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Blood Borne         
by Kikkimax

The medical examiner pulled back the bloody sheet and looked over the bullet shattered body. “So they finally got you, you sick son-of-a-bitch,” he muttered under his breath. The dead eyes stared back at him as he jabbed the huge needle deep into the chest just below the left clavicle, probing until at last a flash of dark red appeared in the sixty cc syringe. It filled quickly with the still warm blood. He handed it to the nurse and she filled half a dozen different tubes with it before dropping it into a sharps box.

“Find anything?” the weary sheriff asked from the doorway.

“I’d say he died of multiple gunshot wounds,” the doctor answered glibly without looking up.

“No. You know what I’m asking.”

“You’re asking me what turns a young, soft spoken family man into a fucking animal?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m asking.”

“We’ll ship the body to Chapel Hill for the autopsy. If he’s some kind of monster they’ll let us know.”

“Shut up, you sarcastic old bastard. This kid grew up with my daughter. He was never anything but respectful and polite….”

“I’m sorry, Phil. I really am. But I’ve been in this room too many times lately with the lifeless bodies of my fellow citizens. I don’t know why Robert suddenly developed a hunger for blood. All I know is that it’s over now.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” the sheriff sighed, wiping a hand over his face. “Thank God, it’s over.”

“Hey, Patty. You all packed?” the nurse asked as she entered the lab, colored vials in gloved hand.

“All set to go. My flight is tomorrow afternoon.”

“It’s a shame you had to take call on your last night. Where are you moving again?”

“Cascade, Washington . Don’t get me wrong, I love North Carolina , but I can’t wait to get home.”

“Well thanks for coming in tonight. Dr. Hall really appreciates it.”

“Sure he does,” Patty smirked as she took the vials and laid them on the counter. “You got what you need?”

“Yeah, I already packed up the samples that need to go with the body. But you know Dr. Hall. He wants the usual run on these.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Patty said cheerfully.

“Listen, if I don’t see you, good luck.” The nurse pulled the much shorter woman in for a quick hug.

“Thanks. You, too,” Patty said and smiled at her coworker. “I think I’m going to miss this place.”

“I’m sure you’ll get over that in a hurry,” the nurse called over her shoulder as she left.

“I’m sure I will,” Patty mused as she reached for a pair of gloves. One of the vials rolled off the counter, seemingly under its own power. Patty instinctively grabbed it, catching it before it could hit the floor. The glass tube seemed to pulse in her hand and she almost dropped it in shock. Suddenly it shattered, the shards digging into her fingers. The blood from the vial mingled freely with her own.

She felt a spasm rush through her and although her mind screamed to her about blood borne pathogens, her body refused to move. Sometime later she snapped out of her little traumatic freeze up and deposited what was left of the tube into a plastic container and quickly washed her hands with antiseptic soap. Much to her surprise and relief, she had been mistaken. There was no sign that the glass had pierced her skin. Somewhat baffled, she double gloved and cleaned up the mess before running the expected tests on the dead man’s blood.

EIGHT DAYS LATER
Cascade Washington

“Oh, man,” Blair grumbled as they approached the car. “Turn down your sense of smell,” he instructed unnecessarily. “Waaay down.”

“No kidding,” Jim answered under his breath, screwing up his face until he got his unruly nose under control. “What have we got?” he asked Dan Wolf from the coroner’s office.

“It looks like the body has been in the trunk for awhile, maybe two or three days judging by the decomposition. It has been unseasonably hot, so it may not have been that long. We’ll know more once we get to the lab.”

“Cause of death?”

“Exsanguination.”

“Ew,” Blair said as he peeked into the trunk over Jim’s shoulder. “If he bled to death, where’s the blood?”

“That’s the question indeed,” Dan said seriously. “There are several short, deep cuts on the body that were made at different times while the man was still alive. There aren’t any defensive injuries, which made me look closer at his wrists. Sure enough, he has ligature marks on them and his ankles. He was tied up for awhile and very much alive until too much blood was taken.”

“Taken? As in on purpose?” Jim frowned.

“Vampirism?” Blair asked.

“Whoa, hold on there, Chief,” Jim protested. “Don’t go twilight zone on me.”

“I’m not talking about night of the living dead here, Jim. There are psychological disorders where people actually drink human blood. Of course there are also people who do it just for kicks. Maybe they just went too far.”

“Well don’t go around saying words like ‘vampire’ or ‘werewolf’ too loud. I’d hate for the press to latch on to that. Let’s just stick with what we know,” Jim cautioned. “Dan? What do we know?”

“We know that somebody for reasons unknown methodically drained this man of his blood,” Dan said. “Sounds like a vampire to me,” he added with a wink at Blair.

“Russell McAllister, thirty-nine years old, lab technician at County General for the last ten years,” Simon read out loud from the file in his hand.

“His wife reported him missing six days ago after he didn’t come home from work,” Jim supplied.

“We went to see her this morning. She went to pieces when we told her about her husband. I don’t think she had anything to do with it,” Blair said confidently.

“Is that right, Sandburg?” Simon scoffed.

“Yeah, Simon, I know that a lot of times you don’t have to look any further than the family to find the murderer, but this feels different to me. It has ritualistic overtones,” Blair insisted.

“He thinks it was a vampire,” Jim teased.

Blair shot an exasperated look at his partner. “I just have a nasty suspicion that we’re going to be seeing more of this.”

“For once, kid, I hope you’re wrong,” Simon conceded and settled behind his desk. “So get out of my office and catch the guy. Both of you,” he growled.

“He just said that I’m usually right. Didn’t he?” Blair asked with a grin as Jim shut the office door behind them.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Jim smirked as he ruffled Blair’s hair.

She felt uncomfortably hungry as she filled out the log while the nurse waited for the unit of blood. Together they checked the name, number, type, and date. The burgundy liquid inside of the plastic pouch felt cold in her hand; distinctly unappetizing. Beside her the other woman shifted impatiently and she could almost smell the warmth pulsing through her body, hot and ready for the taking. She licked her lip and shuddered with need.

“You okay?” the nurse asked. “You don’t look too hot.”

“I haven’t eaten yet,” she explained, trying to steady her shaking hands.

“Oh, sorry, I know how it is, but I really need that blood.”

She showed the nurse where to sign and watched disappointedly as she left. “Yeah, me too,” she sighed staring at row after row of the little plastic bags lined up in the blood bank cooler, handy, but hardly a meal. She made a distasteful decision and reached into the fridge.

