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Kimikara's Revenge      
by Kikkimax
 

"... further more, the conference table is ruined," Chancellor Edwards scolded loudly. "There are holes burned into the table and the rug, tears in the wallpaper and upholstery, not to mention six plate glass windows completely shattered. The fire alarm system was rendered inoperable..."

"We couldn't very well have a fire if the sprinklers were going to come on..." Blair started and then quickly shut his mouth at the glower from the overly excited Chancellor.

"And you, Mr. Sandburg, I understand that you were stumbling drunk, standing on the table in a loin cloth when the police arrived."

"I'm never going to live down that loin cloth, man," Blair muttered to Jerry, who only grinned.

"The odor of alcohol in the room, according to the security report, was overwhelming. Dr. Strohl, I expected better of you. I know your reputation, but you are a tenured member of this university, and as much as I'd like to lay this off on our young friend here, I have to place some of the blame on you," Edwards warned.

"Agatha," Jerry began, hiding his amusement. "That room was well overdue for a face lift anyway. What we had was an unprecedented gathering of alumni in an experiment that proved vitally important to our field of study. If it got a little out of hand..."

"A little? Power went out for a six block radius around the University."

"Mrs. Theresa Tate has generously offered to completely refurbish the room. She owns a design firm, and she, as well as her daughter Lizbeth Tate-Wallace, was in attendance at our little pow wow. Now, if you don't want the room redone, then I suggest you go ahead and press charges against everyone who was there, including, I might add, a highly decorated officer of the law."

Blair played with his shoelace on his sneaker that rested across his knee, and tried hard not to smile, succeeding only partially. Jerry had immediately jumped to his defense when the Chancellor had ordered him into her office. It looked like everything was going to work out. Now if he could just get to the police photos before they got around the station...

A mother drove silently to the patch of terra firma where her only son was laid to rest less than a week ago. She thought that her agony was complete, that her soul wrenching pain could not be worsened by any act of God or man, until she came to stand at the place where she had bequeathed unto the earth her child. With a gasp she sank to her knees in the soft mud, holding on to the tombstone that rested at the edge of the gaping void that should have been Jeff's resting place. The tattered coffin lay open at the bottom of the hole, the body of her beloved... gone.

"How'd it go, Chief?" Jim asked looking up from his desk.

"Brutal." Blair shuddered for effect. "But the Chancellor has graciously agreed not to have any of us sent to jail."

"That's good," Jim grinned, looking over Blair's shoulder at the blow up of one of the crime scene photos that mysteriously showed up on the bulletin board that morning.

"Yeah, but I'm on probation. Again." Blair slumped into a chair and dropped his backpack. "What?" he asked suspiciously when Jim's smile didn't fade at the bad news. He turned to follow his friend's gaze to the centerfold size picture hanging behind Brown's desk. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes," Jim nodded and zoomed in on his partner's near naked image. "At least they got your good side," he tormented.

The picture was a three-quarter posterior view with Blair looking over his shoulder directly at the camera, with everyone else cropped out of it. His eyes were slightly glazed, presumably from the smoke, or maybe the tequila, and his lips were turned down in a petulant pout. Don't you dare take that picture, it screamed. The paint on his back was slightly smudged and his hair was windblown and wild.

Blair groaned. "Who did that?" he asked

"I'll give you three guesses," Jim said.

"Let's see, Brown, Taggert, and Rafe."

"Got it in one," Jim smiled again. "Where are you going?" he asked as Blair started to his feet.

"To take it down," Blair supplied wearily.

"Won't do any good," Jim informed him. "I have it on good authority that they have more than one copy. Uh, it's posted in several places in the building. If you make a big deal out of it they'll never stop."

"So what am I suppose to do?" Blair asked grumpily.

"Shut your pie hole, let them have their fun, and get over it," Jim advised sagely.

"Easy for you to say. I can't even explain to people what really happened. No one would believe me."

"I believe you," Jim said sincerely.

Little remained of the fingertips of the dead one, Kimikara had used them to push, pull, and claw his way to the surface. His spirit filled the empty vessel and it moved as he commanded it to move, but it wasn't life. It was a distorted, profane imitation of life that held no warmth or comfort. The body had been embalmed and cosmetically repaired, but it wasn't meant for further use. The senses were disconnected by death, luckily for Kimikara, as the damage would have been too painful to bear. In his one last use of the power he had held in life and as a spirit, he had foolishly forged his being into the corpse. Now it would be his forever. A monumental mistake. One he would regret throughout time. Instead of living in a healthy, supple body, he shuffled along in a dead shell.

He was drawn to the spirit of the one who had destroyed his plans. Once before he had visited it, in fact had come to claim its body for his own. He had touched that spirit and was surprised by its strength and light. Following an unerring instinct, he proceeded slowly towards the place where he had first made contact. If the bright one was not there, he soon would be, for that place was his center, and Kimikara would wait for his return. He crept along in the shadows, dragging the leg that didn't bend behind him. It was just as well he couldn't see. He wouldn't have understood the complexities of this new world around him. He slipped into a crevice and followed along the tunnel, unaware of the stench. And the world above him never slowed or stopped to acknowledge that something was amiss in the darkness below the streets in the sewer.

