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The Long Good-bye            
by Kikkimax
 

Jim struggled to breathe past the assault of the other man's expensive cologne, thankful that the large mahogany desk separated them as far as it did. He sat stiffly in his chair, aware of every seam, pocket, and minute wrinkle in his starched new uniform. His head throbbed in time to the click of footsteps passing outside the closed door in the hall and down the cement steps.

"Hmm," the small, balding man mumbled as he put on his glasses and read the file on his desk. "How the mighty have fallen.... Special ops ranger, fast track to detective, Officer of the Year. So what brings you to my party, Ellison?"

"I needed a change, sir," Jim offered neutrally.

"I see. Burned out then."

"Something like that."

"Well, it's no picnic around here either, son. Don't think that you can rest on your laurels. You've got an important job to do and I expect you to maintain a level of excellence."

"Yes sir."

"Good. I'm assigning you to death row."

Jim nodded, grateful for the placement in the quietest area of the prison, the smallest convict population at least. As much as he had hated to leave the force, he knew that he had to. It was only a matter of time before he got himself, or God forbid, someone else, killed. Every doctor that he had been to said the same thing: there wasn't anything physically wrong with him. But there was. There had to be. He wasn't crazy. Not only was he frequently overcome by extreme sensitivity to light, sound, and smell, but the blackouts and lost time were becoming more and more common. Others were starting to notice. In fact, IA had pulled him in for a "random" drug test just one week before he finally resigned.

Resigned, he thought bitterly. More like quit before he was thrown out. Thankfully, he had been given a glowing recommendation from the department. Even though working as a prison guard was a step down from the more 'glamorous' position of Major Crime detective, economics being what they were, it sure beat the hell out of homelessness. And crazy and homeless still didn't seem too far off anymore. If he couldn't get himself under control, he knew that was where he was headed.

"Just remember," Warden Burgess continued with the speech that Jim hadn't been listening to. "It is also your responsibility to protect them, from each other and from themselves."

"I'll do my best, sir," Jim placated as he moved to rise to his feet.

"One more thing," the much smaller man said, holding up a hand to indicate that Jim should remain seated. "Off the record."

"Sir?" Jim asked with an inward grimace.

"No doubt you've heard of the Manifesto Murderer."

Jim nodded, aware that the famous serial killer resided on death row at the facility. The news still occasionally showed a protest by the very vocal group that believed the man convicted of the murders was wrongly accused.

"Yes. His name is Blair Sandburg. He's a very special young man. I want you to watch out for him."

Ellison gaped at his new boss, unable to hide his surprise. "What? Why? You don't seriously think that he's innocent do you? Isn't that the story of every man and woman here?"

The warden smiled and slowly shook his head. "Deciding guilt or innocence isn’t our job. Legally, that has already been determined by the time our guests reach us. It is our job to see that the punishment decided by the courts is carried out. Having said that, by prison standards, Sandburg is an innocent. Hard to believe that he's been here almost four years. He has waived his appeals and is scheduled for execution next month. All I'm saying is keep an eye on him for me, like everyone else does."

"You want me to give special treatment to a cold blooded killer. I don't know if I can do that with a clear conscience," Jim proclaimed firmly, not willing to sacrifice his morals for a job.

"Fine," Burgess said as he rose to his feet. "But if anything untoward happens to Sandburg on your watch, I'll have your ass."

"Very good, sir," Jim answered formally as he stood.

"Dismissed," the warden sighed. "I had heard that you're a cold bastard," he added to Jim's back as he left.

"Yes, sir," Jim nodded his agreement, looking over his shoulder.

"That wasn't a compliment."

Jim sighed with relief as he entered the dimly lit cellblock with his preceptor. The lighting was soft, approximating late evening, and it was relatively quiet. They had been in the office for quite some time going over policies and procedures specific to the unit, and by the time they hit the cells, most of the prisoners were asleep. As they stepped through the double door system, Jim felt an odd charge in the air. His senses prickled slightly before everything settled into a comfortable, even keel. After a week of orientation and bullshit, Jim was finally getting to work. He attributed his feeling of well being to the fact that he was able to work at all.

Randall Wolfe, gangly new father, law student during the day, and many more things that Jim hadn't asked, and would rather have not known led the way down the wide hallway. All ten of the cells were on the right, side by side, walled in except for the grated doors, allowing the prisoners no real contact with each other. The left side of the hall was a featureless gray wall.

"That's Pug Fletcher in the second cell. Watch him, he bites," the experienced guard instructed. "I mean they're all dangerous in their own ways, well most of 'em, but Pug is HIV positive and would love to take as many of us with him as possible."

"Charming," Jim replied as he zoomed in on the sleeping man, taking in the skinny arms with ancient track marks and the hardened, angry face. Even in sleep, the man looked deranged.

"Night shift is the best," Wolfe went on as they walked. "You don't have to worry about meals or exercise time or visits from lawyers or priests. These guys don't get a lot of visitors anyway. By this time of night, most of 'em are knocked out by their meds. It's really pretty peaceful here after lights out."

Every cell held a body, and Jim glanced at each, cataloging the face with the name on the card in his hand. As they reached the end of the corridor the other guard stopped and rested his hands through the bars of the last door as Jim scanned the room, looking for the prisoner.

"Blair? You okay, buddy?" Wolfe asked softly.

"Hey, Randy. I must have dozed off," a sleepy voice answered from deep inside the cell. The bunk was empty. "Did you try the Karo syrup in her milk?"

"Yeah, you were right. Worked like a charm. I got a new picture."

"Let me see." A form appeared from under the bunk.

Jim was taken aback by the youthful face that appeared at the bars and more so as Wolfe handed his wallet without a thought to the prisoner.

"Oh, man. She's beautiful," the longhaired man exclaimed as he examined the picture in the dim light. "She must take after her mother," he teased as he returned the wallet.

"Oh, Blair, this is Jim Ellison. He's taking Maria's place on nights. Jim this is Blair Sandburg. He doesn't sleep much, so you'll probably be keeping each other company a lot of the time."

"Hey, nice to meet you," the young man said amicably, reaching a hand through the grate.

Jim eyed the prisoner with contempt, never moving to take the hand.

"Oh, one of those," Sandburg said, withdrawing his hand sadly. "I think I'm going to miss Maria more than I thought."

"Aren't we all," Wolfe said coldly, glaring at his newest guard.

"Now, we can't blame her," Blair went on, dismissing Ellison by turning towards his friend. "The twins need their mama home at night."

"I know," Randy sighed. "I'm sorry, Blair. I'll talk to him," he said as if Jim wasn't standing right beside him.

"Don't bother, man," Blair said with a blaze of anger and hurt in his deep blue eyes as he glanced up. Jim held his gaze, unrepentant until Sandburg looked away, not giving in, but refusing to fight. Uncharacteristically, Jim felt like a shit, and for the briefest of moments, cared what the other man thought.

"Listen, we've got some training to do," Randy said. "I'll come back later if you want to play some chess. In the meantime, try to get some sleep."

"Nah," Sandburg said as he moved to sit on the bunk, flipping on a small lamp. "I'll get all the sleep I need when I'm dead."

Wolfe nodded solemnly and began to walk back down the long hallway without a word or glance in Jim's direction. His body radiated anger. He grasped each door as he passed and gave it a tug. Jim took one last look at Sandburg and followed. Something in the man's posture tugged at him the tiniest bit. He immediately clamped down on the emotion and banished it from his heart. But the image stubbornly stayed in his head as he caught up with his new boss at the security doors.

"You're not his judge," Wolfe said as they waited to be buzzed out of the cellblock.

Blair held the small calendar in slightly shaky hands. Thirty-four days. The guards worked twelve-hour shifts, on three days, off three days. He counted it out once, and then again just to confirm it. That meant fifteen days of peace. He knew Ellison's type; cold, harsh, looking to be the punisher for mankind's inhumanity to man. Soon Randy would have to go back to his administrative duties, leaving Ellison in the cellblock most of the time. Sure there were safeguards in place and the other guards were stand up guys, but Blair knew all too well that safeguards could be circumvented, and shit still happened. Silently he cursed Maria for picking this month to decide to be a stay at home mom.

"Sorry, Maria. I didn't mean it," he whispered, feeling guilty for his flash of self-pity.

Knowing that he didn't have the time or energy to try and convert another guard, Blair sighed and leaned back on the bunk, dropping the calendar to the floor. "Not now," he mumbled as he felt the shakes coming on. With a groan, he grabbed his pillow and dropped to the floor, sliding under the bunk. He drew his knees to his chest and rode out the wave of nausea, holding back the tears that threatened to fall as he was overcome with violent shudders. The worst part was…. he felt it again. This time, towards Ellison.

Ellison glanced from monitor to monitor, but invariably, his gaze was drawn back to the last cell. Sandburg hadn't moved since they left him, except to pick up a calendar from the shelf above the bed. Jim watched in fascination as the prisoner used a finger to count each square up to the 23 circled in red on the second page. Thirty-four days. The warden had said that in about a month the man would be put to death, by his own refusal to appeal.

Jim narrowed his gaze as Sandburg counted again. The camera was in the perfect spot to see where the fingertip landed. One, two, three, skip the next three. One, two, three, skip the next three. With a start, Jim realized that Sandburg was counting out his work schedule. The look on Sandburg's face told Jim everything he needed to know. The kid was scared. Of him.

Taking a minute to reflect on that, he tried not to feel too smug. Then he tried to hang onto that feeling as he was overcome with shame. Sandburg's lips moved, but the angle was wrong to see what he was saying and the sound was turned off. If his hearing had been acting up at that moment, Jim had no doubt he would have heard the words. Then Sandburg disappeared under the bunk.

"Why does he do that?" Jim asked as Wolfe entered the observation area.

"Do what?"

"Sleep under his bunk."

"He's not asleep. I think he does it so that the camera doesn't see him cry," Randy answered sadly.

Jim swallowed. "That's mature," he said to cover his own emotions.

"He's gonna die in thirty-four days. He can cry if he wants to. Look, Ellison, one word from me and the warden will yank you out of here. Don't give Blair any grief. None."

"Yes, sir," Jim said and turned back to the monitor, but he couldn't see Sandburg at all. For that he was grateful.

