Inevitable Series 05 The Undeniable Read online

  “How long have you been standing here?” The kid looked like hell. Like he could fall over at any second.

  He sighed. “I don’t know. An hour maybe.”

  Simon took his arm and began leading him away from the door. “You’re going home.”

  Blair twisted out of the grip. “No, I’m not. I’m going to wait until the doctors are gone and then I’m going back inside.”

  “Not looking like this you’re not.” He took a step closer, towering over the grad student. “Sandburg, you look like hell. You go back in there looking like this and you’re just going to worry Jim. He doesn’t need that. He needs to recuperate and he can’t do that if he’s worrying about you. So you’re going home.”

  Blair’s gaze darted to Jim’s door then back to Simon. “Yeah, okay.” He rubbed his eyes. “You’re probably right.”

  “I know I’m right.” He took Blair by the shoulder and steered him toward the elevators. He could feel the kid tremble beneath his grip. Thank God Jim woke up. The kid wouldn’t have lasted another night. “You go home, take a shower, eat some dinner and then get in bed and sleep. I don’t want you to come back here again until you’ve done those things. Do you understand?”

  “Simon, I--”

  “I said do you understand? Yes or no.”

  “Yes,” Blair managed as the elevator arrived.

  Simon pushed him toward it. “You don’t come back until you look human.” As the doors slid shut, Simon wondered briefly if he was doing the right thing. It was the expression on the kid’s face. Simon didn’t know if it was just his imagination but as the doors to the elevator slid shut, Simon thought Blair looked afraid.

  Blair stepped out of the elevators and headed toward the exit of the hospital. Maybe Simon was right. Jim would worry about him if he saw him like this. Besides, what he needed to talk to Jim about, he could not do here. That would have to wait until he was home again. Which probably meant a few more days at least.

  He stopped in his tracks. A few more days? Could he go that long without sleep?

  “Blair?”

  He turned toward the familiar voice of the night nurse. “Hi Ruthie.”

  “I heard your friend woke up. I’m glad for you.” Her smile was genuine. “Are you going home finally?”

  He nodded. “Just to get cleaned up.”

  “I talked to the doctor. I was just bringing you this.” She showed him a small prescription bottle. “He agreed with me about the sedative. You take two of these and you’ll finally get that rest you need.” She pressed the bottle into his hand. “So when I see you again, I want those gorgeous blue eyes of yours looking less tired. You understand?”

  He smiled sheepishly. “I got it.” He slipped the bottle in his pocket and left. He found Jim’s truck in the parking lot where Simon had told him it would be. He drove to the loft on automatic, making each turn as necessary but not really registering any of it.

  Pulling up next to his Volvo, he shut off the truck and glanced up at the dark windows of the loft. It had only been a few days since he’d been home but somehow it felt like weeks. He stared down at the keys in his hands. His keys to his home. Why did he suddenly not want to go up there?

  Shoving his emotions aside, Blair pushed out his door and headed inside. His heart pounded heavily in his chest as the elevator rose toward the third floor. “It’s just the loft,” he muttered. “What’s wrong with me?” But as he opened the front door and his gaze swept over the room before him, he finally understood his uneasiness.

  All the things he’d scattered about the loft, things he had explained so carefully to Jim now seemed to mock him. He tossed his keys into the basket on the table beside the door and walked through the living room. His gaze took in each artifact, every relic, all his books. It had always meant so much to him. Been so important. But were any of those emotions really his?

  When did I first discover sentinels? How old was I? Did I read something about them? Hear a story?

  He couldn’t stop thinking about that. Thinking about the exact moment he’d discovered sentinels. He could remember asking his mom for a book about watchmen when he was only eight. But why had he asked for it? What had brought that first need? And where had his love of anthropology come from? He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he hadn’t been completely enthralled by it. Now he found himself wondering why. Had he been “programmed” to love it? Given that trait so he could find his place with Jim?

  What am I?

  The three words swept through his mind. Clutched at his heart. He had to find out, to understand. To believe he wasn’t just some thing that was produced to fill a pre-selected purpose.

