False Mirrors Read online

  Once glance told Blair that Jim wasn't buying the explanation, but it was as good a reason as any that the anthropologist could suggest at the moment.

  "He's probably right, Jim. With the glare, you wouldn't have been able to see who it was and your protective instincts just kicked in."

  Jim took a sip of water and glanced at the store window. "Maybe. It still doesn't excuse my pulling my weapon. Speaking of which..."

  Wordlessly, Blair withdrew the gun and handed it to Jim in exchange for the bottle of water. The detective checked the weapon, tucked it into the holster and then drew himself up to his full height. "My apologies again, Mr. Donnello," he murmured, extending his hand.

  Blair screwed the cap on the bottle and dropped it into his backpack. He retrieved Jim's sunglasses from the pavement while the other two men shook hands.

  "And again, none are necessary, Detective," the old man assured him. With a nod to both of them, the little man disappeared into his shop.

  Studying the Sentinel carefully, Blair handed him the glasses. He saw the lines of strain around the older man's eyes and felt the palpable tension that was flowing off his friend.

  "How's the headache?" he asked quietly.

  "It's there," Jim muttered.

  "Have you got the dials turned down?" Blair pressed.

  "Yes, Professor," Jim growled back. "It's not helping. They haven't been working right for days now."

  "Why didn't you tell me?" Blair asked softly.

  "It's a headache, not a bullet wound, Sandburg," Jim snapped in annoyance. "Nothing that some aspirin won't cure."

  Enough is enough, Blair thought firmly, making a fast decision. "We need to talk, Jim." He grabbed Ellison's arm and steered the detective toward the street.

  "There's nothing to talk about," argued Jim, pulling back.

  "Tell that to Simon. Or better yet, tell it to Internal Affairs when you freak out again and someone does get hurt!" Blair whispered, making his tone as harsh and damning as he could.

  An abrupt, noisy intake of breath was Jim's only response. Blair couldn't see the ice-cold glare that hid behind the dark lenses, and he was thankful for that. No matter how difficult this was for either of them, they couldn't dodge the reality of what had happened -- or what could happen. It wasn't his usual style to play on his friend's guilt, but if that's what it took to get the older man to cooperate, that's exactly what he would have to do.

  "We're going to the park and you're going to sit down and tell me exactly what's been going on," Blair announced. Tightening his grip he pulled the older man with him.

  Avoiding the busier -- and noisier -- portion of the park where a dozen small children were playing on the jungle gym and swings, Blair guided Jim over to a fairly secluded spot in the shade. Once he had the detective seated on a wrought-iron bench, the grad student began to pace back and forth, arms locked across his chest.

  Ellison sat hunched over, elbows resting on his knees, hands clenched together. His attention seemed to be fixed on the ground, not on his restless Guide.

  Blair's mind was racing faster than his moving feet and covering far more ground.

  I knew that something was bugging him... I knew it and I didn't do anything about it... too preoccupied with my own chaos and problems... Jeez, what if he'd fired his gun? It would have been that whole deal with the nightwatchman all over again... he would have blamed himself... maybe finally decided that his senses aren't worth it... He could do that... 'a sentinel will be a sentinel as long as he chooses to be'... that's what Incacha said... Incacha... shit, I wish he were here... I wish he could have explained this whole Shaman thing before he died... I'm really out of my depth... If only I knew what I was doing... I should have been paying more attention to Jim instead of chasing around trying to figure out how to be something I'm not... It's my job to watch over Jim and I haven't been doing that...

  He sorted and resorted the clues that he'd been accumulating all week until his own head started to pound. He was angry; at Jim for not having told him about the non-stop headache, and at himself for not seeing what was happening sooner. And he was worried.

  "You said the dials aren't working," Blair stated without preamble. "Since when?"

  "It's just a headache, Chief," Jim said evasively. He didn't raise his head, and Blair didn't stop pacing.

  "I'm asking about your senses, Jim," Blair said tersely. "If you're having problems controlling them you need to tell me."

