I don't own the Sentinel

Edited 19 Feb 19

Chapter 4

Blair forced back a sigh as yet another attempt at engaging the detective in conversation failed miserably. The floor seemed unusually calm, if the bored expression on many detectives' faces was anything to go by. They chatted with each other and visited desks as they seemed to work their way through a day of paperwork. The low buzz of conversation permeated the office except in the corner where Ellison's desk was situated. That area seemed to be a proverbial dead zone of social interaction. No matter what approach Blair took it was always shot down, by a grunt, short reply, or silence. Banks had said Ellison was an iceberg, but this was ridiculous. It was like the man was deliberately trying to be unpleasant. Blair was very good at reading people, even for a Guide and many of them could be consider empathic, and he wasn't buying the cold bastard routine. The impressions coming off of Ellison were so muddled and confused Blair knew there had to be more to the story. It was the only thing that allowed him to keep up his unconcerned and carefree front.

Those impressions were distorted and muffled like everything else Blair was getting from the detective, as though they were coming through a dense fog that obscured and twisted them, hiding their true nature. Blair didn't know what to make of it. He'd never encountered anything like it before in all his years as a Guide. It only brought up more questions. He'd have to look into past cases of Sentinel medicine to see if there'd been any similar cases previously recorded.

Blair was just about to try another conversation starter, however futile, when the phone on Ellison's desk rang. It barely got off the first buzz before the detective snatched it off the cradle.

"Ellison," the detective barked without even looking at the phone.

Ellison listened for a few seconds before nodding his head and saying, "I'll be right there." Hanging up the phone, he stood and reached for his jacket. Blair stood in response getting ready to follow wherever his temporary "partner" led. He wasn't letting Ellison out of his sight if he could help it.

"Where are we going?" Blair asked, shoving papers into his backpack.

"I'm going down to a murder. You are staying right here, you're not authorized to come along to crime scenes." Ellison grabbed his badge and service weapon and headed for the elevator without a backward glance at the stunned man behind him.

It took a moment before Blair could recover and follow the detective. "You can't leave me behind! I'm your partner!"

Ellison jerked to a stop and spun around in one motion, coming up into Blair's personal space. "Let's get one thing clear, Chief. We are not partners. I don't have a partner."

"You're my liaison, then," Blair cut in before Ellison could go any farther. "I'm here so I can make observations for a study approved by your boss and I can't observe anything by sitting at a desk." This was not entirely true. He could make plenty of observations just by sitting in the bullpen, but that wouldn't help him stick with Ellison.

Jim wasn't buying it, though. "You're here to observe the entire department, interactions within the group or something. You can't do that if you stick with one detective the entire time. You're not coming." Then Ellison turned again and stormed toward the elevator, opening the doors with a push of the button.

"I also need to see how your department and others interact with each other. I'm not going to be able to do that from one office floor," Blair protested, following him to the elevator.

"Not my problem. You're still not cleared to go to active crime scenes. If you don't like it, talk to Simon." With that the doors slid closed, cutting off the conversation without another word.

Blair glared at the double metal doors. He hadn't thought that Ellison had been paying that much attention to focus of his study. Damn. He'd have to talk about this to Captain Banks. He didn't want to tell anyone about his suspicions until he had proof of anything but it looked like he didn't have much of a choice. If Ellison did have latent Sentinel abilities and they came online suddenly he could get himself or someone else hurt or worse. It was too much of a risk. Blair spun around and headed to Simon's office. Maybe he could talk the captain into letting him in the field without revealing any of his suspicions. It was worth a try.

XXXXXX

Jim climbed into his truck, slamming the door closed with more force than necessary, making his headache throb painfully for a moment before he pushed it down. He glanced over the cab as per habit, ensuring everything was the way he had left it only a few hours ago. Pulling up to the exit from the parking garage Jim glance right checking oncoming traffic only to find himself staring into a mirroring blue gaze. He rolled his eyes in exasperation before craning his neck to see around the large black feline that now sat in his passenger seat.

"What do you want?" Jim nearly growled, sounding very much like a panther himself.

The large cat didn't answer, it never did. It merely sat and stared at him with a knowing gaze. When the panther had first appeared to Jim, shortly after the surfacing of his senses, he hadn't known what to make of it. He didn't know if other Sentinels saw animals that no one else could see or if it was something particular to him, like insanity. He had heard somewhere something about spirit guides looking over Sentinels and Guides as a rule, but wasn't sure how much he believed it. Either way, he saw the cat and worse, the cat knew he could see it.

Since then, the cat had appeared to him many times. Usually there was a reason, some danger to avoid, a threat to handle, or decision to make. Other times it seemed like the cat just appeared for no better reason than to harass him. In the past couple of years, though, it had become more of a comfort than anything else. Jim would never admit it, especially to the fur ball, but, much like taking up meditation, he'd gotten to like having the spirit around sometimes. If he could get by with his meditation and an oversized housecat stopping by to stare at him, then, hopefully, he could avoid the unwanted addition of the GSC and all the strings that came with it.