Blair wandered into the break room to find some coffee and to escape the hushed whispers and startled looks he had endured stoically all afternoon. Not to mention the out and out teasing, whistling and cat calls. He stopped just inside the door when he realized there was another copy of the picture hanging on the wall in the small room. Megan and Rhonda stood in front of it with admiration clearly written on their faces.

"I had no idea," Rhonda said, unaware that Blair stood behind her.

"Oh, I knew," Megan said. "You can see it when he wears that one pair of faded jeans." She traced a finger along the flexed glutteal muscle in the picture.

"I'll have to pay a little more attention," Rhonda sighed dreamily.

"I think I'll take this one home with me," Megan schemed. Blair backed out of the room quietly before she looked around to make sure no one saw her take the picture. He hadn't considered how a woman might react to the picture. He'd been outside a club one night when a group of male strippers had come to town. The women went nuts, and the men really didn't strip all the way. An idea popped into his head.

Blair walked back to Jim's desk with a savage grin on his face. "I thought you were going for coffee," Jim said, looking up.

"Whatever. Listen... did you say the picture is up all over the building?"

"Yeah," Jim answered slowly, narrowing his eyes at his partner's tone. Blair was definitely up to something.

"What about the transcription office? Is there one there?"

"I don't know."

"And you think they're going to replace the picture every time I take one down?"

Jim nodded. "That's the plan as I understand it."

"Cool. Okay, I'll be back." Blair wandered around behind Brown as he worked at his desk and brazenly helped himself to the photo on the bulletin board. Brown stared at him for a second with a huge grin before making a big show of replacing the picture with another from his filing cabinet. Blair stopped in the door and gave him a gleeful smile in return as he headed for the elevator.

Brown's grin faded fast. He dropped what he was doing and shot over to Ellison's desk. "What's he up to Jim?" he asked abruptly.

"I don't know, H," Jim answered honestly. "He said something about the transcription office and asked about the rest of the pictures."

"He's not suppose to enjoy this," Brown grumbled as he gathered a handful of the pictures to follow the observer. He had to step around the mountain of a man that was headed towards Jim, giving him a double take as he went. The guy looked awfully familiar.

The large biker planted himself in a chair at Ellison's desk. "Jimmy," he said gruffly and offered his hand with a grin.

"Hey, Jerry," Jim said reaching over the desk to shake the man's hand with a smile of his own. He had heard a lot about the man recently, and found that he was starting to really like him. Jerry made him stop and think about the part of Blair's life he only ventured into superficially.

"How are you?" Dr. Strohl asked. "Getting over the excitement yet?"

"Trying to," Jim grinned, rubbing the still tender spot on the back of his head.

"So, where is the little shit? I thought he was coming here this afternoon."

"He's on an errand," Jim supplied vaguely. "He said he'd be back when he was done. What's up?"

"I don't know. He just seemed spooked this morning. I wanted to check on him."

"Well, Chancellor Edwards is kind of scary," Jim deadpanned.

Jerry nodded absently. "I'm worried," he said after a few seconds of uneasy silence.

"He seemed fine to me," Jim offered to ease the man's mind. He had seemed okay, hadn't he? There really wasn't anything to worry about. Blair had had that look in his eyes before after a traumatic event, and it always went away, after a while. Sandburg was tough.

"No offense, Jim. But I think I know him better than you do."

"What?" Jim asked in disbelief, drawing his thoughts back to the conversation.

"You've known him what? Two years?"

"Three," Jim corrected defensively, wondering why he was even arguing about it. He knew Blair better than anybody. He did. Didn't he?

"I've known him for eleven years. I practically watched the kid grow up. You think he's bad now, you should have seen him at eighteen. A walking hormone, I'm telling you. It's a wonder he ever got his BA, not to mention his Masters," Jerry said. "Most college kids with IQs like his are pale, friendless virgins. Not our boy though. He has that passion for life, you know? Only now..."

"He's been through a lot the last couple of years," Jim said. Hanging out with me, he added with a mental grimace.

"Look, I've nursed him through hangovers and broken hearts. I've picked up the pieces when Naomi has disappointed him, more times than I care to remember," Jerry continued. "He's the baby brother I never had."

"Where have you been lately?" Jim asked.

"I've been around. We still see each other frequently. I'm surprised you don't know that. For a while I even thought that maybe you were that elusive dream he chased for so long."

"What dream?"

"He was looking for a Sentinel. I don't suppose you even know what that is. Do you?"

"A what?" Jim asked and looked away, feeling the slightest bit ashamed.

