Ghostrider

by Cheyenne852

After an accident on a lonely mountain road, a mysterious stranger comes to Blair Sandburg's aid. I do not remember this story being published in a zine but it was archived at Mackie's.

Ghostrider
by

Cheyenne

It was supposed to have been simple. Take a leisurely drive just north of Vancouver, pick up a package containing an Mayan cup for Professor Stephens from the Brackendale University Museum and bring it back. It wasn't hard. It wasn't even a very big package, but somehow, per Blair's usual run of luck, things had gone wrong.

First, the weathermen had been wrong, again. He knew it was late fall and the weather was subject to change at a moment's notice but he had checked the television before leaving the loft and had felt assured the heavier than usual amounts of rain they had been having the past week would be letting up within a few hours. Blair shook his head in regret. He should have known better.

Less than an hour into his drive he had run into a detour as a semi-truck loaded with chemicals had jack-knifed on Interstate 5 and shut down the entire highway in both directions. Officials had detoured traffic onto alternate routes and evacuated residents within a mile radius of the site.

Blair's three-hour leisurely drive had turned into a six-hour nightmare.

The smaller highways the traffic had been detoured onto had not been designed to accommodate the heavy amount of traffic the interstate carried and cars were backed up for miles as the local police attempted to unsnarl the jumbled mess.

The constant drizzling rain and dropping temperatures had not helped with tempers or the attitudes of the police officers having to stand out in the miserable weather directing traffic.

As a result, by the time Blair finally made it to Brackendale, it was 3:00 pm and he knew at this time of year it wouldn't be long before daylight began to fade.

He huddled under the protection of an awning at the front of the museum at Brackendale as he carefully stuffed the brown paper-wrapped package into his backpack. Once he had his pack settled, he hunched his shoulders against the cold rain and ran to his car, jumping in and closing the door almost before it had opened fully.

Blair wasted no time in coaxing the engine to life and setting the car's heater on high. While waiting for it to warm up, he turned on the radio to check on the progress of the chemical spill cleanup. After listening for a few minutes to a local station and hearing that traffic was still just as bad and would probably remain so for several more hours, he reached into the glove compartment of his car and brought out a well-worn map of the area between Vancouver and Cascade.

It would be dark in less than two hours and Blair had no desire to spend the night sitting in a traffic jam on a cold, rainy night. He knew without checking his wallet he didn't have enough money for a hotel room for the night and he didn't own a credit card for charging. If he was going to get home at any kind of a descent hour, he'd have to find an alternate route back to Cascade.

He scanned the map, noting several lesser roads leading back south. He traced the main alternate route the interstate traffic was being detoured to and quickly rejected that option. He followed the lines indicating another road that would take him a few miles further east. That route would take him longer and take him along a higher mountain road but not as long as trying to negotiate the traffic from the detour.

Nodding and satisfied with his decision, Blair refolded the map and placed it in the seat beside him. He extended his hands to the heater vents and rubbed them together. He'd been cold all day long and the damp of the rain hadn't help matters.

After warming his hands a bit more, he checked his wallet. It had been a long time since breakfast and he'd skipped lunch. Thinking back to the route he had chosen, he remembered there didn't seem to be a lot of towns so the possibility of finding someplace to eat along the way didn't look promising. He put the Volvo in gear and crossed the street to the Wonderburger he could see located at the corner.

Blair shook his head with a grin. Jim would never let him hear the end of it if he knew his health conscious roommate had relented in his constant complaints against the cholesterol palace and willingly chosen that place to eat. Of course, he mused, who said Jim was going to find out. It had been a long day and it was looking like the night was going to be even longer. He needed comfort food to sustain him through the long miles, and a hamburger and fries were just the ticket.

He did, however, make a mental note to get rid of the evidence before reaching the loft.

* * * *

Two long, weary hours later, Blair Sandburg found himself still carefully negotiating the mountainous road he'd been traveling for the past hour. After leaving Brackendale, he'd had good roads for the first hour of his trip and made good time. Unfortunately, after that, as he'd climbed the last mountain separating him from Cascade, the rain had turned to sleet, then snow and the road had become slippery and treacherous.

Blair had reduced his speed and was creeping along at a snail's pace through the thickening white swirl, fighting fatigue and nausea, as the hamburger he'd eaten earlier wasn't agreeing with his stomach and was threatening to make a reappearance.

To top it all off, his chill had become worse and now he couldn't seem to get the interior of the car warm enough to stop the shivering he felt coursing through his body. He had hoped the stuffiness he'd felt building in his head was due to the altitude, but now he knew he was wrong. The cold that had been threatening for the past few days was making itself known.

He was cold, weary and miserable, and he'd give anything to be home in bed with a mug of something hot in his hands.

Blair squinted at the darkness and brushed at the fog-clouded windshield once again, feeling his head pound in irritation at the persistent condensation. Keeping the car interior heated as much as he was needing was mixing with the cold temperatures outside and making the windows fog too fast for the old car's defroster to clear them. He could either crack a window, thereby lowering the heat of the interior or keep brushing the windshield to clear it. He'd chosen to keep brushing the windshield.

For what seemed like the fortieth time in the past hour, he reached for the wad of napkins from Wonderburger he'd been using to clear his view. As Blair laid them aside once more, a flash of light caught his eye.

He couldn't see the opposite side of the road but he had the distinct impression it dropped off in a steep slope. He brought his attention back to the sharp and narrow curve ahead of him when he saw the headlights of a car approaching. His first thought was that this was the first vehicle he'd passed in over half an hour. His second thought was fear as he realized the vehicle was in his lane.

Adrenaline quickened Blair's reflex response as he jerked the wheel of the small car to the left and hit his brakes. He felt the wheels lose traction on the snowy surface and sent up a silent prayer as the car began to slide and he recalled his sensation of the drop off.

Every movement seemed to slow. He knew he was sliding, but he was sliding to the right side of the road, not the left and he could only pray there wasn't a cliff on this side of the road as well. A nice solid tree was beginning to look really inviting when the car finally wrenched to a halt.

Blair's head slammed into the steering wheel despite his seat belts and after a brilliant flash of white-hot pain, blessed darkness descended.

* * * *

All too soon awareness returned. He wasn't sure how long he had been unconsciousness, but the ticking of the cooling engine assured him it hadn't been long. Slowly, Blair pushed himself away from his slumped position over the steering wheel, moving with the caution his body was requiring. He reached a hand to his pounding head and felt a warm stickiness matting the hair above his right temple.

He felt his heart still thundering and in the silence that surrounded him, he thanked whatever deity was watching over him this night. With his normal run of luck, he should have been broken and bleeding in the tangled remains of his car at the bottom of the mountain. He felt fortunate to find only aches and pains stiffening his limbs.

A cough tickled the back of his throat, reminding him that his luck may not have changed as much as he had first thought.

Blair shivered and turned the key in the ignition. If he could get the car back on the roadway he'd be okay.

However, after several attempts, he realized the car wasn't going to start. The temperamental little vehicle hadn't taken kindly to its off-road activities.

Sighing, Blair pushed open the car door with the intention of raising the hood to see if he could coax the engine into starting, after all, he'd had a lot of experience lately in keeping the thing running.

His heart sank as the interior dome light from the car revealed both tires on the driver's side were flat. Even if he could get the car started, he only had one spare. He wouldn't be driving anywhere tonight.

Blair stepped away from the car and took note of the area surrounding where he and the car had ended.