  Going to his room, he pulled out a box from beneath his bed. It contained his sentinel journals. The top of the box was littered with every note he had taken since meeting Jim. Beneath those were his older notebooks. Observations he’d made as early as ten years old. He took a stack of the books and headed back into the living room. The answers are in here. I just have to find them. Three hours later, he was no closer to finding what he needed. No closer to uncovering that first moment of discovery.

  He let his head drop back on he couch. His eyes slipped shut. Instantly, he snapped them open again. He did not want to dream. Not here. Alone. Without Jim.

  But I’ve got to sleep.

  Slipping his hand into his pocket, he withdrew the bottle of pills.

  Jim stared at the clock on the wall opposite his hospital bed. It was after ten thirty and he still hadn’t heard from Blair. Simon told him that he sent him home with instructions to get some rest and clean himself up. But Jim hadn’t expected him to be gone this long. Had thought if anything, Blair would just go home, take a quick shower and come right back. Worry gnawed at him. He waited another five minutes then snatched up the phone and dialed Simon’s number.

  “Banks,” came the gruff voice through the line.

  “Simon, it’s Jim. Something’s wrong. Sandburg hasn’t come back yet and I’m getting worried.”

  “The kid’s probably sleeping, Jim. He’s been about ready to drop for two days.”

  “I tried calling the loft but there was no answer. Even if he fell asleep, he should have heard the phone. Can you just take a drive over there and check things out for me?”

  “Jim, don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

  “No, I don’t. Simon, I can’t explain it to you. I just have a really bad feeling about this. Something is wrong.”

  Silence. Jim gripped the phone tightly, willing Simon to believe him. Trust him.

  “Simon, please.”

  The captain let out a long breath. “I’m on my way.”

  Simon pulled up in front of the loft. Blair’s Volvo and Jim’s truck were parked in front. Sandburg had to be here. Simon pushed out his door, feeling a bit foolish for checking up on the kid. But he had promised Jim. He crossed into the lobby and rode the elevator to the third floor. “You’re going to owe me one for this, Ellison.” He reached the loft door and knocked. Nothing. He knocked again, harder. “Come on, Sandburg. Open up.” Still nothing. Maybe the kid’s in the shower. He fished out his key and opened the door.

  The loft was dark except for the moonlight that spilled in through the balcony windows. Simon crossed quietly to Blair’s room and looked around the French doors. The bed was empty. He turned back to the living room and that’s when he saw him.

  Blair lay on his stomach on the couch, his left arm tucked close to his side. His hair hid his face but moved softly with each slow breath he released. He still wore the same clothes he’d had on when he left the hospital.

  "So much for getting cleaned up,” Simon mumbled.

  He crossed to the couch and stood over him. “Okay Sandburg,” he said softly. “Time to get up.” Leaning down, he turned on the lamp beside the couch. The room flooded with light. Simon’s brow creased as he took in the journals that littered the floor all around the couch. He bent down and lifted one of the books. Flipping through it, he realized it was all about Jim. Notes Sandburg had made regarding Jim’s progress with his senses. He lifted another. The same kind of information was inside. Several of the kid’s anthropology books also littered the floor around him. Why was Sandburg suddenly looking through all of his sentinel information?

  Worry tightened his chest. His gaze fell once again on Blair. The kid still had not moved. “Come on, Sandburg. Time to wake up.” Simon reached down and shook his shoulder. Blair’s arm slid from the couch. His knuckles rapped against the coffee table before hitting the floor. He did not wake. Fear crawled up Simon’s back. “Sandburg,” he said more loudly. Still no response, just the same deep, even breaths. He took a step closer and his foot connected with something on the floor. He glanced down at his shoe and saw the bottle of pills.

  “Dammit.” Grabbing Blair’s arm, he flipped him onto his back. “Sandburg,” he shouted, patting his cheek. “Come on, Sandburg. Wake up!” Nothing. No movement.

  The captain pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911.

