"The Chameleon"
A Sentinel story
by Valleya
Chapter One
"Stop, police!" Detective Jim Ellison shouted to his fleeing suspect.
"Anderson's running," Jim said rapidly into the radio mike on his bulletproof vest. He rattled off their location and the direction Anderson was taking, asking to have a patrol car on the lookout for them. "He should come out on Jefferson and Fifth."
"Roger, sending a black-and-white to that location."
Jim was in good shape, but the man he was chasing was faster "I hope he's a sprinter, and not made to the endurance races," Ellison told himself as he scaled a fence his suspect had climbed moments before.
It was nearly evening as the chase began. They ran through a section of Cascade that was mainly filled with immigrants from South America. Jim was distantly aware of the varied aromas coming from the kitchens within the building, recognizing the miscellaneous spices in the meals being prepared for dinner. It took him back to another time in his life, back to when he was in the Army's Special Forces.
Jim's eyes were locked on his suspect, but his mind was transported back eight years. He'd just arrived in Peru as part of a unit assigned to combat the drug lords that practically dictated policy to the Peruvian government in the way of blatant terrorism. So long ago, yet still so clear in his mind.
Jim shook his head to dispel the images as he started gaining on the man he was after. The lanky, blonde suspect leapt up in the air and caught hold of a fire escape ladder. Once there, he scurried up the stairs until he reached the roof, and then he began the trek down the stairs within the apartment building.
Where Jim had a muscular physique, Anderson was slim and wiry. He was fast, but Jim was catching up to him. Ellison poured on the speed as he realized there were potential hostages that his rape suspect could grab as they descended through the stairwells of the apartment building. Anderson didn't have a gun, but he'd already flashed his knife. In fact, the bleeding gash across Jim's forearm was from Anderson's switchblade and Ellison was determined that the man wouldn't get away from him.
He had almost caught up to Anderson when they encountered residents on the stairs, people going about their every day life, but luckily his suspect was too involved in his escape to bother grabbing any of them. Still, Jim knew he had to stop him before innocents were endangered. They were about to reach a group of people on a landing when Jim shouted to Anderson. "Stop right there or I'll shoot!"
Anderson grunted at him as he continued running, never flinching at Ellison's shouted commands. Jim cursed and started running again, but this time he poured on the speed, fine-tuning his body to run most efficiently. The air was full of South American music as they passed by several apartments, hinting at simpler, less demanding lives that the one Ellison was currently living.
They were dashing across the lobby of the apartment building when Jim saw a chair nearby and threw it at Anderson. The wooden chair slid across the lobby's tile floor, catching Anderson in the legs and the man went down hard.
"It's about damned time," Jim muttered as he put a gun to Anderson's head. "Move, you creep, and you're dead."
Anderson wisely didn't move as he whispered, "You've got nothing on me."
Jim grunted breathlessly as he pulled his handcuffs and put them on Anderson. "You've got no idea what we have on you, creep. There's enough to put you away for a very long time. Trust me, the women of Cascade will be safe from you for years to come."
Ellison reached for the radio mike on his vest to call in the troops when a rich, familiar scent caught his attention. Suddenly, he was back in Peru again at a popular café. He was laughing, but in pain at the same time. An injury, he had an injury, from what he couldn't remember.
Jim's senses were zoned out in the past and his lapse in attention wasn't missed by his suspect. The man reared up and slammed into Jim's mid-section, hitting the detective hard enough to knock the air from his lungs, and then he scrambled for Jim's keys. Within seconds, he had unlocked the handcuffs and placed them on Jim. There was nothing Jim could do as he was still doubled over, trying to catch his breath.
The wiry rapist paused for a moment and smiled, and then struck Jim with a heavy crystal vase from a nearby table, spewing water and flowers all around as he swung the vase. Jim went down hard and Anderson sprinted out the front door. Jim tried to follow him, but his limbs just weren't answering the orders his mind was giving.
The last thing Jim heard as he passed out were the very words he'd used himself at the beginning of the chase, "Stop, police!"
And then he finally gave into the beckoning call of unconsciousness knowing his suspect had been captured.
"Jim, are you awake?" he heard Blair's quiet voice calling to him.