The Volvo was at least 30 feet off the road. Standing in the darkness with snowflakes swirling down, Blair realized that it wasn't going to be seen from the road until daylight.

He felt a shiver run up his spine. It had just dawned on him that the people who had been in his lane of traffic hadn't even stopped to check on him.

With a frustrated curse he reached into the car for his backpack. At least he'd remembered to bring his cell phone this time. Jim might not be to happy about having to come and pick him up but at least his partner's constant badgering to 'take the cell phone' had finally paid off. For the first time he was grateful Jim was always on him to keep the thing handy.

However, his gratitude was short-lived when he dialed the loft's number. The phone beeped twice at him and made no further sound. He looked at the display panel with its back lighting and realized that his signal wasn't reaching a cell tower.

He tried again and ended with the same results, then tried *55, hoping the cell emergency number would work. After a few moments it became clear the cell phone was proving useless. A bone-chilling shiver worked it way up his spine and without thinking, he replaced the phone and backpack into the car and slammed the door.

Blair wrapped his arms tightly around himself, wondering when the temperature had dropped so low. He could have sworn it wasn't this cold a few minutes ago. Another chill racked his body and he looked around again, trying to decide what would be the wisest course of action.

He could stay in the Volvo and wait for someone to come along and find him. He might be cold but surely someone would come along, maybe a highway patrol trooper or sheriff, or he could start walking in hopes that someone would come along and give him a ride to someplace he could reach help.

Blair shivered and pulled the collar of his coat up around his ears. He didn't like either option, but looking at the location of the Volvo, unless someone was looking for it specifically, it was not going to be seen before morning. And, if the snow was very heavy, it might take a few days for it to clearly be seen.

Jim was probably already having a cow and if he didn't hear from him before long, Blair wouldn't put it past his partner to put an APB out on him. Given his past experiences and luck, Sandburg couldn't blame him and Jim didn't have any idea what road he had decided to take back home to detour around the interstate accident.

After a few more minutes of indecision, he reached for the car door, intending to pull out his backpack to take with him. A sinking feeling almost floored him as he realized he had just sealed his decision. When he had slammed the door moments before, he had locked the car door with his keys, his package and his backpack inside.

Wearily he hung his head in frustration. Nothing seemed to be going right tonight. With a huge sigh, he started walking along the road in the direction he'd been traveling. Surely there would be a diner or truck stop along the way and he'd be able to call Jim from there. If not, at least in walking the exercise would keep his circulation going and help him keep warm.

Blair hunched his shoulders against the snow and shivered again. It was going to be a long night.

* * * *

An hour later, he had passed the summit of the mountain and the snow had changed back into drizzle. The temperature hadn't improved much, but by now Blair was too numb with cold to care. He was chilled clear through and his shivering had become constant. To add to that fact, the fever he had been trying to ignore was now raging in his body.

This was not going well at all.

A low rumbling from behind him caught his attention and he turned to zero in on the sound. After a few moments, Blair saw headlights rounding the last bend he had past. Making sure he was safely to the side of the roadway, he turned to face the oncoming vehicle. From the sound and size it was an 18-wheeler. That was bound to get him a ride.

He felt a measure of relief as he heard the big rig's air brakes applied and the truck came to a stop only a few feet past his location. He started forward as the passenger side door was thrown open and a huge bearded man's head appeared.

"Need a lift, son?"

For the first time, Blair questioned the safety of what he was doing. Hitchhiking was not new to him. He had done it many times in the past but he had avoided it since he became partners with Jim. It hadn't taken long for him to learn just how dangerous it could actually be.

"Uh...yeah. Thanks," he said climbing up into the cab of the big rig as the man scooted himself back to the driver's seat.

Blair pulled the door closed and felt himself shiver as the semi's heater re-warmed the interior of the cab.

"Cold?"

Blair nodded in the dim lighting, his teeth beginning to chatter. "Yeah. I'm freezing. It feels like I've been walking for hours."

The big man watched him for a moment. "How long have you been out here?" he asked.

Blair shivered again and pulled his coat closer about his shoulders. "Only about an hour." he paused. "Somebody crossed the center lane and almost hit me head-on. My car went off the side of the road and into some trees." Blair's voice took on a faraway sound and he shivered once more. He knew it wasn't caused entirely by the temperature. "I couldn't see and wasn't sure if I was going off the mountain or not."

"You were pretty lucky. I saw your car a ways back." The man hesitated, as if remembering something. "If you had swerved to the other side, you would have gone over."

Blair started to ask him how he'd seen the car, as he had thought it would be impossible to see until daylight, then the second part of the driver's statement clarified in his mind and Blair stared at him in shocked silence. Even though he hadn't been able to see the drop-off he had suspected as much. He had no reason to doubt what this man was saying and the reality of what had almost happened was disturbing him. He felt his stomach roll yet again and fought down the queasy feeling.

"You okay, son?"

It took a moment more before Blair realized his benefactor had spoken. He took the time to get his breathing under control and felt reasonably sure his voice wouldn't crack as soon as he opened his mouth. "Uh...Yeah," he swallowed hard. "I'm...I'm fine."

Blair heard a soft snort followed by a very low chuckle. The man hadn't believed him for a minute, but he didn't seem to hold any contempt for Blair's weakness.

"My name's Joe."

Blair looked up and saw a large paw of a hand extended across the cab of the truck. Hastily he took it and shook. "Blair," he said, wanting to get back to the business of warming his hands at the heater vents in the dashboard.

A heartbeat later, the young man felt a surge of panic when his hand was not released. Blair looked up into the big man's eyes and saw a knowing frown on his face. Without warning, he pulled Blair toward him and placed his free hand on the smaller man's forehead. "You're burning up with fever," he said, a hint of admonishment in his voice.

For a brief instant, Sandburg was reminded of his partner and the way Jim's sentinel abilities could pick up the slightest elevation in his body heat.

"It's not bad," he said, pulling away and feeling relief when his hand was freed. "I have a little cold and walking in this weather hasn't helped much. I'll be all right once I get warmed up."

Joe watched him silently for a moment more, then turned and reached through the covered door of the truck's sleeper behind him. When he drew back, he brought a blanket with him and handed it to Blair. "See if this won't help."

"I'll get it wet," Blair protested, holding the thick-piled fuzzy cover away from his clothing.

"It doesn't matter. It'll dry. I think we'd better worry more about getting you warmed up more than whether or not you ruin that cover."

There was nothing threatening in the man's manner, despite Blair's earlier flash of fear and suddenly that too seemed irrational. He shook out the blanket and draped it across his shoulders.

A marvelous feeling of warmth entered him as the chill seeped away. Blair took a deep breath and sighed. It would be so easy to curl up in the seat and go to sleep, but for some reason he didn't feel the lethargic pull of drowsiness that usually accompanied his colds. He turned grateful eyes to the man next to him. "Thank you. For stopping and for the blanket."

Joe smiled back at him as he put the big rig in gear and slowly pulled back on to the highway. "You're welcome. I'm just glad I came along here tonight. It's a long walk to anywhere from here."

"Are you going on in to Cascade?"

"No." Again that faraway memory look came to the man's face. "No. I have to make a turn off about fifteen miles outside of town, but there's a diner just before I turn. It's open all night and you can call your friend to come pick you up from there."