Jim clocked in and made his way through the various checkpoints of the maximum security area. He hung up his jacket in the break room and took report from the watch commander before heading to his assignment for his second day on the block. Wolfe wasn't there yet, and one guard was at the monitor.

Another guard was at the end of the corridor chatting with prisoner number ten, something Jim was quickly coming to realize was par for the course. He tilted his head and tried to listen. To his surprise, the conversation came in loud and clear.

"I mean it, Blair, if the new guy gives you any shit, I want to hear about it."

"He's okay," Sandburg replied easily.

"I don't know. He looks like a hard ass to me," the guard argued.

"Nah, he's fine. Didn't say a word to me."

"Hey Barkley, get away from my girlfriend," one of the other inmates shouted.

Jim flinched and covered his ears.

"What's wrong with you?" the guard at the monitor asked with concern.

"Uh, nothing," Jim lied. "Maybe I'm getting an ear infection. Hurts a little." Jim tried to tune out the noise, but the inmate kept yelling, getting more and more worked up. Several other prisoners joined in, most telling the screamer not so nicely to shut the hell up.

"Boo, knock it off," the guard said into the microphone, while the other guard walked back down the hall, apparently unconcerned.

Slowly the cellblock settled down as the inside guard spoke with each inmate in turn.

"You don't know how lucky you have it on nights. It's like this most of the day."

"Yeah, most of them slept all night, last night," Jim confirmed shaking his head slightly as his hearing came down to a tolerable level.

"Everybody but Sandburg, right?"

"I wouldn't know. He stayed under his bunk all night."

"Oh crap. Is he doing that again? I'll talk to him before I go."

"Don't worry about it, Ron, I'll handle it," Wolfe said as he came through the door and picked up a clipboard.

"Randy, don't let him do that," Ron sighed in exasperation. "It's too cold on the floor."

"I know, but you know how he is when he's stressed."

"Excuse me," Jim interrupted. "Why does everyone coddle this convict? He's a grown man. Let him sleep where he wants."

Two sets of wrathful eyes turned to Jim. "Look, newbie," Ron said acidly. "You don't know Sandburg. You have no idea who that kid is to us. So until you do, I suggest you keep your mouth shut."

"Jim," Wolfe said patiently, calming down. "I want you as inside man tonight. I think you're ready. Jones will be backup and I’ll be around."

"Yes, sir," Jim said, noticing that Barkley was approaching the inner door. He buzzed the man in and looked back once before taking his place on the inside.

"Are you nuts?" Ron asked as soon as Jim was on the other side.

"Don't worry. The big guy doesn't stand a chance. My money's on Sandburg."

"I'll take some of that," Barkley said with a smile. "I give Ellison two days before he caves in."

Jim listened from the other side of the door. "Two days my ass," he muttered under his breath.

"What have we got here? Fresh meat."

Jim glanced briefly to his right, but kept walking.

"Hey there, big boy. Come see me after lights out."

"Pipe down," Jim said without even a look.

"Hey guard! Wait a minute. Come here."

With a sigh, Jim stopped and turned to face the man in the fifth cell down. "What?"

"What's your name? Ellison?" the large dark skinned man asked as he read Jim's nametag.

"Yeah."

"Listen, Ellison. You wanna make some money? I'll give you fifty bucks if you bring Sandburg to me after lights out."

"Boo!" Wolfe said over the speaker. "I've had about enough of you tonight and it’s still early. Knock it off, or I'm sending you to solitary."

"I'm cool," the big man called out. "That's right. Nobody fucks with Sandburg," he mocked as he stroked a hand suggestively down the front of his jumpsuit.

Jim gave him an annoyed look and continued on his way, finally arriving at the last cell. He turned to make his way back, but the kid looked so young sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bunk reading a book, he just had to take a minute to reconcile the image with what he knew about the serial killer. Sandburg glanced up at him, adjusted his glasses and solemnly dropped his head back to his book.

"You don't have to be afraid of me," Jim found himself saying softly as he studied the younger man.

"I'm not," Blair said without looking up.

"You sure? I'd hate to be the reason you sleep on the floor."

Sandburg shrugged. "It doesn't have anything to do with you."

"No? Then why?"

"None of your goddamned business," the prisoner said evenly and raised his head to make eye contact.

"Get the fuck away from my girlfriend, Ellison!" Boo began to shout. "I know you're down there. I don't hear you walkin' no more. Blair? Who loves you, baby?"

To Jim's surprise, Sandburg began to laugh.

"Why is that funny?" Jim couldn't help but ask as Sandburg closed his book and walked up to the bars.

"I love you, too, Boo," he called out.

"That's right. He loves me!" the large man shouted and then fell silent as he moved away from his cell door for the first time since Jim had arrived.

"Thank you, Sandburg!" someone shouted from a few doors down.

"'Bout damn time," another voice added.

"It shuts him up," Blair said offhandedly and wandered back to the bed.

"Seems like a dangerous game to play," Jim cautioned.

"We've played this game for three years. Boo's all talk. He's never laid a hand on me. Not like that."

"Maybe he hasn't had the opportunity."

Sandburg's eyes narrowed. "Not everyone turns down the fifty bucks," he said.

Ellison stepped back and put his hands on his hips to think. "I find that hard to believe," he said at last.

"Why? Because I said it?" Blair challenged.

"No," Jim grunted. "Because everyone here, from the warden to the resident psycho thinks you're something special. Every last one of the guards on this block has warned me not to harass you."

Blair shrugged again. "We've got a great crew up here now. It hasn't always been like that."

"Ellison. Meds are here," Wolfe announced over the intercom.

"I may not approve of the way everybody fusses over you, but I'm not a monster," Jim declared and turned to go.

"Ellison. Jim, wait," Blair called out anxiously, back at the bars. It was getting stronger. But it couldn’t be that, he was sure. Never the less, he felt the urge to protect the guard and suddenly knew that Ellison wouldn’t be a problem after all. If he could only get him to listen.

"What?"

"Watch out for Fletcher. He'll try to bite you for sure tonight since it's your first time handing out meds."

Jim nodded and was touched by the sincerity in the other man's face. "Thanks," he said and walked away, feeling a little less depressed than he had when he'd come in.

The nurse was waiting when Ellison got back to the guardroom. Each tiny paper cup was clearly marked with a name and cell number. Six of the ten prisoners were on some type of sleep aide or anti-anxiety med, including Fletcher. Jim opened the door for her then accompanied the short, matronly woman into the cellblock. To his surprise, the inmates were quiet and respectful, ready to get their medicine and go to sleep.

"Come on, Pug," the woman said as they reached the second cell. "Down the hatch."

"Gimme drugs," the weird little man proclaimed as he waited.

The nurse handed the cup to Jim, who sat it on the ledge of the pass-through grate. Fletcher took the cup and threw back the pill, dry swallowing it as the nurse poured water into a slightly bigger cup.

Jim watched him closely as he moved to set the water down. Pug moved forward, and Jim moved back. "Step away from the door," Jim ordered.

"Just give me my water. You want me to choke?"

"I said, step away from the door," Ellison repeated and found that he could hear the other man's heart racing.

With a glare, the prisoner stepped back. When Jim sat the cup down, Fletcher jumped at his hand, but Jim had been expecting the attack, and simply moved his hand away, leaving the pissed off inmate with nothing but water.

"Have a nice night," Jim said as he ushered the nurse to the next cell.

Boo was already sleeping when they passed cell number five, and since he wasn't currently on any medication they walked on by. The rests of the drugs were handed out quickly, and soon they were at the end of the block.

"Blair, sweetheart, come take your medicine," the woman called softly. Jim looked at the list and back at the cart. There were no more meds.

"What 'cha got?" Sandburg asked as he appeared in the door with a grin plastered to his face.

"Here you go, honey." The nurse moved directly to the bars. Jim flinched, but it was too late to stop her as she placed a bag of M&Ms in his hand. "Don't stay up too late."

"Yes, ma'am. Thanks."

"Is that authorized?" Ellison asked.

The woman turned an evil eye on him. "I can get a doctor's order if I have to. But I hope that won't be necessary."

Jim looked back down the hall and could see Wolfe through the window of the guardroom laughing at him. "I guess it's okay. Just don't get that close to the prisoners."

"Good-night, Blair," the nurse said, ignoring Jim and reaching through the grate to take Blair's hand. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"'Night, Elaine."

"What did I just say?" Jim asked in exasperation.

The nurse tossed her head as she turned away, pushing her cart down the hall.

Sandburg plopped onto his bed, tearing open the candy. "Want some?" he asked guilelessly.

Jim shook his head and followed the nurse, mentally throwing his hands up. The kid had them all wrapped around his little finger.

Meds were given, rounds were done, nothing moved inside of the cellblock except for the occasional toss and catch-in-the-mouth of an M&M down in cell ten. Ellison rubbed his head and tried to look somewhere else, but the only action in the whole place was at the end of the hall. He had never seen anyone take so damned long to eat a bag of candy. Sandburg made a game of it. Lying on his back and tossing one piece at a time into the air, never missing as it fell back to his open mouth. Again and again and again. Never in a hurry, one piece at a time. It was driving Jim crazy, but he couldn't help but watch via the monitor.

After an hour the bag was finally empty. Sandburg wadded it up and tossed it over his shoulder to land neatly in the trash. "That's a three pointer, huh Ellison?" he said smugly. "I know you're watching me," he added after a minute, grinning at the ceiling. "Randy's in the office and you're at the monitors. There's nothing else to do and you're starting to get sleepy. Long time 'til the sun comes up, man. You just as well come down and talk to me. I'm the only one awake."

Jim sat back and yawned. It was true, not yet used to working all night, he was about to drop off. He'd already reached his limit with the coffee, and there wasn't anything else to do. After pushing himself out of his chair, he stuck his head into the office.

"I'm gonna walk down the block."

Randy looked up from the report he was writing and blinked. "Sure. Okay," he said trying his best not to smile.

Jim nodded and went to the door. He grimaced as he remembered the bet. He hadn't lasted two days before being sucked into Sandburg's little web.

"Tell Blair I said hello," Wolfe called out cheerfully from his desk as Jim stepped through the door.

Jim tugged on each cell door, taking his time as he made his way down the long, dimly lit hall. He listened to the prisoners breathe. Some of them shifted in their sleep. Someone scratched, exactly what, Jim didn't want to know. By the time he reached cell seven, he became acutely aware of Sandburg. Nothing specific, his hearing and smell just seemed to notch up a bit.