Jim forced open eyes that didn't appreciate the brightness in his room and he instantly regretted doing so. He groaned, and slapped a hand over his eyes. "Turn those damned lights off!" he said through gritted teeth.
"Okay, they're out. Sorry about that, Jim," Sandburg said as he turned off the overhead lights.
Jim breathed a sigh of relief and opened his eyes again.
Blair Sandburg was an anthropology graduate student who had discovered the reason behind Jim's heightened senses. Senses that went far beyond what the average person could do. He offered to help Jim learn to control his ability to see, hear, smell, and touch, so that Jim could harness any of the senses at will.
Blair was a handsome young man, but he looked like he was a throwback to the 1960's hippy generation. He had dark, curly hair that was worn long and free while Jim kept his hair shortly cropped as if he was still in the Army. The Army's influence was strong in the way Jim spoke and moved, even after five years with the Cascade police department.
"How are you feeling now?" Blair asked, his face bent closer to Jim's.
"Like I got dropped by a ton of bricks," he muttered, keeping his hand in place to shade his eyes from the dim lighting.
"The doctor said you have a pretty good concussion and that you shouldn't make any fast moves for at least a couple of days. That's probably what made your eyes more sensitive to light. Just try to breathe normally until the pain passes."
Jim groaned again. "You don't have to shout at me either."
"Jim, I'm not shouting."
After a moment, Jim sighed, wanting the focus off of him. "Did they bring in Anderson?"
"Yeah, they got him, but how did he get the drop on you?"
Jim paused, not remembering those details right away. He glanced around the room as he thought. "I'm not sure," he said finally.
Blair put a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. Anderson's in jail and he's not going anywhere. I just spoke to Simon and he said the DA has an airtight case against him."
"That's great news," Jim said quietly.
He tried to sit up, but couldn't, so Blair took the hand controls and raised the bed until Jim motioned for him to stop him. "What's the matter?"
Ellison stuttered. "It bugs me that I-I still can't remember how Anderson took me down. The last thing I recall was chasing the creep down the stairs of that apartment building."
"Don't force it, Jim. You've had a serious blow to the head. The memories will come back when you're ready for them to."
Ignoring Blair's advice, Jim brought a hand to his temple and felt a lump rising there. No wonder his head was pounding. And he still couldn't shut out the images in his mind. For some reason, his thoughts kept going back to his time in Lima, Peru. Where the hell is that coming from, he wondered.
Jim was aware that Blair was talking to him, but he was too focused on trapping those elusive memories to respond. Again, he was back at that outdoor café in Lima, having lunch with buddies from his unit and sporting a brand-new cast on his right arm. Funny how those images came to him so clearly, but he couldn't remember his last few moments before passing out.
"Jim!"
Dammit, why is Blair shouting again? he thought as he turned back to Sandburg.
Jim glared at his partner until he saw the concern etched into the younger man's face. "I'm sorry, Blair, I was caught up in . . . "
"In what?" Blair asked, moving closer to Jim.
"In . . . some memories."
"From when you were chasing Anderson?" Blair asked.
"Yes. No, that's not right. The images came to me after I had apprehended Anderson in the lobby."
"Why then?"
Jim looked up into Sandburg's blue eyes and shrugged. "I don't know, but they were vivid enough to make me zone out and not see Anderson when he made his move against me."
"That strong, huh? What were they about?" Sandburg was in his classic Q&A mode, but Jim wasn't in the mood for it.
"It doesn't matter," Jim snapped, rubbing at his forehead as his irritating headache worsened instead of improving. "What does matter is that I let my suspect overtake me and he would have gotten away if it wasn't for a patrol car on the lookout for me and Anderson! Dammit, I just don't make mistakes like that! What the hell was wrong with me?"
Jim raised both hands to his head as the throbbing increased. He heard a groan slip out, but by then he was in so much pain, he didn't care. A moment later, the pain disappeared as he passed out again.
Jim woke up to find an attractive Hispanic nurse injecting something into his IV.
"What's that?" he asked, still groggy and not completely awake.
"It's something to help you rest," she replied, and Jim picked up on her accent and perfume. The combination was quite enticing, but Jim didn't try to hit on her. He wanted her to stop what she was doing.
"I don't need anything-"
"But you do, Mr. Ellison. Just let the medication do its job."
