Progression Series 20 Legacy (Final) Page 5

  You're looking for something you're not going to find, Sandburg. At least not in this book. Blair closed his eyes against the words. His thoughts tumbled and turned, but came to no conclusion. He had no proof that every sentinel had only one guide. No one--not even the esteemed Burton--had known that. But Blair was certain of one thing--he had to find out. And until he did, he wasn't going to mention this new piece of information to his sentinel. He wasn't going to mention Nicholas Britt.

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  Jim walked quietly down the steps, doing his best not to wake Blair. As he reached the living area, his gaze came to rest on his partner. The kid was stretched out on one of the couches, the journal open across his chest, his glasses still on his face, sound asleep. Jim crossed to him and sat down on the coffee table.

  He'd heard his guide get up from bed some time ago, known he'd been sitting down here reading his grandfather's journal. Jim had heard the pages turning, the small sounds of discomfort Blair had made as he read--sounds he was sure his guide wasn't even aware of.

  Leaning forward slightly, Jim withdrew Blair's glasses from his face and set them aside. The kid stirred slightly, mumbling a bit in his sleep. The journal across his chest slid sideways and Jim reached out and grabbed it before it could fall to the floor and wake Blair. As he placed the journal beside him on the table, his fingers lingered for a moment on the worn cover.

  He hadn't read very far into the journal himself, didn't know what was contained in the pages that had his partner so obviously distressed. But he knew Blair well enough to know that the journal was not the real problem...Blair was worrying over his place in Jim's life.

  His gaze shifted back to Sandburg and he tilted his head to one side, studying the peaceful face of his sleeping guide. His thoughts turned back to their earlier conversation. He'd been wrong to press Blair, he knew that now. He'd known in the attic that Blair was still struggling with Jim's permanent need for him. Yet Jim had pushed at the issue, brought Blair to the point where he'd lashed out--not in anger, but in fear and frustration. Jim shook his head slightly at the thought. Fear and frustration--two emotions with which I'm intimately familiar.

  He couldn't put a finger on the moment when he'd set aside his own fear and frustration over the senses that ran rampant within him--the senses he only seemed to be able to control when he was assured of Blair's presence in his life. But he had set them aside. He'd been completely at peace with his sentinel destiny and with Blair's part in it for a long, long time, even before the spirit journey they'd taken together months earlier. It had taken that spirit journey for Blair to come to accept his role as shaman. Would it take another such journey for Blair to come to accept that he was the only guide Jim would ever have?

  "I hope not, Chief," he whispered and, reaching out, brushed gently at the hair that had fallen across the younger man's forehead. He didn't understand why, but for some reason Jim wanted Blair to be able to come to this decision in the world in which they lived on a daily basis. And he wanted--if Blair would only allow him--to help in some way. Just let me in, buddy. Let me help.

  In that moment, he realized that his hearing was tuned into Blair's heartbeat. It was something he did without even thinking about it. Whenever they were together, Jim was just aware of his guide -- his heartbeat, his respiration, everything. Somehow in the five years they'd been together, Blair had become a part of Jim. He could no longer picture his life without Blair in it. He wasn't sure when it had happened, when he had started to see his future this way. But now...there was no going back.

  And he was sure Blair felt the same way. Sandburg had found a home here at the loft with Jim. That part of their friendship and even their sentinel/guide bond was secure. But Jim also knew that Blair feared for him...feared that if something happened to him, his sentinel would be left alone.

  Blair shifted again, muttering something indistinguishable, his brow furrowing slightly in his sleep. Jim frowned. Maybe right now he couldn't help Blair through whatever demons were dancing around in his head but he could help him get a good night's sleep.

  "Hey, buddy." Reaching out, he gently shook Blair's shoulder. "Come on, Chief, you need to go to bed now."

  "Jim?" Blair muttered, his eyes blinking slowly open. But as he focused on the sentinel above him, his eyes went wide. "What's wrong?" He sat up suddenly, his heart pounding heavily in his chest, his gaze shifting around the room. "Did something happen? Is something wrong?"

