DRAWING THE LINES - part 2
When Blair entered the loft, he knew
he was in trouble. He had spotted Jim's
truck out in front when Brown and Rafe had dropped him off. Each man showed
chagrinned looks and offered their apologies, when Blair explained the stack of
exams that still awaited his attention.
Now closing the door, the loft dark except for the soft glow from the
end light of the sofa, he saw his Sentinel awaiting the return of his errant
Guide.
"Hi, Jim," he said wearily
as he closed the door. "Please let's not start on it tonight. I've had a
really bad night."
"Blair, I have no issue with
you going out. I wish you had left a
note, and I was a little worried but I figured you went out with friends. As long as you are happy with your progress
and not under any more pressure. So, are you done?" Jim asked, but by his
tone, Blair knew that Jim had seen the large stack still sitting on the table.
"Well, not exactly, but, man, I
just had to see the Sonics game. Rafe and Brown had front row seats. I would
have been back earlier if we hadn't of gotten the call to check out an accident
on Highway 9." He came around and
sat on the couch next to Jim, keeping about two feet between them.
"Was it a bad one?" Jim
asked watching his lover's face in the dim light for the usual distress when
Blair saw someone injured or killed.
"A woman drove off the road.
She has a concussion and was unconscious when they took her to Cascade General.
I hope she makes it, Jim. Rafe and
Brown got the call, she was apparently assaulted in her home and swerved off
the road trying to get away."
Ellison’s jaw flared in its usual
reaction to the frustrations of police work. Ellison sighed heavily. "I
hope so, too, Chief." Extending
his arm along the back of the sofa, he said softly "Come here. I’ve missed you".
Blair quickly crossed the distance
and snuggled his face into Jim's shoulder. "Man, I've missed you, too. I
thought I'd enjoy the time by myself, without you here to tell me to do this
and do that," he laughed as Jim, swatted the back of his head with his
free arm, the one he now brought up behind Blair to pull him in closely. "It's too quiet around here sometimes
without you."
"Do you think you'll have these
graded by tomorrow night?"
"Hey, man, no problem,"
Blair said, pushing away. "I've only got about 75 more to go. How about
you show me how much you missed me." Then with a lascivious grin, he
jumped off the sofa and raced up the stairs two at a time. Ellison was right behind him.
Monday came and went with little
incident for Sandburg. The day seemed to tailor itself to his demands. Most of the exams were finished grading by
four. Picking up the phone he called Jim at the station.
“Jim, I’ll be here late tonight.
I’ve got ninety five-percent of the exams graded and there’s really no sense in
lugging the rest of this stuff home. I can finish up here by nine and I should
be home after that.”
“Fine, Chief, but no later than
nine. I’ll probably be tied up late tonight myself,” Jim told him.
“How’s Katherine Barkley?” Blair
asked, feeling sick to his stomach, remembering the young woman on the
stretcher.
“Chief, she’s still in a coma. The lab boys didn’t pick up much. He apparently
is the same rapist that’s been attacking women in the vicinity. He wears surgical gloves, so he didn’t leave
any prints.”
“I just hope you catch him, Jim.”
“Me, too. With you by my side, I’m sure we will, Chief.”
“Yeah, Jim, we will.”
Ellison heard the pleased sound and
smiled to himself. “Talk to you later, and remember,” he paused for effect, “no
later than nine.”
“Gotcha,”
Sandburg said and hung up the phone.
“Ellison!
Brown! Rafe!” Simon bellowed for an audience.
As soon as Ellison closed the door
and took his seat at the conference table, Simon threw a report in front of
each of them.
“Seems our rapist has struck again,
or more to the fact, tried to strike again. Katherine Barkley was assaulted
before her accident. Bruises along her neck, abdomen and face show she was
physically assaulted. She must have
broken away and just ran to her car. In
a blind panic trying to get away from her attacker, she lost control of the car
and went down the incline.”
“Rafe, set up a map and plot the
rapes in grids, Brown talk to her friends; find out who she met with, knew,
what stores she shopped, I want to know everyone she had lunch with, I want to
find out her activities for the past two months. If she walked her dog or
talked to the mailman, I want to know about it. It seems Ms. Barkley is the
sister-in-law of Commissioner Vondberg.
We’re going to start feeling the heat on this one, people, let’s get to
work.”
Ellison remained seated while Rafe
and Brown eagerly exited. Simon
followed them to the door and waited until they had returned to their
respective desks. Then he shut the door and turned to Ellison.
“Jim, the car is in the garage. I
want you to look over it. Forensics came up with squat, but seeing as how
you’re a one man crime lab, I want you to give it a shot.”
“Sure, Simon,” Jim said, but
remained seated. He heard the increased heartbeat of his friend and
Captain. “You seem pretty upset about
this. Did you know her?”
The tall man returned to his desk.
He poured himself a cup of coffee then sat down in his chair. Leaning back, he sighed. “I met Katherine
last Christmas at the Commissioner’s house. It was a small party and she was my
dinner companion. It just grates, Jim, when it’s someone you know. Rape is a
vicious crime, but when it’s someone you know, then it hits home."
“Sir,
we’ll catch this guy. I promise you.”
Jim rose and opened the door. “Oh,
sir, Sandburg should be available starting tomorrow afternoon. We’ll get him
involved.”
Simon smiled as Ellison made his way
back to his desk. I wonder if he realizes
how much he really does depend on the kid.
Blair entered the bullpen Tuesday
afternoon feeling good. It had all
worked out in the end. Grades were
posted, three weeks of non-academia awaited him, and he could work with Jim in
the ease and friendship that he treasured.
Jim was nowhere in sight. He sat down at Ellison’s desk and started
shuffling through the reports.
Brown perched over his desk across
from him, his rump raised high in the air, body forward over his task. Looking back he saw the young
anthropologist.
“Hey,
Hairboy!”
“Hey,
Brown, how’s it going?” Sandburg threw back.
“She was badly beaten,” was all
Brown said.
“Yeah, Jim filled me in.” Blair rose now to see what Brown was
studying so intently that his whole body was shifted downward into a mountain
of intense concentration.
"Whatcha
got there?” Blair asked coming up behind him.
“We’re working out a composite of
the rapist. We’re also plotting out the
victim’s locations of residence, dry cleaners, grocery stores, bookstores,
anything and everything they do in their daily lives. We’re looking for the cross point where their lives intersect
with the rapist.”
Blair studied the area. Three of the
rapes had taken place in the southeast section of Cascade two were east of the
city. All three victims lived in homes
alone. All were young women in their
late twenties and early thirties. All
had long, dark hair and were attractive.
They were all attacked on the weekend after returning to their homes.”
Brown pointed a sturdy digit at the
map, “See, the first two lived here,” Brown indicated the two red dots, one
several miles east of Highway 9, the other several miles west. “Katherine Barkley, our accident victim
Saturday night, she lived here,” Brown pointed to a small dot on the map, just
south of Cricket Lake off of Route 9.
“Were the
other women beaten?” Blair watched as Brown’s face tightened.
“Yeah, he roughed them up some. Took
real pleasure in watching them beg. Cynthia Collins, the second victim, said he
laughed at her. Said he took pleasure
in watching her face as he forced himself upon her. When she closed her eyes,
he pulled her hair back and made her look him in the eyes. She remembers how
cold and black his eyes were. Then she pretty much closed off her mind. Doesn’t
really remember much after that, just dragging herself to the phone and calling
911.”
Blair
opened his mouth to ask about the other victims, but Jim interrupted.
“Chief, am I to assume you’re mine
for three weeks, lock, stock and barrel?”
Jim stood over his partner and studied the map laid out on Brown’s desk.
“It’s over, Jim. The grades are
posted and I’m as free as they come.” Then grinning widely at Brown, he added,
“well, not free, but a high priced lunch should cinch the deal.”