“Excuse me,” a man said from the door, causing her to jump and pull back.

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” she snapped as if caught. “Blood bank employees only.”

“Actually, I’m Detective Ellison and this is my associate Blair Sandburg. I’d like to talk to you about Russell McAllister.”

“Mr. McAllister? He’s my supervisor,” she said distractedly, noticing the shorter of the two men. He smelled absolutely heavenly, his blood rich and sweet. She bit her lip and stared at him.

“Was,” Sandburg said quietly. “He was killed last week. His body was found this morning.”

“Oh,” she replied hesitantly. “I only met him once. I just started here and then he wasn’t around.”

“Can you tell us anything about him?” the detective asked.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t even know his first name until just now. Maybe you should talk to Ms. Marsh. She’s been in charge since…. well, all week.”

“I’m Eleanor Marsh,” an attractive black woman said from the door. The taller man turned and began to speak to her.

Patty watched with interest, listening unashamedly, but her eyes kept drifting to the younger man. “Hi. I’m Patty Simmons,” she said to him at last, drawing him away from the interview.

“Hi, I’m Blair,” the man said uncomfortably and moved closer to her so as not to disturb the conversation.

“You must eat a really well balanced diet,” she blurted out.

“Excuse me?” Blair asked, picking up a strange vibe from the woman.

“I just get a very natural feeling from you.” She edged closer. “Your aura is so clean.”

“Oh, um, I try to eat right I guess. I slip up sometimes, you know, pizza” Sandburg babbled nervously as he backed slowly away, stopping only when he hit the counter. “I do use, um, certain cleansing… herbs.”

“Mmm,” she murmured as she closed in on him. Leaning deeply into his personal space, she sniffed him intensely. Blair shot a not quite panicked look towards his partner’s back, but the other man was oblivious to his plight.

“I know this might seem forward of me, but I’ve got to see you tonight,” she purred into his ear, breathing heavily against his neck.

“Um, well, that sounds very nice,” he hedged. “Maybe under different circumstances…. Um, Jim?”

She couldn’t resist a taste and pressed her mouth against him. Blair made a startled noise and jumped away from her, slapping a hand to his neck. Keeping his widened eyes on her he brought his hand up and spared a quick glimpse at the small spot of blood on his finger. She licked her lips and practically drooled.

“I’ll be seeing you, Blair Sandburg,” she whispered roughly.

The cop turned around and glanced at them questioningly. “You ready, Chief?” he asked.

“Oh, more than ready,” Blair blurted out and moved quickly through the door.

Jim finally caught up to Sandburg in the lobby.

“You get anything?” Blair asked, still looking a little wild eyed as they stepped into the late afternoon sunshine.

“Not really. What about you? You seemed to be working that little red head pretty hard.”

“Me? Working her? Oh, I don’t think so,” Blair denied vehemently. “She gave me the creeps. There’s something wrong with that girl.”

“What do you mean?” Jim asked, shooting Blair a dubious look.

“I mean, she bit me,” Blair exclaimed.

“Bit you, as in…”

“As in BIT me. On the neck!”

“Let me see,” Jim commanded urgently.

Blair stopped walking and pulled back his hair.

“Crap. Why didn’t you say something? She did this with her teeth?”

“I just wanted out of there and of course she did it with her teeth. You think she gummed the blood out of my neck?”

“Sorry, stupid question. I’ve got a first aid kit in the truck. We need to clean that. Human bites are notorious for getting infected,” Jim put his hand on Blair’s back and moved him towards the parking lot. “Do you want to press charges?”

“No, but I do think we need to check her out. Sane people don’t go around biting people they’ve never met before. How do you know so much about human bites?”

“You don’t seriously think she’s our killer do you? Come on, she’s not more than a hundred pounds. How could she have hefted six foot three McAllister into the trunk of his car? And I know more than you think.”

They reached the truck and Blair leaned against it as Jim dug around for the first aid kit. “She could have had help lifting the body; an accomplice or even a group like a cult or something.”

“Hold your hair back, this is gonna sting.”

“Ow, quit,” Blair whined and tried to pull away as Jim cleaned the small wound with one hand and held him in place with the other.

“Hold still. You really should get some blood work done. I wish you had said something sooner. Do you know what kind of germs can pass through saliva into blood?”

Blair nodded and looked at his feet. “What do we do?”

“You should file a complaint. That way we can get blood drawn on her, too. Just to double check. Come on. Let’s go back in. We need to take care of this right away.”

“Hey, I’m Laura,” the same nurse that had been in earlier said as she poked her head through the door. “I’m out of here. If you still haven’t had lunch, I’d be glad to pick something up for you.”

“Aren’t you sweet?” Patty said, still lusting after the man who had just left. She really wanted that one, but she was willing to take what she could get. Besides, she knew his name. If she made a few arrangements, she could contact him later and really enjoy him. Making up her mind she turned back to the one on hand. “I’m done, too. Let me take you to lunch,” she replied.

“Sandburg okay?” Simon asked as Jim entered his office.

“He’s a little spooked,” Jim admitted reluctantly.

“What? He thinks he’s gonna turn into a vampire?”

Jim glared at his boss. “I’m glad you think this is funny, sir. I think hepatitis and aids are more of a concern for him right now than turning into a vampire. That girl is seriously off her rocker to bite somebody in a public place with a police detective less than ten feet away. And now she’s missing.”

“You’re right,” Simon said raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry. So if you were less than ten feet away, how come you didn’t see or hear the attack?”

Jim flushed. “I was conducting an interview,” he said guiltily.

“Do you think that this girl had anything to do with our dead body?” Simon asked, changing the subject.

“It looks that way. After she attacked Sandburg we did a little more digging. We found a witness who saw her get into McAllister’s car the night he disappeared. I still don’t see how she would be strong enough to overpower him.”

“Could she have drugged him?”

“Not according to the autopsy. She could have had help, as Blair pointed out. I would definitely describe her as blood thirsty. You should see Sandburg’s neck.”

“Maybe she seduced him into letting her tie him up and then changed the rules. Stranger things have happened,” Simon pointed out.

“Maybe,” Jim agreed. “He was restrained.”

There was a tap at the door and Rafe stuck his head in. “Jim, Dan Wolf just called from the docks. He said he’s got another Cascade General employee.”