  "Everything's fine." Jim laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Relax. I just think if you're going to sleep, you should do it in your own room."

  Blair blinked again, the fear leaving his eyes, replaced by sudden understanding. His gaze shifted to the darkened windows of the loft. "What time is it?" He ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.

  "It's the middle of the night, Chief."

  Blair closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, man. I woke you, didn't I? I didn't mean to. I--"

  "That wasn't a complaint, Sandburg," Jim offered with a warm smile. "Just an observation."

  Blair looked at Jim again, uncertainty darkening his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said again.

  The sentinel cocked his head toward the journal that lay on the coffee table. "You find anything else of interest in there?" he asked, changing the subject.

  Blair's only answer was a non-committal shrug and an aversion of his eyes.

  "Yeah, guess if you had, you wouldn't have fallen asleep reading it, right?"

  Blair pushed to his feet, the abrupt action taking Jim slightly off guard. "Listen, man, I'm going to go to bed."

  Jim stared up at his friend for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Sure, Chief," he acknowledged at last, then watched as his guide moved slowly toward his room. "Sandburg?" he called out just as the kid reached the French doors. Blair turned and glanced back over his shoulder at him, his brow creased in question.

  Talk to me, Jim pleaded silently. Tell me what's bothering you so much. Let me help you. But as Jim looked at his guide, he knew he couldn't say any of those things. Instead, he settled on.... "Sleep well, buddy."

  Blair smiled briefly. "Yeah. You too, man." With that, Sandburg stepped into his room and pushed the door closed behind him with a soft click.

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  "Where have you been?"

  Blair turned sharply at the sound of William Ellison's demanding voice, taken aback by his heated question. Jim's father stood on the other side of the loft, his angry gaze locked on Blair, his arms held wide in supplication. He was clearly waiting for Blair's answer.

  "Say something!" the man shouted as he crossed to Blair. Stopping directly before him, he glared down at him, his eyes flashing anger. "I asked you where you've been?"

  Blair stared at him, perplexed at his appearance in the loft and the odd question. "I--I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered out. " I haven't been anywhere." And even as he said the words, he scanned the loft, looking for his partner. But Jim was nowhere to be found. He turned back to William. "Where's Jim?"

  "Jimmy's gone," the older man bit out, his voice colored with accusation.

  "Gone? What do you mean he's gone?" Blair turned and jogged to the stairs. "Jim?" he called out, starting up the steps. "Jim? Where are you, man?"

  "He's not here," William shouted, the harsh tone stopping Blair in his tracks. Slowly, he turned to face Jim's father. "He hasn't been here for a long time," William continued and as he said the words, the previous tone of accusation gave way to sadness. "I spent every dime I had trying to help him," he murmured, his gaze sweeping absently over the apartment. "I brought in all the best specialists, sent him to the most up-to-date hospitals." He turned haunted eyes back to Blair. "Nothing helped," he rasped out at last.

  Blair stiffened at the words, at the underlying tone and meaning behind them. Heart beating fast in his chest, he crossed back to William. "What happened to Jim? Where is he?!"

 
But William was lost in a world of pained remembrance, his gaze distant and introspective. "They said at the end that he...he lost his mind. That he went insane..." His gaze shifted, locked on Blair. Anger and disgust flashed behind the tired blue eyes, banishing the introspection. "He trusted you!" he shouted suddenly, pointing at Blair. "He trusted you to be here for him. Well, where were you? Where the hell were you!"

  Blair opened his mouth, ready to defend himself, to say he'd been right here all along. But before he could speak, a cold wind enveloped him from behind, tugging at his clothes and hair, sending a chill down his spine. He raised his hands to protect his face, squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught.

  And just as suddenly as it had started, the wind's assault stopped. Blair blinked open his eyes, his breath coming in short gasps.

