Death Song Read online

  Disclaimer: The usual ones -- I don't own the characters, I made no money from this and don't plan to. I did get the satisfaction of making good on my New Year's resolution only a few days into '98, so I figure I can coast now from here -- that's personal gratification and not monetary folks! ~g~

  Author's Notes:

  Despite the title, this IS NOT A DEATH STORY -- I'm not sure I'm capable of writing one of those. So don't let the name scare you off.

  This was my first attempt at Sentinel fan fiction. Begun after I'd seen only a few episodes from the second season, the story was shelved for months. As a part of my New Year's resolution to finish something that I'd started in '97 before beginning anything new in '98, I pulled this one out of the files.

  It needed some major rewriting and updating, but the story remains pretty much intact to what it was when it started out. There is some violence, some angst, and of course, some smarm. It's not my most inventive work, but I hope you enjoy it -- it's a pretty fast read.

  There are a few additional notes at the end that explain a couple of other points. I've placed them there in order to keep the story tone intact and not ruin the surprises. If you're one of those people who read the last pages of a mystery first, then be my guest.

  All mistakes are mine and feedback is always welcome!

  Death Song

  by

  K. Ryn

  [email protected]

  .

  Jim Ellison flung open the doors to the ruined apartment building, his mood as black as the charred wood that still smoldered inside. A few seconds later, Blair Sandburg emerged, trailing in his partner's wake.

  "Spontaneously combusting lighters, lethal steak knives, exploding gas stoves... You know, Jim, this is wild."

  "I'm not sure that's the word I'd use," Jim growled. He glanced back over his shoulder as he led the way to where he'd parked the truck and Blair flinched at the animosity in his friend's expression. "Unless by wild you mean out of control."

  "Okay, maybe weird is a better choice," Blair admitted. "I mean just think about it. Three incidents, in three days, happening to three people we know. If that doesn't stretch that laws of cosmic coincidence, I don't know what does."

  "It doesn't stretch anything if it's not coincidence," Jim said grimly.

  His comment stopped Blair in his tracks. He stared at the Sentinel, considering the older man's words, then shook his head. "Makes more sense to blame it on the full moon, man. This stuff can not be connected."

  Jim stopped and turned, his foot on the curb. He glanced back toward the building where his friend Carl Jorgenson had lived and shook his head, frowning.

  "But how?" Blair asked. "Simon's lighter suddenly explodes burning his hands, Cassie is attacked by a guy with a serrated steak knife when she leaves the station, and Jorgenson's gas stove develops a sudden leak starting a flash fire that he barely escapes. What ties them all together?"

  "I don't know," Jim answered softly, the frown shifting to an expression of puzzlement. "There's something... something about each one that's familiar. Something I know I should recognize."

  "Well, Carl's lucky you were here. He never would have made it out of there without help." Blair had only met Jorgenson a few times, but he knew from Jim's comments that the man had been a respected cop before an arrest had gone bad and a bullet in his spine had ended his career. He shivered, envisioning the handicapped man trying to get his wheelchair out of the building as flames roared around him.

  "Maybe that's the connection," Jim muttered.

  "What?"

  "I know all three of them and I was there just as each incident happened."

  "Now that's got to be a coincidence," Blair objected.

  "Maybe..."

  Jim's voice faded off and he stared at the apartment building again. Blair could feel the tension smoldering in his partner. He eyed the older man anxiously, wondering what was going through the Sentinel's mind, watching for the warning signs of a zone-out. Dealing with the fallout from the last three days had been hard enough. Now it sounded like he was taking it personally, even blaming himself for the bizarre events. Blair breathed a sigh of relief when the older man finally moved.

  "Let's get back to the station," Jim said, stepping off the curb and heading across the street. "There are some things I want to check out."

  Blair nodded and followed, jogging a few steps to catch up. As he approached the truck, he caught an odd reflection on the passenger-side door and slowed, studying it distractedly. It was vaguely familiar, he realized and distinctly out of place. He glanced down at the pavement and saw the source of the image.