“What’s the matter, Sandburg, can’t
afford lunch after that speeding ticket?” Rafe asked in good cheer as he joined
the group. No doubt he was listening in as he came down the hall. Sandburg paled behind Jim’s back and started
gesturing with his hands wildly expressing “don’t go there.”
Ellison straightened and turned. The
dark look on his face telegraphing a series of unanswered questions: When did
this happen? Why wasn’t I told? What was the ticket for?
Rafe had the good grace to look
embarrassed. Brown tried to save the day. “Hey, I’m sure it was nothing.
Probably not even deserved. Morton looked like a man who filled his book every
month.”
Then realizing the damage was done,
Rafe offered his apologies, “Sorry, Blair, Morton mentioned it to us. Said it
was why he knew you.”
“No
problem,” Blair waved an indifferent hand in the air, his eyes never leaving
Jim’s face.
“I HOPE BUSINESS IS THE TOPIC OF
THIS SOCIAL HOUR?” Simon raised his voice as he came out of his office. “I’d
better have something by this afternoon on my desk.”
Rafe and Brown both busied
themselves over the map again. Jim and Blair walked over to his desk. Jim took his usual seat and Blair sat on the
side chair.
“Hey, man,
it was unfair. I plan on fighting it.”
“When were you going to tell me,
Chief?” Jim said shuffling the papers as though he could speed-read.
“I was going to tell you, Jim.
Really. You were busy with the fishing trip and I had the exams. I was going to
tell you this evening.”
Jim studied the earnest face, the
beseeching eyes, and the eager lips that pouted with frustration. A crevice that had formed inside his heart
when the young man had moved in as a friend was now wider and deeper than any
fissure his heart had ever known. His
moods and feelings shifted like fault lines with the emotions that swept across
that other’s face. He weakened, his
resolve diminished by the reasoning of his love.
“Okay,
we’ll talk about it later.
"Jim, I really don’t think
there's much to talk about. I got a
speeding ticket---plain and simple.
It's not like your driving record is spotless," Blair hissed at him, annoyed at how quickly
his lover was jumping on this, not even giving him time to explain himself.
The detective sighed, rubbing his
eyes, "You're right, Chief, you're
right. I just don't like you speeding
and maybe getting hurt."
Blair flashed him a warm, loving
smile. "I really wasn't speeding
much, Jim. I know how you feel, though,
I'll try to be more careful.
Okay?"
"Okay. But," his voice going stern again,
"you should have told me right away."
"Next time, promise."
Side by side they worked away the
hours. Jim read the reports on the rape victims. With ease they accommodated one another at the desk. Jim rose, stretched and headed towards the
men’s room. Blair unconsciously moved
into the empty desk chair in front of the computer. Searching the database he typed in Devon Morton. The data given was minimal, but Blair
realized that Devon had recently been divorced. The home address and age were listed, but personal information
was restricted. Blair got up and
checked the map. Crestview in Whitefalls was in Northern Cascade. Sandburg checked the lines on the map,
tracing his finger along Highway 9. Kind of went of your way to take your son to
that game in Seattle, he thought to himself.
“What’s up, Chief?” Jim asked as he
reseated himself at his desk. Glancing up at his monitor, he saw the search
results on Devon Morton. With a creased
brow and critical eye, he glared at Blair.
“Chief, what’s this all about?”
“Nothing, Jim, at least I don’t
think it’s anything, but it just seems to me it was awfully coincidental for
Morton to be on Highway 9 the exact same time Katherine Barkley was running to
escape a rapist.”
“Sandburg,” Jim ground out, fully
aware of Blair’s theories of thin blue lines and the brotherhood of the badge,
he also knew Naomi’s free-spirited lifestyle had oftentimes opposed law
enforcement agents. Thus Blair, though
respectful, was somewhat skeptical to the infallibility of the long arm of the
law.
“No, man, don’t start here. Look,
Jim, I just have a feeling about this guy.
I’m not saying I’m right. Hell, I think it’s silly myself, but I just
feel I have to ask you to do something.”
Blair rose from the maps and came to stand next to Jim’s desk.
“Have you checked the car?”
“Chief, the lab went over it with a
fine tooth comb,” Jim said, wearily.
“It was clean.”
“No man, have you checked it?” Blair
asked eagerly.
“As a matter of fact, Sandburg, I
have. Simon, asked me. Nothing unusual.”
Sandburg’s face fell, he picked up a
paperweight and toyed with the object distractedly.
“Jim, maybe you could do it
again.” His voice sounded hopeful.
“Blair, I have a feeling this is all
because Morton gave you a speeding ticket. You can’t stand there and tell me
you don’t feel some animosity towards this guy. I mean, I quite frankly can’t imagine you going thirty over the
speed limit. I’ve seen you drive, Chief, and sometimes…mind you not always, but
sometimes little old ladies from Pasadena pass you up. That Volvo is a classic,
but she does have her good and bad days.”
“That’s just it, Jim, don’t you see.
If he’s capable of such vindictive extensions of the law, then what’s to say
he’s not capable of other misuses of his badge. I really think that ticket was more for the fact that he mistook
me for a woman.” Blair put the
paperweight back on the desk.
“Please, Jim, just do another check.
I’ll be there. Maybe you missed something.”
Jim looked up into the beseeching
eyes. Blair was not vengeful. Perhaps
his reasoning was slightly skewed by some resentment towards Morton, but no
doubt his premises for suspicion sprung from his sharp and intelligent mind.
“Okay, the cars downstairs in the
lot. Let me grab the lab report and we’ll take another look.”
The smile that lit the bullpen
warmed Ellison’s heart. Bones of contention were never easy to deal with and
Sandburg tended to gnaw one like a pit bull.
Too many times they had bucked heads on issues that Jim later had to
acknowledge as being right on the mark. Sandburg was a sharp and astute
observer.
The wreck was just outside the
garage doors in the back lot. Jim stood
by reading the report and checking out certain details. Sandburg stood by and only when Jim proceeded
to feel the metal and touch the seats or examine closely a thread of carpeting,
did his Guide step forward and indeed “guide.”
“That’s it, Jim, easy. Focus on the feel of the metal and let it
come naturally. Don’t fight the
sensation. Close your eyes, man, go with the feel.”
Jim covered every viable portion of
the car that could possibly hold a thread or snag, hair fragments or grain of
sand, there was nothing that the lab did not account for already.
“Okay, Jim, one thing more. The door, here,” Blair said as he went to
the driver’s side. It was still badly
bent backwards, almost at a ninety-degree angle to the body of the car.
Jim looked at him suspiciously,
“What am I looking for Sandburg?”
“Jim, please, just examine it
okay? Stepping back he let the now
irritated detective slowly cover every inch of the door, inside and out.”
“Chief, there’s something
here.” Jim paused running his fingers
carefully over the top of the door where the window disappeared into the frame.
“What? What, man?” Blair asked
excitedly, knowing full well what Jim would find.
“Pricks of some kind, small
indentations. Can’t make out what they
are, they’re barely noticeable except for the paint that’s chipped here, but
that could have been caused by tree branches at the time of impact.”
“No, Jim, those are made by a
ballpoint pen. I know, because Morton made those same marks on my car when he
stopped me.”
Jim’s face reddened. He had been
tricked. “Damn it, Sandburg,” he said angrily, “what the hell kind of trick is this.
Is this supposed to be evidence that Morton is a rapist?” Jim asked loudly.
Then seeing some uniformed officers looking up at him in the back lot, he
lowered his voice, grabbed his partner’s upper arm and hauled him towards the
elevator.
“Did it ever occur to you, Jim, that
you are using reverse discrimination. On the same grounds of excluding my
suspicions you are biased against them because I am your partner who happened
to get a speeding ticket.”
Ellison cut off any further
discussion on the subject with a stone, cold look that Sandburg had learnt long
ago as subject closed. Well for the time being, Jim, for the time
being only.