When he reached the end of the block he already knew that Sandburg would be standing at the grate waiting for him.

"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you," Jim asked casually as he slowed to a stop.

"Not really. I just didn't think that you would do boredom well."

"Why is that?"

Blair smiled and looked down at his sneakers. "I just think you're used to a lot more action since you were a cop and all."

Ellison snapped his head up to glare at the smaller man. "Who told you that?"

"You did," Blair answered with a laugh. "I only suspected until now."

"Oh, you suspected," Ellison echoed with a touch of sarcasm.

"Hey, I'm an anthropologist. People are my thing."

"Well aren't you smart?" Jim asked just short of teasing.

"Yeah, I'm a regular rocket surgeon," Blair threw back in the same tone of voice.

"Rocket surgeon? I think you're mixing your metaphors, Chief."

"Brain Scientist?"

"Smart ass?"

"That's the one," Sandburg agreed with a grin. "Do you play chess?" he asked hopefully.

Three glorious days off, Jim thought as he rolled out of bed. No surly inmates or pissy guards to deal with for three whole days. Not only that, but in spite of the all nighters, he felt better than he had in months. His senses were anything but normal, but they weren't all over the place. The headaches were all but gone and since he had started nights on Monday, he hadn't had a single blackout. It was going to take some time to get used to a straight graveyard shift, but it seemed to have done wonders for his 'problems'.

His high spirits fell a little as he finally looked at the clock and realized that he had already slept away most of day number one. Oh well, he sighed. Nothing better to do anyway. He resigned himself to the other world of working nights, and decided it might be better to sleep during the day anyway. He threw on some sweats and made his way downstairs to make coffee and get some breakfast. Dinner. Whatever.

Thirty-one. The number popped into his head as he made a sandwich. Thirty-one days until the execution. In exactly one month, Sandburg would die. Not that Jim opposed the death penalty; in fact, he'd always been a supporter, especially in cases like this. He didn't even believe all the 'Sandburg is innocent' rhetoric that had flowed like water from the moment the kid had been convicted. One month just seemed too abrupt.

There was something about Sandburg, something that drew people to him. It was almost like he collected people. He gathered them to him with a private joke or subtle connection with each person he met that made them all feel like they were special and important to him. Although he felt it strongly himself, Jim suddenly decided that he didn't want to be part of a collection and banned all thoughts of Sandburg for three days.

His resolve lasted almost an hour before he made the phone call that he'd been thinking about ever since the brat had reamed him at chess two nights in a row. It wasn't even really the playing of the games that had Jim softening towards the inmate. Blair had slept for the remainder of the night each time, something that Wolfe had been especially impressed with. It made Jim feel protective. Like he had done something to ease the younger man's suffering enough that he could sleep for awhile. As if he felt safe enough to rest in Jim's presence. That made Jim proud, no matter how well deserved that suffering might be.

Within a matter of hours he settled on the couch to thumb through copies of the ill-gotten file from the task force that had solved the Manifesto Murders. As he got deeper into the folder the focus narrowed from an unknown suspect to a young grad student. The evidence seemed superficial and contrived. Right up until they discovered the manifesto, hand written by one Blair Sandburg. The night passed quickly and as the sun came up, Jim closed the file and sat it next to him on the couch. There was something missing, and he vowed to spend the rest of his down time finding out what it was. He desperately wanted to understand the kid. He just didn't know why.

Jim struggled into his uniform. The starch seemed to scratch his skin and pull the hairs on his arms and legs. If he hadn't been so anxious to get out of the loft and back to work, he wouldn't have even put the damn thing on. The last two days had passed agonizingly slowly, except for the two to three hour period he had spent standing in the kitchen staring at the wall until the ringing telephone and snapped him out of it. The little episode was extremely demoralizing as he had thought he was getting better. His laundry list of complaints was back, in spades. His head hurt, the light was too bright, every little sound amplified, but the worst part was the smells that he had no want or need to ever smell.

In spite of his growing discomfort, he had made headway on the Sandburg case. He stopped for a minute to correct himself. There was no case, and he was no longer a detective. But he had reverted to his old role to investigate, mostly just to ease his own curiosity, he insisted inwardly. He fought off the notion that his instincts, if not his brain, screamed that Sandburg was in fact not guilty of the crimes for which he would die.

He vowed that no one would ever know that he spent his down time thinking about the young man. Wondering what he was doing; if he was all right. Was he under that damn bunk on the cold, hard floor? He promised himself that he would be calm when he arrived and not go running straight down the block to make sure that Sandburg had gotten along without him while he'd been gone. Even though he knew that Sandburg had lived without him for close to thirty years, he felt like the kid might not be in this mess if he had somehow been there for him. He stubbornly pushed back the thought of how he would feel in twenty-nine days.

The ride into the prison was nightmarish. Bumper to bumper traffic continued all the way from the city limits to the prison's back gate. There were people lined up on either side of the highway with signs and posters. Jim realized with a sinking feeling that there was a protest in progress and both sides of the death penalty controversy were involved. He tried to block out the sounds, but his head was already throbbing. A rock bounced off of his windshield and he gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. As he stopped at the gate, the F150 was surrounded by people, thumping on the sides of the truck and shouting. Armed guards came out as the gate opened and pushed the crowd back. Jim showed some ID and was motioned through.

Once out of his vehicle in the employee lot, he made his way into the prison unimpeded. Shouts and slogans from both sides echoed in his ears. It was much quieter inside, but Jim felt the pressure to get down to death row growing by the minute. He hung up his coat then punched in. The watch commander was waiting for him when he came out of the locker room.

"Ellison, good you're here. Suit up in riot gear and head back out to the gate. I guess you noticed we've got a situation on our hands."

"What about...."

"Don't worry, someone from the day shift will cover your area until you can get back. Hurry."

"Yes, sir," Jim said and went back to his locker. He fumbled with his vest and helmet and made his way to the armory, pushing back an extreme sense of disappointment.

It was well past midnight when Jim finally arrived on the cellblock. His headache eased noticeably as soon as he entered the guardroom. He glanced at the monitors in what he hoped was a casual manner. Wolfe was at the end of the hall, down on one knee talking softly. The cell once again appeared empty.

"What's going on?" Jim asked the gruff looking man that he didn't recognize that sat in the observation area.

"I don't know. Don't really care. I'm just glad you're here so I can go the hell home. I didn't sign on for eighteen hour shifts."

"Yeah, well. It wasn't exactly pleasant outside either," Jim said, trying to focus his hearing down the hall. Wolfe was already on his way back, so Jim turned his full attention to the monitor. 'Suicide Watch' was written on the number ten screen in red grease pencil.

"Right and all for that murdering son of a bitch.... Hey!" the man sputtered as Jim grasped him by the collar and flung him towards the door.

"Go home," Jim spat at him.

"Fine. Jesus, you all treat that little piece of shit like..."

"Shut up," Jim said as he buzzed Randy in.

"Is there a problem?" Wolfe asked as he entered the tension filled room.

"What's wrong with Blair?" Jim asked, ignoring the fuming guard.

"I'm not sure. He's been this way a couple of days according to the log. I think you should talk to him."

"Me?"

"Yeah. He asked for you earlier," Wolfe said, a little surprised himself.

Jim went through the door without another word.

"You people kill me," the other guard mumbled as he left.

Wolfe flipped up a finger but focused his attention on the monitor.

Reminding himself not to run, Jim quickly made his way down the corridor past the rest of the sleeping residents. "Sandburg," he whispered at last as he reached the bars at the end. "Come on, Chief. Talk to me."

When he knelt down and focused his sight under the bed he could see the tremors as they tore through the younger man who lay hiding in the dark. "Blair, what's wrong? Talk to me or I swear to God, I'll get a doctor down here."

"No," Blair rasped out. "Please, no."

"Are you sick?"

Blair shook his head and wrapped his arms around his body tightly.

"Is that no? I can't hear the rocks rattle inside your head," Jim teased gently, well able to see the gesture.

Sandburg took a shuddering breath and appeared to calm down a little.

"Okay now?"

"Better," Blair assured.

"What the hell was that?" Jim pressed.

Again, Sandburg just shook his head.

"I can still get the doc," Jim threatened lightly.

"No! God, Jim. Please. Just...." Blair stopped and Jim listened as his heartbeat sped up.

"Calm down. What do you want me to do? You want me to go?" Jim asked kindly.

"No. Stay. Just... don't ask."

"I am asking. I promise it'll be just between you and me."

"And Randy, and everyone else who listens to the tapes."

"Just whisper it," Jim said very softly.

"What?" Blair asked scooting to the edge of the bunk so that he could see.

"Whisper," Jim mouthed to him.

"Then you won't be able to hear me either," Blair answered carefully.

"I will," Jim assured. "Trust me."

Blair lay back and closed his eyes. "Panic attacks," he said under his breath. "I've always had panic attacks. I've managed to hide them so far."

"Oh. Got cha."

"Yeah?" Blair asked dubiously, peeking out of one eye.

"Yeah. Why don't you just tell someone? They can put you on meds...."

"No," Blair said adamantly. "Absolutely not."

"Why not? It'll make you feel better. There's no reason for you to suffer like this."

"No. I refuse to live what's left of my life drugged into oblivion. Please, Jim. You promised."

Jim listened intently for a minute as Sandburg's heart rate and breathing settled down again. "Okay. For now. But come on out of there."

Blair slowly appeared from under the bed and sat up to lean against it. Relieved, Jim eased down to sit on the floor just outside the door. Sandburg sighed and ran a shaky hand over his face and brushed his hair back.

"What happened to your wrist?" Jim asked, noticing the thin white line that ran along the pale skin.

"Hmm," Blair answered, still a little shaky. He glanced at his wrist and back at Jim. "The scar? It was nothing. I was moving a filing cabinet in my office and got scratched. It didn't even bleed. You wouldn't know it by looking at it now, would you? I’m surprised you can see it," he added suspiciously as his mind began to race.

"I thought maybe," Jim started and then stopped self-consciously.

"You thought I tried to kill myself once upon a time," Blair supplied as he wrapped his arms around his body. He rocked back and forth for a few minutes, deep in thought. "It's funny.... the things that leave scars. Little things. Seemingly inconsequential things, and yet they leave us scarred. Changed... forever."