Blair sulked around the loft thinking morbid thoughts and jumping at every little noise. He felt itchy inside of his skin, restless, almost like a sugar high. Jim had insisted that he didn’t need him and Blair gratefully headed for home to try and unwind. Thoughts of Patty Simmons kept invading his mind, much as she had invaded his personal space in the lab. He took every opportunity to stare in the mirror at the teeth marks on his neck, now a lovely shade of purple.

He couldn’t explain it, but he had known she was evil as soon as she got close to him. It wasn’t every day that a good looking woman made him feel like a slab of meat, and not in a good way. He’d felt strangely repulsed by and attracted to her at the same time.

The phone rang, all but sending him into orbit. “Hello,” he said after he calmed down enough to answer it.

“Looks like you were right, Chief. They just pulled a dead nurse out of the bay,” Jim said. “A security guard saw her leave with guess who.”

“Little Patty,” Blair breathed. “How did the nurse die?”

“She was stabbed. If the murderer intended to drag out her death like with McAllister, he, or rather she messed up and severed a major artery. It looks like the victim put up a fight. Dan thinks she bled out right away.”

“Do you need me to come out there?” Blair asked quietly.

“You know, I think I’d feel better if you skip this one. That okay with you?”

Blair chuckled. “Don’t go getting all protective on me, big guy.”

Jim sighed.

“It’s fine,” Blair assured. “As a matter of fact, I actually have a couple of projects I could work on.”

“Good. I’ll call if we get anything.”

“Cool. Later, man.”

“Later.”

Blair turned off the phone and rubbed his aching head. He had been hoping it was just his imagination, but now his skin felt hot to the touch and his whole body hurt. “Great. All I need is the flu,” he grumbled. After pouring himself a glass of juice he took a couple of Tylenol and his antibiotic and went to lie down. His projects would have to wait until he felt better.

Jim examined the body after forensics finished and a multitude of pictures were taken. The woman had been pretty he supposed, but it was hard to tell with the pallor of death combined with the several hours she had been submerged in the sea water. Her car was parked as close to the abandoned dock as possible, but that still left several hundred feet that she would have to have been carried or dragged to get to the water. Finding a small footprint in the sand just off of the concrete drive, Jim followed with his eyes back to the car.

“Over here,” he shouted to the forensics team.

The team marked the path as Jim pointed out each step through the empty lot. Halfway to the car they found an area where apparently the nurse had been dropped and a struggle had ensued. In the grass Jim found several short red hairs complete with bloody roots where the victim apparently made a last ditch effort to survive.

As the evidence was collected Jim scanned the nearby area with his senses. Across the street something moved in the shadow of the empty warehouse. He listened carefully and raised his head to sniff the air. Something rustled in the scrub brush and he smelled old blood, and lots of it.

It rested under a dilapidated shed across from the docks; clothes saturated in the sticky residue of its gluttony, too full to move very far after the feast. Not its favorite way to dine, preferring a slower, casual pace over several days. This feeding had been frenzied and fast as the victim had not succumbed quickly and had to be dealt a fatal blow. Such a shame to waste a good kill. The man had been much easier since he hadn’t objected to being tied up with the promises it had made him. With him, meals had been at leisure with a fresh cut each time it bled him, his pleas and cries the only distraction.

Somewhere in its sated, muddied mind it knew what all the activity across the street was. Sleepy now, but strong from the nourishment, it slipped into the large warehouse to wait out the police. With the memories of the ones who had come before, it knew how to hide, how to lie, and most of all, how to kill. Deep, deep inside it still remembered Patty, but had no desire to reach her.

Jim pulled his gun as he crossed the street, waving at a uniform so that someone would know where he was. He followed his nose, switching to hearing once he caught the tell tale heart beat moving into the large building.

“This is Ellison, I’ve got something,” he murmured into his mic. “Surround the warehouse on the north side of the street.”

“We’re on our way, Jim,” Brown acknowledged.

Climbing through a broken window, Jim followed his prey up the stairs. Taking only a second to adjust his sight to the dimmer interior, Jim located a blood covered Patty Simmons lurking in the shadows. He approached her silently. When he had her cornered, he leveled his weapon.

“Freeze,” he said loudly. He registered the inhuman scream, but only caught a blur of movement as she plowed into him, sending them both crashing through the painted over window at the top of the stairs. They twisted in fierce combat as they fell a full story to the ground, landing sprawled together in a heap with Jim on top of the much smaller woman.

Patty’s head slumped back and she gurgled as blood trickled from her mouth. Stunned from the fall, Jim watched helplessly as the flow from her mouth streamed into the deep gash on his arm. He felt a spasm of pure pain, but was unable to move.

“Jim!” Brown screamed as he grasped him tightly on the shoulder, not daring to roll him over. “Are you okay? Don’t move.”

Jim shuddered uncontrollably as he tried to rise, feeling hot and cold at the same time. Unable to speak, he dropped his head back to the ground.

“Officer down! We need an ambulance,” Brown shouted and looked to the cop who was checking Patty’s pulse. The other man shook his head. “Looks like you got her, Jim. Everything’s going to be okay,” he soothed, trying hard to sound casual as he worriedly checked the big detective for obvious injuries.

Blair clawed at his neck in his sleep, disrupting the scab and causing a trickle of red to run down to his pillow. He moaned and thrashed his head from side to side. Faces. Eyes. Crimson stains. His dreams were filled with death.

“How are you feeling?” Simon asked as he stuck his head into the back of the ambulance. “The paramedic said you didn’t even get a scratch.”

“Yeah,” Jim agreed, still a little dazed. “Just got the wind knocked out of me I guess. I could have sworn I cut my arm though. I’m covered in blood.”

“No kidding,” Simon said with disgust. “Why don’t you take that off and I’ll call Sandburg to bring you something to wear? He can meet us at the hospital.”

“Nah, I don’t need to go to the hospital. Not a scratch, remember? I’m just gonna head home.”

“Jim…”

“Sir, really, I’m fine. I’ll take some aspirin and go to bed.”

Simon looked at him doubtfully. “All right. But I want someone to drive you, and that’s not negotiable.” He waited until Jim gave in and nodded his head. “Do you want me to call Sandburg?”

“Sandburg,” Jim whispered as if trying to place the name.

“Yeah, you know, the short, hairy guy you live with,” Simon supplied with a worried expression on his face. “Blair? Chief? Darwin ? Any of this ringing a bell?”

“Of course I know who Sandburg is,” Jim said irritably. “I just… never mind. Don’t call. I’ll tell him about it when I get home.”

“Have it your way, Jim. Can you think of anything else before we finish up here?”