  The Sentinel remained stubbornly silent. Blair was so frustrated he wanted to scream. Instead, he stopped pacing and knelt at Jim's feet, one hand on the older man's forearm.

  "Jim, I know something's wrong," he said quietly. "You've been acting strange all week."

  "You're overreacting, Sandburg," Jim muttered, finally raising his head to meet his Guide's searching gaze.

  "Am I? Think about what happened ten minutes ago and then tell me who's overreacting."

  Ellison's eyes widened. Blair thought he was about to say something, but he shook his head and glanced away.

  "Come on, man. Talk to me," Blair pleaded. "I've never seen you like this. You're a walking bundle of nerves. You're jumpy, irritable..."

  A rueful smile crossed the older man's face. "More than normal?"

  "Majorly." Blair gave Jim's knee a gentle squeeze. "I'm worried about you, man. Whatever's bothering you has been getting worse. At first I thought maybe it was just the case we were working. I know it had you frustrated, but we wrapped that two days ago. It's like you're out of sync with yourself. You're not eating and your sleep patterns are way off -- you're either walking the floor at night or out like the dead."

  "Maybe I'm just overtired," Jim said with a sigh. He sat up and leaned into the back of the bench. "I don't know what's going on, Chief. I've felt lousy... like you said... out of sync... since the beginning of the week."

  "Is that when the headache started?"

  Jim nodded and pulled off his glasses, wearily rubbing at his eyes. "It was just annoying at first, but now..."

  "Ugly right?" Blair grabbed his backpack and pulled out the water bottle. "Try another drink of this. We'll get you some aspirin when we get back to the loft. How's your vision?"

  "Seems normal enough, except that things appear brighter at times," Jim admitted, accepting the bottle with a nod of thanks.

  "Brighter?"

  "I keep getting these flashes... of something shiny. Usually just at the edge of my peripheral vision. When I turn to find out what caused it, there's nothing there."

  "Like a sensory spike?"

  "No," Jim responded with a definitive shake of his head. "There's some similarity to what I experienced with those, but it doesn't feel quite the same."

  "Did you get a flash like that in front of Mr. Donnello's store?" Blair asked quietly.

  Jim took a sip of water and considered the question for a few seconds before answering.

  "I think so..." he replied hesitantly.

  Blair could see the muscles tensing in the Sentinel's face as the older man tried to replay the memory.

  "Just take it one step at a time, Jim," Blair suggested.

  "I vaguely remember... light... and movement," Jim said softly. "Then the impression of danger... I had the impression that someone was about to attack you... someone with a knife, I think... the next thing I remember is hearing your voice... and the gun in my hand..."

  There was more to it than that, Blair was certain, but he decided not to push it any further for the moment. "It wasn't a zone-out, I'm sure of that, even though you appear to have lost some memory or time awareness. From what you can remember, the flash of light preceded everything. Maybe you're picking up something beyond the edge of the visual spectrum. That could explain the headache. What about hearing?"

  "It seems fine one minute, and then suddenly it's like someone's blowing a dog-whistle in my ear."

  "Hmm... the top ends of your range in both hearing and sight. Sounds like something's made you more sensitive."

  "Everything seems more pronounced than normal -- erratically so. Except for taste. That's gone the opposite direction."

  Blair nodded absently, storing away the information. "Which, combined with the headache, is why you haven't felt like eating. Your sense of smell's probably out of whack as well since taste is affected by olfactory signals..." He frowned, worried at his lower lip and abruptly rose to his feet to begin pacing again.

  "Okay... all we need to do is backtrack to figure out what's causing this," he announced with much more confidence than he felt. "I'm going to need you to write down everything you can remember about last Monday... no, better include the weekend, too. I need to know what you ate, what you drank, exactly where you were, what clothes you wore..."

  "Chief..."

  "I'll do a check on everything at the loft. I don't remember bringing home anything new, but it's possible. Once we figure out what flipped things out of gear, we'll either find a way to eliminate it, or find a way to adjust your controls to compensate for it..."

  "Sandburg, will you stop for a minute?"

