Progression Series 14 Rest in Peace, Blair Sandburg Page 7

  "Oh, no, no, no! We were never friends. Everything I said, everything I did...none of that was real. I was playing a game, just waiting until the day I could bring you here. And as for my new life...well, I liked my old life. I liked being Marcus Grant." He frowned and his eyes took on a dark, menacing look. "But you took that from me. You and Ellison. So now I'm taking your life from you." He leaned in close, his eyes filled with hatred. "Little by little, piece by piece, I plan to strip away everything that makes you who you are. And the best part is that I have all the time in the world in which to do it."

  Blair shook his head against his pillow, unable to speak, barely able to breathe.

  "You know, Blair," Grant whispered, reaching down and grabbing his chin, forcing Blair to look up at him, "you'll live longer with me as David Jacobs than you ever would have with Ellison as Blair Sandburg."

  Blair shuddered where he lay, pulling once more at the restraints holding him in place, keeping him helpless. "I never meant to hurt you," he rasped out at last, desperation gnawing at his stomach. "What happened with Eddie...what happened on that bridge...I was just trying to survive."

  "Do you think that matters to me at all?" Grant released his face, his hand moving up to once again brush through Sandburg's hair. "I just wish I could document this process," he intoned softly. "I'm sure others would be interested in exactly what steps are needed to destroy a fine mind such as yours." His voice took on a wistful quality. "How long will it take? What steps will be involved? Will the results be permanent?"

  And as Blair stared up into Grant's dark expression, all hope of ever being released fled from him. He closed his eyes, not even bothering this time to pull away from Grant's loathsome touch.

  /

  /

  /

  Eli Stoddard sat in his office, staring out the large windows behind his desk, watching students crisscross the campus grounds as they moved from one class to the next. A bright spring sun shone down from overhead and the crocuses had been in full bloom for several days. Spring had finally come to Cascade. But the glory of the season was lost on Eli. Nothing was the same now that Blair was gone.

  He'd been sitting in this same spot since he arrived early this morning. This was his first full day back at work. The first day when he wouldn't be dealing with grief counselors and scheduling changes. The first day when he was expected to get on with his life and put Blair's death behind him.

  Except I'll never be able to do that.

  He exhaled a long, rattling breath and turned back to his desk. As his gaze traveled over the mounds of paperwork before him, he shook his head. What's the point of all this? And in that moment Eli regretted taking the position of chancellor. The career move had been what he'd wanted for himself at the time--a move up the ladder at Rainier, a chance to put traveling and field work behind him. Plus, it had placed him in a position to run interference for Blair while he continued his sentinel studies. But now...now he felt like he was stuck in Cascade, stuck in the one place from which he wanted to escape more than anything.

  "Quite a change in attitude, old man," he muttered to himself. Then, grabbing up a pen, he started in on the first stack of papers. He wasn't even halfway through the pile when a knock sounded on his door. A moment later, Jim Ellison stepped inside.

  "Jim, I'm glad you're here," he said, setting his pen aside. "I was going to call you today...about Blair's office." He shrugged apologetically. "My superiors...well, they've told me I need to decide what we're going to do with Blair's belongings."

  "Leave them right where they are," Jim said, closing the door behind him and crossing to the desk. Laying his palms flat against the polished oak, he leaned in, stared down at Eli and said in a calm, even tone, "Blair's not dead."

  Eli shoved to his feet. "That's not funny, Jim."

  "I'm not trying to be funny. I'm telling you the truth, Eli. Blair is alive and I'm here because I want you to help me find him." Jim motioned for Eli to sit down again and once the professor had returned to his chair, Jim began his story. Briefly, he relayed the details of his vision about the lost and wounded wolf and as he spoke, Eli immediately connected his words with the story Blair had so recently shared with him--the extraordinary spiritual journey the two men had taken together.

  Jim's story was incredible but Eli never thought to question or doubt it. "So," he began when Jim was finished, "you believe the image of the wolf wasn't just a dream, but that it was Blair's spirit guide coming to you, trying to tell you that Blair is still alive and needs your help?"