Jim nodded, accepting the truth in the statement, if not knowing if it was meant literally or metaphorically. "You're on suicide watch," he said softly after a few minutes of contemplation.

"I know. It's kind of ironic, don't you think? A death row inmate on suicide watch. I guess the state doesn't want to get cheated out of its pound of flesh."

"Do you want to die?" Jim asked, unable to keep the slight tremor out of his voice.

"Of course not," Sandburg assured. "Don't sweat the watch, man. It's standard procedure one month out from an execution. It's not about me."

"You could always appeal. Even if you're unsuccessful, the process takes years."

Blair uncoiled slightly and leaned forward. "Jim, it's okay. I've accepted my fate. I'm at peace with myself."

"But you're innocent," Ellison insisted emphatically.

"None of us are innocent, man. Not completely. Don't listen to what those people out there are saying. Even they don't know."

"I pulled your file. I read everything I could find on your case. They got you on circumstantial evidence. The only so called proof was that damned manifesto."

"It doesn't matter now. They refuse to believe my side of the story. I don't want to live this way indefinitely," Blair declared.

"At least you'll be alive."

"Alive? Is that what you call this?" Blair huffed silently as he shook his head. "This isn't living. This is just the long good-bye. I'd rather just go. You know, see what's next."

"What if there is nothing else?"

"Then I'll never know the difference, will I?" Sandburg laughed.

"Guess not," Jim agreed half-heartedly.

They sat in silence for several minutes when Blair relaxed a little more and stretched his legs out. "Thanks, Jim," he said with a tight smile.

"For what?"

"For making me feel better."

"You can still change your mind," Jim insisted.

"It's too late now."

Jim sighed, knowing that the kid was right. Nothing short of a reprieve from the Governor could stop the execution at this point. "I have to know," Jim said quietly. "Look me in the eye and tell me that you murdered six people in cold blood."

Blair sought out his eyes intensely for several seconds before he flinched and looked away. His hands started to tremble as he retreated under the bunk, turning his back to Jim as he went. "I'm gonna try to sleep for awhile," he muttered in a forced monotone.

"That's what I thought," Jim swore as he unfolded himself and climbed up from the floor. "Sweet dreams, Chief," he said as he wandered slowly back down the dark hallway.

Jim spent a sleepless day confirming what he already knew. Part of the case file was missing, including the first two or three interviews with Sandburg. Calling around had done no good, so Jim had gone to the station to do a little digging and hadn't returned home until after lunch. He wasn't exactly popular by the time he'd resigned, but he still had a few good friends in the department, and a couple of female admirers in the secretarial pool to boot. While he had come up empty, a couple of people had promised to keep looking.

Blair was innocent, but covering for someone, of that Jim was now certain. The arresting officer had offhandedly mentioned that the kid had come up with some wild, science fiction story to cover his ass, but no one could find the actual transcripts.

The trial itself had been a joke, the appeals not much better. Although he had pled innocent, the defense had offered nothing other than Sandburg's lack of police record and scores of character witnesses. The defense team had wanted to plead insanity, and the general consensus was they would have had a much stronger case, but Sandburg had vetoed the idea. At one point Sandburg had jumped up and tried to tell his story, but had ended up on medication after a week of psych evals. The case had been weak, but the defense had been weaker and the wheels of justice had rolled over an innocent man.

After three years of living on death row, Sandburg had said "enough" and ended the long process of appeals. Ellison cursed the timing. If he had gone to work in the prison six months earlier, he might have been able to have talked the younger man into keeping up the appeals until he could prove his innocence. One month later, and he never would have even met him, and his life wouldn't be falling down around him once again.

Finally his exhausted brain settled down enough to get a couple of hours of sleep before he had to go back to work. He prayed that he wouldn't have to work the gate again. His time with Sandburg was running out.

Arriving early once again, Jim tried to act nonchalant as he entered the block. He greeted Barkley and Ron, somewhat surprised that they were both in the guardroom and nobody was chatting up prisoner number ten. Jim glanced over the monitors and froze when he got to the last one. It felt off. Wrong. Instantly he knew that the cell was empty, and not just appearing that way.

"Where's Sandburg?" he asked anxiously.

Barkley grinned and made a show of looking over his shoulder. "What makes you think he's not under his bunk?"

"He's not," Jim argued. "Where is he?"

"He's fine," Ron assured, punching Barkley in the back of the head. "He's with his lawyer."

"How'd you know he wasn't in there?" Barkley asked, rubbing his head and grinning maniacally at Ron.

"Come on B, he was a detective. He's just more perceptive than us," Ron said knowingly.

"Yeah, I detected," Jim answered, wondering to himself how the hell he did know. "Did he change his mind about the appeal?"

"No," Ron said shaking his head slowly. "It's just stuff he wanted to get out of the way, like his will, that kind of thing. The lawyer got here late. He hasn't really been gone all that long."

"He really is innocent," Jim said softly to no one in particular.

Barkley laughed. "I had you figured all wrong."

"You don't think he is?"

"No, I think he is. Either that or he's the best actor in the world. Nobody that damned compassionate could kill anybody, let alone butcher six people. I just didn't think you would care."

"I don't," Jim lied.

"Right," Wolfe smirked from the door. "Listen, I'm all caught up on the monthly paper work. I'll be inside man tonight if you want."

"I've got it," Jim insisted.

"Right," Wolfe said again with a wink to Barkley. Much to Jim's chagrin, money changed hands as the bet was settled. "He doesn't care."

"Ellison. Sandburg's back," Wolfe announced over the speaker. Jim moved to the door and waited until it buzzed. When he pulled it open, Blair and Randy were waiting in the vestibule between the guardroom and the cellblock.

"Hey, Jim," Blair greeted with a grin.

Jim smiled back and took the opportunity to study his unlikely friend for the first time without a grated door between them. Up close Blair was shorter than he had realized and pale under the brighter lights. But his smile seemed to warm his sallow features and his eyes danced with mischief. The shackles on his ankles and wrists looked so out of place on the gentle man that Jim thought for a second about breaking policy and removing the damned things right out in the hall.

"Hey yourself, Chief. You get your business taken care of?" Jim asked casually, fighting the urge to hug the younger man. Instead, he rested his hand on Sandburg's shoulder as he ushered him into the corridor, and kept it there. The touch was electric.

Blair looked up uncertainly for a second, his smile faltering briefly. "Sure," he managed as he gathered the excess chain in his hand and shuffled forward, Ellison on one side, Wolfe on the other. He took a deep breath and slid his forefinger along the open edge of the large, brown envelope that he carried, wincing as it sliced into his flesh.

Behind him, Jim stopped immediately. "Chief?" he asked and turned him around to search for the wound.

Sandburg's eyes went wide, and then he smiled enormously. "Paper cut," he said, holding up the finger with the tiny drop of blood on the tip. "You smelled it, didn't you?" he added extremely quietly.

"What?" Wolfe asked, examining the finger as well.

"Nothing," Blair grinned, meeting Jim's astonished gaze.

"Let me kiss that better for you," Pug offered with a leer from the door of the cell they had stopped in front of, starting a roar of protest from Boo, who was listening from a couple cells down.

"I've got a weeping sore on my ass. Why don't you kiss that, too," Sandburg replied off the cuff. The whole block erupted in laughter.

"My offer still stands, pretty boy. You might as well, you're gonna die anyway," Pug goaded.

"You really wanna get laid Fletcher? Crawl up a chicken's ass and wait," Blair shot back.

Pandemonium ensued as prisoners howled with hysterics and shouted insults back and forth. Boo continued to scream his outrage that Fletcher had dared to speak to Sandburg.

"See what you did?" Randy asked in mild exasperation. Blair looked amazingly innocent as he blinked his eyes in a 'who me?' fashion.

"Settle down, people," Jones warned over the intercom.

Blair smirked as he triumphantly popped his finger into his mouth to suck on the self-inflicted wound, apparently quite pleased with himself. Jim got the idea that it didn't have anything to do with Pug.

"Let's go," Jim urged, returning his hand to Blair's shoulder. He couldn't help but crack a smile as he looked back at the thoroughly pissed off Fletcher.

"Easy, Boo," Blair said affectionately as they came into view of the big man. Boo calmed as soon as Sandburg smiled at him. He didn't say anything, but reached a hand through the grate as far as it would go. Blair shrugged as he held up his shackled hands and kept moving. Boo watched until they were out of his line of sight, never commenting that Ellison's hand was on Sandburg.

"Home, sweet home, you little trouble maker," Randy teased as they arrived at Blair's cell. He unlocked the door and Blair shuffled in and put his hands on the wall, waiting to be released.

Jim took the key and unlocked the shackles, feet first, and then wrists. The two guards lingered momentarily in the cell.

"Thanks, man. I hate those things," Blair said as he deposited the envelope on the bed and rubbed at the slightly chafed skin on his arms.

"You need first aid?" Wolfe asked, examining the tiny cut on his finger again.

"Band-Aid?"

"I'll go find one," Randy said and exited the small room. He waited until Jim reluctantly followed and pulled the door shut.

Jim flinched at the clank and turned to face Blair as Randy wandered away. "You did that on purpose," he accused.

"Sorry," Blair whispered, grinning ear to ear again.

"How did you know?"

"We shouldn't talk here," Blair said with a glance to the camera/microphone.

"Right. I'll meet you somewhere for lunch," Jim offered sarcastically.

"Very funny. I can't believe you left stand-up for this place," Sandburg quipped.

"You got a better idea?"

Blair swallowed and looked at his feet, suddenly very serious and shy. "Um, yeah. But if you don't want to, I understand completely."

"Spit it out, Sandburg," Jim urged quietly.

"I did something. I put you on my list of visitors," Blair began hesitantly. "I know you don't really want to come up here on your day off, but we could talk without, you know," he glanced up at the ceiling.

"I'll come," Jim answered without hesitation, pleased with the idea that he could see Blair every day.

"You will?"

Jim nodded solemnly. "I don't really sleep on my days off anyway." He looked up and Wolfe was waving something in the window. "Randy found a Band-Aid," he said.

"What brand?" Blair asked expectantly.

Ellison snorted. "Curad," he supplied truthfully and went to get it.

"Unbelievable," Sandburg breathed.

"Believe it," Jim called out over his shoulder, happy to have someone to share his secret with, if only for a little while. He collected the bandage and was making his way back when a pensive Boo caught his eye.