  Jim sat beside the hospital bed, his left arm resting in a sling. He listened to his Guide’s deep, even breathing, to the steady beat of his heart, relishing each sound. How could this happen? In his mind, he could still see the look of shock on Simon’s face when he came to him earlier tonight to tell him that Blair was in the emergency room getting his stomach pumped because of a possible overdose. “It was an accident, Simon.” He glanced up at the captain who stood beside him. “He would never do this.”

  “I know,” Simon whispered.

  And as Jim continued to stare at him, he realized that there was something in the captain’s expression. Something Jim could only describe as guilt. “You’re blaming yourself for this.” It was not a question. Jim knew it. Could
see it in Simon’s eyes.

  “I sent him home.” Simon pulled off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I ordered him to go home and get some sleep. Told him not to show his face here again unless he did.”

  “Simon--”

  “I knew he was going through something and instead of offering to talk to him about it, I just sent him off.” He slipped his glasses back on, his gaze shifting to Blair. “He looked afraid, Jim. I thought he looked afraid and still I didn’t stop him. I thought if he just got some rest…”

  “He’s going to be fine, Simon. The dosage wasn’t even lethal. Just enough to render him unconscious.”

  “Why would he take pills? He hates drugs.”

  “He was having nightmares,” Jim said softly. He closed his eyes, remembering some of the dreams Blair had told him about in the past. The nightmares that had kept him up so many nights. “He hadn’t been sleeping because of them. The night nurse, Ruthie, she got the pills for him. She was just trying to help.” He could still hear the pain in the woman’s voice as she explained her actions to Jim. Knew she too felt guilty over what had happened to Blair. “He was just trying to get some sleep.”

  Simon moved to the bed. He tilted his head to one side as he looked down at Blair. Slowly, he reached out and pulled the blankets up, tucking them more tightly around the police observer. “He blames himself for what happened to you,” he said, his voice taking on a far off quality as he continued to fuss with the blankets. “He told me that he didn’t think Reese would shoot and that he was no good to you if his intuition was always going to be wrong. He said--” He stopped mid-sentence. His gaze darted to Jim. “I’m sorry.” He took a step back from the bed as if suddenly realizing what he’d been doing. “He looked cold.”

  Jim smiled at him. “It’s okay, Simon. Knowing Sandburg, he probably was.” He indicated the sling he wore with a tilt of his head. “And I’m not in the best position to do that for him.”

  Simon laughed lightly. “You’ve got a point there.”

  Jim turned his attention back to Blair. “He doubts himself, Simon. He has since Brackett. He thinks he’s failed me and he’s looking for answers.”

  “When I found him at the loft, he had notebooks spread all over the living room. His Sentinel notebooks. Like he was looking for something in particular.”

  “There’s something else going on, Simon. Something beyond just his doubts.” He reached into the pocket of his robe and withdrew the envelope he had found in Blair’s backpack. For Our Son. The three words glared up at him. “I found this with the things he left in my room.” He handed the envelope to Simon

  “Son,” Simon whispered. His gaze shifted to Jim. “Is this Sandburg’s?”

  “I found it in his backpack.”

  “Have you ever seen it before?” Simon asked, handing it back to him.

  “No, never.” He ran his fingers over the tattered edges of the envelope. It looked old to him. Worn. Had the kid just found this? Was it delivered to him somehow?

  “Jim, Naomi was here.”

  Jim looked up at Simon. Had he heard him correctly? “Naomi was in Cascade? When?”

  “She came in yesterday. Only stayed for a few hours. I thought maybe Sandburg called her. That she’d come to support him. But now...”

  “You think she gave this to him?”

  Simon raised one eyebrow. “Don’t you?”

  Jim stared at the envelope. Why the hell would Naomi come to town, give Blair this envelope and then leave? He rubbed his shoulder against the dull ache of pain. His gaze shifted back to his unconscious partner. “I need to talk to Naomi.”

  Blair blinked, the ceiling above him coming into slow focus. He moaned, the sound scratching against his sore throat. “Jim?”

  “Right here, Chief.” Jim leaned over him, his eyes clouded with worry. “How are you feeling?”