“Be sure and remind the lab to test her blood, okay?”

“We know the drill, detective. Relax,” a man from the coroner’s office said as he stepped up next to Simon in the door.

“That woman bit my partner yesterday; hard enough to draw blood,” Jim explained defensively, pointing at the draped body being loaded into the meat wagon several yards away.

“Oh. Okay, that’s different. Don’t worry I’ll take care of it myself. You do know antibody tests will take a little longer than the drug screens, right?”

“I realize that. Just notify us as soon as you know anything.”

“Will do,” the man said and headed back the way he came.

Jim pulled off his soiled shirt and climbed out of the ambulance. Rafe caught his eye and immediately came over. “Looks like the fall broke her neck,” he said without preamble, answering Jim’s unasked question. “That’s what Dan thinks right now.”

“Rafe, I’m going to give Jim a ride home. I want you to follow with his truck,” Simon ordered.

“Yes sir,” Rafe said with a nod and held out his hand for the keys.

Jim tossed his shirt into a handy trashcan and dug in his pants pocket for keys. “Drive careful,” he advised with a warning tone. As he handed them over he realized that Rafe had a bandage on his hand and he distinctly smelled blood.

Rafe rolled his eyes but grinned as he took the keys and walked towards Ellison’s baby.

“Let’s go,” Simon said with a smirk as he headed toward his own car, not noticing that Jim was still just standing there, staring after Rafe. “And don’t get any of that mess on my seats. On second thought, why don’t you ride with Rafe in your own truck?” he teased.

“Good idea,” Jim said and sprinted after Rafe without looking back.

“Jim! I was just kidding,” Simon protested.

Jim threw up a hand in acknowledgement, but climbed into the passenger side of his own truck anyway. “See you at the loft,” he called out.

“What?” Rafe asked as he started the engine. “You don’t trust me to drive your truck?”

“What happened to your hand?” Jim asked, ignoring the question.

“It’s not bad. I cut it on a piece of glass at the warehouse,” Rafe explained. He turned and put his injured hand on the back of the seat as he carefully maneuvered in reverse through the haphazardly parked police and emergency vehicles.

Jim found his gaze drawn to the bandage. The smell of fresh blood seemed to fill the truck and he could almost taste the coppery smell. He licked his lower lip in anticipation. In his mind he could see Rafe on the ground; his eyes dull, his life bleeding away… abruptly Jim tore his eyes away and rolled down his window, gulping in the fresh air.

“You okay?” Rafe asked with concern. “Should I pull over?”

“No, no. I… I just got hot. I’m okay,” Jim assured without looking, shaken by his vision. He could feel his hands begin to shake as he broke out in a cold sweat. Rubbing his damp palms on his jeans he forced his dials for smell and taste to zero. Thankfully the heady smell of blood vanished, but he had to wonder if he was losing his mind. He looked down at his hands and realized that they were now covered in the gooey half dried blood from his jeans. He fought the urge to bring his hands to his mouth. Instead he wiped them on the seat, ignoring Rafe’s astounded stare.

At long last Jim slipped his key into the lock and let himself in. Home sweet home. Simon had wanted to see him to the door, but Jim didn’t think he could stand another minute in Rafe’s company. Something deep and demanding in his subconscious kept dialing up his nose to sniff the unseen wound on the other man’s hand. It got to the point that he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from ripping the bandage away. When the ride was over he had insisted he was fine and left his two worried friends on the street. He needed to be alone to clear his head. He didn’t feel safe to be around anyone. In his dazed panic, he forgot all about Sandburg as he forced his legs to climb the stairs.

Not surprisingly, his body ached. It had been a hell of a thud when they hit the ground. Patty’s tiny frame hadn’t exactly cushioned the blow. Somewhere in his mind he thought he should feel bad about that, but all he felt was strange. He was disconnected in a way that he couldn’t comprehend. And thirsty. Really, really thirsty.

Stumbling through the door, he headed straight to the fridge, not even bothering to turn on a light. He pulled out a bottle of water, but something else caught his eye. Steaks. Two nice juicy ones, thawed and ready for the grill. Jim dropped the water bottle and fell to his knees. Tearing open the wrapper he held it up to his mouth, letting some of the red water run down his chin as he greedily drank it. The liquid was cold, thin, and utterly unsatisfying.

When he realized what he had done, he jumped to his feet, throwing the meat on the floor. He slammed the refrigerator door and backed away in horror. He managed to make it to the bathroom before he puked, but just barely. For long minutes after, he dry heaved until he collapsed onto the floor by the toilet. As his head began to spin, his senses spiraled out of control. Time passed unnoticed as he struggled with his dials. Something caught his attention as he desperately cast out with his hearing. A slow steady rhythm reached out to him, bringing him back from the edge of madness, calming his frazzled senses. He lost himself to the sound and slept.

For several hours Blair tossed and turned; restless, but completely out. Dreams of murder and bloodshed troubled his mind until the carnage finally jolted him from the unnaturally deep slumber. He sat up with a startled, wordless exclamation taking more than a minute to recover his bearings and calm his breathing. The room was dark and his pillow and most of his covers were on the floor. The sheet beneath him was soaked in sweat, but his body was already starting to dry and goose bumps began to surface. He ran a hand through his damp hair and took a mental inventory of how he felt. No pain, no fever, headache gone. Whatever had plagued him had worked its way out of his system while he slept leaving him chilled and thirsty, but otherwise feeling fine.

With a yawn and a stretch he climbed out of the bed and made a pass at straightening the covers. He squinted at the clock and decided that Jim must have thought that he needed the rest more than dinner. Either that or Jim had gotten tied up at the station and hadn’t made it home yet. It was getting late. Blair’s mid-afternoon nap had stretched out for hours longer than he’d intended. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms as he searched in the dark for the sweatshirt he had taken off earlier. When he found it he slipped it over his head.

His throat was unbearably dry so he made his way into the kitchen for a drink. He tried to clear his mind of his gruesome and very vivid dreams as he shuffled along in the dark. Stopping suddenly when his foot struck something cool and slimy on the floor, he scrambled for the light.

“What the hell?” he mumbled as he examined the expensive cuts of meat lying on the floor in front of the fridge. “Jim?” he asked quietly as he moved into the livingroom to look up towards the loft bedroom.

“Blair,” came the hoarse reply from the hall instead.

“Shit, you scared me.” Blair studied his roommate in the dim light. “Are you okay? You’ve got a little prison pallor thing goin’ on there.”

