Chapter Ten

Jim woke with the first rays of the sun as it shone directly onto his face like a beacon in the night. He straightened in the chair and tried to suppress a groan at the stiffness that made his entire body feel as though it was in a vice. Blair moved slightly in the bed as Jim stood up and worked at getting some of the knots loosened in his back and neck. Soon, Blair's eyes opened and he gazed drowsily up at Jim.

"Morning," he mumbled. He yawned and stretched, then glanced at the clock on the wall. "Six a.m? Did you stay here all night?"

Jim shrugged a little sheepishly. "Guess I nodded off."

"God, you must feel like a pretzel."

"You wouldn't know," Jim answered sardonically. "Why is it, do you suppose, that you always get the comfy hospital beds and I get the chairs?"

"Got me, man," Blair answered around another yawn. "You duck better than me?" He struggled to push himself upright in the bed, finally giving up and stretching out a slightly wobbly arm. "You want to give me a hand here? My muscles always seem to be at their weakest first thing in the morning."

"Which is why you're headed for the gym straight after breakfast," another voice cut in. "Good morning, Jim. Good morning, Blair," Melissa said as she entered the room.

"Good morning," both men chorused. Then Jim turned to Blair. "Are you going to be all right here for a few hours on your own?"

"Sure."

"I'm going to go home and take a shower, then head over to the station to have a look at those things we were talking about last night."

Blair look puzzled for a moment, then his eyes lit up in understanding. "Oh. Okay. Keep in touch, all right?"

"Will do." Jim gathered up his jacket.

"I won't be alone, anyway. I've got Melissa." Blair turned his most dazzling smile on the young nurse. "Right?"

Melissa nodded and smiled sweetly, twin dimples appearing in her cheeks. "You bet," she answered. "For as long as you want me. I'm working a double shift today. Kathy called in sick."

Jim shook his head as Blair continued to flirt with Melissa. "Later, Chief."

He headed home first, stopping briefly at a local bakery to pick up muffins for breakfast. Then he stepped into the shower and worked the kinks out of his sore back under the steaming water while the coffee brewed.

Not having Blair at home meant Jim could take as long as he wanted in the shower and he did so, reveling in the hot massage over his skin. He tried not to think about what had occurred the night before, but his mind kept drifting back to it, his ears still hearing Blair's angry words.

It wasn't the first time that Blair had doubted his place at Jim's side. A year or so before, when Jim had felt the specter of burnout looming, he'd requested a week off and headed off to fish. Alone.

The holiday had not gone well, with Simon and Blair following him to his hideaway, and then all of them stumbling on a scheme by a group of ex-military men to rob a train headed for the mint. Blair had been poisoned, along with most of the townspeople of Clayton Falls and it had taken him several days to recover. What Jim didn't think they'd ever get past, though, was the hurt that Blair felt when he mistakenly believed that Jim wanted to get away from him.

In a sense, that was precisely what Jim had needed, but it was so much more than that. His job, his senses, Blair pushing at him to do more tests, extend himself more, everything had closed in upon him until he thought the person he was would disappear.

He understood too, that Blair's motives were not selfish ones. Not only was he gathering information for his thesis, but also guiding Jim, teaching him new ways to use his heightened senses and finding ways around the ever-present threat of zone-outs and sudden, inexplicable, and often bizarre side effects.

Which led Jim straight back to where he had been before. Guilty as charged. He had used Blair's knowledge whenever and however it suited him, and then, when he felt his trust had been betrayed, he'd discarded him like yesterday's newspaper. He had not allowed Blair a chance to explain his behavior. Indeed, he had not considered any reason for Blair's behavior, other than utter stupidity or greed.

Shaking his head now as he stepped from the shower and dried himself off, Jim knew he couldn't have been farther off the mark. Greed was not a word in the Sandburg vocabulary. Blair had made a mistake in not telling Jim about Alex, and he had readily admitted his error long before Jim could voice his own guilt. He certainly did not deserve to be abandoned and drowned in a germ-infested fountain for his omission. It was not a sin, Jim thought, but a well-meaning attempt by Blair to protect his sentinel and friend.