  "Talk about weird..."

  "What was that?" he heard Jim call out from the other side of the truck.

  "Weird... this has got to top it," Blair answered absently, now intent on following the trail of crudely drawn characters toward the middle of the street.

  "Chief, what are you talking about?" Jim asked, easing into the driver's seat.

  "This graffiti," Blair called back, crouching down and staring at the writing on the pavement. "I'd swear it's Peruvian... it almost looks like Hibani script. I mean, it can't be... but I'd swear it is."

  Jim's senses tingled with a forewarning of danger at Blair's words. Danger from where? He shifted in the seat, catching a glimpse of his partner's crouched form in the truck's side mirror.

  Unaware of Jim's anxiety, Blair's attention remained focused on the concrete. He put his finger to one of the symbols and traced it, fixing it in his mind to check later. When he pulled his hand away he rubbed his finger to his thumb. "This is still wet. Someone painted this not very long ago. Truly weird. Just like everything else that's been happening."

  Jim's premonition of danger crystallized as he caught a flicker of movement in the mirror -- a car had appeared out of nowhere and it was headed directly toward Blair.

  "Sandburg, MOVE!" Jim called out, already vaulting out of the driver's door.

  Rounding the front end of the truck, he saw Blair's head lift in startled surprise. Jim was moving as fast as he could, but his mind screamed the reality that he'd never get to the younger man in time, that the car was moving too fast. He watched Blair lurch to his feet and turn toward him, the awkward movement throwing the anthropologist slightly off balance. Jim's breath caught as his friend stumbled and dropped to one knee. At the last minute the vehicle swerved and Blair managed a desperate lunge before the car clipped him. The force of the impact sent him flying across the pavement and he crashed heavily into the side of the truck, crumpling to the ground.

  Jim was at his side almost as he landed, the Sentinel's eyes flickering once to the car as it sped away, hoping to get a license number. He strained his sight to the limit, but there was no tag to see, no identifying marks other than the make and model of the vehicle.

  A groan brought his attention back to Blair.

  "Easy..." Jim gripped the younger man's shoulder firmly, trying to keep him from moving, but Blair moaned and pulled away, as if he was still trying to get out of the path of the oncoming car. "Chief, it's over..." Jim said soothingly. "Do you hear me? The car's gone."

  Blair stopped resisting as Jim's words finally sank in. "What... happened? Where'd it come from?"

  "I don't know, buddy. Take it easy. Just breathe."

  Blair started to comply with the order and nearly doubled over from the pain. Jim pulled his shirt open, wincing at the sight of the bruises already forming along his friend's left side.

  "You're going to be all right," Jim announced, hoping that his voice sounded more confident than he felt. "Relax... try to breathe as shallowly as you can."

  "Oh, man... Jim... it hurts..." Blair whispered weakly, his body starting to tremble as the shock set in.

  "Stay with me, Chief," Jim or
dered, pulling his cell phone from his jacket pocket and punching in 911. "This is Detective Ellison. I need an ambulance at 1040 South Main, now. I've got a hit and run victim who needs immediate medical assistance."

  "Ambulance is on the way," the dispatcher replied. "Do you want police backup?"

  Jim looked over his shoulder toward where the speeding car had disappeared and his face grew hard.

  "Yes. And contact Captain Banks in Major Crimes. He can reach me at this cell number." Jim set down the phone, shirking out of his jacket and placing it over his shivering partner.

  "Just hang in there, Chief," he whispered, holding his friend firmly, as if he could will his own strength into Blair's battered body.

  Blair stared up at him, eyes wide with pain as he strained to draw enough breath to speak. "... Jim..."

  "Don't talk," Jim ordered, waving him off. "Breathe... stay with me, now... help's on the way."

  Two squad cars arrived just as the ambulance did. Jim stayed at Blair's side until one of the EMTs gently shouldered him out of the way. He backed off, watching anxiously as they worked to stabilize his injured partner.