  He was alone, just as he somehow knew he would be even before he'd opened his eyes. And as his gaze swept the area around him, he realized he was no longer at home. Instead, he was standing in a desolate cemetery, a cemetery he did not recognize. But he knew--with a certainty he couldn't explain--what he was about to find. Slowly, his hands trembling at his sides, he looked down. His gaze locked on the simple stone at his feet.

  Jim Ellison -- He found peace at last.

  "No! This can't be!" His knees buckled and he dropped down before the cold marble stone. "Jim," he choked out. "I was here." He reached out and brushed shaking fingers across Jim's name. "Please," he sobbed, his heart aching. "I didn't go away. I was here. I was here!"

  Blair's eyes snapped open, his breath caught in his throat. As his gaze darted around the room, he slowly realized.... A dream, it was just a dream. Some part of him had known that even as it was happening, but knowing it didn't alter how the dream had made him feel, didn't calm the very real fear he still felt--fear for Jim, for his sentinel should anything happen to him.

  Sighing out, Blair stared up at the ceiling above his bed, wondering if he'd woken Jim for a second time tonight. No doubt I did, his tired mind accused. He closed his eyes against the admission, thankful that at least his partner was not coming downstairs to check on him. That's all I need.

  Images from his dream flashed through his mind, all of it weighing him down, making it difficult to breathe, to think. He flopped onto his side, working hard to push the images and the emotions they evoked, aside.

  It was just a dream.

  But it was also too real. Blair knew in his heart that what his mind had conjured up in sleep could--if anything happened to him--become Jim's reality. And as he burrowed deeper beneath his blankets, he determined in his heart to do one thing--he'd redouble his efforts to find a way to protect his sentinel. There had to be a way...and he intended to find it.

  Part Four

  Jim yawned as he made his way slowly down the stairs, his hands stuck deep into the pockets of his robe. His brow furrowed as he realized that Blair was sitting at the kitchen table tying his sneakers, his backpack standing ready by the front door. Jim had heard the shower come on earlier, had smelled the freshly made coffee, but he hadn't expected his partner to be dressed and ready to run out the door like this.

  He had, in fact, planned to sit down with Blair over breakfast and find out what exactly was going on. He'd heard him wake from a nightmare last night, had known intuitively that the dream most likely had something to do with what Blair had read in his grandfather's journal. What Jim didn't know was how to help his partner. But that was something he'd hoped to remedy today. He'd resolved in the middle of the night that he would get to the bottom of Blair's worries, would sit the kid down and make him talk to him, make him tell him what was wrong.

  But he needed Blair home to do that. And from the looks of things, that wasn't going to be the case at all.

  "You're heading out awfully early, Chief," he commented as he stepped off the final stair and began moving toward the coffee maker.

  Finished with his shoes, Blair looked up. "Yeah, I've sort of fallen behind with things at school." Standing, he tucked his hair behind his ears before heading for the door and his backpack. He swung the pack easily over his shoulder, then turned back to Jim. "So I plan to go to my office and dig in."

  Jim leaned against the counter, watching his guide. "How 'bout I go with you?" he offered casually, still hoping to be able to spend some time with Blair, to get him to open up. "I have the day off and since you're only behind because you helped me out at my dad's-"

  "No, man," Blair cut in, his gaze darting around the loft, never quite meeting Jim's. "You enjoy your day. Put your feet up, watch some TV." He turned toward the door. "I'll see you tonight," he muttered. Opening the door, he stepped out into the hallway.

  "Sandburg," Jim called just before he closed the door, "when are you going to be home?"

  "Don't hold dinner," was all Blair said.... And then he was gone, leaving a worried sentinel-and friend-behind.

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  Blair turned the key to the Volvo's ignition, glancing briefly at the loft windows above before pulling away from the curb and blending into the early morning traffic. He hated lying to Jim, but how could he tell him that he planned to spend the day trying to find Nicholas Britt?

  He'd found it almost impossible to sleep last night after he'd awakened from his nightmare about Jim. The journal entries outlining the mysterious man who had promised help to Aaron Ellison had churned through his mind over and over and over. Why hadn't someone else come along who could have helped Jim's grandfather? The man died in an institution-wasn't there anyone there who knew how to help him?