He pushed his dark thoughts away as he headed back down the stairs to his car. The only way he could think to absolve his own guilt was to prove to Blair now that he was not alone in his fight back to health. He knew, though, that Blair's recovery relied heavily on his mental state. If Blair's peace of mind hinged on discovering the story behind Mark Cameron's death, then Jim would shift heaven and earth to uncover it.

00000

As soon as he arrived at the station, Jim went straight to his desk and picked up the phone. He made his first call to the director of the rehabilitation center. It was essentially a wasted call. There was little the director could tell him. There was the matter of patient confidentiality, and Jim's threats of a subpoena did not move the man.

//I sympathize with you, Detective. Until such time as a subpoena is forthcoming, I can't really tell you anything. You might talk to his parents.//

Jim leaned back in his chair. "Will there be an autopsy?"

//The parents chose to waive an autopsy. Mr. Cameron's body was released to his parents immediately. I believe he was privately cremated yesterday.//

"Who was on duty the night Mark Cameron died?" Jim waited as he heard the rustling of paper in the background.

//Nurses Jones and Malone, and two orderlies to assist with lifting. John Davies and Frank Perry. There is also always a doctor on call. Dr. Scott responded to the page regarding Mr. Cameron's death. The death certificate assigned heart failure as the cause.//

"He was just a young man," Jim said, trying to blink away the images of Blair's lifeless body overlaid on Mark's.

//He suffered from Becker's muscular dystrophy, Detective. It's not an uncommon outcome.//

"His roommate, Blair Sandburg, says that a nurse came into the room at some time during the night."

//Very likely. The nurses are required to do regular checks during the night. Some patients need to be turned, others may need assistance to go to the bathroom.//

Finally, after jotting down a few details about Mark's family, Jim hung up the phone. Feeling somewhat defeated, he knocked on Simon's office door and entered. The captain was absorbed in the report on his desk and did not immediately look up.

"Sit down, Jim. I'll be with you in just a minute."

Jim nodded and sat in the seat opposite. Finally, Simon signed the report and looked up. "How's Sandburg doing, Jim? I was thinking about going out to see him tonight. Daryl's been asking to visit, but I'll run it by the kid first."

"He's not so good, Simon," Jim sighed. "His roommate died yesterday. Blair found him and it affected him pretty badly."

"I can imagine," Simon said. "So, what can I do?"

Jim allowed a ghost of a smile to touch his lips at Simon's offer. "Sandburg seems to think there's something suspicious about Mark Cameron's death."

"Does he have reason to be suspicious?"

"I don't know. Cameron was 22. He suffered from a disease called Becker's muscular dystrophy. Cause of death was attributed to heart failure. According to the director at the center, it's a common outcome of the disorder."

"But?"

Jim sighed and shifted forward in his seat. "Blair was pretty hysterical when I got there last night. He seemed frightened of something, but he didn't seem to know what. He kept saying if I left him there, he'd die too."

"That's crazy," the captain snorted.

"That's what I said, just before he kicked me out," Jim replied wryly. "He calmed down eventually, but he's pretty insistent that Mark's death was suspicious. I promised to look into it for him. Just to set his mind at ease. He won't be ready to leave there for at least another two weeks, and I don't want him scared out of his mind for all that time."

Simon nodded thoughtfully. "What can I do to help?"

"Can you get someone to go talk to Mark's parents? They had his body cremated almost immediately. Maybe they wanted him off their hands. Blair said that Mark told him that his parents considered him an embarrassment."

Simon shook his head sadly. "Poor kid. What else?"

"I want to run a check on the people who were on duty that night, then I'm going to head back to the center to see Blair."

"Okay," Simon said. "I'll send Conner and Rafe out to talk with the parents. I'll tell them to let you know what they get."

Jim nodded then stood. "Thanks, Simon. I'll tell Blair you'll be out to see him later today."

00000

Jim looked up from his computer screen as Henri Brown walked into the bullpen. "Hey, H," he greeted the burly detective. "You free for a while?"

"Sure, Jim. What you got?"

