his errant shaman. No, just guide for now, Blair thought, once again letting his fears pull his soaring spirit down.

"Three days at most to get there, depends on how fast you walk and how big a hurry you are to get there. Most folks make it up to the pass in three days and two days back... they always seem more in a hurry to get back." The ranger grinned as he examined the name and information Blair had signed on the register.

"Well, Mr. Sandburg, you have a pleasant trip and we'll expect to see you back here on Saturday, but don't worry, we usually give our hikers a 24-hour grace period before we send out the troops." The ranger then returned to his desk and continued assisting the young campers who were apparently in need of a planned route.

He picked up his backpack and sleeping bag and headed for the store next door. He was not going to rush to get back here. The only man who cared seemed quite happy to have Blair packing his half-baked notions and giving him some peace for a few days. He remembered Jim's send-off that morning.

"Look, Sandburg, I'm not against you going. Hell, I think you have to go at this point. You're just not going to be happy until you get this out of your system. I just think it's a complete waste of time. You are my guide and shaman, you handle the job and you have since the very first time you pushed me under that garbage truck. If a name, like shaman, puts that much different meaning to this whole sentinel-guide thing then I think you need to get your head on straight," Jim had said at four in the morning, keeping Sandburg company at the kitchen table, watching his young partner as he wolfed down his breakfast of cold cereal. Jim nursed the hot coffee mug and his tired, haggard face spoke volumes to Blair about how this trip was really weighing on his sentinel.

"Maybe I do, Jim. Maybe this whole thing isn't about you as a sentinel. Maybe I need to shed some of my own past baggage before I embrace any knew personas. I wouldn't be leaving you like this Jim if I didn't feel this was the right thing for me to do---the right thing for the both of us." Blair stood up and took his bowl to the sink.

He picked up his backpack and the sleeping bag and headed for the door. "I'll see you in about a week."

"Sandburg, you'll call me when you get into any town. I'll expect to hear from you periodically...no buts, Chief," Jim said sternly as he saw the protest coming his way. "You're not dropping out of site for a week without keeping me apprised of your whereabouts. You call me before you start and you call me when you return, got it?"

"I'll call when I can, but don't worry if you don't hear from me. I promise, Jim, I'll do my best to keep you posted. Besides," he sighed in exasperation at the mother-hen routine, "I wrote you out an itinerary of the route I was going to retrace. If I'm dinner for some mother grizzly, you'll at least find my backpack," he said as he ducked when the dishtowel came flying his way.

"I feel sorry for the bear," the boxer-clad detective said as he watched his young friend leave the loft and start his quest.

Blair entered the cozy country store for campers. There was a small lunch counter against one wall. Not having eaten since the cereal for breakfast, he opted for soup and sandwich. He would also order a couple of sandwiches to take with him on the trail. He planned on following Darren's diary in spirit, but Blair drew the line at trapping small animals. There were enough canned beans in his backpack to feed him until he reached the next town, but not enough to overburden him. Gilbert was only 15 miles away but over the rugged terrain it would take him until the day after tomorrow to reach it if all went well for him. If he decided to avoid the larger town, he could always get additional supplies at the Road's End, a campsite just outside of town.

He sat down at the counter and ordered a grilled cheese sandwich along with some chicken noodle soup. Then he pulled out Darren Boyd's diary and found the marked page that started the journey from Rainbow Falls.

I leave civilization behind, not in despair or disgust, but in my hunger. The war, the drugs, the free love, they offer me nothing to fill the holes in my soul. There are no patches among the modern and new to fill my empty places. Mom and Dad are beside themselves. I think they would rather I did drugs and the commune life. I just need some time with me. I need myself complete...and I know I'm out there. Here he had drawn some mountains. The sketches were well done and reminded Blair of the other book in his backpack...the sketches of panthers, snakes, and plants from a trip to Peru.

He lovingly replaced the book in his backpack, finished his lunch, ordered his take-out and stepped back out into the parking lot. Blair Sandburg, experienced traveler on foreign shores, tracker of lost beginnings, and observer of human passages, began his silent search for the unknown.

Jim Ellison was not in one of his better moods as he sat at his desk. He felt guilty and that was not an emotion he wore well. He regretted the way he had shrugged off Blair's concerns. God, the kid had given up a chance of a lifetime and ran off to Peru with him to save Simon and Darryl from drug lords. He had jumped from an airplane when he was terrified of heights. He had jumped off a cliff and spent a night wet and cold helping Jim to track a kidnapped Simon. Sandburg had proven himself over and over again. He ran to Jim's side without question, doubt, or hesitation. Now, when the kid needed Jim, hell, wanted him to go along on this journey of self-discovery, Jim could only say, "Good luck and don't hurry back."

"Damn," Jim swore as he tried to re-read the case folder in front of him for the fourth time.

"Jim, why don't you come in my office," Simon Banks said in a pleasant enough voice, but the smile on his face told his best detective that it was not an idle request, but a command.

When Jim entered and closed the door, Simon pointed to the chair in front of his desk. The tall police captain walked over to the coffee pot and poured two mugs of the hot steaming liquid. He placed one in front of his desk, within easy reach of the dour-faced detective, and one in the center of his desk. He sat down, bridged his fingers before his face, and eyed the man before him speculatively.

"Sir, if this is some kind of game, I really do have a lot of work to attend to."

"I was just looking at some old snapshots. The man I see before me right now is the man I saw in this police station three years ago--hot-tempered, irritable, about as uptight as a flagpole. What's he doing back in my department?"

"I'm just a little out of sorts, Captain, that's all. The new cases, plus the car jackings and the drug smuggling, I'm just a bit overwhelmed by it all. Sandburg took a few days off to take some soul-seeking journey, and I'm swamped with paperwork."

"Bullshit, Jim. You've had multiple case loads before and I've never seen you this grumpy. This wouldn't have something to do with Sandburg would it?"

The look that Ellison gave him spoke volumes. Banks sighed. "I thought as much. You want to talk about it?"

Ellison glanced away. "No, sir, not really."

"Well, if you change your mind..." his voice trailed off.

Jim rose. "Thanks, Simon, I'll keep that in mind."

Blair had spent a good portion of the late afternoon following the hiker's trail. There were signs periodically marked with maps, tacked to wood plaques under glass indicating various scenic routes off the set path. Blair continued on for about seven miles, then he stopped at one such plaque and sat down on a nearby rock. He pulled out the diary and was amazed at the comfort the worn book gave to him. For several minutes he just held it lovingly in his hands as though it were some magic eight ball---ask your question and it shall be answered.

Apparently Darren had moved off the trail here to the east. There was a clearing about three miles off that supposedly had some rock formations and made a wonderful place to spend the night. It was near enough the side of a small peak to give shelter, yet close enough to an open field and stream to watch the animals come to drink. An excellent place, Blair thought, to get in tune with nature, cathedral beneath the sky for one lost soul.

It took him another two hours to reach the designated area. There were many distractions for the sensitive young man. He saw two elk munching on vegetation. Canadian geese were flying low and honking their unison cry of flight. The warm sun had now caused him to shed his shirt and he was walking in his t-shirt, hat down low against the glare, sunglasses perched on his nose, and a relaxed confident stride in his walk. The young Shaman, the dilettante of magic, was becoming as the becoming is to all who go quietly into the flow. The man Incacha saw in Blair Sandburg was trekking the mountain paths of the Cascades totally oblivious to the fact that what he sought was already within him.

He saw the small rock formations off to the left of the path's end. Straight ahead was a clearing of lush grass that sloped downward towards a small stream. The sounds of the running water could be heard from this distance. The stream ran through the clearing down from the Mountain slope towards the left and flowed into the forest on the right. Blair knew that as he continued down the marked trail he would eventually be going deeper into the woods, but also climbing in elevation towards Washington Peak and its now-defunct Coopersville.

He started a small fire amid the rocks. The piled rocks and ashes gave testimony that this site was indeed a favored night stop for hikers. He took a can of beans, opened them with his Swiss army knife and set them on the rocks near the flames to heat. Then taking a small tin cup, he filled it with water from his canteen and set it by the rocks to heat, slipping a tea bag in. Pulling out some trail mix, he leaned back against one of the rocks to watch his meal cook and the sun set not far off over the mountain crest. Thank God he had been close. Walking the woods at night would have been foolish. Tomorrow he would have to make sure he at least made camp by late afternoon. Unfortunately the late start from the Ranger's station had put him off schedule, but tomorrow he would get an early start and cover most of the distance remaining to Coopersville. Somehow Coopersville seemed to be the place for epiphanies.

Pulling the diary, the journal from Peru, a notebook and pen from his backpack, he organized a small rock near him as a desk. He reached over to stir the beans. Then popping some trail mix in his mouth, he leaned back and grabbed the diary. The first entry he opened to was the Coopersville arrival.

Even here in this beautiful, rugged world of wonders, the corporate hand has stifled the freedom and beauty. These men work long hours in the mines, no sunlight, hot stale air, and a lung full of dirt. I met the foreman today, Joe Barrett. A really okay guy. He didn't take to me off the bat. Long- haired hippies are not that popular up here, but once we got to talking he seems like an honest guy. He just wants to do his job and do what's right for his people. Management actually caring about the worker, I have some friends in college that would have a hard time buying into that crock, but, hey, I'm seeing it for myself---first hand. Joe told me he'd take me into the mines tomorrow if I wanted. He seems to be in need of a friend, and I somehow fit the bill. So I've decided to stay in Coopersville a little longer than originally planned.

Blair put the diary down, wrapped his shirt around the can of beans and took a spoon out of his pack. The tea was boiling in the cup, so he pulled that aside and placed it on a rock to cool before drinking. Slowly he ate the beans as he watched some movement near the stream. Some nocturnal creatures seeking refreshment and a place to rest for the night were scurrying around, some moving cautiously and stealthfully, others in frantic, chipper playfulness. He felt himself grow tired. It had been a long day and the physical exertion of the hike, the altitude, and the early start to his day led him to eagerly embrace the darkness and yearn to snuggle in his sleeping bag.

Unable to recall when anything had tasted so good, Blair quickly finished off the last of the beans. In between the housework of setting up his sleeping bag and piling more branches on the campfire, he drank the rest of his tea . The evening was already getting chilly and he pulled a sweatshirt from his pack and a knit cap. After relieving himself behind the rocks, he took off his shoes and socks. Securing himself within the folds of the sleeping bag, he stared up at the beautiful night sky filled with stars. He remembered his childhood pleasure at camp outs with his mom and her friends. Sometimes in their peripatetic lifestyle, the young Blair found that his mother was the only real friend he had. She was always there for him, for the most part, but she was sometimes in search of more than her young son could provide. However, the time she did spend with him was always fun and adventurous and such excursions out on the beaches and in the woods always proved memorable. The silly and serious conversations, alike, had brought him closer to his mother and given him an understanding of her ideals. He admired her free spirit and refusal to grow old within a system that earmarked age like a well-read book. His mother was always full of surprises. She embraced the new and the peculiar and pushed her young son to value his individuality.

He looked off into the celestial distance to locate the various constellations that he knew--Orion, The Dog, The Bear. Then he thought of Jim and wondered how great it would be to see the stars from such a distance, clearer and closer and brighter. Jim, now there was a surprise in his life, an unexpected lagniappe to his research and Ph.D. Blair had rarely longed for a father. True, there were times when other kids spoke of the great times they had with their dads, and he often fantasized about some of the men---a rare few---marrying his mom and becoming his dad. However, none had really fit the bill of the ideal he had created for the perfect father, until he met Jim Ellison. True, Jim was a friend and sentinel first and foremost, but when he was in full Blessed Protector mode, Blair couldn't think of a man he would want for a father more so than Jim. The man was a force to be reckoned with when he needed to ensure his partner's safety. Jim had not been an easy man to get to know. It was more like storming a fortress trying to know the man, but close observation had proven Blair's initial impressions accurate. Jim was a man hardened by life and circumstance, who hid his soft side deep within, a safety feature to keep him out of the deep pit of despair. After seeing some of the things that Jim saw on a daily basis, Blair could well understand the need for such defense mechanisms. The man himself was honorable, loyal, affectionate, and as abiding as the sun rising each morning. A rare find in a friend; rarer still that he was the living embodiment of Blair's research, a sentinel.

Blair's spirits were once again plummeted with the realization of what he was here for: seeking some answers to the questions of what shamans do, what's expected of them, and how he can fulfill his obligations to his sentinel. As he focused far into the heavens, beyond the soft lights of the stars, deep into the void of creation, he saw a snake slithering across the skies. The small pinpoints of light had coalesced into an undulating shape twisting and dancing against the blackness. Then the snake became large and scaly and Blair could see every fine detail of the raised scales.

"Blair, come out Blair," Naomi called as she looked for her missing son in the closets and attic of the old house they were renting. "It won't be so bad, dear. All little boys go to school and besides," Naomi persisted in a gentle, reassuring voice, "you'll meet other boys and girls your own age, make new friends."

Five-year-old Blair peered out from under the bed in his mother's room. She saw the hand pull back just as she entered. Lovingly patient, Naomi Sandburg sat down on the bed careful of her precious child underneath. "I'm anxious for you to go to school. Even though I know we'll be apart, I know you'll learn lots of new ideas and be able to come home and tell me. That way I'll be able to experience this wonderful new adventure with you. Of course, if you don't go, I guess I won't ever know what it's like at the school, what all the other moms get to see and do."

Blair said in a soft voice, "I don't want to be away from you. I don't want to have to go every day. You always said I should be free. School isn't free, it's a box. You always said boxes are bad."

"Blair, sweety, boxes are bad when people put themselves in them. School gives you knowledge and ideas, and these are the tools you need to keep you out of the boxes. Think of learning as tools, saws, and pliers and hammers to build doors to open up the boxes. Wouldn't you rather have all the tools you needed to work your way out of any box, then just not go in them. If you don't go in a box once, Blair, honey, you'll always wonder what was so bad about them."