The rest of the week, Sandburg
worked side-by-side with Ellison, keeping his own counsel. Simon, Brown and Rafe were tracking leads
trying desperately to find a common denominator that linked the victims to the
perpetrator. By Thursday evening, no
further along on finding a suspect, Blair sat at Jim’s computer reading the FBI
profile that had been sent. The key
words on the report might as well have been bolded and capped for the clarity
with which they demanded attention: anger, hates females, feels used and abused
by women.
“Okay, people,” Simon called out as
he left his office. It was six o’clock and after working overtime all week on
the case, the weary inhabitants of the bullpen watched their Captain shut his
office for the evening with envy.
Pausing for effect, Simon smiled,
“Let’s all call it an early night tonight. Maybe we can come up with some fresh
leads after a little R&R.”
Captain Banks smiled cheerily as he
walked out of the bullpen amid the cheers and good humor of his subordinates.
Jim came out of the break room
munching on a candy bar, picking up their jackets from the hook, he threw Blair’s
jacket at him over the desk. Catching
it, Sandburg looked up questioningly, “Hey, don’t you think we should be alert
now more than ever. I mean this guy usually strikes on weekends.”
“Sandburg, I hate to say it, but
unless he strikes again and we have more clues, I’m afraid we’re at a
dead-end.”
Blair nodded his head, almost, but
not quite coming to the conclusion that his own suspicions against Morton were
unwarranted.
“Let’s stop for some carry out, I’m
beat, Chief, and there’s a game on tonight I want to watch. If we hurry, we can
catch the first quarter.”
“See you guys tomorrow,” Brown said
as he followed Rafe out.
Blair raced forward and grabbed Rafe
by the arm, turning back slightly he said, “Just a minute, Jim, I’ll be right
with you.”
Then lowering his voice he asked the
young detective, “Did you ask them?”
“Cynthia Collins says she was pulled
over and given a warning. But, and you have to pay attention here, Sandburg,”
Rafe whispered in an even thicker accent, “she got it on Virginia Avenue,
nowhere near Highway 9. She doesn’t remember the cop who gave her the warning,
only that he was on a motorcycle. So it proves nothing. The first victim never
received any traffic violations or warnings.
Katherine Barkley has a perfect driving record and there is no way we
can determine if she was pulled over until she regains consciousness.”
Blair nodded his head, digesting the
information. He gave a cursory look up at Ellison who seemed lost in some light
bantering with Brown over the probabilities of who might win the game
tonight. Rafe cuffed him playfully on
the side of the head and lowered his voice even more, having heard through the
grapevine of Jim’s low tolerance for Blair’s suspicions.
“You want some advice, Sandburg,
either pay the fine or fight it in court. This is not the way to do it.” Rafe joined Brown and they waved their
farewells once again. Blair stood there with his mouth open, feeling hurt and
betrayed. Do they really think I have a
personal grudge against this guy?
Sandburg raced ahead of Jim as they
entered the loft. A sack of Wonder
burgers with fries in one arm, he put the meal on the table and headed into the
office. Booting up his laptop on the
small desk, he came back out while removing his jacket. Ellison had set about pulling the
foil-wrapped burgers from the bag. Sandburg passed the refrigerator and with a
routine down to seconds in timing, grabbed two beers and set them down as he
seated himself.
Ellison’s mouth was already filled
with his favorite meal. Sandburg shook
his head slowly as he pulled the tab on his beer, “Jim, what is it with you and
Wonder burgers?”
“This is a cop’s happy meal,
Chief. I remember stakeouts with
Pendergast. After hours of watching a
mark, nothing saves the day like one of these babies.” Jim tenderly looked at
the half-finished burger clutched in his huge paw.
“Now I know why so many cops die of
heart attacks. I used to think it was the stress of the job, now I know it’s a
“happy meal,” Sandburg mused.
Peeling back the wrapper on his own
sandwich, he took a bite. He nodded his
head towards Jim with a smile, “I admit, they are good.”
Ellison merely nodded and was
reaching for his second burger.
“Jim, I forgot to mention, but I
won’t be home tomorrow night or Saturday. I have plans. There’s a foreign film
fest at the Americana and I’m going with a friend.”
“Oh, anyone I know, Sandburg, anyone
I should be jealous of?” Jim asked teasingly, popping several fries into his
mouth, obviously not concerned in the least.
“Jackie Dawes, a professor at
Rainier. I won’t be home until late,
probably after midnight.”
“You’re on vacation, you might as
well have fun. I’ll probably be working. Simon’s pretty sure our rapist is
about to strike again and he might call for a full force. I’m glad you’ll be doing something fun.”
Feeling the guilt rise, his burger
suddenly lost its appeal. He finished
off a few fries and told Jim he wasn’t hungry.
Ellison quickly headed for the sofa, picked up the remote and was soon
lost in the cheer of the crowd and scoreboard.
Blair cleaned the table and headed
for his computer. Several messages
awaited him. The first was the answer
to the question he had asked Officer Carmichael in Traffic. All tickets used by the Cascade Traffic
Control were light green in color. The
pink pads had been used several years ago and were no longer valid.
Remembering Morton's initial pink
pad when he had stopped Blair, the question tugged at him like a loose
shoelace, tripping his thought processes up.
Finally e-mailing Carmichael he had anxiously awaited an explanation for
the two pads for traffic violations.
The second e-mail was from the control desk that took the 911 call.
Morton had called the accident in, but he was not the first. A passing motorist had slowed, seeing Morton
rushing down the slope, and waved to him that he would call. Morton's call for an ambulance followed by
two minutes.
The third correspondence was a
somewhat pointblank warning from Damien St. Claire. Bristling at the sanctimonious approach to lecturing that Damien
had, he hoped he wouldn’t regret telling his friend---as yet unmet---in England
about his suspicions, Jim’s aversion to all reasoning, and his singular plan to
trap the rapist.
Damien was clearly cautious and
pointed out that taking matters into his own hand could prove not only
dangerous, but highly punitive should they be found out. “In a discipline relationship, my friend,
you do not jump foolishly into situations to prove your disciplinarian
wrong. Please respond and tell me you are
thinking twice about such action.”
Blair jotted off a quick response
assuring his friend that all was well, and nothing dangerous or foolhardy would
be attempted. Give him the old Sandburg brush-off; he’ll be no wiser.
Unfortunately, he didn’t realize he was trying to fool a master, one who had in
his own time tried his hand at all the games; until, Vincent Cade started
calling the shots and Damien played along the straight and narrow or at least
sometimes tried to.
Several nights ago, Jackie had written
Blair an e-mail. She had thanked him for dropping her off last week and that
her car was back from repair, running nicely. In passing she had mentioned that
she thought there was a prowler around her house. Remembering the warning she had gotten from Morton, Blair
cautioned her without causing her to panic.
Then he had come up with a plan.
Jackie was at a convention until tomorrow. However, when she returned on Friday evening, she would pick
Blair up at the loft on her way from the airport. Having Blair spending a goodly portion of the night there would
help ease her fears.
No need to give Jim all the details. The rapes had all taken place on weekends, Friday through
Sunday. If Morton's the man and Jackie
is a potential victim, I’ll be here every weekend until this guy’s caught, with
or without Jim’s approval.
He typed back a quick confirmation,
which Jackie could pick up in Los Angeles.
Closing the laptop, he felt a small wave of guilt. It’s not betrayal, he insisted, I
tried to help, but Jim won’t believe me. Won’t even consider it. I need to prove my theory, but I can’t. All I can do is hope to catch this guy in
action.
Jackie could be a possible victim,
but then so could several other women. Morton might not even be the rapist, but
until someone was caught with reasonable proof, Morton fit the bill. Blair had queried many of the traffic cops
and it was common knowledge that Morton’s divorce had been brutal and
unpleasant. His wife had vengefully stripped him of dignity and the man could not
speak of her without vehemence.