  One of the uniformed cops approached and Jim gave a terse description of both the car and what had happened, his eyes never leaving Blair's face. Finally, one of the med-techs rose to his feet, drawing Jim to his side with a gesture.

  "He's lucky," the technician reported. "His vitals are stable and there's no sign of internal bleeding. We're ready to move him now. I assume you want to ride along?"

  Jim nodded and turned to the officer he'd been talking to earlier. He outlined what he wanted done with the scene and reminded them to call in forensics. Satisfied that things would be covered, he climbed into the ambulance just as they finished loading Blair's stretcher.

  As he found a place to sit in the cramped space, he took a good look at his partner. Even with his training, he felt a momentary flicker of doubt and found himself wondering if the EMT had known what he was talking about. Blair lay strapped to a backboard, a restraining collar wrapped around his neck, an oxygen mask covering most of his face.

  Jim's concern must have been evident to the tech who was monitoring the anthropologist.

  "He's actually in pretty good shape," the man assured him. "Most of this is just for show."

  Jim nodded, studying the younger man's face intently. As if in response, Blair's eyes flickered open, the dull blue gaze locking with his immediately. Blair seemed about to speak until a spasm of pain washed across his face and he groaned, closing his eyes again.

  "He's going to drift in and out for a while. That's a normal response to the trauma. Once he's been assessed, they'll give him something to take the edge off the pain."

  Jim acknowledged the EMT's words of explanation with another nod. He reached forward, wrapping his fingers around Blair's wrist, extending his senses to monitor his partner himself. The slow, but even pulse under his fingertips and the steady sound of his Guide's breathing did more to reassure him than all of the medic's words. He took a deep breath and resigned himself to waiting, not taking his eyes off of his friend the entire ride.

  Simon strode into the waiting room and immediately made his way to Jim's side. "How's he doing?"

  "The tech on the scene thought that the injuries were minor," Jim responded, his gaze shifting anxiously toward the closed doors of the ER trauma room. "But they've been in there a long time."

  Simon nodded and eyed Jim carefully.

  "And you?"

  Jim looked up at Simon in surprise. "Me? I'm fine, sir."

  "Good," said Simon tersely. "I've already gotten the reports from scene. Suppose you give me your version."

  In quiet, controlled tones, Jim filled him in on what had happened.

  When he was finished, Simon shook his head, muttering something under his breath about Blair's ability to attract trouble, then dropped an envelope of photos into Jim's hands. "Forensics shot these. This is what Sandburg was looking at when he was hit?"

  Jim nodded, his eyes scanning the photos, the tingling premonition of danger he'd felt earlier coursing through him again.

  "Sandburg was right, these look like Peruvian script symbols," Jim murmured.

  "Peruvian?" Simon said in confusion. "What do they mean?"

  "I'm not sure... I never did get very far with the written languages... They're familiar though..."

  "Detective Ellison?"

  Jim looked up and saw a doctor standing just outside the closing door of the exam room. He rose to his feet and crossed over to the man, shaking the extended hand.

  "I'm Dr. Harrison. I'm the attending on your partner..." he paused, glancing down at his chart for a moment.

  "Sandburg," Jim prompted. "Blair Sandburg."

  "Yes. Well, we've finished with him. He's got several minor fractures of the left ribs, but there's no sign of internal injuries. Neural scans came back clean as well. I'll write a prescription for a mild pain killer that he can take for the next 24 hours. After that all he should need is some aspirin."

  Jim and Simon exchanged a quick smile of relief as the doctor continued.

  "He's going to need to take it easy for a few days. I'd like to keep him overnight for observation. After that I'm assuming that you can keep an eye on him?"

  "If anyone can," Jim nodded, smiling.

  "They're going to move him upstairs in a few minutes, but you can go in and see him now."

  "Thank you, doctor," Jim said earnestly, shaking the doctor's hand.

  "I'm the one who should be thanking you, detective. From what I heard, your quick actions kept him from worse injury. He's lucky you were there."