Slowly Blair crawled out from under the bed and came to stand before his mother. She drew him near between her legs and wrapped him in a warm, endearing embrace.

"I'll go, but I won't stay."

"Then it's a deal. You'll go and see the box. One week, honey, that's all I ask."

Blair rolled over in his sleep and cuddled deep within the warmth. The childhood dream was a pleasant memory. As he slowly woke to the morning light, his inner eye remembered the last memory of the dream: a snake across the skies shedding its skin, shattering the casing into tiny quasars that blanketed the sky.

Jim stepped off the elevator and wearily headed for the loft. His eyes burned with fatigue and he wondered if he had enough energy left to take a shower before collapsing into bed.

Inserting his key into the lock, he found his thoughts turning to Sandburg. Strange how he'd gotten used to having the young man around. More than once during the course of the day, he'd found himself turning to address his absent partner, and now he was coming home to an empty loft. For some reason that thought disturbed him. However, too tired to analyze it, he turned the key and opened the door.

Flicking on the lights, he turned to remove his jacket and instead automatically reached for his gun. The loft had been tossed. Books had been knocked from their ordered rows on the shelves. Contents of the kitchen drawers had been dumped on the floor. Nothing appeared to have escaped being examined and discarded haphazardly. Using his heightened senses, Jim scanned the loft and surrounding area. Detecting nothing amiss, he holstered his gun and pulled out his cell phone.

Simon Banks picked up on the second ring. "Banks," he growled into the phone.

"Yeah Simon, it's Jim. I need a forensic's team over at my place. Someone broke in and trashed the loft."

"WHAT?" came Simon's startled exclamation.

"There doesn't appear to be any signs of robbery. My guess is they were looking for something."

"Do you have any idea what that 'something' might be?" Simon asked.

"Not a clue," Ellison reluctantly admitted.

"I'll get a team over there right away."

"Thanks, sir, I'd appreciate that."

"Jim," Simon called before the detective could hang up, "I'm sorry to hear about your place, but look on the bright side, at least Sandburg wasn't there when it happened.

"Yeah, there is that."

After making sure the fire was completely out and refilling his canteen in the stream, Blair packed up his bags. Breakfast had been a simple grain bar. Although he still had several cans of beans and some soup packets left, he decided to stop at the campground store and purchase more supplies. It wasn't that far from the campground up to Coopersville and he could well afford the added burden since he felt the rising need to stay a little longer in the old mining town. The place was actually calling out to him. Every time he saw the name in Darren's diary, he felt like it held the memories and comforts of home. He was getting excited now, knowing his final destination would be reached by tomorrow evening.

Darren had made many drawings, maps, and doodlings in his journal. Apparently there was a cliff not too far off to the east that Darren had found with a small waterfall and rock formations that had given him shelter for the night. Blair decided to make it his destination for the night's camp and started back towards the marked trail.

A good portion of the day was uphill climbing and he felt himself tiring, not used to the altitude and the exertion.

Blair took a short sip of water from his canteen and pulled out his old fisherman's hat that he had wisely packed. The cool autumn air was refreshing, but the exertion of the hike and the warm sun were reminding him of the Indian Summer that had graced the state. The evenings, though cool and refreshing, warmed early in the mornings and the afternoons hinted of hot summer memories.

He hefted his gear back on his shoulders and started off down the small path leading to Darren's second night's resting spot on this last leg of his journey so many years ago. The forest was alive with the sounds of birds, squirrels, and other creatures. At one point Blair stopped to watch a herd of deer grazing off in an open field. He gently lowered himself onto the path and sat perfectly still for almost half an hour relishing the sites and sounds of nature at peace. Why is it so easy for these creatures to find acceptance and peace in their environment, and I've been with Jim now for almost three years and I don't feel secure in my place with him or in the department, Blair thought.

Then he noticed off to his right a squirrel, who had cautiously started inching his way towards him, checking for any signs of food or peace offerings. Blair carefully reached into his backpack for the packet of trail mix and nuts he had stashed there. He put down a small amount of nuts three feet away from him. Sitting completely still, he watched as the inquisitive little fellow approached, picked up a walnut, sat back on his haunches and nibbled, all the while watching Blair like a student enraptured by one of his lectures.

"I bet you look for hikers all the time. You're probably one of the best fed animals out here."

The squirrel made no move to leave. Instead he finished his walnut and reached for another, picking it up and once again enjoying his meal with a floor show. Blair looked closely at the dark eyes, the small little hands with the long nails that delicately handled the treat, the flowing bushy tail variated in color, the brown coat tipped with black, and the little mouth moving up and down savoring the meat. He felt his body relax, felt the anxiety that had filled him for the last several weeks leave his body like air from a punctured balloon, slowly voiding his soul and allowing a calming breeze to enter. So this was what Darren had found, this peace, this sense of belonging and understanding.

After what seemed like a short time to the young anthropologist, but what turned out to be two hours, he suddenly came back to the present, surprised by the zone out he had once again experienced. However, it was like a period of meditation, he felt relaxed and calm. Refreshed, he eagerly resumed his journey towards the cliff that Darren had found.

Jim sat at his desk carefully reviewing the forensics report from the loft break in. Whoever these guys were, they were professionals. The previous evening, using his heightened senses, he had smelt residual traces of aftershave and gun oil. Different sets of scuff marks, left on the loft's floor, had clearly indicated that two individuals had been present, but other than those measly tidbits of information, Ellison had nothing to go on. No fingerprints, no hair samples and no idea of what the hell they'd been looking for.

Replacing the phone in its receiver, Simon absently rubbed at the headache which had begun to materialize upon receipt of the call. Rising, he crossed the room, opened the door and called Ellison into his office.

"What's up, sir?" Jim inquired upon entering and closing the door behind him.

"There's been a break in at Rainier University," Simon reluctantly told the detective.

"Don't tell me," Jim groaned with trepidation, already suspecting the worst.

"Yep," Simon replied. "It was Sandburg's office."

"I told you not to tell me," Jim groused.

Simon shrugged. "You'd have found out eventually."

"True," Ellison grudgingly admitted.

"Let's go," Simon said, grabbing his jacket. "Somehow I just knew Sandburg was going to end up involved in this," he grumbled, following Ellison.

"When I get my hands on you Bailey I'm going to break both your legs. I'm going to give you to the first person that wants an ill-tempered rascal like you."

Blair heard a raised voice from quite a distance. It was female, angry, and somewhat muffled, like it was coming from a cave or another level.

When he approached the clearing, there were rocks off to the right, a thick forest began on the left, and straight ahead was a cliff overlooking one of the most beautiful sights Blair had ever seen. But his first view was detracted by the two animals that stood near the cliff. One was a huge reddish-brown Newfoundland which turned and started growling as he approached. The other was a smaller dog, an Australian Kelpie, that was running alongside the ledge with a thick rope in his mouth, tail wagging, as though enjoying some kind of joke.

"Hello!" Blair yelled to interrupt the tirade that was still coming from somewhere below the cliff edge.

"Oh, Hello! Can you help me please. Bailey thinks we're going to play tug of war and he pulled my drop rope up when I wasn't looking. Could you please drop it back down to me."

"I'm Blair Sandburg and I'd love to help you, but there's a huge dog here that doesn't seem too happy to see me."

"Jake! SIT!!!"

Blair watched as the previously growling animal pulled his rump under him and eagerly sat down, moving his butt in place in the dirt like a washing machine, too powerful and full of its load not to rumble and shake. The dog actually seemed to be grinning at him now as though to say, "I was only kidding, can't you take a joke."

Blair slowly approached the smaller dog, who was still proud of his prize. "Ah, Miss?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Shelly Lamb. Glad to meet you, Blair."

"Shelly, the little guy, you called him Bailey, he has the rope, but he doesn't seem too eager to give it up."

"Oh, don't mind him, just go up to him and take it away, but yell "NO" as you do it. Otherwise, he'll think you want to play pull with him."

Blair finally got the rope from the small dog. Moving to the edge, he saw a young woman about fifteen feet below. Testing the connection Shelly had made to a nearby tree, he dropped it over the edge to the woman waiting below.

When she cleared the rim, Blair looked into a lovely face with clear, beautiful, blue eyes and brown hair beneath a baseball cap. She sat down on the ground, smiled her thanks at Blair, then addressed her entourage. "You guys are really going to get it. No walks, no treats, and I will never take you hiking again."

The recalcitrant troop just eyed her like they had been through this routine before and knew it didn't hold much weight. Jake came up to her and licked her happily on the face. Bailey still tried to grab the rope from her. She just shook her head and extended her hand to Blair.

"Thank you. I was sure lucky you decided to veer off the trail and see the overlook. I hope it was worth the trip, because I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along. The guys like to play, but helping out isn't something they understand. In their world it's all play, all the time."

"I think we could learn something from them," Blair said cheerfully, watching the faithful companions dance in appreciation around their angry mistress.

"Do you live around here, I notice you don't have a backpack?" Blair said as he looked around the clearing.

"Actually my grandfather runs the camp store, Road's End Campsite. There are campgrounds about three miles east of here, straight up from the path crossroads. I've taken a year off from school to help gramps. My grandma died this past summer and he's having a hard time adjusting. So Mom and Dad suggested I bring Bailey and Jake out here and spend some time with him," she explained, then stood up and dusted herself off.

"May I ask what you were doing down there?" Blair said as he tilted his head in the direction of the edge.

"Oh, there's a cave down there. I used to climb down with my cousins when I was younger. As a matter of fact, my grandfather showed us how to get down. He says a lot of these cliff caves go way back into the mountain and some even reach the old mines. So we always were told not to venture deep. As a matter of fact, he set a marker for us. My cousins and I buried a time capsule in the cave. I just wanted to see if it was still there. Yes, untouched. I decided to leave it there for someone else." She untied her nylon rope from the tree and coiled it neatly on her shoulder.

"Well, I've got to get back. Dinner time. Are you hiking?"

"Yeah, I'm moving towards Washington Pass. I hear there are a lot of old mining towns up there. I'm looking for Coopersville." Blair stood to join her and patted Jake on the head as he came up offering his apologies for his untowards first greeting.

"Oh, I know Coopersville. When I was little my parents brought me here on summer vacations. I stayed with my grandparents. I remember the big mining accident that happened there. The whole town closed up in about a month, I think it was 73. Not long after that my grandfather kept telling me scary stories about the place. Some old miners mentioned seeing ghosts there. No way would you catch me anywhere near that place, especially after dark."

"Well, I've had enough weird things happen to me in the past three years, ghosts wouldn't disturb me in any way. As a matter of fact, I'd like to ask them a few questions," Blair said with a calm seriousness.

Shelly started laughing, "Man, you had me going there for a minute. We get a lot of strange ones walking these trails lately. You're not one of those psychic types, are you?"

"No, I wish I were. My mom's into getting in touch with her spirit and all, but I just meditate."

"Well, good luck. Seriously, though, Coopersville has a bad rep. There have been some unexplained accidents up there. Do be careful if you really have to go there, and thanks again." She started off down the path Blair had come from and turned briefly to wave as her two companions raced merrily at her heels, happy that all was apparently forgiven and forgotten.

Making their way through the people clustered outside, the two men entered Sandburg's office. Forensics was already on the scene, but Jim had a hunch that they wouldn't be any more successful regarding evidence then they had been before.

Simon whistled in astonishment at the destruction surrounding them. Not a book or artifact had been left unturned. "Sandburg's going to be devastated when he hears about this."

That was an understatement if Ellison ever heard one. Aside from the monetary value of the destroyed objects, Jim knew that Blair would mourn their historical value more.

As unobtrusively as possible, Jim moved around the room. Stepping over scattered debris, he focused his sentinel abilities, hoping against hope of finding some clue as to the identity of the intruders, or at the very least, some indication of what they might have been after. Twenty minutes later he had to admit defeat.

"Anything?" Simon inquired hopefully.

Jim shook his head. "I can tell you that it's the same two men who broke into the loft, but other than that, nothing."

"Well, at least we know for sure now that the two incidents are related," Simon pointed out the obvious. "The question now is, what does all this have to do with Sandburg?"

Ellison let out a frustrated sigh. "I wish to hell I knew."

That night, deep within the secure world of thinsulite and down, Blair Sandburg slept fitfully. He heard voices calling to him, distorted as though trapped within the earth, each heart-wrenching cry competing with another. They had secrets to tell and they were in search of a listener. Who better to listen than one in search of his own answers. So the seeker, so totally unaware, followed his heart into the mountains to answer a call over a quarter of a century old.

Jim Ellison stepped into the bookstore, surveyed the scene in a single glance and headed towards the forensic's officer working the case. Simon Banks entered only moments later. Other than Blair Sandburg, he was the only one who knew about Ellison's enhanced senses and the possibility of subsequent zone outs. So with Sandburg being out of town, Simon had made it a priority to remain close to his best detective. Hovering nearby, he watched as Jim went to kneel beside the murder victim. "What have we got?" Jim asked Serena as he began his own examination of the body.

"His name is Samuel Goldman, age seventy-two. The body was discovered by his granddaughter at 8:45 this evening. Preliminary analysis indicates that he died due to a severe blunt trauma to the back of the head."

Ellison finished his examination and stood. "Looks like whoever killed him worked him over pretty good first."

"He doesn't look the type to offer resistance if all the perps were after was money," Simon commented.

"No, he doesn't," Ellison concurred, "which means they were after something else." He glanced at Serena. "You said he had a granddaughter?"

"Rachel Goldman. She's in the back." Serena nodded towards a door marked "office" at the rear of the store.

Jim nodded his thanks, and with Simon following, headed towards the office.

The soft glow of a desk lamp spilled from the room. Inside a young woman, in her early twenties, sat trying to regain her composure. Short in stature, her long dark hair cascaded down around an oval face flush with emotions.