The divorce had been final one week
before the first attack. Even if he
was wrong, he would get a chance to help Jackie out, which alone would be worth
it.
Arriving on the couch as Jim watched
the final play, he snuggled close.
Pulling the larger man’s arm around his shoulder he cuddled against his
chest. He hated being away from Jim
this weekend, but it just couldn’t be helped.
Jim sat at his computer checking all
rapes reported within the last year. The database had supplied them with every
reported incident within a twenty-five mile radius around Cascade. Blair had sat patiently checking details
against a checklist Rafe had prepared, looking for similarities, small details
that reflected some of the pattern they had established for their rapist.
By three, he had begged off, and Jim
wished him a pleasant evening. “Remember, Chief, not too late.”
“I know, but like I said, it’s going
to be after midnight. There are several films, Jim, it’s a film fest. Don’t wait up and don’t worry. We might go out for breakfast if it’s really
late.”
Knowing that Blair needed time out
with friends of his own, Jim bit back the short censure that sprang to his
lips. The rules did not apply when plans were made in advance and discussed and
he had given Blair room to move around in their relationship. Blair’s passion for old films and foreign
artistic theater were best left to his enjoyment with others. Jim could not see
himself sitting through a complete showing of all three Godfather movies.
Jackie picked him up at the loft at
five and they had driven to Cricket Lake.
After stopping on their way to pick up a pizza, they had enjoyed a
leisurely meal in the kitchen with the drapes and blinds closed tightly. Blair took up his position on the floor of
Jackie’s bedroom, well out of view from the windows and the doorway. Jackie sat in bed watching the television
across the room. All the lights were off and they kept up a low conversation.
“Did you ever wonder,” Jackie asked
in a quiet voice as she looked towards the television screen, trying to look
for all the world like a woman home alone, “what your life could have been like
if you had made other choices?”
“Sure, everybody does, though,”
Blair responded.
“I guess I’m basically happy. I’m
certainly overjoyed at snagging this position at Rainier, but I sometimes
wonder what my life would have been like if I had chosen another field or maybe
gotten married already.”
Blair chuckled softly, “I’ve
wondered myself,” he mused, what my life
would have been like without one pigheaded lover who just happened to have
heightened senses. I know I never would
have loved anyone as much.
Two bright eyes stared intently at
the sleeping face in front of him, the bottom lip lightly chewed in
nervousness, knowing what needed to be done, but also not wanting to do it.
"Brat," a strong voice
breaking through the darkness, "if you don't either spit out what's
bothering you or lie back down and go to sleep, you will not be very happy
sitting at the auction later this morning. Hell, it's barely five a.m."
"Vin,” then ‘the pause’ as
Vincent Cade had come to call Day’s cautious admissions of his crimes. “I have
to tell you something, something important."
Vincent immediately sat up in bed,
reached over and flipped on the bedside light.
"What is it, Day?" his voice low, but patient, recognizing the
need, ready to aid his young lover any way he could.
Damien was sitting up in bed,
nervously twisting the bedclothes in his hand, no longer looking at the bigger
man. Taking a deep breath, steeling
himself, he said in a rush of words, "Blair---Jim's Blair---“ he took a
deep breath.
“Yes, Yes, I know who Blair is,”
Vince said growing impatient.
“DAAAAYYY….” He pushed his irritation to the forefront.
The hazel eyes widened, taking the
hint, “He’s going to try to catch some rapist that Jim's trying to
catch---alone by making himself a target for the guy." He glanced up to try to gauge the reaction
of his lover on this announcement.
"And how do you know about
this?"
"Well...... Blair sort of told
me that he had this theory on who the rapist was and Jim wasn't listening to
him about it and so he figured that if he could catch the guy or at least get
proof about what he was doing then Jim would have to believe him," he told
the story in a quick rush.
"Blair told you this? When
exactly? And when exactly was he going
to pull this stupid stunt?"
Damien ducked his head again, hoping
to avoid the first question altogether, deciding that maybe if he didn't answer
it, Vin would, miraculously, forget about it. "Tonight, I think; this
weekend. The guy always strikes on the
weekends."
Vin shook his head at the
irresponsibility of brats no matter where they lived. "When did you find out about this, young man?"
Day mumbled something, not looking
up.
Not put off and getting annoyed,
Vincent snapped again, "I asked you a question, little boy."
"On Thursday."
"THURSDAY? And you just now see fit to tell me, to tell
Jim, what trouble his partner is getting involved in?"
"I guess so...I kept hoping
that I would hear from Blair saying he decided not to go through with it."
"Damien Michael you know better
than that. You know I should have heard
about this when you did. At the very
least, you should have told Jim. You
owe it to Blair, as his friend. Not to
mention the fact that you are serving as his mentor in helping him adjust to a
disciplinary relationship. From what I
understand from Jim---and from what I've told you---this is exactly the type of
behavior that our friend is trying to get Blair past."
"I know, I'm sorry."
Vincent shook his head again,
"While I am calling Jim, I want you in the corner thinking about your
actions and thinking about the paddling you have just earned and are going to
get in a few minutes."
"Vin..." Day began, but
was cut off with a sharp wave of a huge hand.
"Damien! I don't want to hear
it. You know you were wrong, the fact
that you told me is the only reason I am not going to take a strap to your
backside. Another word about it and
I'll reconsider that, young man.
Now," he said, pausing, giving his lover a hard look, "I
highly suggest you get yourself planted in that corner."
Ellison sat looking over the
maps. Friday evening put the added
stress on Major Crimes knowing that the rapist was due to strike within the
window of the weekend. Brown and Rafe
were checking the calls coming through 911 looking for anything that might have
the shading of an attempted rape. All breaking and enterings, reports of
prowlers, and suspicious behavior were immediately directed to them.
Entering the bullpen, Simon watched
his men working. Ellison looked
disgusted and his jaw twitched in an even rhythm. Looking up at his Captain, he was about to ask if he could check
out some calls----anything to avoid the long wait---when his phone rang.
"Ellison," he snapped into
the phone on the first ring.
“James, I’ll have you know that it
is five o'clock in the morning here, and I am not happy that I have to be awake
right now.”
Ellison immediately recognized the
strong, deep voice of Vincent Cade.
“Vin, it’s good to hear from you,
but what’s up?” Jim was caught off guard.
The two had remained close friends since Jim's return from Peru and subsequent
time spent in England under the guidance and firm hand of the older man, even
if they rarely saw each other. Vincent
had been the one to hear about Jim's growing attraction for the young man and
the concern and frustration on how to keep the same young man from
self-destructing. It had been Vin who
had originally brought up the subject of using discipline as a way to curb some
of Blair's freethinking ways and actions.
Now, that they were starting a full-time disciplinary relationship to
try and help Blair cope with his added responsibilities as a shaman, student,
teacher and police observer, Jim had found it necessary to discuss his own
failings and responsibilities with his old mentor.
“I tried to reach you at home, but
the answering machine picked up. I am
not even going to discuss with you right now your hours. You and I have more important things on our
plate. Damien is standing in the corner
with his nose pressed firmly to the wall about to be paddled, and I am willing
to bet that Blair will find himself in a similar situation soon. It would seem my love’s conscience got the
best of him in the middle of the night and now he has seen fit to share some
rather disturbing information. Which brings me to the one pointed question: I
know where my brat is…do you know where yours is? Damien tells me he is setting up a sting to trap a rapist and he
is offering himself up as the bait.”
“WHAT?” Jim shouted into the phone bringing Simon closer to his
desk, his eyes wide with his own questions.
“That’s impossible, he’s at a film festival with a friend. He knows better than that,” Jim said, doubt
tingeing the final down note in his statement.
“You don’t sound very sure, James,”
Vince’s tone was one of amusement, “either way, I think you need to seek some
home truths as quickly as possible."
"I will. Rest assured, I will."
"Good man. Give me a ring later and let me know how it
goes. You need to go and track down
your brat and I have my own very, sorry young man to deal with right now. Take care.”