Shrugging as he stood and pulled his jacket from the hook on the wall, Jim clapped Henri on the shoulder. "Maybe nothing. Come on, I'll fill you in on the way."

Henri gave his chocolate bar a mournful look then stuffed it into his jacket pocket before hurrying to catch up with the other man. He waited until they were on their way before he spoke. "So, how's Hairboy doing, Jim?"

"He's getting better. It's going to take a while, but he's getting stronger everyday."

"You know, Rafe and I, and the others would sure like to go visit him," Henri said slowly.

Jim sighed and glanced at the other detective. "Yeah. Give him a little more time, H. He'll come round. He's just nervous about anyone seeing him like this."

"I know," Henri answered. "You tell him we said hey, all right?"

Jim smiled widely. "I will."

"Okay." Henri got back to the business at hand. "Where are we going?"

"Blair's roommate died yesterday."

"Oh, man, that's too bad." Henri shook his head sadly. "Got the kid a little spooked, huh?"

"Something like that. Blair thinks that Mark may have been murdered."

"Hairboy's been hanging with cops for too long," Henri snorted. He sobered quickly. "Kid's usually right on the money where people are concerned though, so who's this dude we're going to see?"

"His name is Frank Perry, and he's an orderly at the rehab center. I ran computer checks on all the staff on duty the night Mark Cameron died. Perry got a red flag. He's been arrested for assault and drug possession. All small time stuff, but if Cameron's parents wanted Mark out of the way, Perry would be a logical choice."

Jim pulled the vehicle to a halt outside a nondescript apartment building. "This is the address we have for him. He's in Apartment 204."

Henri nodded and opened the passenger door. "Let's go see the man."

The detectives climbed the stairs to the second floor. Jim held out a restraining hand to Henri as he went to knock at the door. "Give me a minute," he whispered, ignoring Henri's puzzled look. Concentrating carefully, and mentally crossing his fingers against a zone-out, Jim extended his hearing into the apartment. Two heartbeats. He held up two fingers to signify the fact to Henri then nodded.

Henri rapped sharply at the door then waited until a woman's voice answered.

"Who is it?"

"Cascade Police Department, ma'am," Henri replied. "We'd like to speak with Frank Perry."

"He's not here," the woman replied immediately.

Jim's ears picked up the sound of a window being raised and the clatter of feet hitting metal. "Shit! He's on the fire escape." He wheeled and headed for the stairs, pulling his gun from its holster as he ran. "Get in there," he called to Henri. "Break the door down if you have to, and call for backup."

Henri nodded silently and put his considerable bulk against the door. Jim threw himself off the last few steps of the staircase, gritting his teeth as his ankle twisted slightly under him. He kept his hearing focused outside and could hear the lumbering steps of someone descending the fire escape, their breath rasping loudly.

Jim ran out the entrance door and sped toward the alley at the side of the building, slowing down as he reached the corner, then risked a look around the edge.

A large man was making his way down the final few steps of the fire escape, his face red and sweating from the exertion. Jim turned the corner slowly and steadied his gun in both hands before aiming it at the fleeing man. "Stay right where you are, Perry. Cascade PD."

"Oh, man," Perry wheezed. "I ain't done nothin'."

Jim nodded. "Yeah, right. How about you get down from there and we'll go talk about it at the station?"

"Did that bitch upstairs turn me in?" Perry asked, not moving from the last landing.

Jim shook his head. "We just want you to come down to the station and answer some questions about the night Mark Cameron died."

Jim heard Perry's heart rate increase. "I don't know anything about that. He was already dead when I—"

"When you what?" Jim asked, moving closer. He reached behind to find his cuffs.

The man looked away from him. "Nothing. Just nothing."

Jim closed in on the other man. He was aware of Henri leaning out of the apartment window above him, a struggling woman held easily under one beefy arm. "Jim? You okay? Backup's on the way."

"I'm fine, H," Jim called back. "You want to bring your lady friend down here?"

"Sure thing." Henri and the woman disappeared from sight and Jim turned his attention back to Perry. "Why don't you come down from there, nice and slow?"