"Ms. Goldman," Jim called out softly to gain her attention. "I'm Detective James Ellison with the Cascade P.D. I know this is a difficult time for you, but I need to ask you a few questions."

Rachel wiped away the tell-tale tears, sniffled, then straightened in the chair. "What would you like to know detective?" she asked with only a slight tremor in her voice.

"Can you tell me what happened," he gently requested.

Taking a controlling breath, she explained. "Tonight was my study group. Afterwards, we all went out for a bite to eat, so I arrived home later than usual. I thought it was odd that the door was unlocked and the open sign still up because Gramps likes... liked," she amended, "to close promptly at 6:00."

"What happened then?" Jim prompted when she appeared hesitant.

"I came in and found him lying there." She bit back the tears that threatened. "There was so much blood."

"Have you noticed anyone unusual hanging around?" Jim asked.

She shook her head.

"Was anything taken that you know of?"

Again came a negative shake. "Not that I noticed. Even the money is still in the cash register."

"That rules out robbery," Simon commented from his position behind Ellison.

"Not necessarily," Jim replied thoughtfully. "Is there anything else that they might have been after?" His eyes settled on the rows of bookshelves just outside the office door. "A valuable book maybe?" he suggested.

"On occasion, through one of our estate purchases, we'll come across a rare book or two, but there is nothing like that in our inventory right now. And certainly nothing worth killing someone over."

"Still, we'd like to get a copy of your inventory if possible," Jim said.

"Of course, Detective." Rachel moved towards the office's computer and quickly called up the appropriate file.

"We'd also like to see your sale's receipts for the past month," Jim added as the requested document printed out.

"Certainly," Rachel replied. Going over to the filing cabinet, she pulled open a drawer, found the proper folder and frowned. "That's odd," she muttered.

Ellison was instantly alert. "What is it?"

She turned to look at the detective. "This month's receipts appear to be missing."

"Maybe your grandfather put them someplace else," Simon suggested.

"Perhaps," she mused and went to check beneath the checkout counter. Moments later she came back empty-handed. "Nothing," she told them. "I don't understand. Do you think whoever killed my grandfather took them?"

Ellison sighed. "It's beginning to look that way."

"But why?" Rachel cried out. "What could be so important that..." her voice caught on emotion and she was unable to continue.

"That's what we need to find out," Jim replied. "Do you keep any sort of backup copies?" he asked hopefully.

Rachel nodded. "All transactions are entered into the computer before the receipts are filed."

"We'll need to get a copy of that," Simon told her.

A few minutes later Rachel handed Jim the required list. He scanned the page stiffening suddenly when a familiar name appeared near the bottom. Simon noticed the detective's sudden tensing. "What is it Jim?"

Ellison handed him the paper.

"Damn!" Simon cursed moments later as his gaze fell upon the name Blair Sandburg.

"It's too much to be a coincidence, Simon. First the loft, then Sandburg's office and now this. They're obviously after something. My guess is that it's one of the books Sandburg bought."

Simon once again glanced down at the sheet of paper in his hands. "But why would anyone, besides Sandburg, be interested in," Simon read off the titles, "Peruvian Encounter or Darren Boyd 1973: In Search Of Myself?"

Ellison swore. "Damn it! I should have paid more attention." He looked at Simon, guilt shadowing his aquiline features. "He tried to tell me about them the other day, but I was too busy and too pissed off to listen."

"Come on, Jim," Simon tried to placate the irate individual. "You had no way of knowing..."

Jim cut him off. "I should have listened," he shouted angrily. Pausing, he took a deep breath and lowered his voice. "You should have seem him, Simon. He was so excited about those damn books, and what did I do, I brushed him off."

"Jim you have got to stop beating yourself up about this."

Ellison shook his head. "You don't understand Simon. The reason he took off on this trip of his is because of one of those books."

Simon frowned. "I thought you told me he was going on some kind of journey of self-awareness or some such nonsense."

Ellison nodded. "And guess what put that nonsense into his head."

"Damn," Simon muttered.

"Yeah," Ellison agreed. "We've got to find out what's so important about those books that they are willing to kill for them."

"Maybe the inventory list will tell us where the books came from," Simon suggested, but Jim was already one step ahead of him.

Leafing through the pages, Jim found the first title and took note of the seller's name and address. Seconds later he found the second title. "David Cooper," Jim mused thoughtfully, unaware he had read the name aloud. "Now why does that name sound familiar?"

"Because," Simon informed him, "David Cooper is the chief aid and brother to our state's esteemed Lieutenant Governor Ned Cooper." He eyed Ellison speculatively. "You don't honestly think that either one of them is involved in this?" Simon asked, incredulously. "Jim, Ned Cooper is primed to be the state's next Governor!"

Ellison shrugged. "There's only one way to find out."

Why is it the moment we realize something is missing, we frantically peel our lives back retracing our steps, thinking hard on where we were and what we did. What small items hold such value that they cause frantic introspection. We lose friends and we justify our need for independence with only a small regret, we lose the chance to help and we find excuses for our busy lives, we lose our humanity and we boast courage and strength in our indifference. What magnificent objects must lie on some other plane, objects of such grandeur and power, objects of such necessity that we can't even remember what they were.

PART FOUR: FINDER'S FEE

When Blair awoke the next morning, he was tired and bone-weary. After the refreshing sleep he had experienced the first night, he felt a letdown. Well, so much for the fresh air and exercise. Right now I don't think anything can help settle my nerves. He finished off his last packet of oatmeal for breakfast and pulled out his brochures from the ranger's station. The small map pinpointing the campsite and camp store indicated he was about three hours from the cliff overlook. He didn't want to arrive in Coopersville after dark, so he quickly cleared up his campsite, washed his utensils and cups and started off down the trail.

The day was overcast and Blair worriedly glanced at the sky. The cool air was moving in, promising the winter that was several weeks down the road. Oh, man, I never stopped to think of rain or an early snow. Wet and cold is not how I want to find myself. As he walked along the trail, he noticed that even the animals seemed to be aware of something impending. They were skittering across his path up ahead. He rarely got a look at any particular animal, just fast moving forms close to the earth, shaking leaves and bushes off to the side, busily attending to whatever chores the creatures of the earth spent their days doing.

About two hours into his hike, he saw a black snake cut across the path about five yards ahead. He never really stopped to read the brochure about poisonous snakes or spiders. This one definitely looked dangerous and he made a mental note to himself to read the brochure when he stopped for lunch. Quickening his pace, he mentally started ticking off a shopping list in his head. Most of his canned foods were gone, so he would need to restock without overburdening his backpack. He definitely wanted to spend some time in Coopersville, so maybe he could splurge a little on something nice for dinner his first night there. According to Darren's diary, there was a little town with buildings and sleeping lodges for the men. Surely there would be some old buildings still in good enough shape to give him some shelter should a storm break. He didn't relish the idea of having to take shelter in the mine, if it wasn't boarded up.

Man, Jim, I wish you were here with me. I wish you had given this self-discovery business a chance. I could have used your help. I'm so busy planning my route, my meals and worrying about the things you always take care of that I can't seem to focus on the real reason I'm out here in no man's land getting in tune with my inner spirit.

Boy, listen to me, Jim, just listen to me. I'm so willing to blame you for not being here holding up your end of the Blessed Protector thing, while I've let you down repeatedly. You and Incacha both--two men who seem to have more faith in me than I deserve--had no right to expect this of me. Why couldn't things have just gone on the way they were going. True, I never knew what a guide should do precisely, but I always seemed to be able to just do it. Now, I'm so confused.

Just then another snake slithered across his path, mere feet in front of him. Blair stopped and stared. Perhaps it was the threat of a storm. It seemed all of a sudden there were more snakes around. He could hear them in the undergrowth moving, hissing, softly dragging their bodies through the dirt. The snake slowly disappeared into the underbrush and the young shaman, the seeker of peace and understanding in the wilds, increased his step and eagerly sought the comforts of the camp store.

The small campground was bustling with activity. There were children playing on some swings on one side, under the watchful eye of two fathers talking. Some teenagers were walking their dogs towards the campsites where tents, campers, and huge recreational vehicles lined up in little subdivisions of civilization.

The sun was still high in the sky, but the overcast skies darkened periodically, reminding Blair of his need to make Coopersville with due haste. When he entered the campground store, the bell overhead gave a soft tinkle to announce a potential customer. He noticed an elderly gentleman behind the counter, presumedly Shelly's afore-mentioned grandfather, going over some receipts. He glanced up, nodded his head in acknowledgment to Blair, and with a quick "Good afternoon," he returned to his paperwork.

Blair took a hand basket and quickly made his way down the aisles. He swiftly selected his provisions and placed them on the counter.

"Where you heading?" the elderly man asked as he began to ring up the order.

"Coopersville. Can you tell me how long it should take me to get there from here?"

"With steady walking, no dallying, you should make it up there at least an hour before sunset," he paused long enough to glance out the window at the darkening sky. "Looks like rain, though, so you'd best hightail it."

"Yeah," Blair said, brushing his hair behind his ear in a gesture of eagerness and impatience. "How much will that be?"

Blair paid for his groceries and turned to leave. At the door he paused, "Say 'Hi' to Shelly for me. Tell her Blair stopped by."

"Will do," the shopkeeper promised. "Have a safe hike and be careful up there. Watch out for snakes and open shafts. Some strange accidents have happened up there over the years."

Blair held the door open, torn between his curiosity and pumping the old man for more information about Coopersville, but as he glanced up at the wicked skies, he changed his mind. With a final nod of farewell, he stepped down onto the porch and once again headed for the trail, his promise to call Jim forgotten in his haste to make Coopersville before the storm broke.

The wind picked up and there was a pressure building in the air. I really wish Jim were here, Blair thought. Just this once, why couldn't he trust me and follow along. God knows, I've followed him to the damnedest places.

In front of him the bushes started moving violently. Blair halted in mid-stride and watched as a small raccoon awkwardly lumbered across the path, apparently totally oblivious to Blair's presence. The young anthropologist couldn't help but chuckle at the lethargic search that was going on in front of him. Not wanting to frighten the animal, he waited. Glancing up into the mountains overhead, his breath caught in his throat. The bright sun had split itself between the dark clouds, illuminating the heavy black patterns with a golden glow, coloring the sky in a surreal battle of light and darkness. Blair saw the shapes in the sky take form and twist. The sky became filled with serpents twisting and spasming in a wild frenzy.

Suddenly he was surrounded by lights flickering in the darkness. They were moving in frantic patterns of desperation. He heard moaning and crying, the loud roaring of an explosion, and Blair crumbled to the path, embracing the void.

The luxuriousness of the estate surrounding them was lost on Ellison as he and Simon stood in the mansion's main foyer waiting for David Cooper to make an appearance. Just as Jim was beginning to grow restless at the delay, Cooper finally appeared.

"Gentlemen," he acknowledged them. "As you already know we didn't return home from the campaign trail until very early this morning. Plus, I have an extremely hectic schedule today. Now, what is so important that you couldn't wait for an appointment?"

Simon felt Ellison bristle beside him at Cooper's condescending tone. "I'm Captain Simon Banks," Simon hurriedly introduced himself before Jim could offer a retort, "and this is Detective Jim Ellison."

Allowing his captain to take the lead, Jim used the diversion to monitor Cooper's reactions. Aware of Jim's ploy, Simon continued. "Last night, Mr. Samuel Goldman, the proprietor of a bookstore on the corner of South and Paca Streets, was found murdered."

"What does that have to do with me?" Cooper asked.

Annoyed by the interruption, Simon raised a censuring eyebrow before continuing. "According to their records, they recently purchased several books from this estate."

The man shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "We recently remodeled the library so it's possible that what you say is true, but I still don't see what that has to do with..."

Ellison spoke up, cutting Cooper off mid-sentence. "We believe that whoever murdered Mr. Goldman was after a book that had recently been sold. One of those books entitled 'Darren Boyd 1973: In Search of Myself', came from this estate." Cooper frowned as if trying to remember the book in question. Finally he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Detective, but it's not ringing any bells. We had over 5,000 volumes in our library before the remodeling. It would be impossible for me to be familiar with all the titles."

Jim nodded. Withdrawing one of his business cards, he handed it to Cooper. "If you should happen to recall the book, I can be reached at these numbers."

"Of course, Detective. Now if that's all, Natalie will see you out." He nodded towards the housekeeper who had been waiting nearby.

At the summons, the housekeeper bustled forward and quickly ushered them out the door.

The two men climbed into Ellison's truck. "So, what do you think?" Simon asked, closing his door.

"He was lying through his teeth," Jim replied with conviction.

"Unfortunately we need more proof than your ..."

Ellison held up a staying hand, effectively silencing Simon. With a slight tilt of his head, Jim focused his hearing and listened.

"Any word from our two men?" came a voice that Jim recognized through his campaign ads as being that of Ned Cooper.

"Sandburg still hasn't shown up yet," he heard David reply.

"You're positive that's where he was headed?" Ned asked.

"He's got to be," David assured the other man. "We found a copy of his itinerary at his office."

Jim heard what sounded like a scuffle before Ned spoke again, his tone menacing. "You idiot! I told you to destroy that damn journal years ago. Now you listen and you listen good, I want that journal back and this time I am going to see to it personally that it's destroyed."

"What about Sandburg?" David croaked out in a strangled voice.

"Kill him," came the dispassionate response.

Jim had heard enough. "Son of a ..." he muttered angrily and started the truck. "What is it, Jim?" Simon questioned, alarmed by the rage he saw reflected on Ellison's face. "What did you hear?"

The blue and white Ford jerked forward as Jim stepped on the gas. "They're after the diary Simon and they don't care who they have to kill to get it."

"How the hell does Sandburg keep getting caught up in the middle of these things?" Simon wondered aloud.