“Sick,” Jim mumbled as he staggered forward.

Blair rushed over and caught him before he fell. “Lean on me,” he instructed urgently. For once Jim complied without comment and allowed Blair to maneuver him around the corner and into his bedroom. “Lie down.”

Jim tumbled into the bed before Blair could pull the covers back all the way. “You’re a mess. What happened?” Blair asked as he removed Jim’s shoes and helped him struggle out of his bloodied jeans.

“Got her… we fell. Blood every…where,” Jim provided brokenly.

“Patty Simmons? I hope this is her blood and not yours. Jesus, you’re burning up.” Blair wadded up the soiled garment and tossed it into the corner for the moment. “Don’t try to get up,” he warned unnecessarily as he went to retrieve a wet wash rag and some Tylenol.

“Losing my mind… wanted to kill Rafe… wanted his blood,” Jim rambled incoherently.

“What?” Blair asked as he bounded back into the room.

“Stop me,” Jim pleaded.

Blair quickly wiped the dried vomit from the side of Jim’s face with the rag before cleaning his hands of the crusty blood hiding between his fingers. “Once isn’t gonna do it, Jim. Let me rinse this.”

“No!” Jim cried.

“I’ll be right back, man. I promise,” Blair swore softly, pressing a hand to Jim’s forehead.

“Blair… run. Don’t want to… hurt…”

“I will. I know you’re hurt. I’ll be right back,” Blair said and trotted to the bathroom to rinse out the rag and get water to wash down the medicine.

“No,” Jim whispered. “Get out. I don’t want to hurt you,” he managed clearly between clenched teeth, using the last of his strength.

“How are your senses?” Blair asked when he dropped back down beside the bed and took in Jim’s pained expression. “Bad, I’m guessing. Listen to me, Jim, dial ‘em back. All of them. Just listen to my voice. There’s nothing but my voice, man. Everything’s gonna be fine…”

It struggled, writhing in agony; unable to control the sensory bombardment. This one had seemed strong and healthy. Initially, it thought that this body would serve well, not that there had been a choice with this one anymore than the last. Quickly it discovered that not only was this one stubborn, but he was afflicted with sensory problems. On one hand he could see and hear and smell more than any host it had ever taken before, but it was unable to control the intensity and had to wait passively for him to reign in the overwhelming sensations, which greatly delayed the process of assimilation.

This was too hard to take. Too much trouble. Too much pain. Just when it decided to take its chances and get out, it heard the sound. Soft. Comforting. Words spoken with such subtle intensity, such compassion. The body reacted to the warmth of the voice. The senses evened out and it jumped at the opportunity to take control while the body still recovered. The stubborn man fought every step of the way, but in the end, he couldn’t escape his fate. It rested; in the morning it would have to feed.

With a sigh of relief Blair watched as his partner’s face slipped into a much more peaceful expression of sleep. The lines of tension smoothed out giving the large man a relatively youthful appearance. He continued his soothing litany only a moment more before rushing to the phone and thanking God once again for speed dial.

“Simon, it’s Blair. What the hell happened?” he asked not even giving the captain a chance to grumble a greeting or possibly reflect on his parentage.

“Is he okay?” Banks managed, sounding drowsy. Instinctively he knew what the call was about. Lots of people accused Ellison of being protective, but Simon had seen more than his share of Sandburg in blessed protector mode.

“No, Simon! He was in a bad way. Sick and messed up and out of his mind. I’m pretty sure his senses were off the wall. What happened today?”

“You mean yesterday. It’s after midnight,” Simon pointed out wearily.

“Whatever,” Sandburg replied in an impatient tone that Simon had never heard before. At least not directed at him.

“Calm down, kid. Let me wake up a little. Is he okay right now?”

“He’s asleep.”

Simon sighed, giving up hope of going back to sleep any time soon himself. “Good. You scared me for a minute. Um, the perp was Patty Simmons. Jim cornered her in an abandoned building and she pushed him out a window.”

“What!”

“Let me finish! Jim was fine. Not a scratch. He didn’t complain about his senses at all. He was just stunned, I swear. If I thought he was hurt I would have made him go to the hospital. I was going to call you, but he wouldn’t let me,” Simon all but whined, then caught himself. “What am I doing? I don’t have to explain my actions to you.”

“Simon, if you’re gonna use my Sentinel I want him back in the same shape I sent him out in,” Blair couldn’t help but tease after he worked the captain into such a state.

“Hold on, Sandburg. Back up. Your Sentinel? MY detective you mean.”

“Don’t get territorial on me.”

“Is there some specific reason you woke me up at… one fifteen in the morning?” Banks growled.

“So you got Simmons?” Blair evaded.

“She didn’t make it. The fall broke her neck.”

“Are you sure she was the one?”

Simon cleared his throat. “Her stomach was full of Laura Amerson’s blood.”

“Oh.”

“Go to bed, Sandburg. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Simon,” Blair said gratefully. “Good night.”

“Take care of my detective.”

“I will.”

“I know.”

Hunger pangs slowly teased blue eyes open. It stretched the body languorously and reveled in the power and strength. Although it could always make do with whatever size host it found, it preferred the large masculine ones. They made trapping prey so much easier, although there was something to be said for feminine wiles as well.

Turning the head into the pillow it smelled strangely familiar blood. It had scented this blood before. Sandburg. Once again the name niggled at its memory. Finding several small red stains on the pillow case, it tasted just to be sure. Oh, yes. The one that got away.

A mass of brown curls spilled over the arm of the couch in the large living area. It allowed the face a feral smile and recalled the sample it had already indulged in. The stomach growled in anticipation as it meticulously searched the surroundings. If it planned carefully, it could enjoy every last drop of the warm, succulent feast that was Sandburg.

Blair felt the cushion dip down as a weight settled next to him, effectively trapping him on the couch. “Jim?” he asked sleepily and cracked open an eye. “What’s wrong?”

“Shh,” the bigger man soothed as he brushed Blair’s hair tenderly away from his neck. He peeled back the sweatshirt to examine the broken skin where the observer had been bitten, running a finger along the discolored area. “I’m sorry.”

“Um, not your fault, man,” Blair said, wide eyed now and a little confused by his partner’s relatively intimate actions. A sudden irrational fear surfaced and Blair felt crowded. He tried to sit up, but Jim easily kept him down with a gentle hand on his chest. Blair cleared his throat and studied Jim’s passive face, but he didn’t try to bolt. “How are you this morning? Everything workin’ okay?” he asked with a combination of worry and bewilderment.