Jim reached out to catch her arm, but suddenly his limbs felt like dead weights and oblivion claimed him once more.
Ellison was pacing the small expanse of his hospital room when Simon and Blair showed up.
"Jim, should you be walking around?" Simon asked.
Captain Simon Banks was Jim's supervisor at work, and a good friend. Simon was about the same height as Jim, his African American heritage showed strong in his features. He was always impeccably dressed. His passion for cigars was revealed by his telltale scent of cigar smoke.
"Yes, I'm fine. They've taken out my IV. In fact, they should have released me already."
Simon walked closer to Ellison. "You've been unconscious for three days now. I think a little caution from your doctor right now isn't a bad thing."
Jim straightened and faced his police captain. "I'm fine," he repeated.
Blair made a noise and Jim glared at him. "What?"
Sandburg shrugged. "Nothing. Just thinking to myself."
Jim gave Blair a dirty look. "Nothing, huh? Look, this doesn't have to be a conspiracy. I'm fine and I'm ready to go home. I can rest there as well as here, maybe better."
Simon put a hand on Jim's shoulder, taking a moment to examine the dressing on Jim's forearm before directing his attention to Jim. "Well, you may think you're fine, but please humor us. We've spent three sleepless nights here since you passed out the last time."
Jim stared at him in frustration. "Look, I don't know what happened . . . or what caused me to stay under for so long, but I'm fine now and-"
"And ready to go home. Yeah, we know. You've repeated it three times since we arrived."
Jim pulled away from Simon's touch. "I may not be in the best mood, but what I'm saying is true."
"Good, we all acknowledge that as fact, but you still have to stay until the doctor releases you."
"Dammit, Simon, I've got cases pending, work that needs to be done . . . I can't just sit around here!"
Simon's gaze locked onto his. "You can and you will. Consider it a vacation, if you like."
"Vacation? Ah, come on, Simon!"
Blair had been quiet during their exchange, but he stepped up to Jim, looking deep into Jim's eyes. "What else is going on here, Jim? You've been in the hospital enough to know their procedures. There's something else, isn't there?"
Jim cursed and turned away from his friends, looking to the window for solace. He stared at life on the street for a long moment before glancing back to Blair. Blair didn't let him slide out of the question. He moved back in front of Jim. "What is it, Jim? You have to tell me what's going on inside your head."
Jim sighed with sudden fatigue. "I...don't understand what's going on inside my head and that's the problem! My mind is filled with images of Peru. Why now? Why are memories eight year's old popping into my head like it was yesterday?"
He didn't really expect an answer. He was just saying aloud what he'd been thinking when the two arrived. It was the same scene playing over and over with no beginning or end. What could possibly be so important to his mind that it would repeat the same damned thing until he was going crazy?
Blair was talking, but Jim wasn't listening. He was drawn back to that restaurant again. There were six of them there, all buddies from Jim's unit. They were laughing about something while Jim was reading the local newspaper, awkwardly holding it between his good hand and his hand that wore a cast.
The image was so clear to Jim that he could almost read the headlines on the newspaper, but the scene always faded out before he could capture the words themselves. The memory loop began playing again in his head, making Jim dizzy from the repeated scene. Closing his eyes, Jim could hear the music being played at the café and the smell of his meal as it arrived.
Everything was so vivid in detail and yet so sparse in information. Something pulled him away from the memories and he opened his eyes to see Simon and Blair standing right beside him, concern weighing in their every move. That same beautiful nurse was back at his side.
She touched his arm and Jim grunted in pain. "I'm sorry," he heard her say, jerking her hand away quickly. "Must be static electricity."
But Jim wasn't concerned with the pain from her touch, because he was tumbling into a world of the bizarre. All of his heightened senses were scrambled in an instant, pulling his thoughts in a thousand directions at the same time.
He started to say something to the people around him, but collapsed instead. He tried to fight against impending unconsciousness, but failed, so he passed out from the mishmash of jumbled information that was bouncing around inside his head.
Jim moved slowly about the loft, trying to get ready for work, but he still felt weak from his extended stint in the hospital that it left his thoughts jumbled. The doctors couldn't explain the reason behind his collapse, and Blair was driving him crazy with questions and theories. Dammit, he didn't want any of that. He just wanted his life to return to normal again.