For the first time in his life Jim sought for an answer and came up empty handed.

The dark void, once filled with the screams of tortured souls, had long since gone silent and Blair floated in it's embrace, devoid of space or time, but as with all good things, this too came to an end. Reality had crept in the furthest recesses and was slowly drawing closer. Even unconscious, his mind tried to stay the encroaching awareness, preferring to reside in peaceful oblivion, but cognizance would not be denied. It reached out ensnaring him within it's tendrils and dragged him protesting back into existence.

The first sensation was one of shards of pain piercing his brain. Unable to hold back the moan of misery from escaping his lips, Blair's cry of agony rent the evening air. The sound, however, did not travel far as it was quickly drowned out by the deluge of rain pouring down upon the incumbent form.

Thunder crashed overhead. Startled into full consciousness, Blair bolted upright, immediately regretting the move as a flash of blinding pain threatened to send him back into unconsciousness. As both hands came up to cradle his aching head, Blair forced himself to breathe through the pain until it diminished to a tolerable level.

Slowly, as the agony waned, other sensations began to penetrate his clouded mind. He became aware of the rain pouring down on his already drenched body; of the thunder and lightening creating a spectacular symphonic light show; of the fading of light as darkness weaved its way along the landscape; and of the bone-penetrating chill coursing throughout his body from laying on the rain-swollen ground.

Oh man, he silently groaned. What the hell happened? Surreal images flashed before his mind's eye in a rapid montage, incongruous perceptions never lighting in one place long enough to form cohesion. Overwhelmed, and more than just a little frightened by them, Blair allowed the images to fade until they were only faint whispers in the corners of his mind. There were other matters that demanded his immediate attention, namely finding shelter from the storm.

Locating his backpack, Blair grabbed it by the strap, and slinging it over his shoulders, climbed to his feet. Swaying slightly, Blair pushed the rain-soaked curls away from his face and looked about trying to get his bearings. Lightening flashed, followed by a resonant booming thunder, and Blair felt himself cringe under it's impact.

Once assured of the direction, Blair resumed his journey. Saturated by the rain, the path had grown treacherous, hampering the speed at which he could travel. It took him nearly three times as long as it should have, but eventually Blair found himself on the outskirts of the abandoned mining town known as Coopersville.

The fact that Coopersville had once been a thriving mining town could not be erased by time, weather, and happenstance. The old, dilapidated buildings were functional tributes to the men and women who had dedicated their lives to the silent rape of the land---form and function over aesthetics.

When Blair came out of the last thick foilage that blocked the path, he was greeted with the promise of shelter, warmth, and a good nights rest. Several yards off to the left was the opening to the mine shaft, partially boarded by two by fours and partially covered with debris from the explosion that had buried so many lives so many years ago. Off to the right was a series of low-level shacks with windows overlooking the mine---no doubt headquarters for management. Other buildings in the back were sheds for the storing of explosives, expensive equipment, and company personnel files. Straight on he saw the hotel.

Beyond the hotel lay a series of one-story buildings that must have been barracks for the working crews. Blair noted--even from the distance--the rain barrels, clothes lines, and remnants of domesticity still evident.

Like a heat-seeking missile, Blair Sandburg lowered his head and raced head on to the welcoming enclosure the hotel offered. The path was muddy and the young anthropologist found himself more than once dropping to his knees as he tried to make for the shelter. The rain had increased to a violent drumming that made seeing a visual trick. Thank God for the shower, he thought, at least the mud washes off as quickly as I cover myself with it.

The rain fell in sheets against the black-topped pavement of the treacherous mountain road. Visibility was poor. Even the rapid tattoo of the wiper blades, as they whipped back and forth across the windshield of the blue and white pickup, could not keep pace with the torrential downpour.

With a frustrated growl, Jim reached up and wiped away the condensation that persisted in fogging up the windshield despite the fact that the defroster was at it's highest setting.

Concern for his partner overrode Jim's normal sense of propriety regarding hazardous driving conditions. Unconsciously, as the miles sped past, his foot progressively bore down on the accelerator.

"Jesus, Jim, will you slow down!" Simon exclaimed in horror as the truck slid around yet another curve in the road.

Ellison eased slightly off the gas pedal. "Sorry, Simon. I'm just worried about Sandburg."

"Look, I'm worried about the kid, too," Simon grudgingly admitted, "but you're not going to be able to help Sandburg if you get us both killed before we even get there."

Jim conceded that Simon had a point but couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had taken up permanent residence in his gut. Residing in tandem with that sensation was one of guilt. Sandburg had asked him, had wanted him to come on this trip, but no, he had been too busy, too concerned about his own wants and desires to recognize those of his friend and guide. If he had just listened. Now it might be too late.

Simon eyed the distraught detective. Even without the visible signs of the clenched jaw, taut posture and white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, he knew Ellison was feeling responsible for Sandburg's current predicament. "Jim, you've got to stop beating yourself up about this. There was no way you could have predicted this was going to happen."

The detective's only response was to step down harder on the gas.

Simon leaned back with a weary sigh, knowing full well that nothing he could say would alleviate Ellison's sense of guilt and fear until he saw for himself that Sandburg was safe and in one piece.

Even set on high beam, the pickup's lights did not penetrate very far within the encroaching darkness and driving rain. Simon was of the opinion that it was only due to Jim's enhanced sight that they had been able to make it as far as they had on the treacherous mountain road.

Another curve was coming up and Jim wisely slowed the truck's speed to navigate its circumference. They were just about at its apex when Ellison first spotted the rock slide and trapped vehicle. He reacted instinctively, slamming on the brakes and wrenching the wheel to the left. The truck slid to a halt, narrowly missing a collision with a large boulder blocking the road.

Jim struck the steering wheel in frustration. "DAMN IT!"

Simon was already unbuckling his seat belt and reaching for the door handle. "Jim, we've got to check the other car. People might be hurt."

Simon was right of course, but Jim couldn't help but worry about what the delay might mean for his friend. Of mixed emotions, Ellison undid his own seat belt and slid out of the truck.

As they approached the trapped and partially crushed vehicle, the sound of a crying child could be heard above the driving rain. The two men glanced at each other and hurried towards the car. Simon worked his way around to the right side of the vehicle, while Jim climbed over a cluster of rocks to its left. Upon discovering that a large rock had crushed in the driver-side door, he gave up any thought of reaching the car's occupants by that route.

As Jim reached the other side of the vehicle, Simon was in the process of extracting a crying toddler from its rear car seat. Jim shimmied past him on the narrow embankment and wrenched open the front passenger door. A quick sensory scan revealed that the couple was still alive. The woman was still unconscious, but the man displayed signs of coming around.

"How's it look?" Simon asked as he cradled the uninjured child in his arms.

Ellison examined the contusion to the woman's forehead. "She's still unconscious, possible concussion," he concluded.

"And the man?"

"It's hard to say," Jim admitted. "It looks like he may be trapped. We may need help getting him out."

Simon nodded. "I'll call it in."

As Simon headed back towards the pickup, Jim heard a low moan of pain. "Sir, can you hear me? I'm Detective Ellison with the Cascade PD."

Another sound of distress was accompanied by the man's eyes blinking open. He glanced around, still somewhat dazed.

"Everything's going to be all right," Jim spoke soothingly.

"MY FAMILY!" the man exclaimed suddenly .

"The baby's fine," Jim was quick to reassure him.

"And Lisa?"

"Your wife is still unconscious, but I don't think it's too serious."

"Thank God!" The man sobbed with obvious relief.

"What about you," Jim asked, "are you hurt?"

"My left side hurts," the injured man ground out between clenched teeth.

"Can you move at all?"

The man's attempt elicited a moan. He shook his head. "I'm stuck."

Ellison had been afraid of that possibility as soon as he had seen the caved in door. "Don't worry, help's on the way."

The trapped man nodded, then reaching over to clutch his wife's hand, let his eyes drift shut.

Once assured that the man was merely resting, Jim uttered further assurances before heading back to the pickup.

After climbing back into the relative dryness of the vehicle, Simon brought him quickly up to date. "The Med E-Vac is grounded due to the weather and Emergency Services figures it'll take them about forty minutes to get here."

"Damn it," Ellison muttered.

Simon frowned with concern. "Are the parents that bad off?"

"I think the woman's going to be fine. The man," Ellison paused, considering, then shook his head, "I'm not sure about. I don't smell any blood, but he's pinned in there. He could have internal injuries. At the very least he's got some broken bones."

"I'd say they're damn lucky to be alive at all considering," Simon replied with a nod towards the rock-strewn roadway.

Grim faced, Jim looked over at Simon and the toddler now asleep in his arms. Yes, the family had been lucky. It had been a miracle that no one had been killed outright. Despondent about what ramifications the delay might mean for his partner, Jim fervently prayed that the night's quota of miracles hadn't been used up.

As lightening once again lit up the sky, Blair lept onto the hotel's porch grateful for its protection from the worst of the elements. A puddle quickly formed beneath him as water from his drenched clothing followed the natural path designated by gravity. Blair felt his teeth literally chattering and vaguely wondered if he would ever feel warm again.

He looked up at the imposing structure of the hotel that lay before him and felt a shiver course throughout his body. Suddenly he was hesitant to enter. Get a grip, Sandburg, he silently admonished. You're tired, wet and cold. It's shelter. Nothing more, nothing less. Swallowing the taste of an unnamed fear, Blair crossed the wooden porch and reached for the doorknob. Again he hesitated, his hand pausing in midair. You're being ridiculous, he mentally berated himself. What are you going to do? Stand out here all night in the cold and rain when warmth and dry clothes wait mere inches away? He forced himself to grasp the brass knob. Lightening, striking nearby, supplied the final impetus and within seconds Blair found himself inside the foyer of the hotel.

Swiftly shutting the door behind him, Blair leaned back into its wooden embrace, grateful for its support of his still shaky limbs. As he waited for his heartbeat and breathing to recover from the adrenaline spike, Blair's gaze perused the hotel's lobby. Even in its heyday, Blair suspected that the hotel had been hastily strewn together. Now, after some twenty years of abandonment, the shoddy workmanship was obvious.

Lightening struck again, its brilliance lighting up the interior of the room. Dust covered every surface. Cobwebs abounded in every nook and cranny. The stench of neglect and decay hung heavy in the air.

Blair pushed himself away from the door and stepped on trembling limbs further into the room. Perhaps it was the ambiance of the place, but he couldn't shake the overwhelming feeling of trepidation that had taken root in his soul. Briefly he wondered if the feeling was some sort of cosmic payback for having watched the movie Psycho one too many times. "Well this isn't the Bates Motel and you're sure as hell not Janet Leigh," he said aloud. His nervous laughter filled the room only to echo back off empty walls.

He shivered again, a poignant reminder of how wet and cold he was. First things first, he needed to get warm and dry. Lightening illuminated the room and he spied a fireplace along the far wall. Blair smiled, maybe his luck was looking up after all. Hitching the backpack further onto his shoulder, he headed towards the promised respite of warmth.

There was only the barest of warnings, a slight creek of the floorboard, as the dry rot wood gave way beneath his weight. His leg shot through the opening and into the crawl space beneath. Blair cried out as a sharp stinging pain flared through his left calf. Reflexively he yanked it away from the source of the pain and back out through the hole. Seconds later he heard the ominous, telltale rattle of warning, but the snakes warning had come too late.

"Oh God, oh God!" he muttered, beginning to panic. Scooting away from the gaping hole, his breath was coming in short, quick pants. Pin points of light began to flare before his eyes and Blair realized he was going to pass out if he didn't stop hyperventilating. "Now is not the time to panic," he verbally admonished and forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. He followed that one by another and yet another until the sensation of lightheadedness passed.

Reaching for the strap of his dislodged backpack, Blair pulled it within easy reach. Unzipping it, he felt around inside until his hand came in contact with the first aid kit. Setting it on the floor, he flung open the lid. Scattering the contents in his haste, Blair pulled out the scissors and sliced open the pant leg of his jeans. Even in the dim light he could see that the area around the puncture marks was already red and angry. Swallowing at the sight, he pushed aside his fear and concentrated on the task at hand.

In the strewn contents of the first aid kit, he located the constrictor band and secured it firmly above the wound near his knee joint. Then reaching in his back pocket, he pulled out his Swiss army knife and opened the blade. Searching through the contents on the floor, he gathered up several packets of antiseptic wipes. Tearing one open with his teeth, he quickly swabbed the injured area, hissing at the pain the action produced. Discarding it, he grabbed another and wiped down the blade of his knife. His face a mask of concentration, Blair swiftly cut a small X over the wound. The knife slipped from nerveless fingers as a sob of pain escaped through clenched lips. Blood began flowing in a thin rivulet, down through the hairy landscape of his calf. Plunging once more into the kit, Blair pulled out the Sawyer's Extractor, quickly divesting it of its pollybag wrapping. With a trembling hand, he placed the cylindrical vacuum device over the wound and began to suction out the venom.

Fifteen, thirty, forty-five minutes passed as Blair systematically repeated the process of filling and emptying the tube over and over. Focus solely intent on his task, he failed to notice their silent approach. Suddenly blinded, Blair threw up a hand to ward off the offending light .

"Well, well," crooned a taunting voice. "What do we have here?"

Blair blinked against the light, unable to make out more than the outline of two hulking shapes just beyond the flashlight directed at him. He felt an inexplicable fear course through him. "Who are you?" he demanded with false bravado.

"Is it him?" questioned the second man.

"Oh yeah," replied the first one smugly. "He matches the description perfectly." The Neanderthal focused his attention on Blair. "We've been waiting for you to show up."

Blair felt as if he were trapped in a waking nightmare. First the snake and now this. What the hell is going on here? he silently wondered. "What do you want?" he asked aloud.

His question went unanswered.

"Seems like you've got yourself a problem," the man holding the flashlight sneered.