“Yes. Thanks to you. You helped me more than you know,” Jim said in a soft, comforting voice.

“I, um, realize that we’re having a moment here, but I gotta pee,” Blair replied firmly, prying Jim’s restraining hand away.

“Sure.” Jim gave in easily and rose to his feet.

“Yeah, thanks,” Blair muttered in relief and backed a few steps away once he found his footing. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong, Blair decided, but couldn’t quite place the source of his unease.

Jim stood and watched with one hand behind his back. The silent stand off should have come to an end when the phone rang, but neither man moved.

“Ellison? Where are you? You’re late,” Simon’s voice sounded from the answering machine. “Is everything okay? Sandburg?”

Blair broke eye contact and darted for the phone. “Simon, I’m here,” he said, quickly returning his gaze to Jim.

“What the hell’s going on? Is Jim okay?”

“Yeah, he’s… fine. Um, just a little out of it this morning,” Blair assured, unable to voice his concerns with Jim’s eyes boring into him.

“Is he coming to work today or does he need some time? I knew I should have made him go to the hospital last night,” Simon grumbled.

“Tell him I’ll be a little late,” Jim said, obviously listening to the conversation. “I’m just going to get something to eat first.”

“He says he’ll be late,” Blair passed on to Simon.

“He’s already late,” Banks replied gruffly. “Oh, hey, I’ve got some news for you. I’ve got the first results of Patty Simmons’ blood work. Sorry kid, apparently they found some sort of blood borne parasite when they looked at it under the microscope.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Blair asked with concern, forgetting for a minute his current discomfort with his roommate.

“Dan said he’d never seen anything like it before. It might be some type of mutated virus. They’re looking into it. In the meantime, I’ve got Brown checking out Simmons.”

“What am I suppose to do?” Blair asked, once again meeting Jim’s emotionless eyes.

“Blair, listen to me. Don’t panic. Dan says to keep taking your medicine. You’ll need to have more blood drawn to check for antibodies.”

“What good will that do if we don’t even know what it is?”

“Look, he said that it may not even be transferred through saliva. Even if it was, you could develop a natural immunity to it with your own body. It may not cause any problems at all.”

“Yeah, or I could develop blood lust,” Blair pointed out.

“That’s ridiculous,” Simon scoffed. “I wish you’d get this vampire idea out of your head. I’ll check on you later. Tell Jim to get his ass in gear.”

“Okay. Wish I could say thanks and mean it,” Blair sighed. “Bye.”

“Sandburg, you’re going to be fine,” Simon said before he hung up.

“You heard?” Blair asked as he placed the phone back in its cradle.

Jim shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. I thought you had to pee?”

A little stung by Jim’s attitude, Blair shook his head and went into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Henri Brown tapped on the captain’s door and waited patiently for Simon to hang up the phone and motion him in.

“I just talked to Sandburg. Understandably, the kid’s a little freaked,” Banks said, wearily rubbing his eyes. “I wish I could do more to reassure him.”

“Don’t worry, Ellison’ll look after him,” Brown replied confidently.

“Did you find something?” Simon asked as he took the folder Henri held out to him.

“A couple of somethings, actually. I’m just not sure how they fit together.” Brown took a seat and began to explain. “Patty Simmons just blew into town a little over a week ago. The day she started her new job was the same day that her boss disappeared.”

“We already knew all that,” Simon prodded. “We’ve got her cold on both murders plus her attacks on Ellison and Sandburg.”

“Right. I traced her back to a small town in North Carolina where she worked as a lab tech for the last three years. Her record was clean. Not so much as a traffic ticket. Before we caught her, my erstwhile partner had done a search on the FBI’s serial killer database. He found the exact same MO with nine victims over a four week period in the town where she lived.”

“Why didn’t Rafe mention this earlier?”

“Because they had already caught their perp. Shot him dead just last week.”

“But you think it was Simmons?”

“Couldn’t have been,” Brown argued. “She was in town here, applying for a job at Cascade General and making arrangements for her move during the time of the first two murders there.”

“So other than living in the same area as the other killer, what’s the connection?”

“I couldn’t find one.”

Blair took care of business and then washed his hands, staring intently into the mirror. He didn’t look sick, and he felt fine now. Just as he pulled at the neck of the sweatshirt Jim opened the bathroom door and came in to stand behind him.

“I’m sorry, did you knock?” Blair asked, irritation that Jim had disregarded his privacy overcoming his worry for the moment. He caught a flash of light on metal too late to avoid Jim’s lunge and crashed to the floor as his feet were swept out from under him. A startled grunt escaped him as Jim dropped down on him and caught his arm in a crushing grip. Blair’s struggle was lost in his disbelief and he quickly found one hand cuffed to the pipe under the sink.

“What the hell are you doing, man!” Blair managed to scream with the little air left in his lungs. Jim moved away and Blair kicked himself back into the space between the toilet and the sink as far away from Jim as he could get while tethered to the pipe. He stared in horror, panting for breath as Jim reached into the linen closet and pulled out a hunting knife.

“Jim. Please, don’t do this. You’re not yourself, man. Let me help you,” Blair tried to sound reasonable, though his voice trembled. “You don’t want to hurt me.”

“I need nourishment,” Jim said simply. “If you sit still and don’t waste anything, you’ll live longer.”

“God, this isn’t happening,” Blair exclaimed. “Okay, man. Joke’s over. Let me go.”

“It’s no joke, Chief,” Jim said with an empty smile. “That is what this one calls you, correct?”

“This one?” Blair asked, the reality of his situation not yet sinking in.

Jim grabbed him by an ankle and dragged him out from under the sink, straddling his body. He grasped Blair’s free arm in one hand and held the knife in the other.

Blair fought his panic and became very still. He eased his hand away, surprised that Jim allowed it. Holding his breath, he reached his hand for Jim’s face, maintaining eye contact the whole time. Jim’s skin was hot and flushed and his eyes were void of any emotion. Slowly Blair became aware of the same evil that he’d felt when Patty had cornered him in the lab. He jerked his hand away in abject terror.

“What the hell are you?” he stammered.

“I am a visitor. I require this body for mobility and interaction with your environment. I need sustenance at this time.”

With renewed panic Blair squirmed and bucked until a large hand tightly cuffed around his windpipe forced him into submission. “This one wants you to cooperate so you do not endure more pain than is necessary.”