Perry shook his head. "I can do nice and slow, man, but I don't think I can step that far down to the ground. The ramp is stuck."

Jim sighed, and after a moment's hesitation, re-holstered his weapon. "All right. You keep your hands out from your sides."

Perry nodded and held both arms out as Jim approached. Reaching up, Jim grasped hold of one fat hand and began to pull the man toward him. When he was close enough, he placed his other hand under Perry's armpit. "Okay, just reach right down with your foot."

The man did as he was told and finally, Jim had him standing somewhat shakily beside him. Suddenly, a flash of red-hot pain slashed across Jim's bicep, and his handcuffs dropped from his numb fingers. As Perry turned to run toward the mouth of the alley, Jim threw himself bodily at the fleeing man, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

Perry grunted as his huge bulk hit the ground hard and the knife in his fist skittered away. Jim disentangled himself from the other man and staggered to his feet, one hand grasping his heavily bleeding arm. Then he dropped down, placing a knee in the small of Perry's back, and pulled the man's arms around behind him. Grasping both huge wrists with some difficulty, he looked up as a pair of handcuffs was held out in front of him.

Henri stood looking down at him, a worried frown on his face as he took in Jim's bloody sleeve. "You all right, man?"

Jim gritted his teeth as he snapped the cuffs around Perry's wrists. "Yeah, I'm fine. Where's the woman?"

Henri hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Uniforms pulled up just as I came out. They're taking her in."

"All right." Jim got to his feet then reached down to haul the big man to his feet. "Okay, Mr. Perry. Let's go have a little talk."

Perry stared resolutely ahead, saying nothing.

00000

Jim stared at the big man sitting opposite him and sighed. He rubbed absently at his heavily bandaged upper arm and attempted, once more in vain, to dial down the pain. He stood and began to pace. "Come on, Frank, help me out here. I don't want you to go to prison for something you didn't do."

Perry set his jaw and shook his head. Jim moved around the table and leaned over so that his mouth was near Perry's ear. "Somebody pay you to do something to Mark Cameron?"

"No!" Perry shouted. "He was already dead when I went in there."

Jim allowed himself a small smile of relief. They'd been going at this for two hours now, and Perry was finally beginning to make a few slips.

"So, you were in the room."

Frank nodded. "I had to help load the body onto the gurney. Then Nurse Harry asked me to pack up his things." Finally, Perry looked at Jim. "They were just sitting on the cupboard, man. Computer games, CD's. I figured they wouldn't miss a few, and the other guy, Blair, was so out of it, all he was seeing was the insides of his eyelids."

"What do you mean Blair was out of it?"

Perry shrugged. "I don't know. Just sitting there, staring at the wall all glassy-eyed. Looked like he was on some heavy-duty stuff. Maybe it was just the shock of finding the guy dead."

Jim's heart clenched at the mental picture the words evoked, then Perry spoke again. "Look, I didn't kill the kid. I liked him. He was cool. He floated me a loan a few times. It was just a few games and CD's, man. I figured they were no good to him any more. I've done some bad shit in my time, Detective, but I never killed nobody."

Jim rubbed again at his arm and Perry spoke up, his tone defensive. "Hey, I was scared, all right? You were telling me you wanted to talk to me about a murder."

"Yeah, right," Jim said tiredly. "Who else went into Mark's room that night?"

"Pretty much everyone," Perry answered. "Melissa was in there playing cards with the boys until about eleven." His eyes narrowed. "There was talk around, you know?"

"What about?"

Perry shrugged. "Just talk, about people dying too soon." His mouth clamped shut then, and none of Jim's threats or enticements would induce him to explain further.

A half-hour later, when it was clear that he would get no more information from Frank Perry, Jim turned him over to booking and headed to the break room for some much-needed coffee.

The wound in his arm throbbed unrelentingly and was still sluggishly oozing blood but it was the pain more than anything that concerned him. It faded in and out, one minute just a barely there throbbing, the next a sharp, agonizing flare of sensation that sizzled down his arm and shattered his concentration.