"Who's that at Ellison's desk?" Banks asked Rafe as he came out of his office. "Shouldn't he be in cuffs?"

Rafe glanced up and shook his head. "No sir, that's Sandburg's friend from Rainier," he said. "We met him when we went to lunch last week. He's a nice guy."

"Are you sure?" Simon asked again. "Look at the vein on Jim's forehead. He looks like he's about to pop his cork."

After he posted a picture in transcription, incidentally where the girls in the secretarial pool usually hung out during their breaks, Blair took the building floor by floor, redistributing the photos as he saw fit, to the areas of highest female populations. He was aware that Brown followed him at a distance, replacing the ones he took down. Several times he was stopped by women in the hall and asked about the photo. After he explained, with his own special version of events, a couple of women requested copies, which he happily procured for them, signing them like a celebrity.

Brown stormed into the bullpen. He yanked open his filing cabinet and pulled out the remaining photos and tossed them into the trash before slumping into his chair.

"What are you doing, H?" Rafe asked covering the phone with one hand so the person on the other end couldn't hear him. "We went to a lot of trouble to make all of those copies."

"He thinks he's a friggin' Playgirl playmate," Henri answered sourly. "The pictures are disappearing faster than I can replace them. He's signing them for Pete's sake."

Rafe turned back to the phone holding a hand up to quiet his partner. "No ma'am, we still haven't found the body" he said into the receiver. "Yes ma'am, we're doing everything we can."

Blair bounced in the door and smiled smugly at Brown. "Oh great," he said as he fished the handful of pictures out of the trash can. "I need some more of these."

"For what?" Rafe asked as he hung up the phone.

Blair only grinned at him as he headed for Jim's desk.

"I give up, Hairboy," Brown swore defeatedly under his breath. "You win." Across the room, Ellison burst out laughing.

"You about ready to go?" Blair asked as he dropped into a chair next to Jim, unaware that Brown had just thrown in the towel.

"Yeah, I think so. Did you do all the damage you can for now?" Jim asked with a mock scowl.

"Hey, I was just defending myself," Blair claimed slyly. "Take all the fun out of it and they'll take their toys and go home every time."

Jim shook his head. "Oh, Jerry came by while you were off messing with Brown's head."

"He came here? He hates police...er...the police station."

"Yeah, he came here. He said he was worried about you. I told him you were fine. Was I wrong?" Jim asked as he eyed his partner carefully.

"No. I'm okay," Blair shrugged. "It's just been weird, ya know?"

"I know."

"What else did you two talk about?" Blair asked, suddenly suspicious.

Jim puckered his lips thoughtfully for a second then shrugged himself. "Nothing," he said.

"You're a terrible liar, man," Blair accused. "What did he tell you about me?"

"He said that you were a walking hormone when you were younger. I told him you still are," Jim smiled.

"Like he has any room to talk," Blair grumbled. "He's got two ten year old daughters."

"So?"

"So, they're not twins."

"Huh? Oh," Jim said with a nod. The man didn't exactly impress him as father material. Funny how his opinion of the man had changed. "He thinks he knows you better than I do," Jim blurted out as his mind wandered back to his conversation with Strohl.

Blair glanced at Jim with an unreadable expression and started to gather his things, but didn't offer a comment one way or the other.

"Blair?" Jim asked, unnerved by the silence. "Do you think that Jerry knows you better than I do?"

"Do we have to talk about this here?" Blair asked, looking around.

"You do, don't you?"

"I don't know. In some ways, I guess. I mean I've known the guy since I was eighteen. I've spent a lot of all nighters talking with Jerry. He knows a lot of personal stuff about me. Like he knows that I'm afraid of heights..."

"I know that you're afraid of heights," Jim interrupted.

"Yeah, but Jerry knows why. He knows my deep, fundamental beliefs. He's even read my Master's thesis, Jim. But the day to day stuff, I'm sure you know me much better than he does."

"He knows how you feel about God, and I know what you like for dinner. That's what you're saying," Jim said shortly.

"So tonight do you want to go home and talk about metaphysical stuff or watch the Jags game?" Blair asked with an evil grin.

Jim allowed a contrite smile. "Okay. Good point. Listen, I have to make a stop at the grocery store on the way home. Why don't you call for some Chinese when you get there and we can eat it while we watch the game."

He was close now. So close he could almost feel the light. He pushed away the large flat piece of metal and crawled out into the street, making his way to the alley and back into the shadows.

Blair's nose twitched as he picked up the smell of rotten meat by the dumpster. And another odd but strangely familiar chemical smell. Formaldehyde maybe? Why don't they ever clean those things? he wondered as he locked the car and started for the building. He hated parking here, but tonight there wasn't a spot closer to the door. 

There was a sudden clatter behind him and he spun on his heel. "Who's there?" he asked. The growing dusk made it hard to see, but he was pretty sure there wasn't any one around the trash. There was no more noise, and nothing moved as he stood silently waiting for several minutes. He hurried to the door and rushed inside, taking the steps two at a time to the second floor where he stopped and glanced back down. "Get a grip, Sandburg," he told himself with a nervous laugh and continued up to the third floor.