"Thanks for letting me know,
Vin. I'll call you."
Hanging up the phone, Ellison
grunted, clearly angered. Simon stood by his desk, “What was that all about?”
“An old friend in England I’ve
stayed in touch with. It seems Blair has been telling his partner, who he is
friends with, about setting a trap to catch our rapist.”
“Wonderful, some Brit knows more
about what goes on with my men than I do,” Simon bellowed.
"Captain, " Jim began, but
was interrupted by a shout from Brown.
Henry yelled from his desk, “He’s
hit. Crescent View Heights. Let’s go,” cutting off any further tirade.
Simon, Jim, Brown and Rafe
immediately sprung into action with the practiced ease of men trained well in
the execution of their duties.
At ten o’clock, Blair laid his head
against a pillow that Jackie had thrown to him. He was quite comfortable
against the corner wall. Jackie had piled pillows and blankets there for him
and he admitted he was enjoying himself with her. She was not only bright and
witty, but understanding and considerate. The evening had threaded a fine
coverlet of conversations, entwining academic as well as pithy badinage.
As Jackie scuffed off to the
bathroom in her pink, fuzzy slippers, Blair fluffed the pillows getting ready
for the possibility that the evening would hold nothing more than television
viewing and idle chitchat.
“Blair! Blair!” Jackie whispered
coming quickly back into the room. “I
hear someone at the back door.”
Blair picked up the pipe he had set
aside for protection. Handing Jackie
his cell phone, he pointed towards the bathroom and whispered, “You’re on, just
like we talked about. You go in there, lock the door, keep the lights off and
call 911. Then call speed dial 1. Jim
Ellison, the friend I told you about, will pick up. Tell him to get over here
ASAP.”
Nodding her head vigorously, Blair
could see the terror in her face. “Remember, don’t come out of there, no matter
what you hear.”
Jim took the corner squealing the
tires, almost tipping the truck.
“Damn it, Ellison, slow down. Don’t
take your frustrations out on the poor citizens of Cascade.”
“Sorry, sir.” Ellison slowed. “It wasn’t our guy, but this punk should
still learn to take no for an answer.”
The case had been nothing more than a first-date drop-off that had
demanded more than a good night kiss.
“What the hell is this about
Sandburg setting up a sting?” Simon asked in a rather loud voice.
“Sir, I don’t know, but I intend to
get to the bottom of this. Sandburg got
a speeding ticket, then while working on the rape case, he started having
suspicions…” just then Ellison’s cell phone rang.
“Ellison, here,” he said, casting Simon an
apologetic look.
“Detective, this is Jackie Dawes,
Blair’s friend. Please come to 1752
Lakeshore. There is an intruder and Blair is here,” she said it in a whisper,
remembering what Blair said to her about Jim’s phone being especially equipped
with a volume control. A war injury,
Blair said with a slight smile, and aging caused Jim to need the added help in
hearing. “I am locked in the bathroom,
but Blair is out there.”
“Jackie, stay put. We’re on our
way.” Jim filled Simon in and setting off the lights and siren, he took off
towards the South Lake District.
Blair carefully made his way out of
the bedroom. Not wanting to lead the intruder to Jackie, he moved out into the
living room. He unlocked the front
door. His plan was to lead the guy out
of the house and away from Jackie, giving her plenty of time to call Jim. The small lead pipe, which looked so
formidable this afternoon when he considered some sort of weapon, now looked
childishly inadequate.
As he crouched against the wall
leading out from the hallway, he saw a dark figure moving into the living room
area. Blair saw the knife as it glinted
off the lambent glow of moonlight breaking through the blinds. Raising the pipe, he moved forward, but his
calculations failed. Instead of bringing the pipe down hard on the hand holding
the knife out in front, he barely had time to realize the shadow and hand were
two distinct objects. A sharp pain ripped his left arm high near the shoulder,
he brought the pipe down, but the shock of pain diminished the force. He heard a soft grunt from the impact on
bone, but a raging cry soon followed the sounds of surprise.
Blair raced towards the front door. Please, please, please, let Jim come. Jackie please….. I hope you called him. Blair tried to count the minutes when Jackie
had entered the bathroom, but his mind could not do the calculations. Pain
fought for his total concentration and the need to run. He grabbed his left shoulder with his right
hand and the warm, sticky substance confirmed his suspicions that the cut was
deep.
Once outside, he turned towards the
back of the house, only vaguely aware that the intruder was behind him. The lake stood grand and glorious in the
moonlight ahead of him. The crickets
chirped in early summer’s peace. Blair
rushed towards the water, assuming the muddy landscape might buy him some time.
He headed for the bank, with the
low-hanging branches of willows and vines, he could stall for those precious
minutes that would bring a black and white or, Ellison hurling down the
road. The heavy vines and drooping
limbs attacked his shoulder and he more than once caught himself gasping from
surprise assaults.
Finally, a wave of dizziness
convinced him he might black out if he didn’t give up the chase.
He turned and banked for the grassy
yard that paralleled the lake. Ready to take a stand…after all, the object of
this exercise was stopping this man, not doing night maneuvers. Okay,
Sandburg, this is it. No Jim, you’re on your own. This is what you wanted,
proof of your convictions and ending this guy’s reign of terror.
Approaching steadily now, the
pursuer was tall and slender. Blair noted the dark ski mask covering his hair
and face. It was all blackness to Blair
in the moonlight. Pushing his hair back
off his face, he straightened himself trying to look formidable. Dropping his
hand from the sticky mess his shoulder had become, he prepared himself for
battle. Whatever fight I have left in me,
he thought, I’m going to make sure Morton
is carrying my mark.
He played his trump card, surprise,
“All right, I’m a man, not a helpless female. I’m Blair Sandburg and I know
you…you’re Devon Morton.”
Blair saw the head jerk up, then the
man let out a guttural sound of rage and he charged, knife raised high, deadly
intent it’s only purpose.
Blair Sandburg had always had good
instincts. Many times he had dodged bullets, evaded killers, and used vending
machines to take out terrorists, and found survival in his blood. However, this time, he froze. Later, he
would chalk it off to an uncontrollable curiosity about his attacker…a need to
prove it was Morton even if it was the final conviction before the end of everything,
as he knew it. He stood stock-still and
waited for the knife.
His eyes could only focus on the
face, the dark shadow coming towards him, seeking some clue as to the validity
of his suspicions. The man was walking
towards him one moment, then he was flying through the air and Blair almost
laughed at the absurdity of the man’s abilities. Perhaps he was dealing with a
vampire. Then Simon was beside him,
“Blair, are you all right?” and realization hit him full force. Turning he saw Ellison, flipping the figure
over and cuffing his hands behind his back.
Smiling wearily in the moonlight, he
reassured Simon that he was indeed all right. The response brought ice to his
veins, “I’m glad, because you won’t be for long, depending on who gets you
first, but either way, Jim or me, you’re ass is getting kicked.”
Blair blanched, but raised a quick
hand to brush Simon’s anger off. Walking forward he looked first at the rage in
Jim’s eyes, then down at the masked intruder. “I have to know.”
Jim reached down and pulled the
knitted cap off of Devon Morton's head.
“I couldn’t betray Blair’s trust. You know
that,” Day said, softly to the wall, becoming intimate with the familiar
setting as he pressed his forehead against the cool surface. Think…Vin’s
fair if nothing else. This is
extenuating circumstances…yeah, that’s it…
“This was an extenuating circumstance. I had to
give him the benefit of doubt and try to caution him myself…..which, in fact,”
he said more forcefully, only showing a hint of petulance in his tone, “I most
certainly did.”
Vin listened to the defense attorney’s closing
statement. Not really all that impressed with the usual Damien St. Claire
excuses, he chose not to interrupt. Day had a wonderful ability to dig himself
deeper if left to his own devices. But,
Vin had learned early on in their relationship, it was in the psychological
tactics of avoiding punishment that Damien learned the most about his failings
and the lessons for future behavior.