Blair frowned in confusion. He didn't remember saying anything about who he was going to call for help. Why had this man assumed it was a friend? Why not a family member or even a tow truck? He shook his head to clear his thoughts. With everything else that had happened this evening he must have mentioned calling Jim and forgotten about it. He nodded. "That sounds like a plan," he said, feeling an overwhelming need to thank this man again for his help. "I really appreciate you stopping like that, Joe. I don't know how much further I could have gone..."

A puzzled frown crossed his face as it occurred to him that he no longer felt the small miseries he had been feeling earlier. Blair took an experimental sniff, his eyes widening as he felt himself able to breathe clearly. That was incredible. Ten minutes ago he couldn't breath through his nose. He catalogued the other symptoms of his cold. His head was no longer poundeing, he didn't feel the heat of fever burning inside and the heaviness of his chest was no longer present. A smile crossed his face as he looked over at the big truck driver. "Hey!" he grinned.

"Feeling better?" Joe asked him with a knowing grin of his own.

"Yeah. Oh, man. I can't believe this. I feel better and," he moved his shoulders beneath the blanket, "I feel warm and...dry." Blair's movements slowed as he hesitantly touched the sleeve of his shirt with fingertips, then moved a hand to feel the shirt he was wearing and the legs of his pants. "I'm...I'm dry," he stammered.

"Good."

"But...but how? This isn't possible." Blair's voice was filled with wonder as his eyes sought out the large man, who continued to stare out into the night.

"Anything is possible, Blair. Anything." He smiled but didn't turn away from his constant study of the road ahead.

Blair was silent, touching the dry clothes he was wearing and trying to work out a reasonable explanation that would satisfy his mind.

"What kind of work do you do?" Several minutes had passed since the driver had last spoken.

"I...mmmm...I'm an anthropologist," he said, deciding he wasn't going to get the answers he was looking for at the moment. "I'm working on my doctorate at Rainier University."

"Anthropologist? What's that?" Joe asked, glancing briefly at the young man.

"I study people. Their behaviors, their cultures, just about everything about them."

"Why?"

The question stopped Blair short. He'd never been asked that question. Finally, he shrugged. "I like to know about them. How and why they live their lives the way they do. What makes them who and what they are. What motivates their actions."

"So...you're nosey." Joe sent him a grin through the darkness to show he meant no offense by the comment.

Blair couldn't help but smile back. He had been accused of that many times in his life. Even Jim told him sometimes he asked too many questions. "Yes. I am." He eyed the man for a moment, his curiosity peaking. "What about you?" he said. "Have you always been a truck driver?"

Blair saw a flash of white as the man smiled.

"For as long as I can remember. I've been driving these roads my whole life."

"Do you like it?" Blair asked, feeling better and finding himself curious about his benefactor. He saw Joe glance at him quickly.

"Yes. I do."

Blair nodded. "I suspected you did. Most truck drivers enjoy the freedom the life offers and wouldn't consider doing anything else."

"Know a lot of truckers, do you?" he grinned.

"Not a lot, but I did have an uncle who was one. He loved it and taught me to drive." For a moment he became lost in the memories of his uncle, then quickly brought himself back to the present. "Are you from around here?"

"No. Originally I'm from Georgia."

"So...are you on your way back home?"

A wistful look crossed the man's face. "No...No. I made a run up here a few years back and just...sort of...stayed." He paused and Blair thought he could literally see the years roll away for the man. "I've been making this same run ever since."

"Is your family up here now?" Something was deeply sad about this man. Blair couldn't put his finger on it but with every word and action, he had the feeling the truck driver had lost more than he was willing to share.

Once more, a yearning look crossed the man's face. "No. Whatever family I had is long gone."

A stab of sadness echoed in those words. Blair felt a chill in his soul. If it hadn't been for Naomi and Jim, he'd be as alone as Joe sounded. "I hear where you're coming from, man. My mom is the only family I have too." He paused. "If it wasn't for her and Jim..." The thought trailed off as he felt the chill tickle once again. How many times had he thanked God and his lucky stars that he had been led to Jim Ellison.

"Jim?"

Blair dragged himself out of the dark thoughts. "He's...ahh....he's my best friend. Closer than any brother I could ever have imagined."

"You're close?"

Blair grinned, his eyes lighting. "Oh yeah. Jim's saved my butt more than once. I owe him my life."

Joe laughed out loud. "What kind of trouble could an anthropologist get into?" he asked.

Blair wasn't offended. He knew how unconventional his life was and it was sometimes hard for anyone who hadn't witnessed the events to understand or believe it was the truth. "You'd be amazed what kind of trouble I can get into," he laughed.

With that statement, the two of them talked for what seemed like hours. Blair recounted many of his adventures with various expeditions all over the world and some of the things that had happened to him since he had met Jim. Joe proved to be an excellent audience and Blair found himself not only telling of his travels, but also caught himself expressing some of his deeper hopes and fears. As he was winding down, he questioned why he had felt comfortable enough with this man to tell him things that he didn't usually admit even to himself.

It was strange, but he had the feeling Joe already knew the things Blair had been telling him and was only listening to be polite, and for some reason, that didn't annoy him. Instead, it gave him a feeling of security he normally only felt when he was with Jim.

Finally he shook his head and decided not to question it. Several strange things had happened tonight. He'd take the time to analyze them tomorrow in the light of day.

They had been moving slow over the narrow winding road through the night as Joe expertly maneuvered the lumbering vehicle through its various gears. Blair felt the huge 18-wheeler begin to slow once more at the same time lights appeared in the distance. They were the first signs of habitation he could remember seeing since Joe had picked him up. "Is this where you have to turn?" he asked, feeling a sense of regret.

The giant of a man nodded slowly and Blair caught a flash of sadness in his eyes. "Just up the road a ways." The rig continued to slow as Joe eased it into the parking lot of a small truck-stop. "I'm afraid this is where you get out," he said bringing the rig to a complete stop.

Blair waited a moment, hearing the familiar release of air as the brakes to the semi were engaged and the diesel engine rumbled in idle. He had forgotten how distinctive the sounds associated with a running rig could be.

Memories from a summer with his uncle returned. He'd spent the better part of four months with Jake while Naomi was gone on a spiritual enlightenment trip somewhere in the Andes. He'd learned to drive an 18-wheeler that summer. He'd also learned a lot about the life of a truck driver. He had discovered there were as many different types of people driving the big rigs as there were different tribes and cultures in Africa.

Jake had been a meticulous man. During the time Blair had been with him, he had never seen the inside of the truck anything but spotless. Every bit of paper need for documentation to the state and federal authorities had always been in place, the log book was always kept up to date and the bed in the sleeper had never been left unmade. That was why Blair found it paradoxical when Jake taught him, an under-aged teenager, the fundamentals of driving the big rig then turned half of the driving over to him.

It had been one of his most memorable summers and he still missed Jake. But, the old truck driver had died the way he would have wanted when he succumbed to a heart attack at a truck-stop on a snowy Illinois morning the following winter.

Blair had always suspected Jake had sensed he was going to die by the things he had said on their many cross country treks that summer. Jake has seemed to have a peace about him, as if he had known what the future held and knew he couldn't change it; he had come to terms with it.

Joe reminded him of Jake in a lot of ways, not just the fact that both men were truck drivers, but also in the peace that seemed to surround them.

Blair sighed and brought himself back to the present as he stuck his hand out to Joe. "I don't know how to thank you, Joe. I don't know how much further I could have gone in the cold and rain."

The large man smiled at him. "You'd have made it, kid. You're a lot stronger than you think."