Entering the loft, he shrugged off his jacket and tossed the keys into the basket. As an afterthought, he turned and locked the door, even though he knew that Jim wasn't far behind. He felt a little jumpy, although he couldn't put his finger on anything in particular to make him feel that way. It was just the stress of the last couple of days, he told himself.

Of course, Brown and Rafe were out to get him now. Taggert had been more forgiving, taking the failure of the joke in stride, even laughing about it. Blair reasoned that he would have had to deal with the embarrassment of the picture anyway. The damage was already done. And he would still be listening to cat calls for a long time to come. All he had really done was to steal the guys' thunder. He acted like it didn't bother him and turned the situation to his own best interest. Plus, he got a couple of phone numbers out of the deal. And that's what really got Brown's goat. Jim thought the whole thing was hilarious and actually hadn't taken any one side in the matter. Secretly, Blair just knew he'd been on his side the whole time.

Blair dug around in the junk drawer for the menu Jim kept there, but couldn't find it. He thought he'd just wait until Jim got home to call anyway. Suddenly he wasn't so hungry. The awful smell in the alley had stuck with him, and truthfully had started to turn his stomach. If he didn't know better, he would swear he could still smell it. In fact it seemed to be getting stronger...

Kimikara dragged one foot and then the other slowly up one step at a time, drawn ever closer to the spirit that called to him, leaving a dark ooze of sewer water in his wake. At long last he reached his goal, the bright soul waited on the other side of a simple vertical barrier. His only objective now was to extinguish the light. Raising the hands of the dead one he rapped against the obstruction, bone against wood.

A strange tapping noise came from the hall. Visualizing his partner with an armload of groceries, Blair swiftly moved to open the door, snagging the ringing telephone on his way. "Hello," he said as he swung the door open. Dropping the phone with a startled gasp he stumbled back, then recovered enough to rush the door to try and close it. He felt the crunch of one of the bones in the forearm that reached in just as he slammed the door. The skinless fingers continued to reach for him as Blair pushed against the door with all his might, never taking his eyes off of the mangled hand.

With a sudden, brutal force the door was pushed open, knocking Blair onto his butt. He scrambled backwards on the floor as the spectacle crept towards him. The expensive suit was muddied and torn, the white face grotesque, but eerily familiar. Once tan, the all American boy was now colored the pallor of death. Blonde tufts of hair were torn from the head, blue eyes now sightless and dead. The whole head seemed strangely puffy and swollen, the athletic body now wasted as rigor mortis had set in and subsequently passed.

Blair fought the urge to puke as the abomination staggered closer to him. Desperately he tried to find the breath to scream or the will to run. Paralyzed by fear and morbid fascination, he found himself glued to the floor. Flies buzzed around the walking corpse and occasionally as it moved something squiggly would pop out of any convenient opening and spill out onto the floor. Closer and closer it came, clumsily knocking the phone out of its path unknowingly. It reached for him with it's now crooked arm and Blair only gaped back in horror. Until it touched him. As a bony finger grazed his cheek, Blair's fight or flight instinct kicked in. Raising his feet, he kicked the thing high in the thighs with adrenaline laced strength, knocking it down, with a sickening wet sound as it hit the floor. Blair rolled away and unthinking in his panic, bolted for the balcony instead of the back door.

Struggling for breath, he climbed over the rail and lowered himself until he was hanging at floor level by his arms. Without a thought for height or possible injury he dropped himself to the ground, rolling into a controlled fall as he hit. Getting back to his feet he stumbled backwards, heedless of the pain in his knee, and ran out into the street, right into the path of a group of motorcycles.

"Are you crazy?" one of the men shouted, barely able to stop and keep his bike upright without hitting the pedestrian. The other men stopped menacingly all around him. Blair never acknowledged them, staring up at the balcony as a silhouette appeared at the rail.

"Hey, I know him," another of the bikers stated. "That's Jerry's friend from the university." As a unit, the group turned to follow the anthropologist's strickened gaze and watched as a figure tumbled over the rail to the ground. Slowly it raised itself up and dragged its battered body towards them.

As it stumbled into the illumination of the street light, they all got a real good look at it. "Get on!" the first man shouted. Somehow Blair understood and threw a leg over the back of the bike and held on for dear life as they sped away into the night.

After tasting the terror of his opponent, Kimikara was primed for his attack. The fear pulled at him stronger even than the light. He could feel it. It was the only thing he could feel. It became a part of him. He used it to propel the damaged body along the pavement where his prey had been swept away.