  Jim nodded. "But it's not just the vision that convinced me. After I woke, I stepped out onto the balcony for some fresh air. I was trying to sort things out in my head, get things straight. And while I was out there, I heard a wolf's howl."

  Eli's eyes went wide. "A howl?"

  Jim chuckled. "Yes, in the middle of Cascade!" He took a seat in one of the chairs that flanked Eli's desk. "It's the second time I've heard it, Eli. The first time was at the cemetery the day of Blair's funeral." He shook his head, rubbing his eyes. "I can't believe I didn't put it all together then. All these days I've wasted...."

  Eli lifted a hand to halt Jim's self-incrimination. "Jim, you were standing beside Blair's casket," he reminded the sentinel. "You couldn't be expected to think about anything except the fact that Blair was...gone." He stood suddenly and inhaled a deep breath then pinned Jim with a determined gaze. "So where do we start?"

  Jim looked at Eli, a glint of hope in the sentinel's eyes. "You believe me, then?"

  Eli waved the comment off with a hand. "Of course I believe you. Now there are two of us who will be searching for Blair. Where do we start?"

  Jim thought on that for a few seconds. "Well, first, we prove that the body we buried was not Blair."

  "How do we do that?"

  "Dental records," Jim said simply. "Obviously, they were falsified, so I'm going to follow them to the source--namely the dentist who supplied them--and squeeze him until he tells me why he'd risk his career to send false records to the city's medical examiner."

  "What will I be doing?" Eli asked, unable to keep the eagerness from his voice.

  "You're going to check out Ryan Collins," Jim said, his voice taking on a hard edge. "He's the one who told us it was Blair in that van. If Sandburg is alive, then Collins lied to us. I want to know why."

  "Fine, I'll get started on Collins. He'll have a file in the Human Resources office that will contain his resume and background information. I'll see what I can dig up regarding his past."

  "That's a good place to start." Jim pushed to his feet, checking his watch.

  "Jim," Eli said, moving around to stand next to the detective, "if it wasn't Blair in that van, who was it? Who did we bury?"

  Ellison looked at Eli, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered his question. "I've been thinking about that all morning and I have a theory. I think it's possible that the man we buried was the same man who carried out the attacks at UW and Rainier. Think about it, Eli. Everyone described him as being Blair's height and weight, having the same build. Who better to play body double for Sandburg?"

  "But if you're right, that would mean Ryan was also a part of the campus attacks."

  "I think he was," Jim confirmed without hesitation.

  "Why would a man who's confined to a wheelchair attack other people in the same condition?"

  Jim shook his head. "Maybe that's what Blair found out. Maybe that's why Collins took him."

  "But he went to so much trouble to fake Blair's death. It just doesn't seem to be a spur of the moment crime."

  "I agree," Jim said. "I've tried to come up with a reason why Collins would want Blair and I keep coming back to the same thing--he didn't. Blair somehow got caught up in something else Collins has going on. Collins found out and had to make sure Blair was kept quiet."

  "You really think there's something else going on with Collins that we haven't figured out yet?"

  Jim shrugged one shoulder. "It's all s
peculation right now. All I know for certain is that Collins is somehow involved in all of this, but until we know more I don't want to tip our hand. If Collins gets even the faintest idea that we suspect him, he might decide that it's safer to get rid of Sandburg. And if he does, then...."

  "Then Blair really will be dead."

  /

  /

  /

  Abby Glover looked up as Dr. Collins exited David Jacob's room. He'd been inside with the young man most of the morning. She'd peeked through the small glass window in the door a few times just to make sure everything was all right. Each time she looked in, Dr. Collins had been sitting in the chair beside the bed, staring down at David, the two of them talking. She'd been relieved to see that the doctor had at least begun some kind of therapy.

  Now, however, as Collins drew near she couldn't help but notice the pompous expression on his face.

  "Nurse, please administer another sedative to Mr. Jacobs," he announced, stopping in front of her where she was seated at the nurses' station.

  Abby frowned. "Another sedative? I didn't hear any shouting coming from David's room. Did he have another outburst?"