"What's the matter with you?" Jim stopped to ask.

"He's the only person who ever smiles at me," the mountain of a man sighed sadly. "I'm gonna miss him."

"I know, Boo. Me, too," Jim said softly.

"Don't let them kill him, Ellison."

"What can I do?"

"You can sure as hell do more than I can," Boo answered roughly.

"Shh," Jim soothed. "I'll think about it," he added very quietly. He would think about it. He already was thinking about it. If he didn't do something, Sandburg would die in twenty-eight days. He waved the Band-Aid and sighed. "Let me go patch him up."

"He got Fletcher good, didn't he?" Boo asked.

"Yeah, Boo. He got him good."

"Took you long enough," Blair grouched good-naturedly as Jim returned. "I could have bled to death."

"Please. I've had worse cuts than that on my eye," Jim scoffed. He tore open the sterile covering and gestured for Blair's hand. Once again, Jim felt the tingle of static between them. "Do you feel that?" he asked uncomfortably, watching for Sandburg's response as he applied the Band-Aid.

"The spark?"

"Yeah," Jim answered, relieved that he wasn’t totally crazy. "What the hell is that?"

"I've got an idea about it. I've felt it once before," Blair admitted, studiously not making eye contact.

"You have? So it's you, not me."

"No, Jim. I think it's us."

Ellison glanced at the camera, then met Blair's eyes. "I guess I have to wait two more days to find out?"

Sandburg nodded and pulled his hand back. "Thanks, Jim," he said, raising the finger and wiggling it at him.

"I wish I had met you sooner," Jim sighed forlornly.

"So do I, man. So do I."

Twenty-five days was the first thing to pop into Jim's mind as the alarm went off. It was almost noon. Four hours of sleep was enough, he decided, glad that he'd slept at all. He had waited two days to find out what Sandburg wanted to tell him, but it had been tough. Now that the answers were getting close, he wondered if he wanted to hear them. Dressing in jeans and a tee shirt, he pulled on a sports coat over the top as he left. He hoped he wouldn't run into anybody who would recognize him and consciously left his prison ID in the truck. It wasn't exactly common for a prison guard to show up on a prisoner's visitor list, and he didn't want to cause any undue suspicion.

Sandburg tended to get special favor anyway, but the prison allowed extra visitation for death row inmates who were getting close to execution. Jim had checked Blair's list and was surprised that the kid had removed every name from it except his. When he'd asked, Blair explained that he'd already said his good-byes with the outside world, including his mother, who was half a world away on some quasi-religious retreat.

After signing in, Jim was taken to a small, private room with a table and two chairs. He didn't have to wait long. He'd barely had time to settle in the hard wooden seat when the door opened. A guard he didn't recognize escorted Blair in.

"Those aren't necessary," Jim said with a frown, indicating the hated shackles.

"I'm sorry, sir. It's policy," the guard informed him politely.

"It's okay, Jim. They don't bother me," Blair lied. "Thank you," he added to the guard.

"I'll be right outside."

Blair nodded then turned sheepishly to Jim. "You came," he said as the guard closed the door.

Jim rose from his chair and tried to keep the hurt out of his voice. "Of course I did. I said I would." He slowly rounded the table and made a show of looking around to hide his discomfort. "Nice digs," he said as he stopped to stand in front of the shorter man.

"Yeah, well it's private anyway."

"No electronic devices?"

"You tell me," Blair answered cryptically.

Jim looked caught off guard for a minute, trying to remember if they had gone over monitoring of visitors in orientation. Blair pulled a frown, but waited patiently. "Oh. Oh!" Jim said as he finally comprehended what Sandburg wanted him to do. He tilted his head slightly and listened, amazed how easily he could scan the quiet little room. "I don't hear anything," he supplied at last.

Blair relaxed and smiled. "I'm glad you're here. I've got a lot to tell you. We've only got an hour, so we'd better get started." He pointed towards the table and Jim settled on the other side and waited, ready to listen.

How much information can one man divulge in an hour? Jim had never pondered that question before. The answer, it turned out, was a lot. Sandburg had cleared his throat and started to talk; a history lesson, an anthropological lecture, and an episode of "This is Your Life, James Ellison". One hour later, Jim had answers to questions he had never dared to ask. If not for the personal verification of each and every point regarding his senses, Jim would have called it hogwash and walked away. But he couldn't refute the sincerity or veracity of the one who supplied the answers.

He was stunned to realize that he'd gone about his problems all wrong. The medical community couldn't help him because his condition was genetic; a blessing, according to Sandburg. And controllable. The idea of a normal life, getting his real job back, actually sleeping like a regular person, was so intriguing that he momentarily lost track of Blair’s calming voice.

"Anyway, it's all in storage now, but I had my will changed so you'll be able to get it after…. you know. After."

"What?" Jim asked, embarrassed by his lapse in concentration.

"My research. I think it will help you. I'm just sorry I can't be there for you myself."

"No, you will. We just have to think of something," Jim interjected.

"Jim. We've got eleven days left that you can visit," Blair pointed out. "You shouldn't come on days when you have to work. That's eleven one-hour sessions. We can't waste the time on some pipe dream that suddenly I'm not gonna die on schedule."

"Shit. You railroaded me. This is not what I came here to talk about today," Jim swore as he realized that the hour was up and he had none of the answers he'd come for. "I'm not going to let them kill you," he added stubbornly.

"You can't fight the system, man."

"There's more than one way to skin a cat. They're just not all legal."

Sandburg's mouth fell open as he read between the lines. "No. Jim, that would be suicide. I won't let you."

"We just need a plan. I think it can be done. With my senses like this, we have an edge."

"A prison break? You're nuts! No! You could get killed."

"Well you are definitely dead if we don't try."

Blair jumped up from the table. "Guard!" he shouted as he backed away. "Don't ever mention this again," he cautioned. "I won't have any part of it. I won't let you do it."

"Blair! Wait. Let's at least talk about it," Jim whispered urgently as he moved forward.

The door opened and the guard suspiciously regarded the emotional state of the two men.

"Take me back to my cell," Sandburg requested in a rushed voice.

"Okay, calm down," the guard said and pushed the door open enough that the prisoner could pass, giving Ellison a condemning glare.

"Tomorrow," Jim called out. "I'll come back tomorrow." He pinched the bridge of his nose and waited out the surge of panic that he could feel radiating from Sandburg, even as he moved further and further away.

"Please, God, not now," Blair breathed as they neared the cellblock. His chest constricted and it became harder to breathe with each slow step. Fighting to stay upright, he realized somewhere in the still functioning portion of his brain that he wasn't going to make it back to his cell before he had an all out panic attack. Arms caught him as he fell to his knees, the shakes quickly becoming convulsions. He hyperventilated until everything around him began to gray out.

"Medic!" someone shouted, but by then he wasn't listening anymore.

"Sentinel." Jim tried out the word as he sat on the couch and sipped absently on a beer. It fit. In fact, everything that Sandburg had said about Sentinels and senses and guarding the tribe fit together nicely to describe Jim Ellison's life. Sounded more like a fairy tale, and yet there it was, big as day.

He had needed someone like Blair all his life, and just when he given up hope, there he was. But it wasn't meant to be, he pondered morosely. He cursed his own selfishness, having disregarded his reason for the visit when offered the helpful information about his own problems. He cursed Sandburg for so wantonly leading him astray. But there was more to it than Blair had told him. They hadn't even gotten into the strange way that they were drawn together, or the static charge when they touched.

Idly, he doodled on a scrap of paper. The death row cellblock began to take shape almost magically. Every vent was noted, every camera recorded on the paper. Jim wondered briefly how he had come to this; from upstanding law enforcement officer to someone who would even consider appropriating a convicted killer from his due fate. Especially when said prisoner was completely against the idea. It would be a whole lot easier if Sandburg would cooperate, but he'd work around it if he had to. The word ‘kidnapping’ occurred to him, but Jim pushed it away.

A plan began to take shape, and he only had twenty-five days to put it together. He decided to approach Sandburg with the idea one more time, but if he still wasn't agreeable he'd have to go about it in his own way and simply leave the rescuee out of it. Someday, maybe Blair would forgive him. He picked up the phone and made a few subtle inquiries.

Jim waited impatiently while the clerk thumbed through the papers on a clipboard. It suddenly occurred to him that Blair might have removed his name from the visitor's list.

"I'm sorry, sir," the woman said, causing Jim to involuntarily clench the edge of the counter. "Mr. Sandburg is not available for visitors today."

"What does that mean?" Jim asked. "He doesn't want to see me?"

"Apparently, he's in the infirmary."

"What? Why? Is he okay?"

"I'm sorry, I don't have any more information than that," the clerk responded apologetically.

Jim backed away from the counter without a word, his head spinning. He felt like he had been gut punched, needing more than ever to see Blair. When he got to the truck, he already knew what he would do.

An hour and a half later he was back at the prison, in uniform. Since he was new and he worked nights, no one recognized that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. The infirmary had been one of the stops on the tour his first day of orientation, so he moved with a purpose and reached his destination without a problem.

Nodding to one of the nurses, he made his way to the private rooms held for maximum security inmates. Sandburg's file was on the wall next to the second door. He tapped lightly and a guard he had seen once or twice appeared at the little window.

"How is he?" Jim asked.

"Not very happy," the guard replied.

"I'm your lunch relief."

"Oh, great. Just let me tell the kid I'll be back."

In less than a minute, Jim traded places with the other guard. "Take your time," Jim called out. When he turned back to the bed, Sandburg was looking at him through glassy eyes.

"Jim," he mumbled, looking confused and more than a little dopey. "Not your night to work. It's not even night, is it?"

"Are you okay? What happened?" Jim said, pulling the chair next to the bed a little closer and taking his friend's hand, comforted by the now expected tingle.

"I lost it," Blair slurred as he squeezed Jim's hand. "Then they loaded me up with sedatives. I feel like shit."

"You had a panic attack," Jim reasoned, feeling somewhat relieved. His mind had supplied a hundred worse reasons for the unexpected visit to the infirmary.

"Uh huh. Didn't make it under the bunk this time." Blair ventured a grin, but it faded quickly. "Jim, I don't want to live this way."

"I know, Chief. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Not your fault. Just promise me you won't do anything stupid."