Jim couldn't remember if they had any soy sauce in the cabinet or not. The Chinese place never sent enough, and even though Blair harped about the sodium content, he always got his fair share of the stuff. Sandburg had answered the phone, then made a strangled noise and dropped it. Jim stood in the aisle at the supermarket and dialed and redialed the number, but the answering machine picked up every time. Worry threatened to turn to panic with each ring of the phone. Racing out of the store, he set his half-full hand basket on the counter in the middle of an older woman's purchases. 

"Hey," she yelled after him. "Brute."

When Jim reached the loft, the front door was open. He stepped over the slimy trail he had followed all the way up the stairs. The putrid odor stung his nose and burned in his lungs, even though he had his smell dial all the way down. 

"Sandburg," he shouted as he entered the apartment with his gun drawn. His hearing told him that Blair was not inside. He picked up the phone from the floor, stepping around a puddle of the smelly muck. The balcony doors were open, and something wriggling on the floor in front of them caught his eye. He made a mental note to scrub the hell out of the whole loft later as he shut the doors. When the phone in his hand rang, he jumped. "Ellison," he barked into the receiver.

"Jim, thank God! It's Jerry."

"Can't talk now. I have to find Blair," Jim said and moved to shut off the phone.

"I have him. You need to come now. 1224 West Harlan."

"I'm on my way."

The address sounded familiar and as he pulled into the parking lot, Jim knew why. It was Tweetie's, the worst biker bar in Cascade, in spite of the name. More stabbings and shootings took place here than any other bar in the city. And that was just the usual crowd having a good time. Jerry must be out of his mind to bring Blair here, Jim thought. The kind of people who hang out here would have the kid for lunch. Jim sighed, checked his weapon, and locked up the truck before heading towards the establishment. The seeming quietness of the place was incongruent with the number of motorcycles in and around the parking lot. When Jim reached the door he was greeted by three big, ugly biker-types.

"That's him," one of them told the others as Jim approached. Taking a second look, Jim realized he had seen the man the first time he met Strohl. "Jerry's waiting for you upstairs," the man said. The others parted to let him pass.

Less than a dozen men sat around downstairs quietly talking and drinking. There wasn't any music and the atmosphere seemed charged somehow. As Jim entered the room, it fell silent. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn the men were scared. Several of them turned to look at him as he moved through the room. A bald man with tattoos on his head stood at the foot of the stairs. He popped open a beer and tried to hand it to Jim.

"You're gonna need this, pig," he said, not unkindly.

"No thanks." Jim brushed past him and headed up the steps.

"Suit yourself," the man said and took a long pull off it himself.

Jim trotted up the stairs quickly when he located Jerry's hushed voice and Blair's rapid heart rate. He pushed open the correct door at the end of the hall to reveal an office. Jerry hung up the phone and rose from a chair behind the desk and looked back into the corner. "Blair, Jim's here."

Jim followed his gaze and spotted Sandburg in the corner on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. A half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels was clutched tightly in one of his hands. Blair looked up at Jim, not really seeing him, and took a swig out of the bottle. His eyes were unfocused, but Jim didn't think it was just the alcohol. It was fear in the purest, most primal form.

"Chief?" What happened?" Jim asked as he knelt in front of his Guide.

Blair looked blankly at Jerry and then back at Jim before taking another hit of the JD and began to rock back and forth slightly. He directed his eyes at the floor.

"I've never seen him this way, not frightened like this. Even a couple of times when he should have been," Jerry sighed. "The guys that picked him up said they saw him jump off a balcony. He won't let me get close enough to see if he's hurt."

Jim moved in without giving his Guide a chance to protest and raised Blair's chin with one hand, but Blair wouldn't make eye contact. Prying the bottle out of his hand Jim turned and set it on the desk. "What did he say happened?" he asked Jerry.

"He hasn't said a word since he got here," Jerry supplied worriedly. A mute Sandburg was a serious thing.

Jim slapped Blair gently on the cheek. "Snap out of it, buddy. Come on." He hit him a little harder the second time. The third time he smacked him good. Blair snapped his head back to glare at him. "That's it, Chief. First tell me if you're hurt," Jim instructed.

Blair shook his head, and pushed away Jim's diagnostic hand.

"Tell me what happened at the loft," Jim said as he continued to probe his uncooperative partner's arms and legs, looking for injuries.

Blair swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "It was Jeff Miller," he choked out at last and began to rub at his cheek, more from the memory of the grisly hand than from the recent slap.

"Jeff Miller is dead," Jim said gently.

"No shit," Blair shot back angrily. "That would explain the smell."

"Oh no," Jerry said as he sat back into the chair. "Jeff's mother called me today. She said the grave is empty. Someone took the body."

"Yeah, Kimikara did," Blair supplied with an edge of hysteria in his voice. He reached for the bottle, but Jim pushed it further back on the desk, patting his friend sympathetically on the knees. "We didn't protect him in the ceremony. We left him open for attack. I did. I should have known. I should have done something," Blair continued guiltily.

"Blair, he was already dead. How could we have known what would happen?" Jerry asked as he knelt down.