“Little boy, did it ever occur to you, the
Master of Bullshit, that perhaps someone else might employ similar techniques
on you?” Vincent remained seated at the
small desk in their bedroom, casually looking at his lover.
“No!” Day almost shouted, but refrained. Vincent
did not like a great display of attitude, especially at five a.m., and most
certainly not when he was pissed off to begin with.
“So, your experience with young men like
yourself---bright, intelligent, independent---has always been a quick cessation
of dangerous activities upon a mild suggestion from a friend?” Vin watched the slumped shoulders sag a
little further into the corner.
“Come on, Day, is that what you’re saying?” Vin
said, trying hard not to laugh.
A low mumble came out of the corner that sounded
very much like, “Fuck.”
“Am I now getting bad language? Do I need to wash your mouth out before
you're paddled?” Vin asked as he rose from the desk.
“NO!” A definite shout. “I mean, No, sir, but I was trying to be a
good friend. I don’t know Blair; I can’t judge him. He may very well have
listened to me.” Damien turned from the wall looking at his lover, “You don’t
know he wouldn’t! You don’t know him, either!” The last statements came out
more as an accusation, Day's attitude in full force.
Vince glared at him until he quickly turned
back, facing the corner. “But I do know
Jim Ellison, don’t I?” Vincent now
began to pace the tastefully appointed room.
“Yes, I guess so.”
“No, you know so, young man, because you've
heard me talk about him, about our history.
You know so because he lived here with us for six months. Do not give me an ‘I guess so,’ little boy.”
“Okay, you know Jim Ellison. But Jim is not
Blair.” Day felt he was on a roll now.
The logical ball was thrown and he was proud of the pitch. “You could no more have made a proper call
on this one than I could of.”
“I remember telling you at the beginning of your
correspondence with Blair that he was new to this type of relationship. You
would have to monitor his emotions and attitude carefully. Did I not say that
to you?”
“Yes, sir, you did, but I was doing that. He was just having a problem getting through
to Ellison. Seems to me the problem was with Ellison, and, pardon me for the
comment, but Jim was your responsibility.”
Vin stopped dead in his tracks and glared
angrily at the back of his lover’s head. Oh,
young man, you are so in need of some clarification on things to say when you
are facing a paddling.
“I will give you that point, Damien, and Ellison
will be handled. However, since in your
book I have failed a part of my responsibility in setting Ellison on track, I
don’t intend to be guilty of failing you.
Thus, you have earned a little more attention than I was at first
determined to give you.”
“Uh…..oh….” a miserable sound came from the
corner as the balloon of logic hit turbulence.
Opening the bottom drawer of the desk, Vin
looked inside, pondering its contents.
Inside were two different size paddles and a hairbrush, each implement
nestled in its own spot. In addition to
the paddles, a leather strap hung in the closet. Withdrawing the smaller of the two paddles from the drawer, he
sat down at the desk chair.
“Damien,” he called sweetly, “come here,
please.”
Turning from the corner, the younger man
couldn’t help making a face when he saw the paddle.
“Vin …” he started to whine, but was cut short.
“I did not ask for a commentary, young man. I asked you to come here.”
Shuffling forward, Day, too quickly for his
liking, found himself lying over his partner’s lap, pajama bottoms pooled
around his ankles, his bottom bare and vulnerable.
"Young man, I want to make sure you
understand that you’re not being punished for what you told Blair or what you
didn't tell him. You are being punished
for not informing either Jim or me about Blair's plan. If you had told me about it, and told me
that Blair was listening to you and you felt confident that he was not going
through with this stupid stunt, you would not be in the trouble you are in
now. Is that understood?"
“Yes,” came the mumbled reply.
“Careful.
Careful, Blair,” Jim said, as he tried to gently support his
uncooperative partner. Sandburg tried
unsuccessfully to break free from the ‘helpful’ hands and make it on his own
power to the couch.
“Jim, I love you, but if you don’t get off me
now, I swear, man, I’m going to kill you,” Blair muttered, silently thinking to
himself that if his partner thought he could get away with it, Blair would not
even be walking right now.
Choosing to ignore the comment and the slight
struggling to get free, he asked, “Couch or upstairs to bed?”
Pausing for a moment, thinking about his
options, Blair decided that if he was upstairs Jim might not hover as much as
if he were in plain view on the couch.
“Bed,” he said simply.
Twenty minutes later, Blair was comfortably
situated in bed. Looking expectantly at
Jim, he seemed to be waiting for him to say something.
The detective, on the other hand, was roaming
around the bedroom, fussily straightening objects on the dresser, picking up
and refolding clothes sitting on a chair.
“Okay,
Jim, yell at me. I’ve been home for
half an hour so far and you haven’t even hinted that you’re mad about last
night. Come on, it’s not fair to make
me wait like this!”
Throwing a notebook that was in his
hand down hard against the dresser top, Jim turned around, anger briefly
crossing his face, playing a tune along his jawbone. It was quickly replaced with the blank, cold look that frustrated
Blair so much---the patented, ‘I’m in total control of the situation, nothing
is affecting me’ look.
“We are not going to talk about last
night, right now, Sandburg. It's been a
long night.” With that pronouncement,
he resumed his cleaning.
“What do you mean, we aren’t going
to talk? Yes, we are. We need to talk right now, so get your butt
over here and sit down with me and let’s talk.”
Turning around, a small smile graced
his face at his partner’s voice and tone.
It was good to see the Sandburg spunk alive and well. Diminishing that flame was one of his
concerns about a discipline relationship, he never wanted Blair to be afraid of
standing up to him out of fear of punishment.
Shaking
his head, he said, “Blair, you’re hurt.
The Doctor said you should rest for the next couple of days; I shouldn’t
even be up here, I’m probably disturbing you.
I’ll just go downstairs. Let me
know if you need anything.”
Blair gave him an angry look, “Jim
Ellison, I swear to you, you go downstairs, and I will get out of this bed and
follow you. Now, “ he said, giving Jim
his own patented look, “you don’t want me to do that, do you? I might fall or something, rip out these
stitches.”
After
a brief “stare war” skirmish, Jim muttered, “Brat,” before walking over to the
bed and gently sitting down next to his injured partner.
“You’re
mad about last night,” Blair stated simply.
“Blair,
love, I am so far beyond mad…,” Jim said, his voice trailing off. Shaking his head he continued, “But anger doesn’t even begin to cover it. I was so terrified when Vincent called me. I
am so angry at you for pulling a stunt like this, I’m angry at myself for
obviously not taking you seriously and for forcing you---at least in your
mind---to take such a stupid, dangerous risk.
Not that that absolves you of responsibility for it, you are still in
deep trouble.”
“I
had to do something! You weren’t
listening and you wouldn’t believe me, I had to get proof and I had no other
recourse left to me!”
Jim
winced at Blair’s words, knowing that he had, in a way, driven his guide, his
partner, his lover, into a dangerous situation, one in which he had gotten
hurt. Pushing aside his guilt, knowing that Vin would help him deal with it
later---especially if the tone of voice last night was any indication---he
said, “Blair, regardless of what I did or didn’t do, you are still responsible
for your actions. Actions that you know
I wouldn’t approve of and ones that were dangerous and stupid. Actions that could also have harmed Jackie
Dawes.”
“No,”
Blair barked out, annoyed, “you know what’s stupid and dangerous? NOT listening
to your partner! I am your partner---at
work and in life. You lecture me about
trusting you, trusting our relationship, and then you don’t even listen to
me. You put no value on my ideas! You just assume that I’m blowing something
out of proportion or trying to get back at some cop, because he gave me a
ticket!”
Pausing,
he let his hurt pierce each word, “What kind of person do you think I am?”