Blair's glance flickered from the man to his leg and back again.

"Good," the man continued with pointed satisfaction, "it'll save us the trouble of killing you."

"WHAT?" Blair squeaked, his eyes going wide. "Listen man, I don't know what this is all about, but you've obviously got the wrong person."

"I don't think so. Get his pack," he instructed his partner.

As one of the hulking shapes loomed closer, Blair scooted back across the floor, dragging his injured leg behind him. "HEY!" he protested as the man snatched up his backpack.

The man smiled. "You won't be needing it where you're going."

Blair swallowed past the lump in his throat as the man rummaged through his meager possessions. He watched helplessly as the man pulled out the journal from Peru, and scanning its contents, dropped it dismissively onto the floor. Next he pulled out Darren's diary. "Got it!" he announced with satisfaction before tossing the backpack at Blair.

Clutching the pack to his chest, Blair looked on, confused as the cherished diary was placed in the other man's hand. He scanned its contents, then after validating its authenticity, tucked it away within the inner pocket of his coat.

"So what are we going to do about him?" the other asked with a nod in Blair's direction.

"I've been thinking about that. Shooting him might raise some questions if the body was ever discovered." He paused, considering. "I'm betting that the snake that bit him was poisonous."

"Yeah, so?"

"So you idiot," he explained with exasperated impatience, "I say we place him in the mine. That way if anyone ever finds the body, they'll think he was just some poor hiker who went exploring, got bit and died. There's no way they'd ever connect him to us."

The man nodded his approval. "Sounds good to me."

Blair sat there staring incredulously up at the two men. He couldn't believe they were discussing his death so cold-bloodedly.

"All right, let's get this over with. I want to get the hell out of here and back to civilization."

"Yeah, this place gives me the creeps," his companion agreed.

"Gather up all his junk," the man with the flashlight instructed. "I don't want there to be any evidence that he was ever here."

With a quick nod, the second man strode back over to where Blair still sat. Kneeling beside him, the man began collecting the debris scattered over the floor. Soon his hands became full and he glanced at Blair. "Give me the backpack," he demanded.

Blair's eyes narrowed. "You want it?" he asked, gripping the pack's strap tighter.

"Don't fuck with me, kid. Just give it to me!"

Blair obliged. Mustering his strength, he swung the backpack towards the kneeling figure and allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction as he heard the canned goods within collide resoundingly with the man's head. As the man dropped like a rock to the floor, Blair gathered his legs beneath him preparing to rise. A sudden searing sensation throughout his left calf elicited a cry of pain and Blair fell panting back onto the floor.

The man holding the flashlight quickly crossed the distance between them. Grabbing Blair by the front of his jacket, he yanked him partially off the floor. "That was a really stupid move, kid," he yelled before striking out with the flashlight. The blow hit Blair just above his right eyebrow and sent him spiraling into unconsciousness.

He callously dropped Blair's limp form and went to help his partner up. "You idiot," he growled. "You're twice his size and yet you let the runt get the drop on you."

"Wasn't expecting it," the dazed man replied in his defense.

"Just gather up his crap," he ordered.

Within minutes all evidence of Blair's passing was stuffed into the backpack. Handing it to his partner, the man reached down for the unconscious anthropologist and with a grunt, hefted Blair up and over his shoulder. "He might be scrawny, but he's no lightweight," the goon complained.

"Shut up," the other man warned. Sweeping the flashlight around the room in one final check, the two men left the hotel.

The rain had slacked off, but in its stead it had grown considerably colder. Each exhalation of breath fogged the crisp night air as they struggled with their burden towards the abandoned mine.

About forty feet within its entrance, the man with the flashlight called a halt. "This should do it." And with that, Blair was dumped unceremoniously onto the ground, his backpack tossed on top of him.

"All right, let's get out of here."

"Wait, what's to prevent him from just walking out of here if he wakes up?"

Hmmm, maybe his partner wasn't such an idiot after all, he thought, then searched his mind for possible solutions to their dilemma. "I've got an idea," he replied moments later, upon recalling the dynamite shack nearby. He smiled menacingly. "And our friend here is gonna get a real bang out of it."

Shaking his head at the cryptic sentence, the other man followed his companion out of the mine.

There can be no peace in shallow graves. The rains of memory puddle quickly overflowing with regrets---things left unsaid, things left undone---a word in anger or disgust---our days in murky madness lay. There are no bells to portend each passing---at one moment here, then gone the next. There are no scripts for exit scenes, merely one final curtain call. Your knowledge to endure lies in this: all graves are shallow when there is someone to remember.

PART FIVE: SHALLOW GRAVES

Angry voices beckoned to him. Blair tried to ignore their plea, perfectly content to remain in the comforting womb of darkness surrounding him, but the voices grew insistent. With a weary sigh, he uncurled from the fetal position and rose.

In the distance he saw a swirling vortex of light. It was from this that the sounds emanated. Curiosity and a feeling of urgency drew him closer to investigate. The vortex snaked out, enveloping Blair within it's rotating mass. The riotous colors and whirling motion played havoc with Blair's equilibrium and he closed his eyes to stave off the nauseating effect.

Moments later the sensation of movement ceased and Blair ventured a peek. Opening his eyes, he frowned in consternation. Although it was dark, he recognized the place surrounding him. It was Coopersville, but not the deserted, decaying town he had stumbled upon today. This Coopersville was alight with sound and the presence of the living. What the...? His silent contemplations were cut short as the hostile voices sounded yet again. Blair followed the voices and found himself outside a single-level, wood-slatted building. An unimposing sign, declaring this place to be the Coopersville Mining Company, hung over the door.

Compelled by an unknown force, Blair reached for the knob, snatching his hand back in shock when it disappeared up to the wrist through the door. His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Whoa! That is definitely weird." Moving cautiously, he stepped forward and passed through the closed door.

On the other side, Blair found himself in a dimly lit office where two men faced off across an oak desk. The one was tall with a full main of reddish brown hair. The other, sitting behind the desk, a cigar clenched between his teeth, was slightly older and of a portly nature. Neither seemed aware of Blair's presence.

The man removed the cigar, stubbing it out in a nearby ashtray. "I don't know what you're getting all worked up about, Joe. My cost-cutting measures have increased the share holder's profits immeasurably."

"Damn it, Ned," Joe yelled, "by using inferior materials you're risking the lives of the workers."

"The materials are quite adequate for our needs," Ned replied with a dismissive gesture.

"They fall far below the requirements and you know it." Joe leaned across the desk. "I'm warning you, Ned. Either you shore up the mine to code or..."

"Or what?" Ned bellowed, interrupting the other man mid-sentence. "Are you threatening me?"

"No, I'm making you a promise. I won't have the lives of my men put at risk because of your greed. You've got three days to get that mine up to specs or I'm going to the mining commission."

Blair had been intently following the conversation and didn't like the cold, calculating gleam he saw in Ned's eyes.

The rotund individual leaned back in his chair, the motion a gesture of defeat. "Very well, Joe, we'll do this your way. However, I must insist that production continue while the upgrade is in progress. We can't afford to get behind on our orders."

Joe gave a quick, curt nod before heading for the door. Opening it, he paused, turning back. "Remember Ned, three days," he repeated the ultimatum before closing the door behind him.

Blair was confused. He realized the seriousness of the situation, but didn't understand what purpose his presence served.

Suddenly the rear door to the office opened and another man entered the room. Though younger and slimmer, there was definitely a family resemblance to the man named Ned.

"David," Ned acknowledged the newcomer. "You heard?"

"Yes," David replied. "What I want to know is what are we going to do about it?"

"I don't care how you do it," Ned said dispassionately, "just get rid of him."

With a silent nod, David headed out the door.

The swirling vortex reappeared, capturing Blair within its folds. "Oh God, I hate this part," Blair groaned before blinking out of existence.

When he next re-emerged from the vortex, Blair found himself deep within the mine. Lights were hung at intervals and in the distance Blair could make out the sound of voices and machinery. He was just beginning to wonder why he had been brought there when the man he now knew as Joe came striding through the tunnel. He passed by Blair unaware and continued deeper into the mine. David trailed behind seconds later. A feeling of trepidation rose up in Blair, urging him to follow.

Several hundred yards further in, Blair heard Joe muttering soft curses. Following the sound, he entered a well-lit cavern area where Joe stood hunched over, totally engrossed in making repairs to what appeared to be a generator. Behind him stood David, holding a shovel, poised to strike. Blair's eyes went wide and he issued out a warning. However it went unheeded as the shovel began its downward arc and struck Joe on the back of his head. Blair closed his eyes, nauseated by the sound of Joe's skull being crushed. Joe was dead before he even hit the ground, his blood covering the shovel and splattering the ground.

Swallowing the bile that had risen in his throat, Blair opened his eyes to witness David setting a small explosive charge. His intent was obvious. People would blame the isolated cave-in for Joe's death.

"You bastard!" Blair roared, leaping towards David, only to pass right through the murderer and onto the hard ground. "Why?" Blair beseeched, sitting up. "Why show me this if there is nothing I can do to stop it?" His only reply was the reappearance of the spiraling mass, coming to whisk him away to another destination.

Blair felt physically ill as he bared witness to the next scene. Shrieking alarms filled the night air announcing a tragedy at the mine. Families from all over town stood outside the mine clutching one another, each fervently praying that their loved one would somehow escape the devastating cave in.

Men stumbled out of the mine in twos and threes, but as the last man emerged, the horrible realization that out of one hundred thirty-five men, only fifty-five had survived. Wails of anguish and heartbreak replaced those of the siren as the survivors stared in shock at the cloistering tomb of their friends and coworkers. Shaft number seven had been completely sealed.

Unable to witness any more, Blair turned away from the horrific sight and headed back to town. Tears of commiserating sympathy flowed, bathing his cheeks with their wetness.

As Blair approached the mining office, he once again heard a voice raised in anger. Moving closer, he saw Ned grab David by the shirt front. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" he shrieked.

"I did what you told me to," David replied coolly. "I got rid of him."

Ned thrust David away in anger. "YOU FOOL! I didn't tell you to bring the whole damn mine down on top of him."

"I only set a small charge," David protested. "How was I suppose to know the whole of Shaft Seven was going to come down. If you hadn't skimped on the building materials," David accused, "we wouldn't even be having this discussion."

Ned's anger deflated like a balloon. "You realize this means we're going to have to shut the mine down permanently."

"WHAT!?" David squeaked.

"Think about it," Ned told him. "If they investigate the cave in, they're bound to discover the shoddy materials.... Materials that can be traced straight back to us."

David swallowed nervously as the implication sank in. "We'd be charged with murder."

"Exactly," Ned replied, "and I for one have no intention of going to jail."

Blair couldn't bare to hear anymore; he turned away disgusted. Looking up at the twinkling stars, he said, "I know what I need to do now. I'm ready to go back."

Upon command, the vortex reappeared to carry him home.

His first cognizant thought was one of being cold and damp as shivers coursed throughout his body. With a weary groan of misery, Blair opened his eyes only to find himself still surrounded by an inky blackness. For a moment he wondered if he was still dreaming, but the hard, uncomfortable ground beneath him soon laid waste to that notion.

Fatigued, his mind began to wander. Images from his dream, interweaving and overlapping themselves with events from his everyday life, played out on the screen of his mind's eye--pictures of Jim and the others from Major Crimes, of the old man in the bookstore. Images of the two goons superimposed themselves over the faces of Ned and David. Blair involuntarily flinched as he relived being bitten. "Oh God," he groaned. Would this night never end? As if in response to his silent plea, Blair heard the unmistakable sound of an explosion. As debris rained down on top of him, Blair covered his head and prayed for salvation.

From a safe distance, the two men watched the evidence of their handiwork as the mine's entrance collapsed in upon itself. The taller of the two grinned gleefully. "They'll never find him now."

"Yeah," the other agreed. "Now let's get out of here."

Upon returning to their car, they discovered it axle-deep in mud and no amount of pushing, prodding, or cursing could wrest it free.

"Looks like we're not going anywhere tonight," the driver complained, yanking his key from the ignition. "Come on," he growled to his companion, reaching for the doorknob. "Maybe tomorrow, after it's dried out some, we can get the hell out of this place."

Slamming the car door, the two men trudged back to the hotel.

It had taken hours to remove the victims and clear the accident scene. The entire time James Ellison had paced like a caged animal and no amount of assurances from Simon had quelled the sinking sensation he had felt in his gut every time he had thought about Sandburg. Now, as the first rays of dawn peeked over the distant mountain tops, they were finally approaching Coopersville.

Ellison stopped the truck at the edge of town and, turning off the ignition, gazed at the borough spread out before them. It looked cold and desolate in the predawn light.

"You sure this is where Sandburg was headed?" Simon asked, doubt evident in his tone.

"Positive," Jim replied as he and Simon got out of the truck. "It was listed on his itinerary."

With the aid of his heightened sight, Jim scanned the town. The place appeared to be deserted, but Jim knew from experience that looks could often be deceiving. So he focused on his hearing instead, cognizant of the fact that he shouldn't concentrate too hard without having his guide nearby.

Simon recognized the familiar tilt of the head as Ellison listened, categorized, and dismissed irrelevant sounds. "Anything?" he questioned moments later.

"Two heartbeats, in that direction," Jim replied with a nod of his head. "Neither one is Sandburg's."

"Maybe the kid hasn't arrived yet," Simon suggested into the oppressing silence that followed.

"Maybe," Jim conceded.

"You think the heartbeats belong to Cooper's men?" Simon asked.

Ellison drew his weapon and, checking the clip, headed towards the hotel.

Simon snorted and followed. "I guess that answers my question."

Although from the rate of their heartbeats Jim suspected the two men were asleep, he and Simon cautiously entered the hotel.