"That's a hard promise to keep," Jim teased.

"Promise," Blair insisted, forcing his eyes to stay open.

"I can't do that."

"Jim, I won't run. I won't be the cause of you having to run."

"Look you stubborn little shit, I can't explain it, but I need you now. I won't lose you simply because you gave up. You are the only thing that keeps me going," Jim confessed.

"I'm your Guide," Blair said with a smile as he closed his eyes.

"What?"

"Guide. We were supposed to be together. I just got sidetracked. I'm sorry," Blair murmured, keeping his eyes closed, a crease appearing on his forehead. "Thought I found the one. Found the wrong one."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"My first Sentinel. He didn't want to be a Sentinel," Blair explained drunkenly. "Lost his freakin' mind. Thought he could exorcise his demons, his senses."

Jim felt a flicker of hope. "Your Sentinel, what was his name?"

"Jim Ellison." Blair sighed and smiled softly as he started to drift off.

"No, the other one," Jim said with a little smile of his own, warmed by the depth of his feelings. He waited, but Blair didn't answer. Tenderly, he shook one shoulder. "Chief, what was your first Sentinel's name?"

"Huh?" Blair startled. "David."

Jim thought for a minute and a name from the file he'd been studying popped out. "David Temco?"

"Uh huh."

Jim sat back to think, letting Sandburg slip back into a drug induced sleep. David Temco, he mused, the Manifesto Murderer's final victim.

There was a tap at the door and Jim answered it to find yet another guard. "Yeah?"

"I'm your lunch relief."

"Oh, okay. Listen, the kid's asleep. Don't wake him up," Jim said as he made his getaway, armed with new information. He spared a glance at the sleeping man and whispered, "See you tomorrow, Chief."

Jim swung by the police station on his way home to revisit the people he had working on finding the missing documents. Tammy in evidence came through with autopsy photos and Rafe had found the missing interviews with Sandburg plus a copy of the infamous manifesto itself. Given Blair's reluctance to participate in a jail break, Jim decided to concentrate on the more legal route, keeping the other option open just in case.

Spreading the pictures out on the coffee table, Jim examined them carefully. Victim one: female, strangled, eyes removed. Victim two: male, strangled, long strips of linen stuffed up the nasal passages. Victim three: male, strangled, tongue removed. Victim Four: male, strangled, skinned. Victim five: female, strangled, ears stuffed with linen strips. Victim six: male, single gunshot to the head.

Two things immediately screamed for the former detective's attention. First, the sixth victim broke the pattern. In fact, according to the autopsy report, it had been initially ruled a suicide, until the police were able to tie the man in with the Manifesto Murderer, one Blair Sandburg. Second, each of the first five victims had a mutilation of one type or another to a different sensory organ.

David Temco, victim number six, odd man out had been Blair's first Sentinel. No doubt Sandburg would not have supplied this information had he not been gorked on happy pills. Exorcise his demons, Blair had said. Lost his freakin' mind.

Jim shuddered to think that his Guide would cover for a killer, then stopped to think what he himself was willing to do for his Guide. Especially when he hadn't known that he had one, or even what one was. Come to think of it, he still didn't know exactly what a Guide was, but he was positive that he wanted to keep the one he had.

Shaking his head to clear the jumble of thoughts, he picked up the transcript of Sandburg's first interview. He read almost word for word the same lecture that Blair had given him about Sentinels the day before. Then the interview really got interesting:

Sandburg: He's trying to cleanse himself. He's offering sacrifices to remove his heightened senses.

Smith: Right, so he's cutting out people's eyes and shit.

Sandburg: Yes! Exactly. An eye for an eye so to speak.

Smith: Who is he offering the sacrifices to? God?

Sandburg: I'm not sure. He's very vague on that point.

Smith: What did you say his name was again?

Sandburg: David Temco.

Smith: Why didn't you report this sooner?

Sandburg: I wasn't sure. I needed proof.

Smith: So now you have proof?

Sandburg: Yes. I found his journal. I only had about an hour and I’m certain he was watching me. I couldn’t take the whole book because I was afraid he would catch me with it, but I copied down the things relevant to the murders. Here.

Smith: This is your handwriting?

Sandburg: Yes.

Smith: You wrote this?

Sandburg: I copied it down from his journal. But yes.

Smith: Where is the original journal now?

Sandburg: I don't know. I assume he has it.

Smith: Are you aware that a David Temco was found murdered approximately four hours ago?

The transcript ended abruptly with Sandburg being read his rights. Jim sighed and lowered the papers. He picked up the so-called manifesto and read the first page. The killer described in detail the murder he referred to as 'sight' and listed his reasons and justifications for it in bullet format. Although Jim had never seen a sample of Sandburg's handwriting, he had no trouble imagining that this is what it would look like. Just like Blair's personality, it rushed through the text with exuberance and flair.

Sickened by the journal entries, not the details, but the evidence that a Sentinel could be pushed over the edge by his own senses, Jim picked up the second interview. It saddened and angered him that so many of his own interrogation techniques had been used on the young, naïve Sandburg. But Blair had quickly smartened up and after being harassed for hours fell silent, aware that the truth would not save him. Nobody believed in Sentinels.

"Where's my cake?" Blair asked with a grin as soon as he entered the room.

"You okay with this guy?" the same guard as before asked, standing in the door, eyeing Jim nervously.

"Hell, yeah!" Blair exclaimed. "We're buds."

"He's on medication," the guard explained briefly. "Don't upset him."

"We'll be fine," Jim assured and placed a hand on Blair's shoulder protectively.

The guard nodded as he retreated, shutting the door behind him. Purvis, his name tag read.

"Don't worry about Ray. I think I scared him the other day. Hey, that rhymes."

"How you doin', Chief?" Jim asked, raising Blair's eyelids one at a time to look at the dilated pupils.

"High as a fuckin' kite, man. I had it all wrong. This is great. It'll all be over before I ever even know it."

"You're not going to die. I promise."

"So where's my cake?"

"What cake?"

"The one with the file in it," Blair said with a laugh. "Or are we just gonna blast our way out of here?"

"We're gonna hold that idea in reserve right now. I'm working on something else," Jim said as he maneuvered the smaller man into a chair.

"That's what I like. Indecision is the key to flexibility," Blair proclaimed, raising a finger.

"So you're my Guide," Jim said tugging the other chair around the table so that nothing separated them, and making himself comfortable.

"Oh, shit. I thought I dreamed that," Blair muttered as his expression changed to one of depression.

"Nope, it was very real. How long have you known?"

Blair shrugged and looked away. "From the minute I saw you," he said seriously. "But really, I felt you before that."

"Nice of you to let me in on it."

"Like you would have believed me."

"Well, we'll have lots of time to discuss this later," Jim soothed. "I don't think you're in any shape right now."

"I'm fine. I was back on the block before lights out last night. I didn’t even sleep on the floor."

"That's good. I hate when you do that."

Blair grinned shyly. "I know. Thanks."

"For what?" Jim asked.

"For caring."

Jim squirmed for a minute, then got down to business. "I had some questions the other day but you ambushed me with the Sentinel stuff."

"I know."

"You do, don't you?" Jim smirked, resisting the urge to cuff the little guy on the ear. "You're very forthcoming with information when you're stoned, you know that? Let's talk."

"Hit me, boss," Blair agreed with a bob of his head.

"I'd like to. I found out most of what I needed to know on my own."

"You go, boy."

"Tell me about Boo."

Blair's brow creased in thought. "Boo?"

"Leroy ‘Boomer’ Bethea. What's his story?"

"Boo's nuts," Blair blurted out. "He killed his whole family and sat 'em around the dinner table. They were having a nice meal when the cops came by a few days later."

"Ugh. So why aren't you afraid of him?"

"I don’t know, he used to scare the shit out of me," Blair admitted. "We’re sort of friends now, in a weird way."

"I heard he killed a guard a few years back."

Blair blinked once. "Yeah. Three years ago. I told you not everybody turned down the money."

"He killed a guard over you?" Jim asked, feeling like he'd put a foot in his mouth.

"His name was Stratton. I'm sure he didn't want the money. He was just a sick son-of-a-bitch and wanted to watch the psycho hurt me."

"So what happened?" Jim asked in horror.

"He grabbed me while I was asleep, back when I used to sleep that is. I wasn't stupid. I knew what happened to young guys like me in prison. I fought like crazy, so he knocked me out."

"Where were the other guards?"

"One was on a break, the other was in on it. They say that as soon as Stratton opened Boo's door he got his neck snapped. Then Boo grabbed me and held me in his arms until the cavalry arrived. They had to sedate him to get him to let go. I woke up in the infirmary three hours later. Don't remember a damn thing about it."

"That's terrible."

"Shit happens, man," Blair mumbled as he fingered the chains on his wrist like a rosary.

"So if I baked you a cake, would you accept it?" Jim asked cautiously after several minutes of strained silence.

Blair sadly shook his head. "No way, Jim."

"I’m just saying if this other thing doesn't pan out."

"Don't do it."

"I need you," Jim admitted, reaching out to still Blair's hands.

Tears filled Sandburg's eyes as he glanced up. "That's dirty pool, man."

"If you won't let me do it for you, will you let me do it for myself?"

"I'll think about it," Blair said, dropping his head into his hands. "I don't feel very good."

"Should I get Purvis?"

"No. Could you maybe..." Blair raised his head and motioned between them with his shackled hands.

Jim scooted closer and put an arm around his Guide's shoulder, not even noticing the charge between them now.

Blair dipped his head to rest it on Jim's chest. He sighed contentedly, but with a sniffle. "I feel a birthday coming on," he said quietly.

"It may not come to that," Jim replied with a squeeze. "All I have to do is find Temco's journal."

"I have it," Blair said without raising his head.

"What do you mean you have it?" Jim asked, lifting Sandburg's head so that he could see his face.

"It's in my cell. I had my lawyer bring it from my safety deposit box the other day. That's why he was so late getting here."

"How did you get it?"

"I guess David dropped it into the mail right before he blew his brains out. Of course, I was in jail, so I didn’t get it until Naomi brought me my mail a couple weeks later."

"Naomi?"

"My mom."

"Why didn’t you turn it over to the police?"

"Come on, Jim. I was guilty as far as the task force was concerned. I knew they weren’t gonna find the killer, because he was already dead. I didn’t trust that the original manifesto wouldn’t just disappear if I ever let it out of my sight," Blair explained.