His words sent a tingle through Blair, a shiver of unknown origin. He determinedly shook it down. "I don't know about that, but I'm still grateful for the ride." Blair reached into his jacket. "I'd like to pay you." He could see Joe immediately begin to shake his head and he hurried to forestall the man's protest. "I know it's not much, but..." he began patting his pockets, "I also know diesel...isn't...chea..." His face paled as realization hit him with stunning force.

"You left your wallet in the car, didn't you?" Joe's voice carried no hint of accusation.

Blair turned to face him, feeling as much embarrassment as he had the time he'd conned Jim in to letting him stay at the loft after his warehouse had blown up. "In my backpack...and it's in my car." He cursed himself again, this time feeling genuine anger. "Oh man. I left Professor's Stephen's package in there too." Blair clinched his teeth with another curse. "Damn."

Joe gave him a knowing smile through the dim lighting of the truck's cab as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket. "Here," he said, handing Blair a five dollar bill.

Sandburg immediately protested. "No. Joe. I can't. You've already done enough for me. I can borrow a phone to call Jim."

Joe continued to hold the bill out to him. "You need to have some coffee and food in you."

"It's not like I'm going to starve before I get home, Joe. I'll be fine. Really."

"Take this," he insisted firmly. "Call your friend and get some hot food while you wait for him."

The tone of the truck driver's voice would brook no argument. It wasn't said with anger, but it was none the less, one of authority, a tone Blair had heard many times; from his mother, from Jake and on occasion, from Jim. It was said with affection and caring.

Without further argument, Blair took the money. "Thanks, Joe," he said, opening the door and backing out and down from the big rig.

Blair noticed it was still drizzling as he walked around the front of the truck to the driver's side and looked up to the man. "Where can I reach you? I...I'd like to thank you. Maybe get together for dinner one night soon."

Blair saw a faraway look come to the big man's eyes again as he brought his attention back from the dark distance. "I don't know when I'll be back this way." An indulgent smile crossed his face. "Leave word with Maggie inside where I can contact you."

Blair nodded as the engine of the diesel revved to a higher rpm and Joe put the truck in gear to pull away. As the rig passed him, light reflected a name written in scrolled lettering along the sleeper portion of the cab. "Ghostrider," he read to himself as the 18-wheeler drove out of sight.

Blair shivered as a chill ran down his spine and he felt the dampness through his jacket once more. He shook his head and immediately regretted it as his head began pounding. A cough tickled the back of this throat and he knew his cold had returned with a vengeance. He groaned quietly, hunched his shoulders against the cold, then continued in to the truck-stop restaurant.

Once inside he paused to let his eyes adjust to the lighting before continuing to the counter to speak with the middle-aged waitress he had spotted.

In addition to the miseries the cold had left him, Blair could feel his hair plastered again his head and the heavy drag of his sodden clothing. It crossed his mind briefly that he was as wet and cold now as he had been when Joe had first picked him up. He added that to the list of things he would process at a later time.

Blair knew he must look like something the cat had dragged in. He ran chilled fingers through his tangled mass of curls in an attempt to smooth them out. "Uhhhh...Excuse me, ma'am." He waited for the woman to turn around.

He felt another stab of self-consciousness as she scrutinized him from head to toe, but was heartened when she sent him a sympathetic frown.

"My Lord, boy. How'd you get so wet?" Her voice was strong but gentle, much the same as Joe's had been.

"I...ah...My car...It went off the road a ways back." He motioned in the general direction he had just come. It was becoming hard to concentrate on what he knew he had to do. "Could...could I borrow your phone to call someone?"

The graying motherly woman came from behind the counter and gently took his arm, guiding him to the nearest booth. "Sit down," she ordered. "Are you sure you don't want me to call an ambulance instead? You don't look to good."

Blair shook his head, despite the pain it caused. "No. Thank you. I'm all right. I just have a cold and this hasn't helped." He sent her his most charming smile. "Thanks for asking but...if I could just call my friend..."

She immediately turned back to the counter and retrieved a portable phone and brought it to him. "Here you go, honey. You make your call and I'll get you something warm to drink."

Blair gave her another smile as she left and he dialed the loft number.

After the first ring, Jim answered. "Ellison." Blair could hear the anxiety in his friend's voice.

"Jim?"

"Sandburg," he said, his voice filled with relief before a touch of anger entered. "Where the hell are you?"

Blair smiled wearily into the phone. "I'm at a truck-stop on highway 10 outside Cascade. Uhhmm...Jim...I'm sorry to ask this but, could you come and pick me up?"

All trace of anger vanished from the detective's voice. "What happened, Blair? Are you all right?"

Blair felt a warmth spread over him at the concern he heard in his best friends voice.

"I'm okay, Jim. I just had a little accident and I need a ride home."

"Accident! What kind of accident?"

"Relax, Jim. I'm fine. Really."

A hard edge of suspicion returned to Ellison's voice. "You don't sound okay, Sandburg."

Blair heaved a sigh. "I sound bad cause I've got a cold and I'm tired. Please. Can you just come and get me?"

He could literally hear Jim cut off whatever else he had planned to say. "Yeah. Sure, buddy. Just tell me where you are."

Blair breathed a sigh of relief and gave Jim his location. Ellison told him to stay put and he'd be there within the hour.

As Blair hung up the waitress returned with a tray of coffee and a bowl of what looked like chicken soup. "But...I didn't..."

She forestalled his protests. "Don't say a word. Eat." It was a command given with a mother's expectation to be obeyed.

Blair handed her the phone in acquiesce as he reached into his pocket for the five dollars Joe had given him. "Thank you," he said, handing her the money.

She placed her hands on her hips and sent him a glare. "You put that back in your pocket. This is on me. You need this," she told him, scooting the bowl of steaming soup under his nose. "Now eat."

A tired smile crossed his face as he took a spoonful of the soup. He closed his eyes in appreciation as the warmth slid down his aching throat and settled in his stomach. Not too salty and flavored just right. He took another bite. It felt as good as the first and he was satisfied it was going to stay down.

Blair looked back up to the waitress in gratitude. "I don't even know your name."

The kindly woman smiled down at him. "Maggie. Maggie Tucker. And you would be..?

"Blair Sandburg," he said, feeling a stir of excitement that this was the Maggie Joe had told him about. "Do you know a truck driver named Joe?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Yeah. I know a couple of Joes. What's his last name?"

Blair stopped short, realizing for the first time that he had never gotten Joe's last name. His face fell. "I...ah....I don't know." A memory hit him. "But, he drives a truck that has 'Ghostrider' painted on the side of the sleeper."

Silence covered the area surrounding them and Maggie stopped dead still, her face pale. "Did...did you say Ghostrider?"

Blair nodded, curious at her reaction. "Yes. Do you know him?"

The waitress slowly sat down and took Blair's hand in hers from across the table. "Is he the one that gave you a ride?"

Blair nodded once again. "Yes," he said hesitantly. "Why? Is something wrong?"

She smiled kindly at him and patted his hand while continuing to hold on to it. "No. No, nothing's wrong, but..." it was her turn to hesitate. "Let me tell you a story about something that happened more than twenty-five years ago." She took a deep breath and began. "Joe used to make a regular run through here. I'd see him about every two weeks. He'd stop in on his way north and have something to eat, then on the return trip south, he'd stop in, refuel and stay a couple of hours just to rest up before continuing on. Ol' Joe knew these roads like the back of his hand. Not just here but probably every back road and interstate in the U.S." Her voice trailed off with a wistful smile.