  Jim's eyes widened in shock. The doctor was already walking away, unaware of the affect of his words, but Simon saw the strange look on his face and grabbed his arm.

  "Jim, what is it?"

  "I was there... Just like the others..."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "This was no accident," Jim said grimly. "None of them were. They're tied together -- your lighter exploding, Cassie's assault, the gas fire, and now this attack on Blair. Someone's targeting people close to me."

  "That's a stretch Jim," Simon cautioned. "There's no real proof to suggest it."

  "There's this." Jim shook the package of photos. "Look at the trail of symbols. It stretches from my truck to the middle of the street. From the passenger side of the truck. Someone wanted Sandburg out in the open where he'd be an easy target. Somebody who was close enough to see me get into the driver's seat before he made his move. And they knew him well enough to use something so unusual that it would stop him in his tracks. Simon, he'd be dead right now if that car hadn't swerved at the last minute."

  "Let me get this straight. You think somebody planted this graffiti to take a shot at Sandburg, but that he's not the real target? Then who is? What's this all about?"

  "I don't know... but I'm tied into it somehow," Jim answered. "I'll meet you back at the station later. Right now, I want to check on Blair. If he's staying overnight I'll probably have to go back to the loft and get his black book. If I know him, he'll probably have half the nurses on the floor jumping to get a date with him," he finished with a smile.

  "I'll arrange for a guard on his room, just to be safe. And Jim, we're not finished with this discussion," Simon warned, giving him a firm look before moving off.

  Jim stood outside the exam room doors for a moment, a vague scrap of a memory teasing at the back of his mind. The illusive fragment disappeared as soon as he tried to focus on it. Shaking his head in frustration, he took a deep breath, trying to regain his control before he faced his partner.

  Pushing through the doors he caught sight of Blair laying on an exam table, quiet and still, his eyes closed. From the doorway Jim could see the purpling of bruises along the right side of his face, a reminder that Blair had been thrown into the truck as well.

  "Next time you decide to take flying lessons, I hope you arrange for a softer spot to land, Chief," he sai
d softly.

  Blair's eyes flickered open and he slowly shifted his head to look in Jim's direction. "I'll remember that," he whispered.

  Jim crossed the distance to the younger man's side, extending his senses to assess his Guide's condition. "How are you feeling?"

  "Right now... I'm not feeling... much of anything..." Blair answered slowly, his voice thick. "They gave me something..."

  "Probably to keep you from chasing after the nurses," Jim said with a straight face, although his eyes were lit with a smile. "They want to keep you overnight for observation, but you can come home tomorrow."

  "Sounds like a plan..."

  Blair shifted slightly and stifled a groan, drug-hazed blue eyes reflecting his distress. Jim 'heard' his heartbeat quicken in response to the pain and touched his Guide lightly on the shoulder.

  "Just take it easy, Chief," Jim warned. "You were lucky. You're going to walk away from this with just a few fractured ribs and some bruises."

  Blair's eyes locked with his and Jim hoped that he would read the truth there.

  "That's good to know." Blair's eyes closed and Jim knew that the drugs were taking hold by the effort it took the young man to open them again. But open them he did, fixing Jim with his "don't give me any crap, tell me the truth" expression. "Now... what's... the rest of it?... It wasn't an accident... was it? It's connected... somehow... to Simon... and the others..."

  "It wasn't an accident," Jim acknowledged quietly.

  "And you still think... that this somehow... revolves around you..." Blair whispered, his voice strained.

  "What I think is that you need to get some rest," Jim countered, turning slightly to see two aides appear in the doorway.

  "But Jim..."

  "You let me worry about it for now. That's what I get paid for," Jim patted his arm, cutting off any further discussion. "Get some rest. They're going to take you upstairs and get you settled in. I'll be back to check on you later."

  For a moment Blair looked like he was going to argue, but another stab of pain forced him to lay back and follow Jim's directions.