Simon's eyebrows rose in surprise as he saw a man asleep on an old couch and another snoring in a nearby chair. Using silent communications, Jim headed for the one on the couch while Simon took up position beside the man in the chair.

Jim lowered his weapon to the man's temple. "Cascade PD, you're under arrest," he said loudly.

The man's eyes shot open, then widened in surprise at the sight of one very pissed off James Ellison hovering over him. His partner seemed equally shocked by the sudden appearance of the two police officers.

"I want you to get up real slow," Ellison instructed, "and keep your hands where I can see them."

Jim kept his weapon trained on the man as he slowly rose from the couch. "I don't understand, Officer," the man asserted. "What's this all about?"

"Just shut up and put your hands behind your back," Ellison barked at the man. Coming around the couch, Jim removed his cuffs and quickly slapped them on the prisoner. Looking up, he saw that Simon had the other man similarly restrained. A thorough search turned up a weapon from each man.

Holstering his gun, Ellison spun the man around. "Where's Sandburg," he demanded in a steely tone.

The man feigned confusion. "Who?"

Jim grabbed him by the front of his coat, pulling him close. Eyes cold as ice bore into the man as Jim growled, "Don't fuck with me. My partner was here and I want to know what you've done with him, NOW!"

"Jim?" Simon questioned.

"Sandburg was here, Simon," Ellison responded to the unvoiced query. "I can smell the herbal shampoo he uses." He paused, frowning as something else tugged at the periphery of his awareness. His eyes grew even colder as he finally catalogued the scent. With a roar of rage, Jim slammed the man against one of the building's support pillars. "DAMN YOU! What did you do to him?"

"Jim, what is it?" Simon asked, concerned.

"I smell blood, Simon. Sandburg's blood," Jim snarled. He yanked the man forward, only to slam him backwards once again. "Answer me, damn it!"

Jim saw the man's eyes narrow and sensed a refusal coming. Before he could even open his mouth, Ellison had drawn his gun and jammed it beneath the man's chin.

"JIM!" Simon shouted, alarmed by the detective's actions.

Ellison ignored him. "Either you tell me what happened to my partner or I'm gonna blow your fucking head off."

That coldly delivered statement proved to be the final impetus for the man to begin spilling his guts.

When Blair came to, he was aware of pain---bright, hot, and insistent. There was a funny taste in his mouth that reminded him of metal and his lips were tingling. The darkness was thick and matched the stale hot air that sat heavily upon his lungs. He shifted his weight, stretching his legs out in front of him, and regretted the action. His left leg felt heavy and screamed with tenderness and a hot throbbing pain. He remembered the snake bite--putting the band around his calf. Then he remembered the two angry men and he knew he was in the old mine. They had sealed his fate, as well as his air, depriving him of more than the light of day. Blair Sandburg, free spirit, wanderer and explorer of antiquity, was trapped in a box.

Oh, man, Jim. I really did it this time. It's too late. No one will ever find me in time.

"Blair, honey, people put themselves in boxes. Use your mind. Your mind is a tool and you can build doors out of boxes," he heard Naomi's voice speaking to him as though he were five-years-old again.

That simple realization that he still could do something made him reach out in the darkness for his backpack. He found the treasured softness near him and quickly pulled out the flashlight he had stashed inside. He turned it on and studied the small area around him. The walls were made of freshly fallen earth. Blair took a deep sigh, realizing how close he had come to being crushed by the explosion. Whatever they had used had not been powerful enough to bring the whole mountain down on his head, but had been enough to seal off the mine entrance making that avenue of escape moot.

The shaft looked like it was well-supported by beams and crossbars. Blair thanked the dead miners for their attention to detail, realizing that their best efforts had not spared their own lives, but then, accidents had nothing to do with their demise. It was the greedy mine owner who had cut their time short. Blair felt a renewed eagerness for escape; he needed to get out and expose the truth about the senseless death of 80 men. He owed it to Darren Boyd and Joe Barrett; he owed it to Naomi and Incacha; but more than anything, he owed it to Jim. Jim, who trusted him and believed in him no matter how badly he screwed up; Jim who always made excuses for him with the famous "you're not a cop" line. He had failed Jim by failing himself. He was the shaman and he had blown it.

Just then he saw some small figures moving off deeper into the mine. He realized they were rats. He let out an involuntary shudder. He did not like rats. He had a healthy aversion to them ever since he had lived in the old warehouse and had shared space with them on a daily basis.

He laid his head back against the dirt wall and closed his eyes. Suddenly he recalled an entry in Darren's journal. It was an entry made early on in his journey:

I have come to realize that all of these creatures are my friends, no one the lesser, each has a silent lesson to teach. I watch them, study them, and I walk away each time with a renewed lesson in the power of their intelligence. They know what to do, and they need only to be understood.

Like a silent epiphany one parallel heart had passed on to the other, Blair Sandburg understood. He closed his eyes again and remembered a similar passage in the Peruvian journal:

The Shamans commune with nature, they talk to the animals in their minds. They listen and hear the unspoken lectures of wild things.

Then Blair sat up. He flashed the light once again to the back section where the rats were now filing out. They were seeking an alternate escape. They had been shaken by the explosion and now they were heading towards the other opening, the other way out of the dusty tomb. The simple creatures of the darkness knew what needed to be done.

He propped himself up against the wall of the cavern and slowly raised himself. His left leg was swollen and he gently eased the band he had tied around it, not wanting to cut off circulation completely. The edema, as well as the metallic taste in his mouth, was a symptom of envenomation. This knowledge now filled his head as he recalled with perfect clarity the information the ranger's brochures had tried to impart. He needed to get medical attention--and fast. He knew his chances for survival depended on immediate professional care and the degree of envenomation. He only prayed that the snake that had bitten him hadn't released too much venom.

The blood had dried over his right eye. It was beginning to swell shut, limiting his vision. His head throbbed with an aching beat of persistent pain. He bent over carefully and picked up his backpack. He gritted his teeth against the mind-numbing pain that threatened to overwhelm his consciousness, then he began a slow hop, skip, wall-to-wall maneuver in the direction the rats had gone.

Jim Ellison was in a head-bashing mood. The thugs now sat handcuffed in the back of their car waiting for the arrival of the local law enforcement agency. Simon had also called for a helicopter in case they needed to get anyone, particularly one long-haired anthropologist to safety. When Jim had heard that Blair had been bitten by a snake, he had thrown the hood up against a wall and repeatedly smashed his body back into the hard mass until the frightened man had told him about the floorboards in the old hotel. The hood had dealt with many hard cases in his life of intimidation and heavy-handedness, but never had he seen a look of such hatred and determination as he saw in the cold, soulless blue depth that held his gaze.

"JIM!" Simon had commanded as he held the other man cuffed in his grasp. "Jim, I want him alive." Then the police captain had turned his back and marched the other man to the car, stating his indifference to possible accidents that could happen during the course of apprehension. This made the man realize there were no alternatives in this situation. He had eagerly answered all questions and volunteered more information than was asked.

Jim went back into the hotel, Simon following once the two men were safely secured in the back seat of their car. He stood silently by as Jim tried to focus his senses in on the surrounding area. Jim heard the slittering below the floor boards of the snakes and he could hear the tiny heartbeats of the creatures that had taken up residence in the abandoned building. He carefully pulled the smashed floorboards back and looked down into the dirt subfloor. He could see the colored skins that had been shedded, the snakeskins. He picked up a piece of wood that had a nail protruding out of it and carefully snagged one of the discarded casings. Both he and Simon said at the same time, "Diamondback."

"Jim, I'll contact the local authorities," Simon quickly assured the distraught detective. "I'll ask for anti-venom serum for Diamondback, Copperhead, whatever else they might assume to be in this area, have them bring it in the helicopter. The local police and rescue should have some handy as well."

Jim nodded grimly and walked out towards the mine shaft entrance. He paced like a trapped cat waiting for his jailer, waiting to pounce the moment the opportunity availed itself. He was a man beside himself with anger, frustration, and worry. Damn, the kid. Why Blair? Why couldn't you just wait until I could go with you? Then Jim Ellison raised his head to the heavens and bellowed to the unanswering clouds, "DAMN YOU, SANDBURG!"

"Jim, take it easy," Simon said as he approached and put a restraining hand on Jim's shoulder. "Get a grip. I don't need you zoning on me right now. Listen, Jim, use your senses."

"I did, sir, don't you think I already did." Ellison sank down slowly to the earth and put his head in his hands. "I did and I don't hear it, I don't hear his heartbeat."

Simon Banks took a deep sigh and passed his huge hand over his face, washing away his own frustrations and fears with the gesture. "He's resourceful, Jim. If anything the kid has an uncanny sense of self-preservation. He probably moved farther back into the mountain. Keep trying, Jim, just keep trying."

Then Captain Banks turned and walked back to greet the squardron of police cars, rangers, and medical units that were now coming into the small town via the camp road behind the hotel. Simon had arranged for backup enroute.

Blair started feeling feverish. His leg was on fire now and he was having trouble breathing. Respiratory problems were one of the symptoms he was afraid of, as well as an infection. He stopped to rest for a few moments against the side of one narrow passage and as his flashlight scanned the area, he saw a small shovel laying in the partially covered earth. He picked it up and discovered it wasn't very heavy as he tested it for use as a crutch. It was a little short, making him stoop to take the pressure off of his injured leg, but better than nothing. He could make much better time now.

"Guide him, Shaman, he needs you to guide him."

Blair looked up startled, not sure if the voice he heard was real or something from inside his fever-racked brain. He decided in his lonely state he could afford companionship, real or imagined. He needed to keep focusing and a conversation would help him stay centered on the purpose of this little stroll.

"I can't guide him from in here. I doubt he can even hear my heart beneath tons of earth. Besides, it's too soon for him to come."

"He is out there and in your heart you know it. You are a Shaman, you have powers. Talk to the things that can hear you. Have them talk to theirs, they will convey the message from your heart."

Blair giggled to himself, beginning to be more and more lost in the confusion of his fever. "Yep, reach out and touch someone. Hey, Jim, you hear me. I'm reaching out. Ma Bell's got nothing on the lines we have open. I guess I really screwed up. Maybe the squirrels and raccoons and, hey, maybe my friend the snake, will guide you to me." He laughed hysterically then caught himself. Whoa man, get a grip, there's nothing even remotely funny about this situation. He took a shuddering breath. I need to stay focused and sane, for a little while at least.

"Okay, Jim, here's the deal. I'll talk. I'll keep talking on the chance that you're out there looking for me, because, man, one thing I believe in is you. I believe you'll try to find me. If you know what mess I've gotten myself into, you'll come for me. I'm sorry, man, sorry for not being all that I can be." He laughed again at the remembered line for the Marines ad he had seen on television.

"I am a Shaman. DO YOU HEAR ME," he screamed into the dark resounding walls of the cavern, "I AM A SHAMAN. I need your help," he trailed off as he saw a small rat running past him still deeper into the cave.

Just as the first rays of morning light filtered through the trees, introducing the day, Jim Ellison heard something. He wasn't sure what. There were thousands of little heartbeats racing wildly just on the other side of the earth that blocked the entrance. Then his hearing shifted of its own accord, and he was aware of the life forms on the very verge of the forest. He looked up and saw a young deer looking at him with soulful eyes from the heavy undergrowth blocking the forest path that a young anthropologist had come off of some time ago. He focused his hearing in on the rapidly beating heart. There were two beats, two sounds coming from within that gentle creature, and the other heartbeat, though faint and distant, was one well-known and well-loved---Blair's!

"Simon! SIMON!" Jim shouted as he stood up, excitement and confusion vying for the forefront.

"What, Jim? What is it? Do you hear his heart?" Simon Banks raced up to his best detective and an eager smile began to form on his own face as he read the hope that lit the other one.

"I hear it, Simon. I hear his heart, but it's there...it's off in that direction. I'm going to follow."

"Jim, do you think he got out or maybe escaped before they had a chance to seal the entrance? That they were lying to us about trapping him in there?"

"I don't know, but I need some rope, a med kit, anti-venom serum, blankets. I need to move fast and I need to be alone."

"No, Jim. You could zone. I'm going with you," and when he saw the look of opposition rising up to meet him, he quickly added, "that's an order, Jim. Nothing to discuss."

"MEDIC!" Simon called as he went off to meet the approaching doctor. Simon took care of the medical details. Each man had a backpack fully equipped in a matter of minutes. Simon gave some final instructions that work on the entrance was to begin immediately. He didn't want to take the chance that Jim was having some kind of zone out and was just imagining hearing Sandburg's heartbeat coming from a different direction. He took one of the walkie-talkies the ranger had given him and said he would be in touch. Jim quickly went over some final details about snake bites and treatment by the administration of the anti-venom serum. He noted any complications and the helicopter was told to land at the camp store and wait further instructions. An emergency hospital was mere minutes away by chopper.

Both men, trained in the art of survival, but more appropriately trained in the art of protection, raced off down the path, guided only by a distant heartbeat calling out via another.

Blair was growing weary. The constant chatter was taxing his lungs. His mouth was dry, his throat scratchy, and the pain that jarred his leg with every step was a constant invitation to the oblivion of unconsciousness. He so wanted to embrace the darkness again and sleep away the reality of his discomfort, but something called to him. He could almost feel Jim waiting for him deeper inside the mountain. At one point he could have sworn he heard Jim cursing him in a soul-venting rage, but he shook his head and chalked it off to his tenuous grasp on reality.

"Oh, man, I'm sorry, Jim. I'm sorry I can't get my shit together. I was afraid of the box. Naomi warned me if I didn't go inside one I would always wonder what it was like, but I was afraid to commit, man. I think I knew I was a shaman all along, but I was afraid to admit it. I was afraid of the enclosure. Names put parameters on you, restrictions, ties to proper behavior. I can't be like that, man. I don't like the pretense of tags. Hey, hear that, Jim?" he once again laughed as the dychotomy of his situation dawned on him. "I don't like tags, yet, that Doctor before my name is awfully appealing to me. I guess I'm a hypocrite in many ways. Not like you, man, you always know who you are and what role you're playing. I hope you're in full Blessed Protector mode right now, cause I could use you, man, I could really use you."