"Any way, one Friday afternoon he was on his way back south. He'd just left here and was pretty well rested, but it was drizzling rain as usual." Maggie's voice became filled with sadness. "Just a few miles down the road...there's a hill. Once you top that hill, there's a junction where Highway 19 intersects. It...it's kind of hard to see in the best of times and...deadly in the rain. As Joe topped the hill, there was a bus load of kids making the turn on to 19. He tried to slow down but there was no way he was going to avoid hitting those kids and stay on the road." She paused, lost in the memory of the ordeal as if she had been present. "He turned his wheels and that sent him and his rig over the cliff."

Blair had listened in silence, filled with the wonder of the man who had helped him. Joe had put his own life in danger to save a bus load of kids he had never met. Blair immediately thought of the selflessness the man had displayed and how much it reminded him of Jim. "That's something else," he said softly. "Was he in the hospital for long?"

Maggie looked confused for a moment before his misunderstanding dawned on her. "You don't understand, Blair." She looked him in the eye calmly. "Joe died in that crash."

Blair stared at him and felt his world sliding sideways with confusion. "Then...who was it that gave me a ride tonight?"

"It was Joe," she said simply.

"But...you just said...."

Maggie caught his eyes with hers and held fast. "It...was...Joe." She spoke each word carefully.

For long moments Blair stared at her in confusion, his mind refusing to accept what she was saying.

A ghost? An apparition? A hallucination caused by his fever? What? His logical mind rejected the idea but his inquisitive side reminded him that Sentinels were considered mythical by most people.

Could it have been a ghost? He felt a shiver run down his spine and knew it wasn't entirely caused by the fever and chills he could feel plaguing his body. For a moment he wondered if he was going to wake up in his room and find out the entire day had been the results of his mounting cold. He felt his body sag in weariness and sat for a moment longer before looking back up at Maggie. "Maybe I made a mistake," he suggested, looking for an explanation that would satisfy his overtired mind. He just wasn't prepared to deal with ghosts and goblins tonight.

"You didn't make a mistake, son," a deep voice rumbled softly from behind him.

There had been very few people in the restaurant when he had entered and Blair hadn't paid much attention when a few of them had moved closer while Maggie was telling him about Joe. He gave a small start and turned to see a pair of hardened eyes that seemed to look into his soul. "What?"

"I said you didn't make a mistake," the man said without, bothering to introduce himself. "Every driver that comes through here knows Big Joe and that rig of his." His voice softened and he gave Blair a half-smile. "What Maggie said is true. Joe's rig went over a cliff more than twenty-five years ago to save a bus load of kids." Blair continued to sit in silence. "But every now and then someone'll come in with the same story. They've either broken down or been hitchhiking along this stretch of road. Joe stops and gives'em a lift here."

Blair felt his stomach rolling. He had been hoping he could wake up tomorrow and mostly forget about Maggie's story. It would be easy to pretend that what she had said had been a simple fanciful story to entertain passing tourists. After all, it was October and almost Halloween. Everyone loved stories that left you with a tingle, wondering if they were true or not.

He decided local color was what was going on here. A colorful ghost story by the locals to stir up interest in their area. Joe had been real. Blair was certain of that fact.

"Come on, guys. Let's let him be for a while."

Blair smiled in gratitude as Maggie gently chased away the people who had gathered near to hear the story. When they had all left, she patted his arm once more. "You stay here and rest until your friend gets here."

He nodded and reached for the cup of coffee, the soup no longer holding an interest for him. Blair felt the dampness of his jacket as he pushed himself across the seat of the booth where he could lean his back against the wall. The warmth of the restaurant seeped into his tired, aching limbs and without realizing what was happening, he fell asleep.

* * * *

Less than an hour later, Jim Ellison pulled his pickup into the parking lot of the Pro-Am Truck Stop. He spotted the restaurant without difficulty and quickly found a parking spot just outside the main entrance.

As he shut off the engine, he paused long enough to take a deep breath and hang his head wearily over the steering wheel. It had been raining since the early afternoon hours and the drive up after Sandburg's phone call had not been easy.

Jim shook his head. None of the entire day had been easy.

After a morning filled with boring paperwork and an afternoon briefing with the district attorney that had been endless, he had gotten a tip from a reliable snitch about the possible location of a drug dealer he had been trying to track down for three weeks. He had gone to the appointed time and place but the dealer had not shown. After waiting for two hours Jim had abandoned the meeting site as a false lead and gone straight home.

It was Sandburg's night to cook and Jim had been looking forward to a good hot meal and an evening filled with nothing more than vegetating on the sofa. He'd been a little peeved when Blair hadn't been home, but with their hectic schedules, it was not uncommon for one or the other to not make it home at a regular time. However, they usually found a way to let the other know. Jim had checked the answering machine with no luck and he had searched the apartment in the usual areas for notes and came up empty handed. He had finally called the station to check his voice mail there and that had turned up empty as well.

When five o'clock had become six, then seven, Jim had started to worry. By the time Blair's call had come in to him at nine o'clock, he'd been angry.

His anger had quickly turned to relief, then worry when he had heard his friend's voice. Sandburg assured him the accident had been minor and he was okay other than the cold Jim could clearly hear in his voice, but Ellison was also too aware of his partner's habit of downplaying his physical ailments. Jim knew he wouldn't be satisfied until he could visually check Blair out for himself.

Finally he pushed himself out of the truck, scurrying through the rain to the door of the restaurant. Once inside he paused to let his eyes adjust to the lighting and automatically his hearing searched out Blair's heart beat.

Jim allowed himself a small smile as he recognized the familiar beat next to him. He stepped from behind a half-wall separating the first booth from the entrance and looked down at his sleeping partner.

Blair was sitting longways in the booth, his back against the wall and his legs extended across the booth in front of him. His head had drooped against the vinyl seat and his features were mostly obscured by a curtain of still soggy curls hanging around his face. Jim took note of the napkins clutched in his hands that Sandburg had been using as tissues. He saw the red nose and dark shadows beneath the eyes of his partner and knew without a doubt Blair had a hard cold going. He frowned as his senses picked up the heat radiating off the young man. His fever was high at the present time.

"I tried to get him to eat something but he refused. Didn't hardly take much of the coffee either. Poor boy."

Jim turned and looked at the woman who had spoken. It was the waitress he had seen a few moments ago across the room when he had entered the restaurant. He shook his head. "He wouldn't. When he gets sick, eating is the last thing on his mind." He turned to look at her and extended his hand. "Jim Ellison."

She took his hand, giving him a warm smile. "Maggie. Maggie Tucker."

"It's nice to meet you Maggie Tucker." Jim nodded his head toward Blair. "I hope he wasn't any trouble."

Maggie smiled gently at the sleeping anthropologist. "No. He wasn't any trouble."

Jim was once more amazed at how quickly Sandburg brought out the most protective instincts in people.

"Do you have any hot tea? Maybe a little lemon and honey?"

"I'll see what I can do."

Quietly Jim thanked the woman and seated himself in the booth across from the sleeping man. He reached across the table and gently shook Sandburg's arm. "Chief." He waited a moment. "Chief," he called again softly. "Come on, Sandburg. Wake up."

Slowly Blair stirred, rubbing at his nose with the napkins before he opened his eyes. Jim waited as he moaned and brought himself back to the waking world. "Jim?" His voice was raspy and he sneezed into his napkin-filled hand. "Oww...sorry." Red-rimmed eyes stared out of a flushed face. "I feel lousy," he stated simply.