Staring with horror into the inhuman eyes, Blair found no trace of his friend. “You’re lying,” he spat out, barely able to get air past his constricted vocal cords. “I know Jim. He wants me to kick your ass!”

The monster stopped and gaped for a minute, releasing Sandburg’s throat. “You accept what I am?”

“I know that you’re not Jim Ellison,” Blair breathed harshly, thankful for the increase in oxygen. “But that doesn’t really help me, does it?”

“Just let me take what I need now. Maybe I’ll spare you.”

“Liar,” Blair hissed. “I’d rather go out fighting than just give you my blood if I’m going to die anyway.”

“If you do not survive, who will help your friend?” the monster baited in Jim’s voice.

Jim railed against the creature that possessed all but his psyche. He had been unaware of the gradual process of assimilation until it was too late, thinking all along that he was losing his mind. In fact, his brain was the last thing to go and he wondered how long he’d be able to hold even that. Although he was trapped and impotent to help, he had a front row seat to the attack on his partner.

Inwardly he screamed and taunted the entity, trying for some type of confrontation. For the most part, it ignored him, paying only enough attention to raid his memory for ammunition with which to pacify Blair long enough to bleed him dry. While it knew him, Jim realized that he also knew of it; privy to its thoughts and lack of feelings. He’d never experienced anything like the cold, emotionless emptiness that surrounded him.

“Fight, Chief,” Jim begged within the prison of his mind. “Don’t let it use me against you!”

He tried to force his senses, hoping for a zone-out or a sensory spike, but the being had paid close attention to Sandburg’s ministration the night before and had better control of them than he ever had. It had a lot of experience controlling things. It adapted well.

The first cut was to the sweatshirt. Blair gritted his teeth, but couldn’t tear his eyes away as Jim’s hands worked smoothly to split the sleeve all the way up. He had been allowed to sit up after promising not to fight, but he remained anchored to the sink.

“This is going to hurt. Don’t move.”

“Just get it over with,” Blair complained, finding the anticipation of the cut painful in its own way. He wrapped his cuffed hand tightly around the pipe in an effort to stave off the trembling of his body and prepare himself not to jump. The blade was very sharp and at first all he felt was pressure as the tip was lowered to the inside of his wrist. Then as the skin parted and welled with crimson, it began to sting. He let out a low hiss and felt vaguely nauseous as the newly created trench began to overflow.

Feeling somehow removed and far-away, he watched in a sickened daze as Jim’s head bowed almost reverently to the laceration. He held onto a single chord of disbelief right up until Jim’s mouth molded to his flesh and began to gently suckle the wound. Mortified, he turned his head away with tightly clenched eyes and willed himself somewhere else; willed Jim somewhere else, too.

He briefly wondered if Jim was still in there somewhere. The thought that he was not wracked Blair’s body with an involuntary shudder. The grasp on his wrist tightened in protest of the movement, but Blair refused to look. In his mind he tried to re-write the syllabus for the new semester that would begin in another week. When that failed to keep reality at bay he tried to think about Jim’s last big case. Unfortunately, that brought him back to McAllister. And Patty.

After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality couldn’t have been more than seven or eight minutes, the hungry mouth slowed and was soon replaced by an intense pressure on top of the wound. Blair forced himself to look and wished immediately that he hadn’t. Jim’s face stared back at him with a smear of blood on his chin and a sated expression. His eyes were black as night, the pupils fully dilated.

Blair sat in stunned silence as the creature carefully cleaned and bandaged the deep cut using Jim’s handy first aid kit. Finally the ordeal was over and it moved to rise, pausing for a minute to touch Blair’s face in apparent fascination. Blair flinched and was surprised to see that the fingers were wet as it pulled Jim’s hand away. First it sniffed and then tasted the moisture before moving away, turning off the light and closing the door.

Feeling violated and strangely ashamed, Blair hugged his injured arm to his chest. “Tears for dessert,” he mumbled into the dark.

Counter point to the cool indifference that had taken up residence first in his blood, then cell by cell, the rest of his body, Jim was livid. Rage, despair, shock, grief, and absolute horror battled for center stage. All of which the entity ignored; apparently not having a frame of reference for the intensity of the emotions.

“So sorry, Chief. I’m so damned sorry,” Jim repeated over and over in his head as his body walked away and turned out the light on his friend. As the monster closed the door, Jim hung onto the picture in his mind of Blair huddled under the sink. He took comfort in the knowledge that Blair had already uncovered the truth. Once again, he was thankful for his partner’s keen intellect and open mind. Mentally at least, Blair knew that he wasn’t really the one who had hurt him.

Jim’s fear that the invader would take over his brain as well as his body slowly began to dissipate. He came to realize as it probed his mind time and again for information that it needed him. Without his brain intact, it couldn’t maintain the charade of normalcy. In order for it to be Jim Ellison, it needed access to the real McCoy. When it opened the door between them there were snatches of opportunity to do a little investigating of his own. The next time it pushed in to read his knowledge, Jim vowed to push back.

It settled them on the couch and systematically began to categorize and sort Jim’s life, taking what it thought pertinent, discarding the rest. Although having his mind rifled through like a filing cabinet was disconcerting to say the least, it gave Jim the opportunity he’d been waiting for. Taking a chapter from the creature’s own book, he ignored its assault on his memories and opened himself to its consciousness.

Immediately, he found Patty. Or what was left of her. The residual imprint of her life remained as a part of the creature. Jim was stung by the fear and bewilderment of the acts she had committed while under its control. He realized that she had been every bit as much a victim as McAllister or Sandburg, or himself for that matter. Behind Patty was Robert, although much fainter, but his enduring love for his wife and children remained. Then there was Paulo, then Eric, then Marie.

Jim found host after host, each progressively less clear than the one preceding it as he worked his way backwards through the being’s psyche. They were computer programmers and TV repair men and bus drivers; an array of professions and lifestyles. It lived and worked as its hosts until it used each of them up in turn and moved on. Surprisingly, for its long history, it had only recently developed a taste for human blood. Before it had been content to dine on small animals, but it had become bored. People provided a much more interesting hunt. It had become arrogant and careless, leading to the death of Robert and subsequent flight into Patty.

Finally, Jim understood. For all of its human contact, it remained utterly removed from mankind. It neither had, nor understood the passions of its host species; it loathed them for what it considered their weakness. For the most part, it ignored Jim’s emotions because it couldn’t relate to them. But it could read his thoughts while it was rummaging through his brain. Jim buried his discoveries in hate and aversion. He would have to plan later when it was safe to think.