  Blair looked around and realized he was in the hospital, laying in a hospital bed. Lifting his hand, he stared confusedly at the IV attached to it. “What happened?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  He shook his head, confusion marring his brow.

  “You took pills, Blair. Too many pills. Simon found you at the loft and brought you in last night.”

  Blair closed his eyes as his actions came rushing back to him. He’d taken two of the sedatives, just like Ruthie told him too but still the dream had come. So he had taken another. Then just one more. After that, things blurred in his mind. “I can’t believe I did that.”

  “Why’d you take so many, Chief?”

  Blair could hear the unspoken question behind the words. “It was an accident, Jim. God, you know I’d never do anything like that. I just...I needed to sleep. I really needed to sleep.” He swallowed hard and winced at the pain in his throat.

  “Drink.”

  He opened his eyes. Jim held out a cup with a straw in it. Using the button on the side of the bed, Blair moved into a sitting position then took the cup from Jim. He held it in both hands, his grip weak, unsteady. “Thanks.” He drank greedily, the water soothing against his scratchy throat.

  “I know about your nightmares,” Jim said when he was finished.

  Blair nodded, not surprised by the news. “You talked to Ruthie.”

  “Yes,” Jim admitted. “And to Naomi.”

  “Oh, man.” Blair covered his face with his hands. He had planned to talk to Jim about what his mother had told him. But now that it was out in the open....he somehow felt ashamed.

  “She shouldn’t have left you.”

  Blair could hear the anger behind those softly spoken words. He dropped his hands away from his face and looked up at Jim. Anger clenched the Sentinel’s jaw and stiffened his back.

  “Jim, don’t blame my mom for this. I’m the one who convinced her to leave. I thought--”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jim cut in. “She should not have left you, Chief. She should have known-“

  “I didn’t want her here,” he blurted out. “I didn’t want her here and I think she knew it.” He looked away, ashamed by the admission. He would have to call his mother. Make things right with her again. He knew none of this was her fault. She had been “chosen” for her role in all this just as he had. “The things she told me, Jim….you know, don’t you? You know everything.”

  Jim pulled the tattered envelope from his robe pocket and handed it to Blair. “Why didn’t you want to dream, Blair? What are you so afraid of?”

  “It’s not just the dreams, Jim. It’s everything.” He turned the envelope over in his hands, his fingers tracing over the words printed there so long ago. “I’ve been looking over my life. Looking at the choices I made.”

  Jim nodded. “Simon told me about the journals you had out.”

  “You know Jim, I wanted to be an anthropologist for as long as I can remember. My whole life. Isn’t that amazing?”

  “Not really. You and I already discussed this. You were meant to be a Guide so it only makes sense that you would gravitate toward things that would help you do that. I don’t understand why you seem to suddenly think this is bad?”

  “Jim, don’t you see? My whole life has been geared to this. You had a regular home life. A military career. A wife. The only steady thing I had was my anthropology. It went everywhere my mom dragged me. You know what I was trying to find in those journals? I wanted to pinpoint the exact moment when I found out about sentinels. But I couldn’t. And the more I think about it, the more it seems to me that I’ve always just known.”

  “I’m not following you, Chief. How is this different than what we already know? So you’ve known about Sentinels your whole life. You should. You’re my Guide. It’s who you are.”

  “I’m not a who. I’m a what,” he muttered.

  “You’re not making sense, Chief.”

  “Jim, I liked the idea that I was born and fate stepped in and chose me to be what I am for you. But after what my mom told me....I just don’t know what I am anymore.”

  “You’re my Guide. My partner. My friend.” Jim frowned. “You think any of that has changed because of what Naomi told you?”

  Blair met Jim’s gaze and held it. “A few weeks ago when you and I talked and we decided that what I was, what we are together was fated to be, that I was meant to be your Guide, I liked that. But this...” He shook his head. “To have the man who is my father choose my mother and impregnate her so that I could become what he needed me to become is very different. You were born and what you are came to you naturally. I was ‘manufactured’ for my role. ‘Programmed’ to be the perfect Guide. And it doesn’t make me feel special. It makes me feel like a freak.”