He
was on a full tear now, the combination of little sleep, drugs, conflicting
emotions and the stress of the last couple weeks were bottled up and were now
spewing forth with a vengeance. “I did
the only thing I could do! You didn’t
believe me and I had to make you believe me.
I had to make you see that I was right.
Jackie was a marked victim. I saw this.
I was there as protection.”
Jim
closed his eyes, his face tight with pain.
“Blair, I am so sorry. You’re
right. I screwed this up; I screwed
this whole thing up. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I would think you would try
to put suspicion on this guy. I just
got it in my head that you were allowing your emotions to run away with
you. I don’t know what got into me.”
Jim
tilted his head back and took a deep breath.
Reaching out, he grabbed Blair’s hands, clasping them together in
his. “Blair, I don’t know what I would
have done if something had happened to you because of my stubbornness, my
pig-headedness. I was disrespectful to
you, to our relationship, and I am very sorry.
I can promise you, I will try my best not to let it happen again. You are smart, observant, and you have a
natural talent for reading people.
There is no reason for me not to trust you. And I do trust you---I trust you with my life. I’m sorry, Chief, I really missed the ball
on this one.”
Blair
reached out, pulling the larger man down so that his head was resting on the
bed nestled against his hip. “I know,
Jim, I know you’re sorry."
A
shuddering sigh escaped from his Sentinel, as he eased into the warmth, seeking
comfort and forgiveness. Draping one
arm across Blair's lap, he snuggled closer, welcoming the first step to making
it all right again.
Blair
reached down and softly stroked his hair, like Jim had done so many times for
him when he needed reassurance that he was loved and protected. A change in breathing patterns alerted him
to the soft tears of retribution.
Choosing to allow Jim the privacy of tears, he continued the comforting
strokes.
"I
love you, Jim,” he whispered some time later, in the aftermath of the tears.
"I
love you, too, Blair,” and the bond was secured.
SUNDAY MORNING
"So James, what do you have to say for
yourself?" asked a strong voice with a hint of an English accent.
"Vin,
I really don't have anything to say. I
screwed up---plain and simple," Jim said.
He had called Vin the next morning, filling him in on what had happened
and his subsequent apology to Blair when they got home from the hospital. He had thought the focus of the conversation
was how or if he was going to punish Blair for his actions while he was
hurt. Even though the cut was not
serious, it did require 10 stitches.
Now, instead of Blair's actions, Vin was focusing in on his.
"Young
man,” Jim had heard that tone and that address before, usually when he was in
trouble, “when you are dealing with the delicate balance in a relationship,
especially in a disciplinary relationship, things are rarely plain and
simple. I think when you and your young
man are here visiting in a couple of months, you and I should sit down
privately and discuss this."
Jim
gave an impatient sigh, "I really don't think that's necessary, Vin . I said I was sorry, let's drop it," he
added impatiently.
"Do
NOT take that tone of voice with
me. Would you like to talk to another
young man who did and ask him what the outcome was?" Vincent Cade was not a man to parry with
verbally or otherwise. Next to Vincent Cade, Simon Banks was a man of finesse
and gentle persuasion.
Jim
sighed heavily into the connection, allowing his acquiescence to cross the
miles.
Across
the pond, that particular sampling of young man was lying on his side. Curled up on the couch reading, he glanced
up at his lover’s tone and smiled. I guess Vin really is upset with Jimbo,
he thought to himself. Shifting, trying
to find a position that did not place too much weight on his still sore bottom,
he went back to his book, blocking out the rest of the conversation, soon bored
with the familiar routine….glad his moment under fire was over.
Ten
minutes later the sound of a phone being set into its cradle alerted him to the
termination of the call. Vincent
entered the study. Shifting into a
semi-erect sitting position, he put the book down and looked up at his lover,
recognizing the lines of concern on the older man’s face.
"Still
sore?"
"A
little, not too bad though. Just
enough to remind,” Day grinned sheepishly.
"Demon,”
Vin said, motioning him to make room on the couch.
Day
smiled and sat up at the pet name Vin had given him at their first meeting. A
routine of petulant non-cooperation had made him mumble his name to the
formidable and threatening army officer after he had thrown himself in front of
his car.
Damien
had come out as Demon, at least to the ears of the impatient and irate officer.
Now Demon was a name that usually meant all was forgiven or mildly tolerated.
The
larger man wrapped his arms around the smaller one now nestled on his lap,
patting his bottom gently. “But for how long little boy?”
TUESDAY
Two
days later, Blair was in the office, straightening his notes and materials from
the just finished term. Summer term was
due to start in a couple of weeks and he had new materials to work into a
syllabus and form a solid structure for his course. His shoulder felt better and he was going to be returning to the
station tomorrow. Jim had gone in to
work today and Blair had been left to his own devices. He and Jackie had lunch and had rehashed the
events of Friday night. She was
grateful for Blair's involvement but had also felt guilty over his injury. He was quick to reassure her that it was not
major and he was fine. The doctor's did
not even think physical therapy was going to be necessary.
The
ringing telephone interrupted his concentration.
"Hello,"
he said cheerfully, thinking it was probably Jim calling to make sure he was
OK.
"Blair
Sandburg, please," an unfamiliar voice said.
Deciding
it was a student who had just gotten bad news in the mail with his report card,
Blair replied, "This is Mr. Sandburg, how can I help you?" The voice on the other end did not say
anything for a moment, Yep, a
dissatisfied student, Blair thought to himself.
"Umm…Blair,
it's Day….. Damien St. Claire, in England.
Did I catch you at a bad time? I
can call back if I have?"
Giving
a surprised laugh, Blair said, "Oh my God. Day! Wow, this is a
surprise! No, this is a great
time. Grades were mailed out yesterday
and I just figured you were a student calling to let me know how unhappy you
were with my grading! Wow, this is great.
How are you?"
Day's
smile came through the phone lines in a light and airy tone, "I'm
fine. How are you? That's really why I called."
"Oh,
the shoulder…yeah, it's fine. I got a
few stitches, but I’ll live at least if Jim lets me. And,” he paused for effect, “it really does only hurt if I
laugh.”
"Then
I promise to be my usual morose self,” Damien said, barely containing his
mirth, “I'm glad to hear that Blair."
"So,
how are things with you and Vincent?"
Blair asked. Jim had told him
that Damien had gotten into trouble for not telling anyone about his
investigative plans. "Day, I need
to apologize for getting you into trouble.
I'm sorry that I caused you problems."
"Blair!”
he started, feigning what Blair could guess was a Vincent Cade reprimand. “My dear boy, that's part of the reason I
was calling."
Good going, Sandburg Blair thought, alienate the one person you can talk to
about this relationship with Jim, not to mention someone who was starting to be
a good friend.
Again,
only warmth, humor, and friendship came through in the pleasantly mellow voice,
"I wanted to make sure you didn't feel guilty over anything. What you did---trying to catch that
rapist---which by the way, man, was very cool, but I’d be sorely remiss…and I do
mean sorely,” he laughed at his own pun,
“if I didn’t also add very stupid---is totally between you and Jim. Vincent paddled me for not telling someone
about it. I should have, as a friend
and someone who is supposed to be helping you and looking out for you. I was calling to apologize for letting you
down and allowing you to get hurt."
"Day…."
Blair's voice trailed off. "I don't know what to say. I still feel guilty for getting you in
trouble. I wasn't really telling you
what I was doing so that you would tell Vin or Jim and have them stop me."
"I
don't know, Blair. You might have
been. I know I've done that in the
past. Done something or told someone
something that I was planning. At the
time, I was pissed when Vin found out, but then afterwards, I don't
know…afterwards it was like that's what I wanted all along. I don't know, that might not be the case
here." But Blair could tell that
Day really thought it was the case indeed.
Blair
thought for a moment, thinking back to the conversation that he and Jim had
lying in bed together after he got home from the hospital. "Maybe … maybe I wanted him to take me
seriously and I knew that he would do something if I made sure I was personally
involved. I don’t know, either,"
he finished with a laugh.