Jim shook his head in sympathy. "I'll just bet you do. You look like hell."

"Thanks. For nothing."

"You wanna tell me what happened and why you didn't call and let me know you were leaving town?" Jim could tell his partner felt bad, and he'd get him home to his herbal cures as quick as possible, but he had to find out what had happened in case they needed to file a report.

"I did call. This morning, as soon as I knew I was going. Brown took the message and was supposed to make sure it got to you. I guess something came up."

Jim nodded. "Probably so. I had to question Jackson this morning. Simon met me for lunch and H was gone when we returned. Joel said he and Rafe were called to the DA's office for a last minute meeting on the Anderson trial tomorrow and by the time they got back I was already gone."

Blair nodded. He knew something had to have come up for Henri to not get the message to Jim. "What I wanted him to tell you was that I was driving up to Brackendale University to pick up a package for one of my professors. I was supposed to be back home no later than five o'clock." Blair stopped and sneezed.

"What happened that you were this late?" Jim asked him after a moment.

Sandburg sniffled and rubbed at his nose again. "There...there was an accident on the interstate and they were detouring traffic. Everything was backed up, even when I was ready to head back home so I was taking a different route back."

Maggie returned and handed a steaming mug to Blair. "Your friend suggested you might like hot tea better than the coffee."

Blair smiled up at her, feeling slightly awkward as he remembered the story she had told him earlier. "Thank you," he said, taking the cup and sipping.

Without warning he began sputtering and coughing. Jim sent a cold glare toward the woman as he reached across the table to grasp Blair's arm. "Chief?" His voice was fill with concern.

"It's...okay, Jim," he coughed. "I...I just wasn't prepared for that."

"Prepared for what?" he demanded, looking quickly at Maggie.

"I added something special to the tea," she said proudly.

"Something more than lemon and honey," Blair confirmed.

Jim relaxed as he concentrated his sense of smell and picked up the odor of whiskey coming from the tea cup. A hot toddy may or may not help with Blair's cold but Jim knew for a fact that at least the younger man would be able to relax and sleep tonight. He also knew they had better get started before Sandburg crashed and Jim ended up carrying him. "Where's your car?"

Blair sighed. "It's back up the road. I'm not sure how far."

"What happened?"

"It was snowing further up the mountain. Someone crossed the median. I swerved and lost control of the Volvo. It's off in a ditch with two flat tires. I started walking and this trucker gave me a ride here."

"What about the people who crossed the median? Didn't they stop?"

Blair shook his head as he drank more of the hot tea mixture. "No. Didn't even slow down."

Jim felt his anger rise. It was too late to do anything about the careless driver now but that didn't stop him from wanting to arrest who ever it was that had not only endangered his partner but had left the scene without offering assistance. It took a moment but he was finally able to gain control of his feelings. There was no use in ranting now. He took another look at his partner. Better to get Sandburg home and worry about it tomorrow. "It's too late to do anything tonight. You think you're car will be okay where you left it?"

"Yeah," Blair told him wearily. "It's off the road enough that it's not going to bother anyone and it's locked it up." He shook his head, remembering his blunder. "I...ah...locked my keys inside. My backpack and Professor Stephen's package are still in it too, but...I just don't feel like going back after them tonight." He looked up at Jim with tired blue eyes. "Can we come back tomorrow and get them?"

Ellison felt a tug at his heart at the exhaustion he heard in Blair's voice. He'd get the full story from the young man later. Right now he needed to get the kid home before he crashed. "Yeah. Finish your tea and we'll go home." He watched as Blair finished off the whiskey-laced tea and moved to stand.

He was also ready when Blair swayed as he stood. Jim reached out to steady him.

"Whoa," Sandburg blinked, clutching at his partner's arms. "Head rush." A smile crossed Jim's face. "What's so funny?" Blair asked him with a frown.

"How you feelin', Chief?"

"I'm..." His face suddenly paled as another wave of dizziness rushed over him. "Ohhh...Jim," he said grasping for a hold to steady himself. "Oh. That was not a good idea." Drunkenly, Blair slapped at Ellison's arm. "Why'd you let me drink that?"

Jim adjusted his hold on his partner and gave him a barely tolerant look. "I was supposed to stop you?"

Blair blinked again, evidently trying to focus his vision. "Yes. You were supposed to stop me," he mimicked. "That's what a blessed protector is supposed to do. I mean...I hit my head. I shouldn't be allowed to have alcohol. I might...."

Jim stopped the younger man's tirade by turning Blair to face him and gripping both arms. "Whoa. Wait. What do you mean, you hit your head? You didn't mention that before." Jim's voice was stern and filled with reproach.

Blair looked at him owlishly. "I didn't?"

"No. You didn't."

Jim bent slightly forward to get a better look at his partner's face, spotting the tiny cut near his hairline now that he was on an even level with him. He quickly scanned the younger man's eyes, only slightly satisfied when he found the pupils to be dilated but both equal in size.

"Well...It...uh...It just slipped my mind. I wasn't out very long. At least I don't think I was. It just...sort of...forgot about it. You know?"

Jim closed his eyes and shook his head in exasperation, before turning his guide and directing him out the doors of the restaurant and to the pickup. "Come on."

"Are we goin' home now?"

Jim could hear a definite slurring to Sandburg's words now. Whether from the whiskey or a head injury, he wasn't sure, but he wasn't going to take a chance. "Not yet, Chief."

"Then, where are we going, Jim?"

Blair waited for an answer as Jim helped him into the truck and made sure his seat belt was fastened before he went to the driver's side. With every step, he kept an eye trained on Blair.

Suddenly Sandburg knew where they were heading. "Oh no. Jim. Please. Come on, man. I told you I was only out for a minute or two.

Ellison climbed into the driver's side of the pickup and looked across at his partner. "Only a minute or two? Sandburg, do you have any concept in that head of yours as to what the words self-preservation mean?"

Blair frowned in confusion. "What?"

"Self-preservation. It means to look out for one's self. The instinctive urge to protect oneself."

"What has that got..."

"It means that you think about putting your health and well-being first once in a while." Jim's last words were spoken with barely restrained frustration. "It's also something you're lacking in very large portions."

"Jim. It was just a little knock on the head." Blair's voice rose in defense. "I've seen you..."

Ellison's teeth were clinched. The long hours of worrying about his partner and the strained drive out to the truck stop were testing his patience to the limit. He stopped himself from the angry words he had been about to unleash on Sandburg. In all fairness to the impetuous anthropologist, Jim reminded himself that Blair's intentions were always of the highest caliber, even if he acted as if he were immortal at times and if the younger man was suffering from a head injury, he shouldn't be held responsible for his actions. "Look, Blair," he said in a tight voice. "You were involved in a car accident, you hit your head , your soaking wet and you've had alcohol. None of that is a good combination. Just humor me, would you? Let's go by the hospital and let them check you out. For my peace of mind. Please." Jim threw the 'please' in at the last minute, knowing full well his partner wouldn't refuse him. He knew it was an underhanded trick, but he would feel better knowing Blair had been cleared by a doctor.

He watched the play of emotions cross the expressive face of his partner. The spurt of energy Sandburg had drawn on moments before was fading rapidly. He could visibly see him wilting into the seat beside him.

"Okay, Jim. I won't like it but I'll go." He sneezed and rubbed at his nose again before a huge yawn escaped him. Blair shook his head carefully. "Oh, man, am I tired." His eyes immediately began to close.