  "No, but I'm going to be leaving for a few hours and I want him kept quiet while I'm gone."

  But he's been quiet all morning...

  Abby didn't like this. Aside from his initial outburst, David Jacobs had been a model patient. He'd gone to and from his morning shower without incident; had conversed rationally with her in lucid, calm tones; had even appeared to be free of the seething anger and suspicious nature that characterized most paranoid schizophrenics. Yet Dr. Collins still insisted that David remain unconscious during the times he was away from the hospital.

  How is any of this helping David? And what is the point of keeping him sedated?

  Questions regarding Dr. Collins and David Jacobs had been gnawing at her mind all morning. The arrogant psychiatrist simply did not seem to have his patient's best interests at heart. And he certainly didn't treat any of his other patients in the manner he was treating David--keeping them sedated, withholding medication that would lessen the disturbing symptoms of their disease.

  Research. Dr. Collins had told her he wanted to use David's case, his psychosis, as an opportunity for research. But at what cost? She suddenly found herself wondering if the doctor had been offering therapy to David earlier this morning or just conducting 'research'.

  But what could she do about it? If she questioned him, he might reassign her. Then David could possibly be assigned a nurse who wasn't looking out for him, who didn't care for him.

  "Is there a problem, Nurse?" Collins bit out, and Abby suddenly realized she had been lost in thought and had failed to immediately follow his order regarding the sedative.

  She hesitated briefly before shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I'll take care of it right away."

  Minutes later, as Abby approached David's room with a syringe in her hand, she felt more like a warden than a nurse. I'm this poor boy's keeper, not his caretaker. Moving quietly into the small room, her gaze fell on the young man in the bed. He looked toward her anxiously as she stepped inside, his expressive blue eyes going wide at the sight of the syringe she held. He struggled uselessly against the restraints at his wrists and ankles.

  "Don't give me that," he pleaded, his gaze shifting from the needle to her face and back again. "Please, Abby. I just woke up a few hours ago. Don't put me back to sleep again. I can't even think straight anymore."

  His heart-wrenching pleas touched Abby and she blinked rapidly as tears stung at her eyes. You're getting emotionally involved, Abigail, she chided herself. Not a good thing. "I'm sorry, David, but I have my orders."

  "Don't you see what Collins is doing?" David asked loudly. "He's setting it up so I can't talk to you. He's afraid if you talk to me you'll see through this whole scheme of his." He shook his head, wet his chapped lips. "Come on, Abby, you can't tell me its normal procedure to constantly drug a patient into oblivion. How is that helping me?"

  She stared down at David, taken aback by his words, his logic--so close to her own. She moved closer to the bed. "What is it you don't think he wants you to tell me, David?"

  "Who I really am," he shot back, his voice emphatic. "Blair Sandburg. All you have to do is call Rainier University or the Major Crime Division of the Cascade Police and they'll tell you Blair Sandburg is real, not some delusional personality I made up."

  She smiled down at him sadly. "Sweetie, I know Blair Sandburg is real. I never doubted that."

  He blinked several times as he stared up at her. "What? You know I'm telling the truth but you're keeping me here anyway? I don't understand." Hurt and confusion haunted his eyes. "Are you in on this with Grant? Is he paying you?"

  She cringed at the sudden change in him, his paranoia pushing to the forefront. "David, I really can't discuss this with you." She leaned toward him and swabbed his arm, readying him for the injection.

  He stiffened beneath her touch, his hands fisting at his sides. "I am Blair Sandburg," he said again, "and no amount of drugs is going to change that."

  She looked at him again, the needle poised just above his arm. And as their eyes locked, she hesitated. There was something in his eyes, a sincerity that was impossible to deny. But if he truly believes he is Blair Sandburg, his words would be sincere. Pushing her doubts aside, Abby injected the sedative into his system.

  David squeezed his eyes closed, defeat pulling down the corners of his mouth. "I just want to go home," he muttered.

  Guilt wound through Abby as she grabbed up his chart to record the type and amount of sedative she'd just administered. She frowned as her gaze took in the notes Dr. Collins had placed in the chart today.