  He thought back to the first meeting he'd had with Jim in his office at Rainier. His own words came back to haunt him: "You mess with me, man, and you'll never find out what's up with your senses." It had been a half-truth at the time, something he'd spouted in a moment of desperation in order to keep the sentinel he'd sought all his life from walking out the door. He'd truly believed at the time that he could help Jim, but he'd never really believed he was the only one who could help him. After all, he was just an anthropology student interested in sentinels. Period.

  But now he wondered.... Were his own words, spoken in haste, going to prove to be more prophetic and true than he had ever imagined? Could it be that he was the only person alive who could help Jim Ellison?

  With a monumental effort, he pushed his troubling thoughts aside. There is only one way to resolve this, Sandburg. When you run up against a problem, you research it until you come to a solution.

  And that's what he planned to do. He would begin at the County-City Building, checking birth and death records. Aaron had described Nicholas as a young man, so it was possible he was still alive. Britt would be in his eighties by now, but if he was alive Blair was going to find him.

  But there was one more detail he needed to take care of first.

  Pulling his cell phone from inside his pack, he hit the speed dial for Professor Stoddard's home. The line was picked up on the other end after two rings.

  "Hello?"

  "Hi, Professor, it's me."

  "Blair!" Eli's welcoming voice came across the line. "What has you up and about so early? You're not on your way in are you? I'm afraid you'll beat me by several hours. I wasn't planning on heading in until late morning."

  "Actually Professor, I'm going to have to beg off today. I know I'm behind but I promise I'll have everything ready to go before the school year begins."

  "You don't need to worry about that, Blair. I know you'll be ready." There was a brief pause and then.... "Is everything all right? You sound-I don't know...a bit distracted."

  "No, no, everything's fine," Blair answered too quickly.

  There was another pause. "You know I'm always here for you, Blair," Dr. Stoddard said at last, his voice soft, concerned. "You know you can talk to me, any time at all."

  "I know. And I appreciate that, Dr. Stoddard, but honestly, everything's fine. I just have some things I need to check out and I think it may take the day." />
  "All right, then. But just remember that I'm here for you. Always."

  "Thank you. Oh, and, Professor?" Blair said before Eli could hang up. "I do have one favor to ask. If Jim should call your office looking for me, can you tell him that I'm down in the stacks or that I just ran out for something? If he really needs to talk to me, tell him to call me on my cell phone but don't tell him I didn't come in to Rainier today."

  Silence came across the line. Blair's hand tightened around the receiver. "Professor?"

  "You want me to lie to Jim for you," Eli responded flatly. "That's not like you, Blair. It's not like you at all! What's going on? If you're in trouble--"

  "I'm not!" Sandburg rushed to assure his mentor. "I swear I'm not. I just have some research I need to do and until I've done it, until I have some answers, I don't want to involve Jim."

  Another slight pause. "Does this have to do with your sentinel research?"

  "Yes," Blair admitted, but offered no additional information.

  "All right, then, I'll cover for you. But you have to promise me that you'll call later today and let me know you're fine. I'm going to worry about you until I hear from you again."

  Blair breathed a small sigh of relief, then couldn't help but smile. The man is getting to be as bad as Jim. "I'll call you later," he promised. "And don't worry, I'll be fine."

  Disconnecting the line, Blair drove the rest of the way in silence, his mind going over the passages he had read last night, wondering not for the first time what could have kept Nicholas Britt from contacting Aaron Ellison.

  It didn't take long to find the answer.

  Blair stared down at the record the clerk had retrieved for him-the death certificate of Nicholas Britt. The facts were there in black and white-Nicholas had died from head injuries sustained in an accident at the factory where he had been employed. Reaching out, his hand shaking slightly, Blair traced his finger over the date of the man's death-April 15, 1945. He'd left the journal at the loft, but he didn't need it to recognize the implications of the date on the death certificate. April 15, 1945 was the day before Nicholas Britt was to meet with Aaron Ellison.