Normal? He had to admit his life had become anything but normal since he acquired his sentinel abilities again. Blair said they were a gift, but there were many days where they felt more like a curse. How many times had he wished for them to disappear? He'd lost count. Yet, whenever he called upon them, he was constantly amazed by the things his senses could uncover.
He sighed as he glanced at his watch. It was time to go to work. Going down the stairs, he entered the kitchen. Blair was pouring a cup of coffee and handed it to him. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"About the same as the last ten times you asked," he snapped.
Blair grimaced and backed away. "Boy, did you get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."
Jim brought the cup to his lips, but stopped and set it back on the counter. "Look, let's get something straight. You are not my doctor, my priest, or my guardian angel. I'm fine and I'm ready to go back to work!"
Blair paused for a moment. "Are you?" he asked softly. "Really?"
Jim glared at him and walked to the coat rack for his jacket. "I'm going to be late if I don't get moving. Are you coming or not?"
He lingered at the front door as he waited for an answer. Blair came up beside him, grabbing his own jacket and opened the door. "Fine, if that's how you want to act, then I can play that game, too."
Sandburg left through the open doorway, leaving Jim to wonder why he was so angry at the world. Maybe it was the images that had haunted him ever since he awakened at the hospital. Hell, he didn't know what was wrong with him, so how could he tell Sandburg what was happening?
Jim slammed the door shut and headed to his truck. Flashes of that memory loop were playing in his mind again, almost obscuring what his eyes were seeing. He was filled with anger and frustration as he tried unsuccessfully to pull away from the past.
By the time he'd climbed into the truck, he was so breathless, he had to stop for a moment before starting the engine. He rested his head on his hands atop the steering wheel and felt Blair touch his shoulder.
"Jim, is it happening again?"
Jim nodded without pulling away from his resting place. He didn't seem able to get enough air into his lungs, and the effect left his skin wet with perspiration and his heart pounding in his chest. Finally, he made himself sit up, but the movement took so much from him.
In frustration, Jim pounded a fist on the steering wheel, but then had to cradle his injured forearm with his other hand as the healing gash ached from the motion. "Damn," he whispered, bending forward again.
After a moment, he heard Blair talking to him, but he didn't bother to listen as the scenes from Peru pulled him back again. Now, instead of the jovial lunch he was sharing with friends, there was a scene of pure pandemonium as he was being pulled away from the table and told to run, but he couldn't. Something was keeping him there, something wouldn't let him flee when everyone around him was running for their lives.
"Dammit, Jim, answer me!" Sandburg shouted loud enough to break the hold the past had created.
Jim jumped, finally noticing Blair's presence again before he dropped his head back against the seat.
"What the hell was going on there, Jim? I thought you were going to pass out on me again."
Jim nodded as he took in great gasps of air, still cradling his injured arm. "I-I was in Peru again, but there was more to the scene this time. Something was happening, but I couldn't see what it was . . . I couldn't breathe, and I couldn't move. Now, all I can remember are the rapid fire flashes of images."
Blair put a hand to his shoulder. "Jim, what you are describing sounds like repressed memories trying to come to the surface."
Jim opened his eyes and stared at Blair. "Do you think that's what is happening here? That it's something from my past that I've buried away like I did with my sentinel abilities?"
"Yeah, it could be. It must be something so terrible that you zone out whenever you think about it . . . even to the point that you pass out. Whatever it is, it's affecting your life in a big way."
"What the hell could it be?" Jim whispered. "And why are the memories trying to break through now?"
"I don't know but we better find out fast."
Jim nodded in agreement before he dropped his head back again. "We'll work on it tonight. For now, I've got to get to work."
"I don't think that would be such a good idea," Blair started. "Why don't you call in sick today? No one would fault you for-"
Jim cut him off. "I've already missed a week of work over this blasted thing. I need to move on with my life!"
"Even if your past wants you back in Peru?" Blair said softly.
Jim pinned him in place with a single glance. "Yeah, even with that. I just can't let memories control my life."
Sandburg shrugged. "Okay, but I think you're making a big mistake."
Jim didn't say a word as he started the truck's engine and pulled into traffic.
TBC in Ch 2