"Sandburg. Chief." Jim gently shook him until he looked up. "Don't go to sleep. You've gotta stay awake."

"Huh?" Blair struggled to keep his eyes open.

"You heard me. Stay awake. Come on. Tell me about today, what all you did."

With a resigned sigh, Blair pushed himself up to sit straighter and took a few moments to orient himself, then began a reiteration of his day's events.

Jim listened attentively while he kept his eyes on the road ahead of them, prompting his partner to continue when he began to lag. He listened with amusement as Blair told of his bad luck with the traffic and the rain. He surprised himself by holding his tongue when he told about giving in to his stomach against his better judgement and eating at Wonderburger. He felt apprehension at Sandburg's decision to take the alternate route that put him on the lonely mountain road and finally anger at the motorist that had caused the accident and not bothered to stop and help. There was a long silence as Jim's anger continued to smolder.

"Jim?"

Through his anger, Ellison heard the softly spoken call. He shook his head to clear away the dark thoughts and found Sandburg facing him in concern.

"Are you okay?"

Jim shook his head once more, getting rid of the last vestige of irritation. He felt a measure of relief that his prompting of Sandburg to repeat his day had worked to the extent that the younger man was now more alert. Jim didn't want to lose that advantage. "Yeah. I'm fine. What about the guy that picked you up? Did the two of you talk over old truck driver's stories?"

A strained look crossed Blair's face and Jim worried for a moment that his partner had hit the end of his reserves.

"Chief? What's wrong?"

Sandburg hesitated a moment then looked down at the hands in his lap still clutching a wad of napkins. "Nothing. I was just remembering Joe."

"Is that his name?"

Blair nodded, "Yeah."

"Joe what?"

"I don't know. He never told me."

"How come?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. We just never got around to it."

Blair's thoughts seemed to be straying.

"Tell me about him, Chief. What was he like?" Jim prompted once more.

Blair was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "He seemed like a nice guy. He reminded me a lot of my Uncle Jake, the one that taught me to drive a rig." His voice grew in strength once more as he began to speak. "He knew a lot about the back roads country. I'm not sure how long we talked. It seemed like hours." Blair paused and Jim could hear him swallow hard. Something about the ordeal was troubling his friend. "Then, when the truck stop came in sight, he pulled over and let me out. He...ah...he said he had to make a turn just up the road." Blair continued in a soft, disconnected voice. "I tried to pay him for the ride and that's when I discovered I'd left my wallet and everything else in my car. I didn't have my I.D., no money, nothing. It was embarrassing, but Joe pulled a bill out of his wallet and handed it to me. I thanked him and asked where I could reach him to return it. He kept waving me off, but finally said I could give it back to the waitress at the truck stop, Maggie."

"That was good of him. Maybe we can meet him again and buy him dinner or something," Jim spoke up.

Blair shook his head and Jim could see a frown cross his face. "I don't know, man."

"Why? What happened?"

Sandburg grimaced and as Jim glanced at him, he could see the younger man searching for the words he wanted to say. It was unusual for the articulate anthropologist to be tongue-tied, but Jim was witnessing it firsthand.

"It...well...they..." finally Blair exhaled heavily. "When I went in, Maggie immediately brought me soup and coffee. I tried to pay her and she refused too." He suddenly paused and looked at Jim, "What is it with everyone tonight? Nobody wants money. Man, where are these people when my bills are due at the end of the month?" Jim smiled as his partner continued in the same breath, "Anyway, I asked her if she knew Joe. I didn't have a last name but I remembered the name on the side of his truck. 'Ghostrider'."

Jim felt a memory flit across his mind. A long forgotten recollection. His hands tightened on the steering wheel as a shiver crossed his spine and he glanced sideways at his partner. Sandburg didn't seem to have noticed his reaction. The younger man was continuing with his story.

"It was kinda spooky but...I mean...how many trucks could there be with that name painted on the side. I thought it would help me find him." Blair frowned again and shook his head. "It got 'so' quiet in there. I thought I'd really said something wrong, then Maggie, she kinda takes my hand and pats it like I'm this sad mental case and tells me that Joe is a ghost that died a long time ago. I didn't believe her but other people in the restaurant had moved in closer to us and they started telling me the same thing. Personally, I think they were just having fun with me. I guess I look like a gullible enough..."

"It's a true story, Chief."

Jim's quiet voice stopped Blair's speech in mid-sentence and he took a moment to pull the pickup to the shoulder of the road and stop.

Slowly Blair turned to face his partner. "What?"

"You said the guy's name was Joe? And the name on his truck was..."

"...Ghostrider."

"Ghostrider."

They finished the sentence together.

"Jim, this isn't funny. Now, you know I can take a joke as well as the next guy but..."

"It's not a joke, Chief. The guy was real and he did die more than twenty-five years ago."

"How'd you know that?"

Jim took a deep breath and stared into the darkness beyond the windshield of his pickup. "Did they tell you that he sent his rig off the side of the mountain to save a bus load of kids?" Jim glanced over at Blair.

The college student nodded numbly.

Jim sighed. "I was one of those kids." He paused and took a deep breath. "Our...uh...our junior high football team was on its way to a game in Evanston. It's right up the highway from the junction about five miles. It was raining and we had just started to make the turn when a semi topped the hill. With the lay of the land and the wet roads, there was no way for the driver to stop." Jim continued in a faraway voice. "And there was no way the bus was going to make the turn in time." After another long, silent pause Jim continued. "The driver turned the rig and sent it and himself straight off the side of the mountain." Jim blinked as if seeing the scene before him once more.

There was a long silence within the cab of the pickup.

"Jim. Man. I didn't know...You never said anything." Blair's voice was filled with sympathy.

"I didn't remember much about it until now." Jim huffed out a breath and shook his head in irritation. "Looks like I've repressed more of my past life than what I've chosen to remember."

Jim felt his partner's warm hand on his arm. "It's just your mind's way of coping with things you weren't ready to deal with, that's all."

"You'd think I'd remember something like this, though. I mean, that man gave up his life to save us."

"And you were what...twelve...thirteen years old? Jim, it happened right in front of you. That was too much of a shock for a boy that age to deal with. Don't blame yourself for not remembering."

Jim listened to Sandburg's lecture. He was continually amazed at the depth of understanding and wisdom the younger man constantly displayed. He smiled in gratitude at the anthropologist. "Are you sure you don't want to pursue that minor in psychology?" He felt a huge weight lift from him as Blair returned the smile.

"Everyone has demons to deal with, Jim. We just pick different ways of doing it." His voice trailed off as he took notice of the intersection where Jim had pulled off the road. "Is...is this where it happened?"

Jim nodded, letting his Sentinel eyesight scan the area. "Yes," he said softly.

"They shouldn't demean what he did by telling that as a part of their local folklore."

It took a moment for his words to register on Jim's tired brain. "Do what?"

Blair nodded toward the dark intersection. "That story they told me at the truck stop. They shouldn't use that driver's heroism to embellish their local legends."

"What are you talking about?"

Blair sighed and Jim could tell the adrenaline that had kept his partner alert was beginning to dwindle away.

"That story about Joe," he emphasized, wondering why he was finding it difficult to make himself understood. "They shouldn't dishonor what he did for publicity. It's bad karma."

Jim turned to him, his eyes solemn. "I don't think they were making it up, Chief."