"I thought this mess was over," Jim said under his breath.

Blair looked at Jim questioningly. "You believe me?" he asked.

"Of course I believe you," Jim whispered. "How could I not after all that's happened? What does he want now?"

"He wants me," Blair said as he lowered his head to his knees, reaching out and grasping Jim by the sleeve.

Jim rested a hand on the back of Blair's head. "What do we do about it?"

"Let me make some more phone calls," Jerry said and got up to leave the room. He stopped in the doorway and watched as Jim comforted Blair. Maybe he was wrong about the guy after all.

With growing frustration, Kimikara pushed the corpus as fast as it would go. He homed in on the fear and followed it. Not bothering to take to the tunnels again, he lumbered along down the darkened streets, unaware of the vehicle that bore down on him. The driver saw the figure too late and threw on the brakes and jerked the wheel hard to the right, but glanced off the body before crashing into the telephone pole. The dead one rolled for several yards before shuffling back to it's feet and continuing it's pursuit, leaving a layer of skin and tissue on the road. The driver watched it stagger away before he passed out.

"No offense, man, but your hand is starting to creep me out," Blair muttered drunkenly into his knees.

"Sorry," Jim said in a hurt tone as he pulled his hand away from the back of Blair's neck where he had been rubbing small, supposedly comforting, circles.

"Just let me check it out real quick," Blair slurred as he raised his head, grasping the hand and holding it to his face for inspection.

Jim snorted. "What are you checking it for?" he asked politely.

"Skin mostly," Blair sighed. He held Jim's hand in both of his and pulled it in to his chest. Resting his head back against the wall he closed his eyes. "I'm just gonna keep it here for a little while," he murmured.

Jim managed a small smile and squeezed Blair's hands. He could feel his Guide's heart beat through his chest as it began to slow almost imperceptibly as the younger man calmed down. "I though you gave up alcohol after the tequila hangover," Jim teased softly, his head beginning to swim with the fumes coming off of his friend.

"This is the only way I could think of to bring back Incacha," Blair explained.

"I don't think that will work this time, kid," Jerry said, coming back into the room. "You're too scared to reach a meditative state right now anyway. I don't think the booze will help any."

"Did you make your phone calls?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, I talked to David Debose and Jason Pruitt. David is on his way. He was at his mother's house in San Francisco. Jason says that if Kimikara is in Jeff's dead body then all of his power is gone. He's just a zombie now."

"Just a zombie?" Blair asked, one notch below hysterical. "Let's see if you think he's 'just a zombie' when he gets here, man. Cause he's comin'. I can feel it."

"Calm down, you little shit," Jerry soothed softly. "Jason says all we have to do is break the body down enough so that it can't move. Then David will know what you have to do when he gets here to put the old man out of everyone's misery."

"What I have to do? Why me?"

"Because you're the shaman," Jerry stated easily. "David knows what to do, but he doesn't have the means to do it. You do."

"Oh, no. I don't want to be the shaman anymore," Blair argued. "I never asked to be a shaman. I didn't bargain for this."

"You're the only one who can do it," Jim said. "Don't throw away your gifts."

Blair stared at the Sentinel for a minute and then chortled suddenly. "You should talk, man. We've had this conversation before," he whispered. "Only it was vise versa." Jim nodded his understanding, realizing Blair was right.

"So we have to destroy the body?" Blair asked louder, looking up at Jerry.

"I'm afraid so."

"Poor Jeff," Blair said.

"Were you close?" Jim asked.

Blair and Jerry both laughed. "Hell no. They couldn't stand each other," Jerry said.

"He was a cocky, smart-mouthed, know-it-all, skirt chaser," Blair stated matter-of-factly.

"Now who does that remind me of?" Jim heckled.

Jerry nodded in agreement. "They were too much alike to get along. Jeff was a good kid, deep down."

"Deep, deep down, maybe. But nobody deserves what's happening to him," Blair declared solemnly.

"Blair, he's dead. He doesn't know what's going on," Jim offered.

"Yeah, but what about his mother?  Look what she's going through. I mean as far as she knows, somebody stole her dead son's body. That can't be easy for her."

"We'll worry about her later, okay?" Jerry asked. "Right now we need to sober you up."

Jim grabbed one of Blair's arms and Jerry grabbed the other and they pulled the snockered grad student to his feet. "Whoa, head rush," Blair complained.

"Let's get him downstairs and get some coffee in him," Jerry said. "The guys want to talk to you," he added to Blair.

"What do they want?" Jim asked protectively.

"Jim, he's a hero to them for taking on the zombie. They saw the thing. They want to help."

"Sounds good to me. We need all the bad asses we can get right now," Blair declared.

As they started down the stairs the men in the bar hushed each other and rose to their feet, waiting until the three men reached the bottom before surrounding them. Blair grinned at them shyly and made eye contact with each man in turn as they gathered around him. "Hi, guys," he said. "By the way, thanks for the lift. I don't think I said anything about it earlier."