  Blair halted in mid-stride at the irritated command and met his partner's worried gaze.

  "I have to tell Simon what happened," Jim said quietly.

  "Jim, we don't know what happened," Blair countered.

  "I pulled my gun on an unarmed man with no justifiable reason, Chief."

  "You reacted out of instinct."

  "You're right. I did. I thought you were in danger and I reacted."

  "Sounds normal to me. What's the problem?"

  "There was no danger. Except from me." Jim stated quietly. "I reacted, but I don't know why. And I did it with what could have been deadly force. If you hadn't stopped me I could have killed Mr. Donnello."

  "So
I just stick close to you until we figure this out," Blair argued. "You tell Simon and he'll have to report it upstairs. At the very least they'd suspend you. Worst case scenario is that they'd suspend you and send you for a psych review. Is that what you want?"

  "I don't want to hurt anyone, Chief. If that's what it takes..." Jim leaned forward and stared at the ground once more.

  "What it's going to take is you talking to me. Telling me exactly what's happening and when," Blair snapped. "We've managed to find a way to deal with these kinds of problems in the past. Why are you so ready to give up now? Because you're scared?"

  Jim's head snapped up so fast that Blair was sure he heard the neck ligaments groan. Fear flickered in the Sentinel's blue eyes for just an instant before it was replaced with denial.

  Blair moved forward and touched Jim on the shoulder. "I know what fear is like, man... how it can eat at you... make you question yourself," he whispered. He shook off the darkness and despair of his own screaming demons and gave the Sentinel a gentle, understanding smile. "The problem is that it's a pretty foreign emotion for you. But you're only human, Jim. You're allowed to be scared."

  The older man raised his head and met his Guide's determined gaze.

  "I'll figure this out, Jim," Blair pledged. "I promise you, I will. I just need some time."

  After a long silence, Jim finally nodded. The trust and hope in the older man's eyes almost made his Guide shudder.

  I'll find a way to protect you, Sentinel. No matter what it takes...

  Three aspirins and an hour and a half later they made their way to the station. Blair had wordlessly accepted the keys to the truck, sliding in behind the wheel as Jim belted himself into the passenger seat.

  The drive was made in silence. While Blair maneuvered the truck through the hectic noon-hour traffic, the Sentinel concentrated on the breathing exercises his Guide had taught him. By the time they pulled into the precinct garage, Jim was feeling much better. He didn't know whether it was the aspirin finally kicking in, the time spent examining the inside of his eyelids -- or just the reassuring presence of the younger man in whom he'd placed so much trust -- but the worst of the headache was gone and he had managed to gain a working control of his mental sensory dials once more.

  Glancing at his watch as they headed to the elevator, Jim realized they only had a few minutes before the briefing was to begin. He glanced at Blair suspiciously. Even if he had planned to talk to Simon, there wouldn't be time now.

  "Cutting it a little tight, aren't we, Chief?" Jim asked quietly.

  Blair shrugged and pushed the button for the elevator. "The briefing doesn't start until 1:00, Jim. We've still got time to slide in before Simon takes attendance and assigns demerits."

  "Barely."

  The elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. Jim thumbed the button for the sixth floor and leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed on the numbers above the door. He was aware of Blair surreptitiously shifting his own position so that he moved into Jim's personal space.

  Instead of feeling crowded, the Sentinel felt oddly comforted by the physical presence of his Guide. Since they'd left the park, Blair had been barely more than an arm's length away at any point in time. The younger man had promised to stick tight and it appeared he meant that literally.

  "Jim?"

  He turned his head slightly and met Blair's anxious gaze. He answered the unasked questions that were backlogged behind the blue-eyed stare with a small smile.

  "Things seem to be staying on track, Chief. Headache's almost gone, too."

  Blair's sigh of relief would have been audible even without enhanced senses.

  "Great. So, we do this briefing and then as soon as you can, you start on those lists for me," Blair murmured. "If you pick up any of those weird flashes, or you start to have problems with the dials, you tell me right away."