Blair stopped his movements and stared at the detective. "What?" He was filled with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. He was feeling disoriented and it was becoming harder for him to keep his thoughts straight. Jim's last statement wasn't helping either. This was not the Jim he knew.

The Jim he knew would have scoffed at the story from the first moment he heard it. The Jim he knew should have been telling him it was a publicity stunt by the locals to draw attention to their local myths. The Jim he knew was a non-believer. "Why do you say that?"

There was a long pause before his partner spoke. "I've heard stories for years about Joe and his truck."

"What, you mean like police reports?"

Jim shook his head. "No. Usually they've been reports on the news about a motorist or hitchhiker that has been picked up and given a ride."

Blair frowned as he searched his memory. "How come I've never heard about it?" he asked, trying to focus his eyes on the detective.

"I don't know. Maybe it's happened when you were away. For some reason the report is made and then it just sort of goes away. No one seems to want to research it in depth. It's like it's an accepted part of life. I guess on some level, everyone believes in ghosts."

"Or, maybe, out of reverence to Joe's sacrifice, they left it alone."

Blair finished his statement with a huge yawn, bringing Jim out of his contemplation. He had a partner that needed to be checked out by a doctor. He didn't need to worry about a specter from the past. If 'Big Joe' had given Sandburg a ride to the truck stop, that was good enough for Jim. "Come on, Chief. We've got a date with some of your favorite people."

Jim smiled at the groan that emanated from the younger man.

* * * *

Late the next morning, Blair was still sleeping when Jim pulled out an old scrap book from the bottom of his closet and took a seat on the sofa.

He had already called the state police about his partner's accident and made arrangements for the Volvo to be towed back to Cascade for any repairs it might require.

As Jim settled into place he took a second to listen for Sandburg's heart beat and felt reassured to find him still asleep.

After several hours in the emergency room, the doctors had released Blair to go home, no broken or cracked ribs and no concussion, but he did have strep throat and a severe cold. The doctor had given him antibiotics and ordered him to stay in bed for a few days.

Jim smiled as he recalled how quick the younger man had agreed to the constraints. As long as they were going to release him, Sandburg had agreed to everything the medic had said. Jim doubted he had fully understood what the doctor was saying.

The whiskey in the tea hadn't hurt him but it had been hard for him to remain mobile until they arrived home. Jim smiled as he remembered half carrying his partner to the elevator of their building.

Jim had barely gotten him into his room and changed into his preferred sleeping attire of sweats and t-shirt before he had crashed for the night.

Jim had wearily climbed into his own bed shortly after until he had awakened early enough to call Simon and fill him in on what had happened. He had only intended to be late to work, but his captain had given him the entire day off. Jim had gone back to sleep and, now, almost one o'clock in the afternoon, he felt rested and ready to process the previous night's activities.

It was unusual that Blair had been the one to balk at the possibility the man he had accepted a ride from was the same man who had given his life for Jim and the other kids so long ago. Jim was usually the skeptic and Blair was usually the one left trying to convince his cynical partner to open his mind up to the possibility. Jim couldn't explain why, but he had accepted the story as truth from the moment he had heard it.

Last night he had told Blair he had repressed the memories of witnessing the accident, but he knew that wasn't entirely true. He had the proof in his hands.

Through the years, each time a story had been printed about someone reporting they had been picked up by the phantom truck driver, Jim had clipped the story and saved it.

Slowly he opened the book and reread each article. Jim was amazed at the number that had accumulated over the years. Each account read basically the same and Jim felt a chill run down his spine once more.

Blair had told him about swerving toward the outside of the highway but winding up on the safer inside ditch. It was a miracle. Neither he nor Blair had used the word last night but Jim knew they had both felt the same.

He shivered again as he mentally saw the accident in progress. He had come close to losing his friend several times since their unorthodox partnership had began but, this...this seemed different. He couldn't explain the feeling but it was overwhelming. Maybe because he hadn't been there to prevent it, maybe because it had happened and he hadn't been aware of it until after the fact. Or maybe, because it had been totally unrelated to anything to do with the police department. What ever it was, he didn't want to ever have a repeat of it again.

He sat for a moment more and thought about his feelings, then slowly shook his head. There were no guarantees in life. The only thing you could do was your best and hope things worked out. He'd worried in the past about his job and the dangers associated with it hurting or worse, changing Blair, but the accident last night had been totally unrelated to the police department.

Jim sat for along time, reading the articles in his lap. His hearing tuned in when Sandburg's breathing pattern changed in prelude to his waking. After long moments, Jim heard him push the blankets off himself and shakily stand.

The Sentinel remained silent as he heard him make his way to the bathroom and return a few moments later. Jim had expected him to return to bed and easily go back to sleep, but wasn't surprised when he proceeded to the couch instead.

"How're you feeling?"

Blair sat next to him and frowned. "Lousy," he stated, his voice scratchy and raw.

"Go back to bed. You need the rest."

Sandburg nodded absently, as his droopy eyes scanned the scrapbook Jim held. "I will in a minute. What's that?" he rasped, pulling his sock-covered feet from the floor to tuck them beneath himself.

Jim frowned at the flagrant breech of house rules. "Just something I had forgotten I still had."

Blair leaned closer to get a better look at the articles. His bleary eyes had been able to read the bold headings and his interest was piqued. "Are those about Joe?" he asked, shivering.

Jim silently cursed his partner's stubbornness as he felt fevered heat still emanating from his body. He reached to the back of the sofa and pulled the afghan down to cover the younger man. "At least put this around you," he scowled and waited until Blair had wrapped the coverlet around his shoulders. "Yes. These are about Joe and the wreck," he paused, feeling self-conscious about having lied to his partner. "They are also all the accounts of the people who have met him over the years since."

Blair's hand stretched out to the book to pick up one of the articles. "But...I thought you said you had rep..."

"I know what I said," Jim told him hastily. "I didn't lie...exactly...I just...forgot." Blair continued to sift through the articles. "Look, Chief. It's been more than a year since I added anything to this. I honestly didn't remember I had done it." He finished and felt Sandburg's weight increase against his side.

"I'm not accusing you of lying, Jim." He yawned. "Believe it or not, I understand."

"You do?" His partner was now leaning heavily against him and Jim could hear his voice running down. The short trip to the bathroom, then to the sofa had worn him out. Jim felt him yawn against his arm.

"Yeah. I do." He paused and sniffled before continuing. "The mind...is a complicated mystery. I...know you don't lie. It's not part...of your nature. You just didn't...rememb...."

Jim felt him sigh and settle against him. Quickly he collected the newspaper articles and put them aside, then pulled the throw pillow from beside him and placed it in his lap. Carefully, so he wouldn't wake his partner, he maneuvered Blair's head to his lap. He gently brushed curls away from his face to place a hand to his forehead. Sandburg's temperature was still high but not dangerously so.

He knew the younger man would be more comfortable in his own bed, but for the moment Jim needed to feel his partner next to him.

He draped an arm across Blair's shoulder, gently kneading his back as his sensitive fingers sought out knots of stress and worked them out.

Whether Blair ever chose to completely believe the man who had given him a ride was a ghost or not, Jim chose to believe. As unusual as it was for him to accept without question the possibility of a spirit having intervened in saving Sandburg's life, he did.

Something beyond all knowing told him he had been given a precious gift last night. He had no explanation and no excuses to offer.

For now, he was content to hold that gift and thank what ever deity, spook or power was responsible for it.

THE END