  "If patient does not begin to shows signs of improvement, I will consider shock therapy."

  Apprehension snaked down her spine and settled in the pit of her stomach. Shock therapy. She looked again at the young man in the bed, studying his gentle features. She knew what shock therapy could do to him, how it will change him, erase part of who he was. And she just didn't think some extreme measures were warranted for David. She simply could not stand by and let this happen.

  "David," she called softly, not wanting to startle him.

  Slowly, he blinked open his eyes. She could already see the influence of the drug in his slowed reaction.

  "David, listen to me." She moved closer to his side, keeping her voice low, not wanting to risk being overheard. "You have to start cooperating."

  His brow furrowed. "Cooperating?" he repeated, obviously confused. Then, pulling gently on his restraints, he said, "I don't have a choice."

  She shook her head, looking back at the door to ensure they were still alone. "No, David. I'm not talking about remaining calm. I'm talking about telling Dr. Collins what he wants to hear."

  "Something's wrong," he said softly, concern edging his words. He stared up at her. "Why are you so nervous? What's happening?"

  She reached out and brushed the hair back from his forehead, her fingers lingering momentarily at his cheek. "Dr. Collins is talking about using shock therapy."

  "Shock therapy?" he blurted out. "On me?"

  "Yes, so you have to begin to tell him what he wants to hear."

  "Abby, you can't let him do that!" he pleaded, panic dancing behind his eyes. "You have to get me out of here!"

  "I can't, honey. I wish I could.... But I can try and help you, and right now that's what I'm doing. I'm helping you by telling you to cooperate. Lie if you have to, David."

  She knew she was giving her patient potentially dangerous instructions. To ask a schizophrenic to lie in order to alter their treatment.... You could lose your job and your license if you're caught. But she wasn't sorry she'd given him the advice--if lying kept David from undergoing electro-convulsive therapy, then the risks were worth it.

  David closed his eyes, and exhaled a long, rattling breath. "Abby, I can't lie. Dr. Collins will know I'm lying because he knows I'm really Bla
ir Sandburg." Opening his eyes, clearly fighting against the drugs in his system in order to stay awake, he said, "Nothing I say is going to stop him from doing whatever he wants to me. That's his plan. That's what he told me when he was in here with me earlier. I know you think I'm crazy but please...all I'm asking you to do is talk to my partner. Detective Jim Ellison. He'll tell you--"

  "I'm sorry, David. I can't do that. I've been told specifically that I can't do that."

  "Then talk to Dr. Stoddard. Eli Stoddard. He's the chancellor at Rainier. He'll tell you who I am. Please. Please!" He swallowed hard, his words beginning to slur together because of the affects of the drugs. "Abby," he mumbled, "Collins is going to kill me if you don't help me."

  Abby thought about what David was telling her, found herself wondering if what he was saying might possibly contain some amount of truth. There was one way to find out--for herself and for David. "Tell me about Blair," she said at last.

  "What?" he asked, clearly confused by the request.

  "You say you're Blair Sandburg. Tell me about him."

  He blinked several times, his gaze shifting from side to side as he considered the request. "Um, I live at 852 Prospect in the loft apartment with my friend, Jim Ellison. I work with him part-time at Cascade PD. I also work at Rainier University...as a professor in the anthropology department." His eyes blinked slowly open and shut. "My, um, my mom's name is Naomi and...and I'm an only child." He stopped talking, staring up at her with a hopeful expression.

  "Not good enough, David. You could have gotten all of that out of the papers, read it in Mr. Sandburg's obituary."

  He shook his head against his pillow. "I didn't."

  "Tell me about anthropology," she challenged.

  "Anthropology? Why?"

  "You said you're a professor of anthropology. Tell me about it."

  He licked his lips, his brow creasing slightly...and she knew she had him. She'd finally hit on something he couldn't lie his way out of, couldn't read in the papers. There was simply no way for David Jacobs to pretend he knew about anthropology.

  "Well, anthropology is basically the study of man. There's cultural anthropology...and, um...physical anthropology...."