He stopped and rested against the side of the cavern, realizing that the air seemed lighter. He could even hear birds--bats up ahead. There had to be an opening. There had to be a way out. He staightened his slumping shoulders, steeled his tired soul, and limped on, keeping up the constant chatter, passing in and out of logical thought, never giving up.

Jim was moving fast, a man with a purpose of soul and heart, a man who could not be swayed now with logic or restraint. Jim Ellison was a man to be reckoned with in the best of times, but in times when Blair Sandburg's life was at stake, it was best to just stay out of his way and give him plenty of room.

Simon kept up. His position of rank did not allow him to grow fat and sloppy. True, he dressed like a dapper gentleman, but the man beneath was hard muscled and military-trained. He was a man who learned to judge other men by close observation, soulful introspection, and equal acceptance. Jim Ellison was his best detective, but he was more than that. He had become a friend, someone who would put aside his shield and personal safety to journey into the Peruvian jungle to rescue Simon and his son from drug dealers. He was a man who raced off into the wilderness to free Simon from an escaped convict's retaliation. Jim was a true and abiding friend, but when he was in full Blessed Protector mode and the object of his protection was one young anthropologist, there was a side to Jim Ellison that even frightened Simon Banks.

Never in all the time that he had come to know the hardened loner, had he ever seen him vulnerable. He had seen him take off men's hides for a smart-ass comment or wrong look. More than once he had to jump down the man's throat to straighten his sorry 'I don't need anyone' ass out. Ellison had been a police Captain's worst nightmare when Simon Banks had first taken over the Major Crimes division of the Cascade PD.

However, when the hippie-style police observer had come under his wing, the hard shell had peeled back slowly, but inexorably, leaving a lonely, vulnerable man in his place. A man, now, who not only needed, but depended upon one young, long-haired grad student for his life, his humanity, and his sanity.

Simon, too, had grown fond of the intelligent blue eyes that had a different slant on the realities of crime and law. He had come to depend on the fresh perspective of viewing scenes and suspects. Even more so, he had come to rely upon the friendship the young man offered, the acceptance of his role in Jim's life, and the warmth and effort Blair always extended towards Darryl to make him feel included as one of the guys. Hell, he admitted now to himself as he followed behind the man on the mission, I've just come to like having the kid around.

Blair was ecstatic when he spotted the blue sky and bright light of day. However, when he came out of the tunnel and discovered himself on the same ledge where he had found Shelly Lamb several days ago, he realized he wasn't much better off. No one would be able to figure out he had come this way.

When he was in the cave, he knew Jim was looking for him....how, he still didn't know, but that was the shaman in him, no doubt. He could feel Jim nearby, he could even sense his rage and frustration. If a Search and Rescue was conducted after the mine explosion, which was surely heard all the way back to the camp site, then it would be directed on the mine entrance. Even Jim would stay faithfully there, waiting, listening and eagerly seeking the sounds that would reassure him of life on the other side of that thick wall of dirt. Slowly Blair slumped down on the ledge, the futility of his efforts weighing heavily upon his shoulders, pushing him deep down into the pit of his own despair.

Jim was moving faster now. The heartbeat was stronger, more distressed, but the location was fragmented, non-localized. He became confused and paused briefly. Time was of the essence, and he didn't know which direction to go. Suddenly he was knocked off his feet, unexpectedly and forcefully. Simon Banks drew his gun as he noted the huge reddish creature that was attacking his friend. However, the small yapping dog at his own feet brought him out of his protective mode when he realized that they were being attacked by friendly dogs. The huge reddish, brown Newfoundland was all over Jim as though excited with meeting a friend. The smaller dog joined his larger friend in a frenzied yapping that seemed to want Jim's total, undivided attention.

"JAKE! BAILEY! Here boys!"

"Over here," Simon called when he realized the escapees' warden was in hot pursuit. "Your dogs are over here, damnit," Simon swore with little patience for this obstacle.

A pretty, blue-eyed young woman with a baseball hat pulled down over her eyes came out of the undergrowth. She saw the large black man, dressed in rugged-wear, his gun pointed at her dogs--the other man, sitting on the ground, still trying to push the huge dog off of him.

Simon saw the fear that pressed upon the young contours of her face. He immediately lowered his gun. "I'm Captain Banks, Cascade P.D.," he said, pulling his badge. "This is Detective Ellison. We're on duty."

"I am so sorry, gentlemen," Shelly said as she made a move for the collar of the closest dog. He backed away just out of her reach.

"JAKE! BAILEY! What's wrong with you guys," she said as she tried once again to reach down and pull her companions off of the large man. However, they easily dodged her efforts and started barking excitedly as they seemed to focus their attention on the man sitting on the ground.

"I don't know what's gotten into them. They started barking and wanting to go out. I assumed just to relieve themselves, but they ran off. They never do that. I just ran after them. I'm so sorry, gentlemen. My grandfather runs the campsite store and I walk my dogs daily down these trails." Shelly tried once again to bring her unruly lot under her control.

Ellison rose quickly. "They know where Sandburg is Simon," he bellowed before racing off after the dogs who eagerly ran ahead, now having captured the attention of the one man they were sent to find.

Simon Banks looked at the confused young woman, holstered his gun, shook his head, and said, "You'd best just follow, miss. This has been one strange morning, I wouldn't be surprised by anything right now."

Finding no other solution to her problem, Shelly Lamb quickly sprinted after the tall men and her once-faithful companions.

Overhead, Blair could just make out the sound of barking dogs and was confused by the incongruity of his situation. He was partially in and out of a dream where he was running in the woods with all the animals. Close to the earth at one time, running low through the green, cool foilage. Another time he was soaring overhead topping the trees, flying high and free. He rather enjoyed the feeling and gave in completely to the pleasant surcease from the cruel reality of his fate.

When Jim Ellison came out of the brush and into the clearing he saw the two dogs prancing agitatedly around the edge of the cliff. Then, as though someone turned on a radio, he heard the loud, clear heartbeat of his friend. It was getting faint and weak, but it was that one heartbeat he could recognize anywhere. Simon came out behind him, placing his hands on his knees and bending over trying to catch his breath. Shelly was not far behind, and she barely showed any signs of exhaustion, a tribute to her young and healthy body.

Jim leaned down and looked over the ledge. There was a leg below, partially visible from the steep side of the ledge. Tying the rope to one end of the huge tree that was positioned just off the right of the clearing, he spoke to Simon as he worked. "He's down there, sir, I'm going down. He's alive, but just barely."

"Miss?" Simon turned to the young woman.

"Oh, Shelly," she offered.

"Shelly, what is the location from the campground of this ledge?"

"East Ridge of Cougar Bluff."

Simon used the walkie-talkie to give directions to the helicopter pilot and the rangers. Then he knelt down near the ledge to assist his best detective in his decent.

When Jim reached his young friend, he immediately felt the warmth of his fever-racked body. The leg was swollen twice its normal size. The gash on his head produced a nodule the size of a walnut, pushing shut his eye and encrusting the area with dried blood. Jim immediately opened his backpack and took out the syringe. He filled the needle from the small vial of anti-venom serum. He placed it on his backpack and unbuckled Blair's belt and unzipped his jeans. Yanking the jeans down below his hips, he gently rolled Blair on his side and injected the serum into the meaty flesh of his buttocks. Then tugging the jeans back up, he pulled his best friend into his arms and waited for the helicopter he heard off in the distance in its final approach.

He looked down at the sweat-soaked face, the soft curls clinging to the flesh, framing the contours of his boyish face. He brushed his hand lovingly along the perimeter, taming the wild strands into submission while savoring the feel of his friend. He cursed himself for his selfishness. The obstinacy of age and set ways had nearly cost Blair his life. Would it have been so hard to have given of himself so Blair could find some peace of mind. They needed to talk; things needed to be settled. Blair needed to understand that he fullfilled every role Jim cast him in: he was friend, guide, shaman, teacher, and family. He was all Jim Ellison needed and all he could ever imagine wanting.

Blair stirred, and, in irritated displeasure at the arms of restriction, he began to flail his arms trying to push away the obstacle to his freedom.

"Easy, Chief, take it easy. It's me, Jim." Ellison pulled the trembling figure closer, easing him gently back into the familiar recesses of comfort and warmth.

"Jim, did you find me? Do you know where I am?" Blair's feverish state still could not allow him to focus on the reality of his whereabouts. He was still partially flying above the verdure at times, still other times within the chamber of the damned, seeking air and escape.

"Yeah, buddy, I found you. Help's on the way."

"They need to be at peace, Jim. They all need to find peace," Blair said as he tried to open his eyes and focus on the face before him.

"Who, Chief?"

"Darren, Joe, the miners, even Incacha, only I can give them peace, even the snakes, even the snakes, Jim." Then he sighed, the burden of his mission softly exhaled. He rested his head back against the strong, faithful arms, and succumbed to a peace of his own.

Moments later Jim was strapping Blair into a stretcher and once again watching him sail up and away towards the top of the cliff. He followed just as quickly with the aid of the rescue team, and seconds later, he accompanied Blair to the emergency center. Simon assured him he would meet him there shortly. The police captain didn't even try to argue Jim into staying. The detective could no more let the young man out of his sight right now than Simon would have been able to let Darryl fly off if his life had been compromised.

When the helicopter cleared the trees, Simon Banks looked at Shelly Lamb and her now subservient friends. The dogs now lay quietly at her feet as though exhausted. They happily panted and wagged their tails lethargically as though having been given over to some other force and finding themselves totally spent, yet completely pleased with their performance. He couldn't help but smile. The day had indeed been strange. He was glad it had all worked out and if there were things beyond his comprehension, if there was magic in the green forest and understanding in the dark eyes of wild things, then so be it. He felt like a man who needed magic right now, and he embraced the wonder of it as he looked off into the sky and saw the helicopter flying off into the distance.

James Ellison turned from looking out the window and, resting one butt cheek on the windowsill, gazed at the sleeping form of his friend and partner.

It had been close this time. Sandburg had nearly died, but then, since teaming up with him, there had been entirely far too many close calls for the young anthropologist. True, this time it had nothing to do with his police work--well at least it hadn't started out that way. But the truth of the matter was that Blair had nearly died because he, James Ellison, had once again ignored the needs of his friend.

Jim snorted with disgust. How selfish and self-centered could one man be. At that particular moment in time, he was full of self-loathing and wonder. Wonder in that, despite all Blair had been through, despite the fact that he had disregarded Sandburg's needs as insignificant, the kid still had the utmost faith in him. Had trusted him to come to the rescue and make everything all right.

Jim thought back to that first day in the hospital and Blair's agitated, incoherent ramblings about shoddy materials, murder and a cave in. Sandburg had pleaded with him to arrest those responsible so that the souls of the murdered men could finally be laid to rest. Ellison had been hesitant, his only concern being Sandburg and making sure that he survived this latest crisis. He had no intention of leaving Blair's side until he knew for certain that Sandburg was out of danger. Sandburg, with his infinitely stubborn disposition, had insisted, even going so far as threatening to go after those responsible himself if need be. Realizing how important it was to Sandburg, he had felt torn. He didn't want to let his friend down yet again, but he also couldn't bear to leave Blair's side---not after having come so close to losing him. It wasn't until Blair had begun unhooking himself from the monitors and pulling out his IV that he had finally capitulated to his friend's request.

It really hadn't taken too much to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. Part of the answer had been found within the diary entries of Darren Boyd. While on his journey of self-discovery, Darren had spent some time in the prosperous mining town known as Coopersville. While there, an unlikely friendship developed between the young explorer and the local mining company's foreman, Joe Barrett. Joe had confided to his new friend his suspicions about the mine's owner, Ned Cooper, stinting on the quality of the materials used to shore up the working mine. A short time later Darren had moved on, and it wasn't until some two weeks later that he'd finally heard about the devastating cave in.

When confronted with the implications of being accessories after the fact to mass murder, the two goons in custody had wasted precious little time in implicating the Cooper brothers in the murder of the bookstore owner and the attempted murder of Sandburg. The brothers were apprehended while attempting to flee the country and now sat behind bars awaiting trial.

Ellison's reminiscing was interrupted as Simon entered the room. "Any change yet?" Simon inquired, his gaze taking in the pale features of the sleeping grad-student.

Jim rose from his seat on the windowsill. "The doc assured me that he'll make a complete recovery, but said that he'll probably sleep a lot over the next couple of days."

Simon released a pent up breath and nodded. "No doubt he could use the rest." He snorted and shook his head in amazement. "Only Sandburg could unearth a twenty-year-old murder and end up smack dab in the middle of it."

"True," Ellison agreed, "but it's because of him that eighty men and their families finally have vindication."

"Not to mention the fact," Simon added, "that the citizens of this state have Sandburg to thank for the fact that their next governor won't be a mass murderer."

Jim smiled sadly, yet there was pride in his voice when he said, "He did good, Simon."

"Yep," Simon agreed. "The kid did real good." He glanced at Blair and then back to Ellison. "It looks like he's going to be asleep for awhile. Come on, I'll buy you a cup of coffee."

After performing a quick sensory scan of his partner's vitals, Jim followed Simon out of the room.

As the mist parted, Blair found himself standing on the riverbank of a slow meandering stream. The sun shone down warmly and the fragrance of flowers filled the air. It was a beautiful setting, so unlike the dark, ominous existence of his recent dreams.

Hearing a noise behind him, Blair turned, startled to discover the presence of a jaguar and wolf standing there, side by side. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Who are you?" he asked. In response to his question the two animals morphed into human form. The first he recognized from his dreams as Joe Barrett. The second man was slim in stature, had long, blond hair, vivid blue eyes and stood several inches shorter than his companion. And although Blair had never met him before, he somehow knew that his man was Darren Boyd.