Jim threw another glance at his passenger while stopped at a red light. "If this is about that Guide back at the station, you can forget about it," he said, continuing their nonexistent conversation. Did talking to spirit animals count as talking to himself?

The panther lowered its head ever so slightly.

"You remember what happened to that guy across the street when they found out he was a Sentinel?" Jim asked the cat, feeling it could use a reminder of the real world, "They forced him to move out of his apartment and into some Sentinel nursing home that was "safe" according to them. 'For his own good' they said, his own good my ass. No one ever saw him again."

The panther merely continued to stare, but Jim didn't notice. He was focusing on driving through the pot-hole ridden streets of Cascade's "troubled" district. Besides, he had gotten used to the one-sided conversations.

Jim let a moment of silence drag out in the cab as he looked for the correct address. Spotting it he slowed the truck to a stop. "I don't know exactly how things work in your little spirit jungle world, but here in real life it's more complicated than that. If you don't like it, find yourself another Sentinel," and with that Jim killed the engine and slid from the truck. A quick scan of the passenger's seat, though, showed it was empty. Jim shook his head and started up the walk to the house now crawling with uniforms.

Damn cat.

Jim could smell the blood before he even reached the door, one maybe two victims, upper floor. Jim took a moment to prepare himself before going into the house. Everything felt relatively in control besides the headache lingering in the back of his skull, but he wasn't going tempt fate by charging into a fresh crime scene. He took the opportunity to get a good look around the outside of the house and make some initial observations. The yard was patchy with dirt and dry grass, bits of rusted tools peeking out from the dry tufts. The lopsided porch was splintered and peeling a dirty white paint that matched the general state of the door. The windows were old and dirty around the edges from months of semi neglect.

The air floating through the open door hung with mildew, dry rot, dust, and a heavy over layer of blood. Still, he'd been to worse crime scenes, places next to ripe dumpsters and in abandoned buildings used as outhouses by the local bums. Jim could handle this; it would just take concentration like everything else. Taking a slow breath and double checking the dials one last time, Jim stepped into the house with a short nod to the officer guarding the door.

The inside was much the same as the out, with old, worn furniture and a drab atmosphere. The curtains hung limp in faded colors and the couch swayed in the middle, its fabric covering wrinkled and oversized. An old TV with a cracked frame stood in the corner on an equally old stand. To one side, there was a bookshelf with a set of home repair and cook books, but the layer of dust didn't provide much hope for their being used. His eyes picked up everything from the rag rug lying stained and crooked on the floor to the dirt and grime in the corners of the room. To the left a narrow set of stairs ran to the second floor and he could tell the scent of blood originated from that direction.

Jim followed the scent to the main crime scene in a small bed room on the second floor. Two bodies, a young woman and man, lay haphazardly on the floor and across the bed, gunshot wounds decorating each. The spray was staining the faded wall paper while the thin carpet and old bed displayed two large pools of sticky blood. With the two windows closed tight, the smell was nearly overwhelming in the cramp room. It made Jim want to gag and choke, but he forced himself to breath the metallic air normally, focusing his attention to scanning the room for any clues to the perpetrator.

Notwithstanding the blood and bodies, the room looked no better than the rest of the house. Kneeling down by one of the bodies Jim bent to get a look under the bed, checking for anything missed by the initial sweep. A glint in the corner caught his eye and he focused in on it, craning his head to see better. It was metal and small, a long thin needle partially sticking into the carpet from where it dropped on the other side of the bed. It looked as though the girl may have dropped it from her place on the bed…

BAM.

The sudden noise of someone stumbling on the narrow stairs jerked Jim from his knees. He blinked in the suddenly bright room as he realized what had happened while trying to covered up his start by fiddling with his gloves. He'd zoned on the needle. It hadn't been deep or long, but he couldn't deny it was a zone. Jim discreetly checked around him to see if anyone had notice. The lack of attention directed his way did little to calm his nerves. If the clumsy officer on the stair hadn't tripped, he could have gone deeper, perhaps fallen over and passed out and that would definitely have attracted attention.

Jim hadn't had a serious zone out for almost a year and never in public. Still, it was a constant balancing act, small things like this only served to remind him how careful he had to be. For a brief moment Jim almost wished he could get a guide, if only to not have to worry about it anymore, allow himself to rest and know someone would help look out for small dangers like needles hidden under beds at crimes scenes. Jim pushed the idea away immediately. There was no point dwelling on it since it wouldn't happen. Who was it that said "those who give up their freedom for some safety deserve neither'? He wasn't entirely sure, but he did know one thing, they weren't taking his freedom from him, not while he still had a say.

From the corner of his eye, Jim thought he saw a long black tail move behind the bed, but he ignored it. Instead, he focused on the pounding through his skull. He took a deep breath, held it and slowly let it out, turning down the pain until it was a dull throb in the background. The pain wasn't gone, and he knew he'd have to deal with it later, but for now he could focus on the job at hand. Jim bent his head to the crime scene and started his work. If he was lucky and careful he could get out of there relatively quick and then maybe go listen to some more static on the AM channel by the park. Either way, he wasn't planning on going back to the station and the curly haired trap-spider waiting at his desk anytime soon.

TBC…