One man snickered nervously, followed by another, and then another until the whole room was laughing. "No problem, kid," the biker Blair had ridden with said at last. "Have a seat and let's talk about this thing."

Jim let himself be shouldered aside as Blair was helped to a table where all of the biker gang, except for Jerry, gathered around to hear the story. He did, however, stay close. Just in case Blair needed him. He marveled at the way his friend was accepted into yet another closed society. Was it the anthropologist in him? Or was it just Blair being Blair that made the transition so easy? Blair himself never changed, he just remained open and accepting of those around him. Maybe that's what made the difference, Jim mused.

Jerry sat a hot cup of coffee in front of Blair, who accepted it without interrupting his tale of eight young students in the jungles of New Guinea. Jim took the cup Jerry offered him with a nod, and listened to the story one more time.

Blair was still in the bathroom, and Jim paced along the front of the bar, fighting the urge to pop into the men's room to make sure he was all right. The decision had been almost unanimous to wait in the bar for the thing to show up, as Blair had declared long and loud that it would. Tables had been cleared out of the way, and a tarp was placed on the floor, even though Blair assured everyone that the zombie didn't have any blood in it after it had been embalmed. The fact that some of the men knew so quickly how to get rid of a body and not leave any evidence didn't go unnoticed by Jim. He might have a few questions for some of them after the whole thing was over. The bikers took turns riding out into the darkness to act as scouts. Several tense hours passed slowly, when the old clock on the wall chimed two am, Jim heard the whine of motorcycles returning quickly just as he caught the first whiff of the noxious odor. It was on its way.

Blair stared into the mirror. He had been such a coward. How could he have come so unhinged by the thing. Was it because he knew Jeff Miller in life? Or just the fact that a dead man was stalking him. Jim never would have become near catatonic over something like that. He would have stayed and fought it, not run off like a scared little kid. But the hands.... Blair cringed at the thought of the skeletal fingers reaching for him, touching his face. He puked again, not all that much, considering his stomach had been emptied of the JD and coffee a couple of times already. At least the stomach acid kept him from dry heaving. He rinsed the sink and then his face. As he reached for a paper towel, the door opened a crack.

"You okay?" Jim asked softly.

"Yeah. I'm a little shaky, I guess."

"It's here."

Blair nodded quietly and dried his face. "How close?"

"Right outside now. Everyone is getting into place."

"I'm sorry I'm not being braver about this," Blair said, as he looked once again into the mirror, noting his own pale skin.

"Chief, you're the bravest man I know," Jim assured and slipped into the small room.

Blair turned dubious eyes on his Sentinel. "Right," he said and patted the big man on the chest as he passed him. "Let's get this over with."

The rest of the men stood around the periphery of the room. Everyone had a specific job to do. Since Debose hadn't arrived yet, it was determined that Blair would make all the crucial decisions. Everyone agreed to that. A miracle, according to Jerry. When Blair walked out of the bathroom, every eye turned to him. Several of the men wore eclectic armor of sorts, mostly a combination of dirt bike and baseball equipment, to include helmets, but all vital organs were protected, no matter how silly they looked. Blair wouldn't have minded looking a little silly right about now himself and toyed briefly with the idea of asking for a helmet with a shield. Anything to keep the hand off of his face.

"Everybody ready?" he asked. He knew they were, they just all looked like they expected him to say something. Heads nodded and a subdued affirmation was given. The tension in the room was palpable. Everyone was petrified, but no one admitted it. They were dealing with the unknown here. Monsters weren't supposed to be real.

After several terse minutes, the air turned rancid. All heads shifted to the door as an ominous shuffling sound was heard on the wooden deck out front. At last it came into view through the propped open doors. Blair sighed in relief. The body looked much worse for wear, having lost a great deal more skin. It didn't look so much like Jeff anymore. He knew now that he could give the order to destroy it without hesitation. Gasps of revulsion and fear went up around the room.

"Dead on arrival," Blair announced, with a hollow laugh.

"That's not funny," Jerry said, close to panic as he sighted his dead friend.

"No, but it is accurate," Jim replied, though his mouth had suddenly gone dry. He realized why Blair was so fixated on the hands and he stared at the mangled extremities dangling out of the suit coat sleeves. "Hold it together, Chief."

"Just don't let it touch me, man," Blair whispered low in the Sentinel hearing range. "Okay, Kimikara," he said out loud. "Come and get me you bastard." He stood in the middle of the tarp and waited.

The quest was over, the bright spirit stood still and beckoned to him. Just as well, the body had not served him as well as he had hoped it would. Its use would come to an end soon, as the chase had not come easy. Movement had become difficult as the body broke down. He would have to destroy his enemy this time, for there wouldn't be another chance. He commanded the dead one to move forward, and although torn and ragged, it did, fueled by hate, drawn to the fear.