Darren saw the recognition in Blair's eyes. "Good, I see you know who we are," he said approvingly.

"Where are we? Why are you here?" Blair began.

Darren quelled the questions with a raised hand. "Where we are isn't important. As to why we're here," Darren smiled, "we came to thank you."

"Why?" Blair asked, confused.

"Because of you," Joe responded, "those responsible for our deaths will be made to pay. We have closure now. We can finally move on."

Darren cocked his head and eyed Blair thoughtfully. "And you Blair, did you find what you were searching for?"

Blair glanced at the ground and then back up at the two men. Uncertainty clearly written in his features. "I think so." He shook his head and finally admitted. "I don't know. So much has happened. Everything is so mixed up."

Darren smiled knowingly. "Sometimes one has to observe what is around them before they can understand what already lies within."

Blair thought about the observations he had made on his own journey of self-awareness and smiled.

Darren nodded approvingly. "Good bye, Blair, and thank you." "WAIT!" Blair cried out, but the two men had already morphed back into their animal forms and disappeared back into the woods.

With their departure, the mist returned to gently envelope him. When it finally cleared, Blair found himself staring at four stark walls of a hospital room.

The door suddenly opened as Ellison walked in. "Hey, Chief, you're awake," he commented with obvious pleasure.

"Nah, really, Jim?" Blair mocked playfully. "What was your first clue?"

Ellison sobered. "We need to talk."

"Pull up a chair, Detective," Blair instructed with a wave of his hand.

Jim moved the chair beside the bed and sat down, uncertain where to begin.

"What is it, Jim?" Blair asked, seeing his friend's indecision.

Ellison looked up. "We got 'em, Chief. Ned and David Cooper are going down for a long time."

"Well that's good news, right?" Blair couldn't understand Jim's reticence.

"Yeah it is, but there's something else." Ellison seemed hesitant to continue.

"Whatever it is, I can take it," Blair assured him.

Ellison rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. "You remember those old case files Simon had us working on?"

Blair nodded.

"Well," Jim continued with obvious reluctance, "one of them involved the unsolved hit and run death of Darren Boyd." He paused, looking up to gauge Sandburg's reaction.

Blair smiled sadly. "It's all right, Jim. I already knew. Oh, I don't mean how he died," Blair went on to explain, seeing Ellison's frown of confusion, "just that he was dead."

"How?"

"It doesn't matter," Blair replied. "Was it Cooper?"

Jim nodded. "Apparently Ned found out about the friendship between Darren and the mine's foreman..."

"Joe. Joe Barrett," Blair supplied the name.

"Right. Anyway," Ellison continued, "he thought the kid might know something so he arranged for him to have a little accident. That's how they came into possession of his diary."

"How'd it end up in the bookstore?" Blair asked, confused.

"They were doing some renovations on their library and it somehow accidentally ended up in with the books they decided to sell."

Ellison paused, dreading what he had to say next. "There's another thing, Chief."

One of Blair's eyebrows rose in question.

With a sigh Jim explained, "When they discovered the diary was missing, they sent a couple of their goons to get it back. They got your name and address from the sale's receipt."

Blair was beginning to experience a sense of dread. "There's more to this, isn't there?"

Ellison's jaw flexed involuntarily. "They killed the bookstore owner."

"Oh, man," Blair groaned, shutting his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Jim began, only to have Blair wave off his friend's concern.

"It's all right, Jim. It just really sucks, you know. All those lives, and who knows how many countless others, destroyed all for the sake of greed."

Ellison knew the magnitude of such a loss would weigh heavily upon his friend's kind heart. "Is there anything I can do for you, Chief?" he asked softly, wanting somehow to lighten the burden.

Sandburg's sorrowful, blue eyes looked up to gaze into his own.

"Take me home, Jim. Just take me home."

I will never chase rainbows on bright sunny afternoons. The clear contentment of my soul gives no foil for the splendor in that spectrum. Colors look best against dark skies. The reds of passion heat all the hotter on the moody landscapes of my depression. Yellows seem more golden on the planes of despair, when threads of dejection hang in shreds like banners of desperation. Blues crisply contrast the heated backdrop of my indifference, the color's chilly winds forming a funnel in my soul. Greens, especially, so full of life hold audiences with my weary spirit, encouraging and eager. No, I will never chase rainbows on bright sunny afternoons of clear contentment. In the brightness of my joy it is hard to grasp so translucent a concept as hope.

EPILOGUE

When Jim Ellison opened the door of the loft, he stepped aside allowing Blair to walk slowly by him, suppressing the smile that touched his lips as Blair struggled to coordinate his movements. He was still having a hard time mastering the precision of balance and angle, the crutches unruly parallel bars, obstacles not aids. Jim had to laugh when he finally picked them up and hopped unceremoniously over to the sofa, plopping down with a great exhalation of relief.

"Don't worry, Chief, you'll master those things soon enough. Just give it some time. And I'd better not see you hopping around here," Jim said warningly as he followed Blair and proceeded to pile some pillows on the coffee table.

"Aw, Jim, I'm tired of these things already. They hurt under my arms and I don't really need them," Sandburg whined as he cautiously lifted his left leg and put it on the cushion.

"The doctor said to stay off of it for a few days and that's just what you're going to do, Darwin," he said as he pointed a finger at the protest he saw beneath the surface of the blue eyes. "No buts, or you'll go back to the hospital. He wasn't too happy about releasing you today and only did it when I promised him your full cooperation."

Jim took the afghan off the back of the couch and draped it around Blair's legs. He then put the small white paper bag he had on the counter and began lining up the bottles of pills that Blair was scheduled to take round the clock. The swelling in the leg had decreased considerably, but antibiotics were being administered regularly and the doctor wanted a close eye kept on the obstreperous patient.

"Hey, how about some tea, that herbal blend you like so much?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Blair said as he slightly turned to see Jim standing behind him in the kitchen.

"Ah, Jim, you didn't by any chance get my backpack out of there, did you?" Blair tried to keep his expression nonchalant, trying to play down the desperation he had felt ever since he woke up in the hospital. He wanted the diary and journal. He needed them.

Jim put the kettle on to heat and wiped his hands on a towel as he came around the counter. He took a deep inhalation of breath, steeled his nerves then exhaled. Maybe this was the opening to the discussion they needed to have.

Blair watched him with hopeful eyes, brushing the hair off his face in a subtle gesture of nervousness and discomfiture.

Jim walked into Blair's room and came out with the well-worn backpack. "What you really want to know is did I manage to save the books?" He held the one book out to Blair who sheepishly reached out and grabbed it. Jim could actually feel the air lighten once the kid had his hands on the book, as though he was holding his fears at bay and could not relax until he could once again lay claim to its secrets. He put such stock in those books, as though they were the keys to his very existence. This has got to stop, Jim thought, and I'm going to put a stop to it right here and now.

Jim saw his crestfallen face at the realization that the special book was not there.

"Blair, it's evidence. You can have it back after the trial, but, Chief, Darren's parents have been contacted. They know about the journal and their son's involvement and his murder. I just thought that maybe it would be a nice gesture to give them their son's personal journal. I think it would help them understand and get some closure from all of this." Jim took the chair opposite the sofa.

He saw the look of panic that momentarily washed the already pale features, the eager hands that brushed away some stray curls, then cradled the other book close to his chest. "I know, Jim, of course. They should have Darren's last thoughts and revelations. He would have wanted it."

"Look, Blair, we need to get something settled."

"No, Jim. I know what you're going to say. I don't need a lecture here, man. I know I handled this whole shaman thing all wrong. I let you down. I know that. I realize now that I labeled myself in relationship to you since this whole partnership began. You authenticated me, Jim. No!" he raised his hand at the familiar jaw clenched in denial, "Hear me out."

"I was always an observer, not only in my position in the police department, but in my whole life. I dreaded being confined in the name tag game. Neo-hippie, witch-doctor, punk! Do you remember calling me that the first time we talked?"

"Chief, I've regretted my haste in judgment. I never meant..."

"Jim, please. Confession is good for the soul, and I need to bare mine right now. This is one epiphany I need to label, categorize, and record. I don't want to have to go through this particular lesson again," he said as he moved his leg to get more comfortable and was reminded of how painful the lesson had been.

"You were right, I was all those things. I was playing at being avant-garde and intellectually free. I admit I dressed the way I did for lack of funds. But the hair, the obsession with ancient cultures and civilizations--it helped keep me from settling into any classes and social structures in my own time and world. I was afraid, man. I was afraid to fit in."

"Blair, we're all afraid of acceptance, as much as we fear rejection. We know acceptance means rules and expected behavior. That's why teens fight it so much. You just never grew up," Jim said with a teasing smile on his lips, trying to lighten the burden he saw weighing on his friend's soul.

"Naomi and I had an on-going joke about me becoming trapped in boxes, but to me it was the commitment, Jim, the pieces of your soul you have to put out to feel comfortable with the demands and restrictions all the little slots require of you. I wanted to be an observer around you more than I let on. I didn't want the responsibility of being needed. Incacha changed all that when he passed it on to me. One simple word--Shaman--and I was it in a dreaded game of tag." Blair paused, collecting his thoughts.

"Is that tea ready? I think I need a break, soul searching is tiring."

"You're overdoing it, Sandburg. The doctor said rest, and this is not restful. We can talk about it later," Jim said as he moved into the kitchen and began filling two cups with the tea.

Coming around the sofa, Ellison handed the mug to Sandburg. He had put the tea in a tall, clear, crystal coffee mug that Blair had purchased at the neighborhood coffee shop. The kid had been pleased with the simple purchase and Jim felt the familiarity with the treasured item would help him relax. Blair nodded his thanks and sipped slowly on the hot brew, savoring the calming effects of the tea. He closed his eyes, relishing the aroma, flavor, and potency of the herb, drinking slowly until more than half the cup's content was gone. Then he laid the glass mug on the table next to him and put his head back, closing his eyes once again.

"Jim, I need to finish. I need for you to understand." When no opposition reached his ears, he swallowed hard and continued. "I became fragmented since Incacha died. I didn't know who or what I was anymore. I shunned stereotypes, yet I played by the rules, Jim, always by the rules. I knew what I wanted--the doctorate, the masters, the bachelors. I knew and I pursued it with a singular focus, but I never stopped to analyze how frightened I always was of the finished product. Incacha shoved a mirror right up under my nose and told me to look. I thought he was telling me who I should be, but I was wrong, Jim. It took a hippie, flower child from the 70's to show me how wrong I was. I just want these books to keep as a reminder of my own search and what I found."

"How's that, Chief?" Jim asked as he sat across from Blair still wrapping his own hands around the hot mug, seeking warmth and reassurance in the domestic gesture.

"Names, titles, job descriptions, honors, they don't make people who they are. Darren said he saw himself as a seeker unaware, because if he found what he was looking for, he doubted that he would recognize it."

"So, what's your point, Chief?"

"Man, my point, Jim, is none of us know who we are. That's what life is all about. We're all seekers unaware of what we seek. I used to ask Naomi why rainbows were so translucent and ethereal. She said that the only time rainbows looked bright and clear were against a darkened sky. She said that life was like that; it was a bright and shiny treasure that only caught our eye when times were rough and troubled. Maybe that's the only time we ever really get glimpses of our true selves, Jim. When things get bleak and grey, life becomes clearer and filled with purpose, in the forefront then we take our stand and shine."

"Sandburg, I don't know a hell of a lot about all this soul-searching you've been doing. I never needed or wanted you to be anything but what you were---what you are." Jim stood up and came to sit down next to the troubled young man.

"Listen to me, Blair. Incacha wasn't passing on a role to you, he was calling you what he recognized you to be. He was acknowledging who you are, not because of any powers, not because of magic and knowledge and secret ceremonies. He was acknowledging what you meant to me. What he saw you as---my friend."

"Jim, I know that now. I know that's what he wanted. He was passing on his bond with you, nothing more. He was merely connecting me to you on a deeper, mystical level. I have always been me. Incacha couldn't define me, he could only recognize me. Recognize what I myself didn't even know I had found, and I found myself several years ago, Jim, when I found you." Blair blushed slightly at this affirmation and pulled away as Jim playfully swatted him alongside the head.

"It works both ways, Chief, always a two-way street."

"No, no way, man. You've always known who you are," Blair said as he sat up straighter, amazed to think this man had an identity problem. This hard-ass, straight, no-nonsense cop not having any inkling as to who and what he was...no way.

"Chief, ask Simon some day to show you pictures of the old bullpen. He won't just show you a snapshot or two, he'll walk you through the men, observer of human nature that he is. He'll show you pictures of a hard-ass loner, too tough and too mean to need or want anyone for his partner. He'll show you some touch-ups made by Jack Pendergast and Danny Choi, but they still won't be pretty. Not by a long shot. I'm not the man I was then, Chief. I'm not that man because of you. You showed me that I was more than I thought."

Blair looked at Jim with unblinking eyes, then he smiled and the loft lit into colored fragments of rainbows, prisms of emotions: relief, acceptance, confidence and love---colors reflected by the warm atmosphere of friendship, the landscape of familiarity.The kind of rainbows warm smiles can paint upon the troubled souls of worried friends.

Then each man laughed as the room filled with color--real color--as Blair's empty mug caught the afternoon sun, splintering light frames into heliograms of rainbow wedges, messages of hope.

"Jim, there's always going to be more of us when we're together," Blair said jokingly, but both men paused to reflect the wisdom of the words. The older man reached out an arm along the back of the sofa enclosing the other within his protective reach; the younger man leaned back against the solid strength, focused on the dancing display of multi-faceted jewels, and marvelled at rainbows on sunny afternoons.

THE END

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