  Jim started to make a sarcastic remark about hovering, but the strained expression on the younger man's face stopped him. The detective's memory of the morning's events seemed fuzzy, but it didn't make what had happened -- or almost happened -- any less real. They'd avoided a disaster only by sheer luck and he didn't want to count on that particular lady any more than he had to -- she was known to be fickle.

  The elevator chimed and the door opened. Jim nodded his agreement to Blair's orders and stepped out, the anthropologist right on his heels. After a quick stop at his desk to unload their coats and Blair's backpack, they headed to the Operations Room.

  Simon Banks knew something was wrong the minute the partners walked in. They were both too quiet. Normally, Sandburg would have been talking a mile a minute, regaling Jim or anyone who was in earshot with some exotic tale -- most likely something about an obscure tribal mating ritual. Ellison would have rolled his eyes and razzed his partner about how to use the technique to improve his own love life, and given him a playful punch or cuff on the head. Simon would have had to put on his sternest expression and remind them that this was a place of work. They would have exchanged an understanding grin and settled down to business.

  But none of their companionable antics or chatter accompanied them today. Ellison nodded a terse greeting and took a chair at the end of the long conference table. Sandburg slipped in like a silent shadow. Instead of taking a seat at the table, the observer dragged a chair away from the wall and placed it just behind and to the left of his partner's. He settled onto the seat, finally flashed a small smile at the detectives that he knew, and then focused his gaze on Ellison's back.

  Grabbing his coffee mug, Banks moved around to the other end of the table and slid into an empty chair. Joe Sterns, the acting captain of Homicide and two of his detectives were seated to Simon's left. Rafe, Henri Brown and Joel Taggert had taken chairs along the opposite side. Both groups were talking quietly among themselves. Giving everyone another moment to get settled, Simon's gaze shifted back to Ellison and Sandburg.

  Definitely something wrong with this picture, Banks thought grimly.

  Ellison actually looked fairly relaxed; more so than he had in days, Simon noted. On the other hand, Sandburg looked as tense as an over-wound spring. He wasn't talking and he wasn't moving -- not so much as a bouncing knee or a wildly gesturing hand.

  Now what's that all about?

  Jim met Simon's curious gaze with a non-committal shrug. That slight movement made Blair's eyes flicker toward Simon for just an instant -- long enough for Banks to read the anxious concern behind the silent countenance. Breaking eye contact, the anthropologist edged slightly closer to his partner.

  Even if their seating preference hadn't announced it, their body language could only be read one way -- they'd role shifted from detective and observer, to Sentinel and Guide. Banks had seen it happen often enough to recognize what was going on, even if no one else did, or understood what it meant. Blair was obviously in full protective mode, watching Ellison's back in the most literal sense. Whenever he did that it meant trouble brewing on the horizon -- usually trouble with Jim's senses.

  Simon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The bond of absolute trust that held the partners together also acted as a barrier between them and the rest of the world. When anything threatened one of the pair, they closed ranks like this. It was amazing to watch and frustrating to deal with, especially if you were a friend trying to help. Whatever was going on with those two would have to wait until either they were ready to talk, or he'd reached the point of no-return and had to resort to bludgeoning it out of them. Banks sighed and flipped open his case folder. At that signal everyone fell quiet and looked at him expectantly.

  "Homicide has seen a marked increase in activity over the past week," he began, nodding to the officers to his left. "Captain Sterns has asked our department to lend a hand. Detectives Rankin and Briggs have been heading up the investigation on several murders they feel are connected. I've asked them to share their information at this briefing so we can all get up to speed as quickly as possible."

  "As Captain Banks explained, we've come up with four homicides which appear to fit a similar pattern," Steve Rankin, the older of the two detectives began. "Rich, would you pass out the files that we brought?"

  Briggs handed out a manila folder to each of the major crimes detectives. He slid two packets down the table toward Ellison and Sandburg. Jim caught them smoothly and handed one to his partner. Banks watched as the ex-ranger opened the file, scanned it, then turned his attention to Rankin who started to outline what they had so far. Sandburg on the other hand, dug out his glasses and buried his nose in the written details.