Standing so still that Jim had to listen to be sure he was breathing, Blair waited as the corpse closed in on him. Unable to close his eyes, he stared at the muddy tie, profanely normal around the walking cadaver's neck. He was fine as long as he didn't look at the fingers. As if conjured by his thoughts, the thing raised a desiccated hand and reached for him as it approached. "Not yet," he breathed as he saw movement on the side. It wasn't close enough, and he didn't want it to get away. Not that he thought it would, or even could run. He knew it came only for him, and wouldn't leave until he was dead.

The men closed in slowly, waiting for the signal from their unlikely leader. One of the bikers panicked and rushed forward with a shotgun, blasting the creature square in the chest. Jerry grabbed the gun and forced the man to the floor before a stray shot could hit Blair. Kimikara stumbled back and swayed with the blast, but once it regained its balance it moved forward again, mindless of the new wound. A shimmering, pale mass oozed out of the chest cavity, splattering to the tarp. Maggots separated by the force of the fall scattered in every direction. Blair was barely cognizant that someone was vomiting, but didn't look to see who. Unaware of the mess that covered his shoes, he slipped into a trance before he could give the signal.

"Now!" Jim shouted. Nobody moved.

When the hand was within an inch of Blair's face Jim forced his own stunned body to move. He tackled his partner out of harm's way. His action jolted the other members of the posse into action. The men who were suited up rushed forward and grabbed the thing by its arms. A chain saw cranked up and in a blur of flying tissue and bone, the monster was cut into large chunks. Dropping the dismembered limbs, the two holders stumbled back in abhorrence of their own deeds. The chain saw quieted and everyone stared. At each other. At the mess. At Blair, who lay motionless on the floor, covered by his 'blessed protector'.

"Is he all right?" Jerry asked.

"I don't know," Jim answered shakily, raising Blair to a semi-sitting position and trying to get some kind of response from him.

Slowly the crowd crept silently forward to glance at the carnage on the tarp. "It moved," somebody said softly.

"What?"

"It can't move!"

Blair opened his eyes and silently pulled away from Jim, who reluctantly let him go. As everyone else backed away, he knelt on the edge of the plastic, Jim right behind him. The pieces of flesh and bone began to shudder and bounce around on the tarp. Blair passed a hand over the carrion. "Find peace, my brother," he whispered. All motion stopped.

"Incacha?" Jim asked softly.

Blair looked up and smiled wearily. "No, Jim. It's just me." He turned to the numb assemblage around him. "Burn it," he said.

The second crew, covered in cut up trash liners and dish washing gloves moved forward and caught hold of the edges of the tarp, folding it so that the remains were contained within it. They dragged it out the back to the barrel that had already been prepared.

As commanded by the bright soul, Kimikara released his hate and allowed his spirit peace. There was no suitable alternative, and the fear was now gone, he had nothing left to follow.

Blair, Jerry, and David Debose spent over two hours at Mrs. Miller's house. With gentle obfuscation's they told her how Jeff had been sick in the jungle and had received the rites of death. They told her how a mixed up shaman had crossed the ocean to finish the rite, unaware of the pain he had caused her, how the body had been cremated. They presented her with the ashes. Blair promised to return to help her spread the ashes out to sea when she was ready. She kissed his forehead and promised to call as they left.

Simon read the file one more time as he reached for his cup of now cold coffee. Somehow Sandburg had solved Rafe's missing body case. The report was exhaustive but concise, and Simon didn't believe a damn word of it. He was sure it had something to do with the fourteen sightings (and one car crash) of some type of creature that had terrorized the streets the night before. He grimaced as he took a sip of the coffee and pushed the cup away. Somehow he knew he didn't want to know the truth. Jim had all but told him not to ask.

He sighed as he rose to get his coat. It was way past time to go home. Movement in the bullpen caught his eye, and he stood absolutely still as he watched a figure prowl silently around behind Brown's desk. He laughed to himself as Rhonda looked furtively about before taking a picture off the bulletin board and rolling it up like a poster. She slipped it into her purse and quickly left the room.

"What?" Blair asked looking up from his book as Jim hovered over his shoulder.

"Are you really okay?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, man. I have this strange sense of peace that I didn't have before. I know it's really over now," Blair assured with a smile and readjusted the pillow under his sore knee.

Jim nodded and sat on the arm of the couch as Blair turned back to the book. "What?" Blair asked a second time, aware that Jim was staring at him again.

"Do you want to talk?" Jim asked.

"Okay." Blair closed the book and patted the couch next to him. When Jim settled himself Blair leaned back and studied his quiet partner. "What would you like to talk about?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Did you really tell all those women you're working your way through grad school as a male stripper?" Jim asked.

Blair laughed and opened his book again. "I take the fifth, man."

"Why are you afraid of heights?"
       

The End

Disclaimer - Images, characters, and settings taken from various television shows are the property of their respective owners, producers, etc.  No copyright infringement intended, I'm just having a little fun.