Within a few short minutes of its forcible entry into his brain, it had what it felt it needed to function as a police detective. Armed with this information, it set off to get ready for work.

Blair jumped and held his breath when the door opened. Surely it wasn’t time to feed again already. He reflexively scooted himself as far back as he could and coiled up tightly. Much to his relief, it just opened the medicine cabinet and prepared to shave Jim’s face. Blair slowly released the air from his lungs and tried to calm his shattered nerves. Keeping his head down, he listened as it went flawlessly through Jim’s morning rituals, including a shower.

“Where are you going?” Blair couldn’t help but ask as it dried off.

It wrapped a towel around Jim’s waist and walked out, not sparing even a glance in Blair’s direction. This time it left the door open and the light on. It returned in a few minutes with a box and proceeded to remove everything from the bathroom that could in any way be used as a weapon.

Blair chastised himself for not taking the opportunity to grab a razor earlier. The truth was, he was simply too traumatized and hadn’t been thinking. That mistake, he realized, could conceivably cost him, and Jim, their lives.

It handed him the cup from the sink. “Drink plenty of water today. You need to compensate for the blood loss.”

“Right,” Blair muttered. “Wouldn’t want to die too soon and deprive you of a meal.”

“Yes,” it answered as it left, once again turning off the light and shutting the door.

After a minute, Blair heard the television come on in the living room. The volume was a little loud, but nothing to call the police about. It would effectively keep any stray neighbor or deliveryman from hearing cries for help. Blair rested his head on his knees and tried to think. He knew the blood loss had not been that great. In fact, he felt no ill effects at all, other than the repulsion of having watched his best friend enjoy the meal of which he was the main and only course. Absently, he wondered just how long he could hold out before he succumbed to the gradual blood letting.

It briefly scanned the room, getting its bearings and cross referencing faces and names that it had pulled from Ellison’s memories. Some of the humans it recognized, others it didn’t, but that was okay. The bullpen, as Ellison thought of it, was a busy place. There were bound to be people in and out that Ellison had never met.

Usually, it tried to select hosts with background-type jobs or ones who held themselves apart from society. This made it much easier to move within the human social structure unnoticed. Depression and isolation were most useful in a host and it came close to actually understanding these feelings. Unfortunately, the last two hosts had been taken in haste and not with the usual care. Patty had fit the emotional profile, but not the physical one. It had simply made do with her until it could find something better, taking no special care with the body.

Ellison, although also taken on the fly, was the opposite of Patty. He was strong willed and held a high profile, people oriented job. Physically however, he was strong, agile, and in perfect health. Then there were the extra sensory benefits, now that it knew how to use them, a very welcome bonus. Although already blessed with a strong sense of smell, it found the other enhancements to be useful tools as well. They would make the extra effort worth the trouble.

It was nice to have a warm meal waiting at home. This gave it the freedom to experience the job without worrying about feeding. Sandburg had indeed proved to be a tasty choice, but hardly a challenge. That one had given up almost without a fight due to a few incomprehensible emotions. It couldn’t wait to try a real hunt with Ellison’s abilities up and running.

Sitting down at the desk it knew to be Ellison’s, it distractedly perused a stack of papers in an attempt to appear to be busy. It decided to keep a low profile for a few hours, check things out, and then head back to the loft to indulge in another snack. The larger body would have to be feed more frequently, and possibly be supplemented with human food to maintain its bulk.

“Ellison,” a large black man called from across the room.

Captain; Banks, Simon; boss, friend… the variety of roles in Ellison’s life would make this one especially hard to deal with. He would avoid him in the future.

“Sir?”

“So nice of you to finally join us. Why don’t you step into my office?”

It recognized the sarcasm and lowered the papers. Boss, i.e. supervisor. It did a hasty review of interactions with Captain; Banks, Simon, to come up with an appropriate response. The memories of this one mixed heavily with Sandburg, whom he had already disregarded, thinking of him as inconsequential since he wouldn’t be coming back.

“That wasn’t a request,” the large man boomed before retreating back through the door.

Boss. “Sorry I’m late,” it offered hesitantly as it entered the office.

“Everything all right? I know Sandburg was fit to be tied last night,” Banks replied as he hefted a pot of coffee in a wordless question.

“Everything is fine,” it answered, missing the offer of coffee completely.

Banks replaced the pot and sat down with a worried frown taking shape on his face.

“Where’s the kid? I thought classes didn’t start back until next week? I’m surprised he let you out of his sight today.”

It quickly cross referenced Ellison with children but found nothing pertinent. “I’m sorry?” it asked, at a complete loss.

Banks openly stared now and it knew it had made a grave error of some kind. “Sandburg,” Banks clarified carefully. “Are you sure you’re okay? Is something going on with you and Blair?”

Friend. It smiled unconvincingly. “He’s sick, that’s all.”

“He sounded fine on the phone this morning,” Banks argued suspiciously.

“He has a fever. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t drag him down to the ER. Hell, after what happened, maybe you should get him to a doctor.”

“He’s fine,” it insisted, realizing that the situation might get out of hand. It calculated the odds of disposing of Banks, knowing that the big man would be a worthy adversary. The smell of nicotine made his blood unappetizing, but maybe he would hunt him for sport.

A knock on the door broke through the sudden tension and Detective; Brown, Henri poked his head in. “I’ve got something you should see.”

It saw its chance and headed quickly for the door. “Excuse me,” it said.

“Jim, this has to do with the Simmons case,” Brown supplied and held up a file.

“That case is closed,” it replied curtly and made its escape, passing straight through the bullpen and disappearing into an elevator.

Blair grunted in frustration and kicked out at the toilet angrily, catching the seat accidentally and sending it to crash against the wall. He had made his wrist bleed again while struggling to unscrew the pipe that he was cuffed to with his bare hands. Fat chance. With Ellison in plumber mode less than a month ago, the pipes were way beyond mere mortal strength. Blair was sure the whole building would come down before the pipe did.

He sagged against the wall in defeat amidst the ruin that had been the bathroom. Jim was going to kill him, he thought absently as he looked around before he realized the truth in the statement. Jim was going to kill him. Or rather the monster, creature, spaceman… whatever it was that possessed Jim’s body. And as he’d been informed only hours ago, if he died there would be no one to save Jim from what was sure to be a hellish existence, if in fact Jim still existed at all.

Repositioning himself, he br