"Do you trust me?"

Blair nodded with a slow blink of his eyes.

Jim grinned. "I'll get it from you tomorrow night."

"Okay."

Purvis knocked on the door and waited a couple of seconds before he opened it. "James Ellison?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"You work here?"

"Busted," Blair mumbled under his breath.

"Warden Burgess wants to see you. Right now."

"Fine. I'll see you tomorrow night, Chief," Jim said, helping his drugged friend to his feet. Blair leaned into him and he gave him a hug. "Hang in there. This'll all be over soon."

"See ya," Blair said and made a peace sign as the guard led him away.

The warden sighed and took off his glasses as Jim was ushered in by a secretary. "Have a seat Jim. I have to tell you, I knew I'd have you in here sooner or later, but this isn't the conversation I thought we'd be having."

"What conversation is that, sir?" Jim enquired as he settled in a chair.

"You're getting too close to Sandburg," Burgess said without preamble. "Imagine my surprise when I was informed that you were on his visitor list."

"You were checking up on me?"

"No. I was keeping an eye on him. I was worried when he wouldn't take visitors anymore. He used to push the limits on numbers and time. Why you?"

"We're friends."

The warden shook his head. "I don't buy it. Maybe if you had been around longer, but that's quite a turnaround in little more than a week."

"You said yourself that he's special," Jim argued. "And I believe that he's innocent. In fact, I've been looking into his case..."

"Whoa, hold on. Stop right there. There is no case. Blair was tried, found guilty and sentenced to death. He’s the one who stopped the appeals, and after in-depth discussions with him about it, I can't say that I disagree with his sentiments."

"Can you really put an innocent man to death?" Jim asked passionately.

"I'll do my duty. I pleaded with him to change his story, but he’s stubborn."

"I have proof."

"It doesn't matter."

"Don't you even want to know what it is?"

"I know what it's not. Every reason, every defense that Sandburg used was based on the fact that the Manifesto Murder had heightened senses. He called him a Sentinel. You want to free Sandburg? Find a real live Sentinel."

Jim froze, suddenly trapped by his self-preservation instincts. "But sir…" he finally managed through his dry mouth, keenly aware of his own rapid heart rate.

"No buts. I'm removing you from his visitor list."

"No," Jim protested.

"I'd be remiss in my duties if I didn't. The visits are highly irregular, and frankly suspicious."

"You can't do that!" Jim shouted, jumping to his feet.

"Effective immediately, I'm reassigning you to solitary."

Blair struggled to his feet when he heard footsteps approaching, shaking his head to try and clear the cobwebs. "Randy," he said as he grasped the bars to keep himself upright.

"I have bad news, kiddo."

"Jim’s not coming tonight, is he?"

"He quit."

"What?" Blair asked. "I don’t understand. He wouldn’t do that."

Wolfe put his hand on the bar just above Blair’s. "The warden reassigned him. He didn’t take it well. I understand it got ugly fast."

"Damn," Blair sighed and moved back to the bunk where he flopped bonelessly onto his back. The drugs pulled at him, numbing his emotions. He wanted to cry, or rather thought that he should, but couldn’t find the motivation.

"Sandburg? What’s going on? Rumor is that Ellison was planning to bust you out of here."

"That’s ridiculous," Blair scoffed, turning away in case his face gave anything away. "Why would he do that. He hardly knows me."

"Blair, come back over here," Randy insisted quietly.

The prisoner sighed and with great effort, moved back to the grate.

"I’m just saying that no one here wants to see you die," Wolfe whispered urgently. "Tell me what’s going on. Let me help."

"Can you get something to Jim for me?"

"Sure."

Sandburg went to the bunk and pulled a large brown envelope from under the mattress. Randy reached through the bars and grasped it. "Don’t do anything stupid, Randy. You have a family to take care of," Blair insisted before he released the envelope.

"I know. We’re friends, right?"

"Always, man."

"Get some sleep."

Blair snorted wearily. "As if I have a choice, Elaine will dose me out for the night any minute now."

"I’m sorry," Randy said sincerely. "What do you want me to tell Ellison?"

Blair thought for a minute, finding it difficult through the haze of drugs. "Tell him… tell him that it’s okay. Tell him I understand."

"Understand what? That he got fired?"

"Don’t worry, he’ll know what I mean."

Jim was already awake when the early morning knock came. In fact, he hadn’t been to bed yet, his body just now adjusting to being up at night. Not that he would have slept anyway. He had had the power to stop the execution and did nothing, giving in to his well-developed reflex to hide his extraordinary abilities instead. As much as he tried to tell himself that it was a knee jerk reaction, he felt guilty as hell.

When he opened the door, his mouth dropped open.

"Glad to see you, too, Ellison," Wolfe said with a grin. "I have something for you."

"The manifesto," Jim sighed reaching to take the envelope.

"Is that what this is?"

"You mean you didn’t look?" Jim asked acerbically.

"No I didn’t look. I wanted to…."

Jim slid the spiral bound notebook from its sheath and opened it. The handwriting was frantic and messy and filled the book from cover to cover. "The real killer wrote this," he said. "We have to get it to Burgess."

"I don’t think that will help," Randy replied, taking the notebook. "I mean, it’s supporting evidence, sure, but Blair would have turned it over a long time ago if it proved anything."

"It proves that he only copied parts of the manifesto. Forensics can isolate when it was written and even prove that David Temco wrote it, if we can find anything with his handwriting."

"That’s going to take a lot of doing," Wolfe argued. "Blair only has twenty-one days left."

"I know, I know, but we can do this. I have friends in the police department and the warden will listen. Maybe not to me…."

Randy nodded grimly. "You want me to talk to Warden Burgess."

"He’s banned me from the prison after my little outburst the other day. I can’t get within a mile of him or Blair either. Take him the manifesto. He’s an honorable man and he’s very fond of Sandburg. He’ll do the right thing."

"What about you?"

"I’ll work on plan B," Jim answered cryptically. "You really shouldn’t hear the details. It would be a lot easier if I hadn’t quit, dammit."

"Jim, Blair will kill you if you do anything rash."

Jim flashed a grin. "Don’t I know it."

"Oh, yeah, I got a message for you from him."

"What?"

"He said to tell you that it’s okay and that he understands."

Jim’s smile quickly vanished replaced by a look of grief and self-recrimination. "God, he knows," Jim murmured.

"He knows what?"

"He knows that I let him down. Listen, Randy, go see the warden now, this morning. We’re counting on you," Jim said urgently as he opened the door for the other man to go.

Wolfe stopped in the doorway. "Is it really possible? Could Temco have been what Blair says he was?"

"I believe," Jim said softly.

Randy narrowed his gaze. "You really do, don’t you? I’ll try to convince the warden, but then he’ll have to convince the governor if we really want to get a stay of execution."

"You’re right," Jim mumbled. "I didn’t even think of the governor."

Almost a week had passed with no resolution. The warden had done the right thing as predicted, but the governor was unmoved even though the manifesto had been proven to be authentic. It was a hard decision for the politician, being a hard liner on crime, not to mention the fact that it was an election year. The discovery was carefully kept out of the news.

Plan B was shaping up, but the longer he went without contact with his Guide, the more out of control Jim was with his senses. This made the plan unstable and even more dangerous. Jim continued to beat himself up that he hadn’t just come out and admitted to the warden that Temco wasn’t a figment of Sandburg’s active imagination and that he knew of another modern Sentinel. It would be all over now except for the media circus. He was sure that that would still be in full swing. But he wouldn’t have to face it alone, of that he was certain. If plan B failed he decided that he would go to the press and get it all out in the open, damn the consequences.

He finished his letter to Blair and sealed it before he made the phone call. A new name had been added to Sandburg’s visitor list, and Burgess couldn’t really do anything about it. Not that he would since he was the one who put it there in the first place.

"Maria!" Blair exclaimed with delight as he entered the visitation room.

"Hello, you," the pretty young woman answered as she lowered the baby back to the stroller with his twin. She pulled her favorite prisoner in for a hug. "It’s good to see you. You look great. I expected you to be all strung out on meds."

"Yeah, I think I’m getting used to the drugs," Blair hedged. "I was kind of suspicious when they said I had a visitor."

"Jim sent me."

"Why am I not surprised. Maria, don’t let him pull you into anything," Blair urged.

"Hey, I’m completely innocent here. I’m just delivering a letter from one friend to another." She held out a sealed envelope and Blair took it cautiously.

"I’ll read it later. Can I see the babies?" he asked excitedly as he knelt before the double stroller, carefully holding the chains away from the little ones.

"Of course," Maria lifted one of them out and handed the sleeping child to him.

Blair marveled at the soft pink skin as he brushed his lips across the infant’s head, surprising himself as a tear fell from his eye.

"You okay?" Maria asked with tenderness.

"Yeah," Blair answered sheepishly. "I just forgot, that’s all."

"Forgot?"

"I forgot that all of life isn’t hard and ugly. It’s nice to know that there are still some beautiful, sweet things left in the world. Thank you," he whispered to the little one and kissed the tiny head again.

Back in his cell, Blair blinked as he read the letter. Jim begged his forgiveness and apologized eloquently over and over again for what he perceived as a betrayal towards Blair. Jim wrote that he hadn’t given up and one way or another he would not only stop the execution, but free Blair as well. With a heavy heart, Blair tore the letter to confetti before flushing it down the toilet. He couldn’t leave any evidence that might harm his friend. But he couldn’t allow Jim to break him out. Although the Sentinel was having difficulties at the moment, he wouldn’t allow him to ruin the rest of his life.

He glanced at the camera and slid under his bunk where he had spent a lot of time again lately. Digging in the little hole that he’d torn in the bottom of the mattress he used his finger to fish out fourteen pills of two different colors and shapes. Taking a minute to center himself he thought about his mother, his life in general, and his Sentinel. Briefly he considered writing a note, but knew he could never make the other man see that this was for the best. One by one he swallowed the pills.

"In local news, convicted killer Blair Sandburg, otherwise known as The Manifesto Murderer is resting inside the prison infirmary after an apparent overdose of sedatives earlier today…"

"What do you mean you don’t have time to talk to me?" Jim asked angrily. "I have important information about the real Manifesto Murderer…. Hello? Hello? Son of a bitch," he swore as he slammed the phone down.