Day
joined in with good humor of his own, "Don't worry, you may never figure
it out and you just need to go with the flow and just accept this type of
relationship, it will all work out.
Speaking of working out, have you and your's talked yet about that stunt
yet?"
From
the emphasis that he placed on 'talk,’ Blair knew talking was not the activity
Day had in mind. "We talked,”
Blair laughed, “talk talked, a little the morning I got back. But I don't think he's going to do
anything. He admits he screwed up on
this one, too. I think we are just
going to call it even."
A
loud laugh filled the phone lines. "Blair, if you really believe that,
then I have seriously failed you, Grasshopper.
There is no way Jim is going to let this action of yours go by without
major attention paid to your butt."
"But
he screwed up, too, that's not fair."
"Oh
don't worry, my friend, Vin is pissed at him and Jim knows that he's going to
get taken care of when you guys are over here.
Rest assured that Jim is in trouble, too."
"What?" Blair asked surprised, "What do you
mean? Jim's going to be spanked by
Vin? When?"
There
was dead silence on the other end, and then a quiet, unsure voice asked,
"Jim never told you that? He never
told you that he and Vin had a discipline relationship years ago when he lived
with us for several months?"
"No,
he didn't," Blair was thunderstruck with this revelation. The thought of Jim, strong, competent,
man-in-charge bending over someone's knees, being spanked for some misdeed.
"Wow, I had no idea…”
"Shit! Blair, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you.
Jim will tell you I'm sure. I
guess I thought you knew."
"Well,
I didn’t, but now that you mention it, he does speak of Vincent Cade with a
certain reservation. Wow, this is still
sort of a shock to me."
"Well,
it happens to all of them. Vin had
someone when he was younger, it's really not that big of a deal."
"Yeah,
I guess not. I don't know. Just seems strange somehow. I can't see myself ever spanking him."
"No,
most of us can't, which is why it's nice when yours already has a handler and
someone you can turn to when the one who deals with you, needs to be dealt
with." Day let out a soft
chuckle. “Can’t let Vin hear me talking
like that, or I’ll be getting another crash course myself.”
Blair
did not say anything for several moments.
What a strange new world I’ve come
upon. It’s going to take some time getting used to that’s for sure.
"Blair? Are you okay with this?" Day asked, concern obvious in his
voice.
"Yeah,
I'm fine with it. I am sort of glad he
has someone who can out alpha him," he laughed.
"Okay,
look I need to run, if you are okay?"
"I
am, thanks for calling, Day, and I can't wait to see you in a couple of
months."
"Me,
too, say ‘hi’ to Jimbo for me. Take
care."
"You,
too, bye."
Damien
hung up the phone, glad he had called and apologized. Now, how to deal with accidentally telling Blair about Jim and
Vin. Well, I already know how delay can be painful.
"VIN!!!!!" he yelled at the top of
his lungs.
A
few seconds later, the intercom activated, "Little boy, we have this
lovely system which should eliminate your need to yell in the house when you
are looking for me. Should we have
another lesson in using it?"
"Ummm…Vin…
there's something I need to tell you.” The confessional was once again occupied.
FRIDAY
"Jim… I'm sorry.
I know it was stupid…" as the punishing hairbrush descended again
on his upturned butt, Blair cried out with added remorse, "beyond stupid!"
Lying
over Jim’s lap on the couch, his head and shoulders supported by cushions to
ensure his comfort---at least in certain areas---they were deep in a discussion
about good judgment and foolish heroics.
The emphasis on certain words had left his butt a bright red, fueling
Jim’s passionate determination to drive his point home, or at least in the back
door.
Jim
looked down at the flaming posterior, feeling the heat emanating from the flesh
as he repeatedly brought the wooden brush down with a fervor born of fear for
his young friend’s safety.
“Never,
<swat> Ever, <swat> Do <swat> Anything <swat> So
<swat> Foolhardy <swat> Again.” A final sharp smack resounding
through the loft, followed by a loud cry, “OUCH! OK – I PROMISE!”
Jim
stopped long enough to toss the brush on the coffee table.
“Now,
Chief, we need to discuss the rules. Those ten little items you have chosen to
flaunt with total abandon.”
Blair
groaned forgetting all about the rules and his total disregard of them these
past two weeks.
Jim
raised his hand high in the air and counting down every rule with a loud, sharp
spank to the already painful bottom, he emphasized a repeat performance. Every
number followed with a sharp smack. The rule was clearly recited and then Jim
paused allowing his penitent to repeat the rule. Another sharp whack was
delivered to drive the rule home once and for all.
The
ten rules totaled twenty additional spanks, plus the two earned strikes applied
when Blair petulantly added his own commentary on “No lying and keeping
secrets.”
“It
wasn’t a secret if I told Day.” <Whack>
“The
rules are for us. They apply to our relationship, not yours and Day’s.”
<Whack>
Finally
realizing he’d best repeat by rote and with all the sincerity he could muster,
he hiccuped his answers like a dutiful student.
Finishing
with three punishing swats in the dead center of his partner's bottom, for good
and final measure, the punishment ceased. It had been a hard and long paddling
and an equally passionate spanking.
Blair putting himself in danger was a high crime. Hopefully, this punishment would stay with
the younger man and be remembered the next time.
He
allowed Blair to rest on his lap, spent and deflated, until his crying eased
into short sobs. When he seemed to have
settled down, Jim gently helped him stand up, pulling his boxers carefully over
his abused rump. Seeing the exhaustion
clearly evident on his tear-stained face, Jim scooped him up in his arms and
carried up to bed.
"Come
on, love, it's late. It's been a rough
night, let's get you to bed."
Gently
easing the overwrought young man down onto the bed, Jim was thankful that Blair
had been made to strip to his boxers and t-shirt for his punishment. It made a
quick and easy job of settling him in bed on his stomach. Tears still came in a steady stream, misery
apparent with every movement. Jim propped
extra pillows under his shoulder, easing the weight off the injured area.
Moments
later, Blair awoke from the first soft slide into sleep. "Huh?" he
asked, confused as he felt the sheet being pulled back, his boxers gently
pulled down, exposing his bare bottom; the cool air feeling good. “What are you doing, Jim?" he mumbled,
half rising up.
"Shhhh,
lie back down. It's okay," Jim
said softly.
Blair
relaxed and snuggled down, hugging the pillow beneath him.
Jim
began to rub the aloe gently on each cheek.
Blair
hissed as the cool lotion made contact, squirming slightly as the large hands
began to slowly rub it in, leaving a trail of soothing coolness in its wake.
"Oh,"
Blair said a few minutes later, his voice heavy with sleep, "that feels
good."
"Just
a little something to help take some of the sting away. Now, go to sleep."
“Seems
such a wasted effort,” Blair mumbled slowly into the soft folds, “could ‘ave
voided…all…by not spanking me.”
Smiling
down at the logical-minded anthropologist, Jim nodded his head, “It was worth
every sore spot, Chief, if it keeps you from ever doing anything so foolish
again.”
Then,
rubbing some on his own stinging palm, Detective James Ellison snuggled under
the covers. Turning in towards the one
who mattered most to him, thankful for the second chances that the dawn would
bring, he knew his own retribution awaited him.
The
lines were drawn and if crossed, there was always a gentle, but firm hand to
bring you back. He wouldn’t mind, in the least, it was just the way these
relationships worked.
In
time Blair, too, would see.
There
were lines of descent in these relationships. As Vin brought Jim back in line,
straightened his thinking out and set him upright again, so, too, he would help
the often foolhardy anthropologist. It
was all about Guidelines, one guiding the other, then another, until everyone
was right on track. And with that final
acceptance and secure knowledge of knowing someone always cared, he evened-out
his breathing and softly gave himself up to the night.
THE
END
Thank
you for reading. We hope you have been
entertained.