He took a moment to center himself and tried to picture the dials that Blair had fashioned for him in his mind's eye, but they kept fading to nothing. He found an almost empty bottle of ibuprofen in the back of the first aid box and threw three down his throat.

Jim looked up as Simon came into the room. The captain eyed the detective critically, taking in his disheveled appearance and wan complexion. "You all right?"

"I'll be fine," Jim answered. "I just can't seem to control the dials the way Blair taught me. They're all over the place."

He nodded at Simon's worried expression. "I'll be fine," he reiterated. "There's something going on in that rehab center, Simon."

"Get yourself cleaned up a little," Simon said, waving a hand at Jim's dusty pants and sweater. "There's a lady waiting to see you." Jim raised an eyebrow in question. "Nurse Harriet Jones, and she's refusing to talk to anyone except you."

00000

"Shit!" Blair collapsed face-first onto the exercise mat and weakly beat his fist against it.

"That's okay," Mandy said, rubbing his back gently. "You've done an awful lot today, Blair."

"It's not enough," Blair panted. "The day before yesterday, I walked four steps. Then I walked even further from my room out to the corridor last night. Today, I can hardly even stand up on my own." He blushed a little at her surprised look. "Sorry, guess I should have told you about last night."

"As long as you had someone with you, it's all right," Mandy answered.

"Yeah, of course," Blair obfuscated without a moment's guilt. "Jim was with me."

"Look, Blair, you have to give yourself a break here," Mandy said as she helped him sit up. "You had a long session the day before yesterday and then probably overdid it by walking around with your friend. Not to mention the stress you've been through finding Mark. It'll come. You're doing really well."

"It's not fast enough," Blair replied as he pulled himself up into his wheelchair. "I have to get well so I can help Jim out. I'm his partner, his backup." He sighed. "It's complicated. God, I hate this."

Mandy patted his arm and smiled as Melissa entered the gym. "Here comes your escort. Cut yourself some slack, okay, Blair?"

Blair nodded and waved a hand in farewell. He didn't speak on the way back to the room.

"Everything all right, Blair?" Melissa asked as she parked the wheelchair at right angles to the bed.

"Fine." He looked at her then. "I'm sorry. I'm just not in a great mood right now."

"Do you want to talk about it? Tell you what, why don't I go make us both a cup of tea and we'll talk?"

"Not right now, okay? I'm not good company."

Melissa nodded and patted his hand then walked to the door. Seeing the sad look on her face, Blair relented. "Actually, if you're sure you've got the time, it'd be nice to have someone to talk to."

It only took a few minutes for Melissa to return with two steaming mugs of tea. Blair had managed to get himself up onto the bed by the time she returned. Somehow, his pride wouldn't allow him to ask a petite young girl to haul him around. "I added some honey to yours," Melissa said, placing the cups on the rollaway table. "Figured you could do with some sweetening right now."

"Thanks," Blair answered, beginning to feel his black mood dissipate already. Melissa sat and sipped her tea. "So," she said. "Talk to me, Blair. What's going on in that cute head of yours?"

Blair managed a quick smile at the compliment then sighed as he shakily picked up his teacup and drank. "Sometimes I feel like I'm never going to get better. It's like one step forward and ten backward. Then finding Mark…"

Melissa took his hand in hers. "You're just a little depressed right now because of Mark. Finding him like that was a shock. It takes a while to get over something like that."

"No, it's more than that," he replied. "Jim and I had a fight last night. I accused him of wanting to get rid of me."

"Do you really believe that?"

"No, of course not. He did kick me out once before, though it was for an entirely different reason and it wasn't his fault. I just kept remembering how awful it was thinking that the loft wasn't my home any more, and the person I thought was my best friend didn't want me around anymore." Blair stopped and yawned widely. "But that's all over now. We sorted it out. I just hope he can forgive me for what I said last night."

"Poor Blair," Melissa said, patting his hand. "Looks like you could do with a nap."

"I am kind of tired."

Melissa took the empty teacup from his hand and set it on the table then helped him to lay down. She pulled the bedclothes up, then picked up the cups and walked to the door. "Get some rest, Blair," she whispered as she turned off the light. "Things will look much better when you wake up."