He laughed weakly at his situation. He had news that would set the world on its ear, but couldn’t pry even a single reporter away from the story of the day to listen to him. Unfortunately, that story was how Sandburg had tried to off himself, effectively preventing Jim from implementing plan B. Plan C was also a wash if no one would listen to him.

"….condition listed as stable, but guarded. Prison officials assure us that this episode will in no way change the scheduled execution date coming up in fifteen days. And now for sports…. "

Punching the remote a lot harder than necessary, Jim reigned in his annoyance and desperation. He had never considered that Blair might try to take himself out of the equation. That the kid would go to such great lengths to protect him, and he was certain that that was all there was to it, touched him deeply. And scared him. And pissed him the hell off. He and Sandburg were going to have a serious discussion just as soon as he stopped the execution. There had to be way.

Jim winced as a car squealed around the corner a couple of blocks away. Using the dial method that Blair had taught him, he quickly gained control of his hearing. He could control his senses if he concentrated he realized. As he reached down deep to find his military discipline, plan D began to take shape.

He called the prison to check on Blair and talked to Barkley who told him that Sandburg was pretty much out of it after having his stomach pumped, but that the doctor said that he would probably be all right. Jim took a minute to breathe. He was definitely relieved, but would still worry until he could see Sandburg for himself.

Next he called the station and had Rafe do a quick check to locate his intended victim without attracting too much attention. Luckily, the man was at home for the evening before flying off to Palm Springs for a week. Time was short now. Jim decided that he’d have to make his move. Plan D came online.

"Hello," a familiar voice said from beside the bed when Blair opened his eyes.

"Hey," Blair said weakly as he tried to smile for the warden.

"How do you feel, son?"

"Not too bad. Considering," Blair sighed. The look of disappointment on the older man’s face honestly hurt. "I’m sorry."

"Shh. Don’t say that. I can’t help but feel like this is partly my fault."

"How can you say that? Please, understand I had my reasons, and they’re not what you think."

"I’m sure you did. I know now that you and Jim Ellison had struck up a friendship of sorts. I’m sorry I took that away from you. I’ll allow visitation now."

Blair sighed deeply. "I don’t think that’s such a good idea."

Jim moved so softly, so silently through the night that he doubted he could have heard himself. The outside perimeter had been breached with such ease that he wanted to label the so-called guards as amateurs. He knew that he wasn’t the kind of enemy that they expected. Oh, sure they were on the lookout for mercs and trained assassins and just plain crazy people. But they had no defense against an intruder that could see what they couldn’t see, hear what they couldn’t hear, and locate them by their own unique odors. Even the dogs were ineffectual because he was on their level and knew where they were and how to avoid them.

Getting in was a little more difficult, but far from impossible. Keeping his concentration at such a high level was second nature for such a mission, but it began to wear on him. He stopped to rest after he disabled the alarm. Allowing himself only a moment, he continued toward his goal.

The Governor’s prostate problem was not a well kept secret and Jim slipped unseen into the man’s private bathroom suite to wait. An hour passed, then two. Finally a shuffling pattern of footsteps on carpet sounded in Jim’s sensitive ears. His patience all but gone, Jim leveled his gun into the back of the man’s head before he could begin his midnight business. When he cocked the weapon his victim froze.

"I’m sorry to bother you, sir," Jim said respectfully. "But I need a moment of your time."

SEVENTY-TWO HOURS LATER

Blair startled awake. Even though he had steadfastly refused further medication, with his lawyer to back him up this time, three days in the infirmary had made him lax. There had always been someone he trusted in the room with him, which meant he could relax enough to sleep, almost like having Jim around. He hadn’t intended to sleep back in his cell. Not that he didn’t have complete faith in the night crew, he just didn’t know Ellison’s replacement all that well.

The silhouette that opened the cell door triggered a memory and Blair bolted from the bed with a yelp. A flashback to another night on the block caused him to lash out. He found himself flat on the floor fighting desperately against the three men who carefully held him down.

"Blair! Calm down, it’s me. It’s Randy. Look at me!" a gentle voice pleaded with him.

Fighting back a panic attack Blair finally focused on the terrified faces of the men practically sitting on his chest; Randy, the new guard, and Warden Burgess.

Sounds of curious and concerned prisoners who were wakened by the noise echoed throughout the cellblock.

"Sandburg!" a plaintive wail rose above the rest. "Blair! Don’t you hurt him, you bastards. I’ll kill you…"

"Everybody calm down. There’s nothing to worry about. Go back to your bunks," a voice announced over the speaker. "Boo, settle down. Sandburg is fine."

"What’s going on?" Blair managed, still shaking with adrenaline.

"Gather your things, we’re getting you out of here," the warden said with a smile as they released him and allowed him to pull back.

"No," he said guardedly.

"What? There’s a car out back. Somebody in it wants to talk to you," Randy said.

"Look, I can’t let you do this."

Randy started to laugh. "He thinks we’re breaking him out," he guessed.

"You’re not?" Blair asked in disbelief.

"Son," Burgess said with exasperated affection. "I’m not in the habit of sneaking condemned killers out in the middle of the night. The Governor wants to see you."

"The…. what?"

"You got a stay of execution. And a pardon," Randy said, his face splitting in a grin. "We’re getting you out now to avoid the media crush that’s sure to erupt in the morning when the Governor makes the announcement. In the meantime, he wants to see you. Let’s not keep the man waiting."

"But... how?"

"Stop thinking and move," Randy ordered gently, still smiling ear to ear.

The other guard produced a paper bag and Blair numbly put his meager belongings in it; some pictures, some books, a few letters. Everything else he left. When he was done he automatically held out his wrists for the shackles.

Randy pushed his hands back down. "Free men don’t get the bracelets," he explained, unable to keep from choking up. Blair hugged him and then wiped at his own face.

The warden placed a fatherly hand on the stunned man’s shoulder and ushered him out of the cell. The other prisoners stood at the doors of their cells and watched the silent procession.

Blair stopped at cell number five and clasped hands with his unlikely friend. "Good-bye, Boo," he said and found one last smile for the big man.

"Take care, baby," Boo said as a large teardrop rolled down his face. "I won’t never forget you." Then Boo smiled for the first time in years.

Jim stretched his legs out in the back of the limo. "You’re a hard man to convince," he said to the other passenger.

"What?" the Governor laughed. "I was supposed to believe you just because you showed up in my bathroom in the middle of the night?"

"Considering the manpower and technology employed to keep unwanted guests like me out, I would have to say yes to that, sir," Jim teased.

"I was impressed how you breezed right through the defenses, but the other stuff…. I’m sorry, I couldn’t just take you at your word. No hard feelings?" the older man asked as he held out his hand.

"No, sir," Ellison agreed as he shook the Governor’s hand. "Again, let me apologize for my tactics. I just couldn’t let them kill an innocent man. Not Sandburg. You’ll understand when you meet him. In fact, here he comes now." Jim smiled at the man’s lack of surprise after three days of showing him and his staff exactly what he could do.

"Good luck, Detective Ellison."

"Thank you, sir. You too. I think you’re going to need it."

"Don’t worry, I have the feeling this will be well worth giving up my vacation."

Jim smiled and stepped out of the limo and moved quickly toward his own vehicle. He sighed as he took in the scent of his Guide when the employee entrance on the backside of the prison opened and Sandburg was escorted to the long black car. Blair looked straight at him, although Jim knew he wouldn’t be able to see him in the dark, then turned to say his good-byes to the guards before climbing into the car.

"Hello," Blair said hesitantly to the dignified man in the back of the limo.

"Mr. Sandburg, come in. It’s nice to meet you at last. I’ve heard so much about you."

"Jim," Blair guessed as he turned and looked out the back window of the car. He could just make out the large figure leaning against an extended-cab truck.

"That’s right. He came to see me to plead your case. Ordinarily, I would have his butt in jail along with you, but as you know, he’s not exactly ordinary."

"He told you."

"Mr. Ellison has spent the last three days showing me what he can do. He kept surprising himself. He said that he only recently found out that he can control what he does. And he seems to think that you can help him even more, although I’ll admit to being a little cynical after what happened to Mr. Temco."

"It was already too late when I met David," Blair said a bit defensively. "I tried, I honestly tried. I just couldn’t get through to him. He was too far gone."

The other man nodded. "I read the manifesto. I have to agree that he was insane. Together, maybe we can take care of Ellison, with your brains and my resources."

Sandburg bristled. "You can’t out Jim. He’s not ready," he insisted.

"Are you kidding? I would never reveal his abilities. He’s much more useful if no one knows what he can do," the Governor declared.

Blair glared. "You’re going to use him. You’re going to take away his freedom."

"Not at all. I’ve already made arrangements for him to go back to his old job. The police chief was more than happy to honor my request. That’s not to say that he won’t be available statewide should certain emergencies arise. It would be nice if we could keep you on retainer as well?"

"Me? What do you want with a convicted killer?" Blair asked with a smirk.

"A wrongly convicted man," the Governor corrected. "You’re a highly intelligent anthropologist who happens to be the world’s only expert on Sentinels. I can see that you’d be a little suspicious, Mr. Sandburg, all I’m asking is that you give this a chance. If you’re not happy you can walk away. So can Jim."

Blair seemed to consider the proposal for several long minutes.

"Please accept my sincere apology for your unfortunate incarceration," the Governor added at last.

"No problem, uh, sir. Just out of curiosity, how is this going to effect the election?"

"Are you kidding? I was dreading the impact your followers were going to have on my campaign after your execution. They are very media savvy. For me, your timing couldn’t have been worse."

"Oh, well, sorry about that," Blair said sarcastically. "Listen, if we’re done…."

The Governor laughed again when he realized that he was being dismissed. "Good luck, Mr. Sandburg. Take care of Jim," he said good-naturedly.

"I will," Blair said with a tight smile and climbed out of the car. "How many people know? About Jim, I mean," he asked, bending slightly to look into the car.

"A handful. Don’t worry, it’ll be our little secret."

Blair nodded dubiously and patted the top of the car. "Let’s keep it that way," he said protectively and shut the door.

The car pulled away as Blair turned to face the man who stepped out of the shadows. "You heard?" he asked.

Jim smiled almost shyly. "Yeah, sorry. You know that was the Governor, right?"

"So?"

"So, you weren’t exactly