November, 14

On Monday Jim was back to work in the Clinic. He had been able to visit unnoticed by the personnel the Hospital's Archives and was satisfied of the information he gained. But he had to wait the evening to talk with his Captain and to decide the next move. He surely wouldn't risk to nullify the whole operation.

He decided to spent the last hour of his turn visiting Blair. He thought that, after the events of Friday night, Dr. Madler would had contacted him to thank him again for saving his patient's life, if not to share personal information about the boy's conditions at least to let him know how the boy was doing, but that didn't happen. Jim felt a growing feeling of discomfort and worry thinking about what Dr. Madler could had done to Blair in these three days. But then, trying to be rational, the detective also knew that if he had let the boy escape in the rain, like he suggested, he surely would had died alone in the streets in his feverish state. You did the right thing, detective. And don't forget the boy has his problems. Who knows why was he admitted in the Clinic? Lost in his thoughts, he found himself in the West Wing again, talking to an orderly who did not seem too happy to see him. His name was Frank Marshall. Jim had already seen him around the Clinic.

"Hello. I'm Jim Dillinger. On Friday night I took here a boy, his name is Blair Sandburg. He is a patient of Dr. Madler. He was very sick. I was wondering if I could talk to his doctor." He explained to the man on the other side of a large heavy security door.

"Why do you want to talk to his doctor? You took him here, you did the right thing. I'm sure they took care of him." The man replied in an annoying tone.

"I am sure of that but… Blair is a very good friend of mine and since I am here…"

The innocent face Jim displayed while performing his act was successful, because the orderly gave him a tired look and sighed deeply, nodding his head.

"Look, Mr. …"

"Dillinger!"

"Look, Mr. Dillinger. Doctor Madler isn't here at the moment. He should be back tomorrow at 9:00 a.m. I don't think he will be too happy to talk to you. If I let you talk to the patient now, can I be sure you won't bothering him tomorrow?"

"Of course I'd like to talk to Blair. But, you know, I need to know how is he doing for real and I need to contact his doctor, one way or another. I don't see any reasons why he should be upset if I am interested in my friend's health!" Jim explained calmly.

"If he is a good friend of yours, like you said, why didn't you know he was sick? And why do you come here only now? Do you know when he was admitted? I guess you are trying to fool me. I think you're playing the act of the old friend in visit. I don't believe you. You don't know the boy but for some reason you want to see him and his doctor. Well, let me tell you one thing: I don't care about your reasons and I don't care if you talk to him or not. But I don't want you to make the doctor mad at me because of your friend. He doesn't like people like you. So, if you want, I will show you the patient's room and you have exactly 30 minutes to talk to him. My turn ends at 9 p.m. and I want you out of way for that hour, do you understand?"

The detective decided not to waste any more time and nodded. The heavy door was opened and without a word Frank Marshall escorted him to room number 15.

"He is in there. Blair Sandburg. Age 28. He was admitted on October, 22. Tempted suicide."

Jim instinctively hold his breath when he heard about the reason why he was admitted and Marshall took advantage of his surprise teasing him again.

"You didn't know that, am I right? Well, as I said, I don't care. As long as you stay away from Dr Madler, I don't remember you being here neither our conversation. If you don't want to stay here all night, be sure to be at the gate at 9 p.m.".

Jim didn't like the man and his tone but he had no other choice of accepting his conditions.

"I'll be there. Now, will you open this door?" he asked finally.

The orderly complied and disappeared in the corridor. Jim entered the small room and felt sick at his stomach. If someone was thinking of suicide, then surely this was not the right place to find a reason to live. The walls were bare and smooth, painted in grey as the ceiling and the pavement. A lonely white fluorescent light enlightened the place. There was a high window on the far wall, with gratings on the outside. The only furniture in the room was a metal single bed where a very pale and unconscious Blair laid with wrist and ankles secured in restraints. No one thought about covering him with a blanket and Jim instinctively took the one at the foot of the bed and carefully placed it on his legs and torso. Since there were no chairs, the detective sat on the left side of the bed and studied Blair carefully. Despite the lack of color, Jim was fascinated by the perfect symmetry of his face, that gave him a clever expression. His head was an unruly mass of soft curls; Jim could not resist to caress them. He seemed much better than three nights ago, at least the fever was gone.

"Who are you?" a tiny voice whispered from the bed.

Jim, caught by surprise, found himself at loss of words. Blair was studying him carefully with big blue eyes. He tried to move but the restraints didn't let him. He let out a small sigh and waited. Finally Jim found his voice to answer.

"I am Jim Dillinger, the one who found you in the parking on Friday night. Do you remember me?" he spoke in a calm tone, not wanting to upset Blair.

"You took me back?"

"I'm sorry. You were burning up with fever. I couldn't let you outside by yourself. You would had died."

Blair turned his head away from him and fell silent. Jim felt guilty.

"I didn't know what to do. I am sure here you're well taken care of. And once you feel better, you'll come out of here back to your life." Jim lied. Miserably. His first instinct that night was to take the kid home with him and he didn't do it. Now he didn't know what to say to help him and he was embarrassed at his own awkwardness. His time was finishing and he had to hurry up.

"Blair, I'm sorry if I didn't help you the way you would. But if there is something I can do now, please, tell me. I would like to be your friend, if you let me."

Jim wasn't sure the boy had understood his words and the reasons for he was with him at the moment. He seemed lost in his own mind. The moment Jim made a move to stand up, Blair captured his hand and hold it in his. Surprised, the detective realized there were tears in the boy's eyes.

"I don't hate you, Jim. I know you did what you thought the best for me. Thank you. I owe you my life. But we cannot be friends. They won't let us." He whispered tiredly. Then closed his eyes. "It's time for you to go, the orderly is leaving."

He was right, Marshall was about to close the door of the wing in a few minutes. But something Blair said had made him sick.

"Who's they, Chief? How can I help you?" he urged.

"You must leave."

Jim was desperate to achieve as much information as possible from Blair, but there was no time. He was right. He had to leave now.

"Ok, Blair, but I'll come back. You just try to hang in there and I'll come back to you as soon as I can."

He kissed the top of his curly head and hurried out of the room, closing it from the corridor. In a few minutes he was outside the building. As soon as he reached his car, he dialed Rafe's number. He was going to ask him a big favor. At the third ring, he heard his colleague's voice.

"Hey Jim, how is it going? Still working?"

"Rafe, I know it's late but I need you to do me a favor. It's personal, so please do not tell Simon about it."

The concerned tone in Ellison's voice made the other man changing instantly attitude.

"Of course, Jim. What do you need?" he asked.

"I'd like to know everything about a kid, his name is Blair Sandburg. He is 28. I want to know what does he do, where does he live, everything! Can you find out?"

"May I ask you why, Jim? Is he suspected?"

"No, he is a victim."

"A victim? Is he dead?"

"No, he's not dead! Please, Rafe, cut the questions. Just get me the information!" Jim urged.

"As you wish, buddy. I'll let you know. Good night."

And he hang up the phone.

Ok, now for the worst part.

RING RING

"Banks!"

"Simon, it's Jim!"

"Jim, nice of you to call. Look, I'm still in my office working on the case so why don't you come over here? I'll wait for you in twenty minutes!"

"I'll be there!"

Great, just great! I hope it won't take us all night!

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 3

Reviews are very welcome!