Sense of Reflection

Eli called. When I look at those two words, I start to shake. I guess I should remind myself what happened. Reflection is good for the soul, they say. LOL! Who the fuck is 'they'? I love Eli. He's been so good to me. He's my mentor, my friend, but... Anyway, it's been five years since I last wrote in this journal. And I kind of wish it was another five, make that fifty years before I ever had to look at it again, but that ain't gonna happen.

I glanced at some of the old entries. I can't believe how naive I was! Thank God for second chances and maturity. I was a stupid, ignorant, ambitious, ridiculously blind kid. Such is life, I guess. I'm just glad I lived past thirty because, man, reading the old entries, it's a wonder I ever survived. What was I thinking? And did I follow my dick around or what? Geez, castration sounds inviting just about now! Ouch! Okay, I'm off to buy a plane ticket on the net. More later, maybe. We'll see.

Tuesday, June 17, 2003

I'm on the plane. It's a long way from Orlando to Cascade. I have to fly to Chicago, layover three hours, then on to Cascade. It's barely 7 a.m. now, but by the time I land, with the time zone changes and all, it will be 7 a.m. all over again!!! LOL. Not really. Of course, that's barring any delays at O'Hare. Fat fucking chance of my connection leaving on time. The net said it's only on time sixty percent of the time. Just my luck.

On second thought, why am I bitching? I don't want to go! Yes, I do. No, I don't. I'm a damned schizophrenic now, I guess. So let me tell you why I'm going. Apparently, I have hours to kill.

Eli called last night, excited as hell, and told me he's found him! After more than eight years. God, I can't believe it! He and I searched together for four years. I wasted four years of my life looking for James Ellison, my “Holy Grail”. What a jerk I am! I'm rambling, I guess. Let me try to clear this up...

In 1994, Eli Stoddard (my mentor and the world's greatest living anthropologist), and I went to Perú for a twelve-month study of the indigenous people of the La Montaña region. It was -- should have been -- a great experience. We both spoke Spanish. Eli was fluid in Quechua and I'm a fast learner, so the language thing wasn't going to be a problem at all. I was working toward my Master's with an eye on my PhD.

The problem was the tribal shaman, Incacha. From the second I stepped into the village, he followed me constantly. He talked nonstop for hours, then days, then weeks. After a while, I understood every word. How could I not! I couldn't pee without him at my side. If I read those journal entries I made while I was in Perú, I'm sure I'd laugh at the wide-eyed innocence with which I listened to Incacha. All those stories about the tribal Sentinel. Hundreds of stories, and I wrote every one of them down. Those fucking journals are in storage, thank God, or I'd probably be reading them again. I do not need this!

Sorry. You're not responsible for my state of mind. But it does help to write it down. Let me try this clinically: Incacha, the Chopec shaman, informed me, Blair Sandburg, anthro Master's student, that I was destined to mate with James Ellison, Sentinel, and guide him through life. Said Sentinel had joined the tribe after a helicopter crash. He was a solder, an American GI, Incacha told me. He was eventually rescued by the US government and left the tribe to return to his home, Cascade, Washington, a short while before I got to Perú. It was damned creepy that I was from Cascade, too. But not to Incacha. He saw it as divine providence. I knew Incacha was nuts. It had to be that damned plant they smoked. Or maybe the homemade brew they drank. The more I objected to Incacha's wild statements, the more adamant he became. There was no fucking way I was going to (1) become a sidekick to a Sentinel, or (2) screw some guy. Not me, lover of women from my head to my toes. Sentinel research was good. Slavery to one wasn't. So where am I going right this minute? Why am I jetting off to cold, dreary, wet Cascade, when I could be warm and dry in my home in Orlando? I'm an idiot.

No, I love Eli. He says Ellison needs me. He says Ellison is going to die, maybe within the month, if I don't do what I was born to do. But after Alex, how can he ask me to do this again? I died once already. Do I have to die again? Stupid statement, Blair. Of course you have to die. We all die, but not just yet! I'm only thirty-three -- make that thirty-four. I have at least forty years left. I do not want to die for another Sentinel! God help me, I don't.

Had a nap. Feel much better. The nice flight attendant got me a Coors Light and a snack tray since I slept through the meal. Two crackers, a cheese stick, an apple, a chocolate chip cookie, and a piece of hard candy. I want something I can sink my teeth into. Orlando has great seafood. Lobster sounds good about now. Baked potato, dripping with butter and sour cream. A cold Killian's Red or three. A huge Caesar salad with extra anchovies. Stop! And a hard crusty roll with real butter.

Reading back over my last few paragraphs, I realize I mentioned that Eli and I looked for James Ellison for four years. Why is that, you might ask? Because when we returned to Cascade, the man was nowhere to be found. We talked to Ellison's father, who informed us that Ellison Jr. had disappeared, much to his father's dismay. The old guy was worried about his son, said the guy had problems, was most likely mentally damaged from the awful helicopter crash and the loss of his men. Guess the old man tried to help his son, but he said that 'Jimmy' kept getting weirder and weirder until one day he up and disappeared. Well, Eli and I looked for the missing son. We ran ads all over the country, took trips to homeless shelters and hospitals any time we heard about a John Doe or some guy off his rocker acting strange and all. We spent every hour of free time trying to track down James Ellison. Then I met Alex, and that's when my big trouble began. I even hate writing her name.

I'm not sure how Eli hooked up with old man Ellison again or how old man E. found his son, but I'll tell you the story as soon as Eli fills me in.

We're landing in Chicago. Later, maybe, I'll write more. Either that, or shoot myself before I get to Cascade. A much better option I think!

I just read my last diary entry, made years ago...

September 14, 1998. Alex is driving me nuts! She won't listen to my suggestions. She ignores my advice. She tosses my experiments out the window! I'm going to finally tell her that I'm through with this Sentinel shit. Not only is she so not my Holy Grail, she's fucked up as far as a Sentinel goes. None of Burton's research explains these mood swings. Eli says she's just plain nuts and to get rid of her. He's right. Today I tell her to take a hike. God, I hope she leaves and never darkens my door again!

Alex. She's dead. When I say that, I almost feel good. She ruined my life. Actually, that's not true. Because of Alex, I ran as far away from Cascade and Sentinels as I could. My work with the Cameron Center has been the most rewarding thing I could ever do. I'm successful, well paid, and content. That's the world famous Cameron Chemical Senses Center, BTW. It doesn't matter that I've never found that elusive 'someone' to spend my life with. It's not important any more. I'm happy the way things are. I'll never, never, never give myself to another person the way I did with Alex.

Sure, Eli was pissed with me. He kept telling me over and over that Incacha said I was to guide Ellison, not Barnes. Hell, he reminded me of that fact every single fucking day for six months, the entire time Alex was in my life. I should have listened. I'm not Ellison's mate, that's for damned sure, but I was never Alex's anything. God, I hate that woman. Hated.

I remember it as clear as day. I'd only been conscious about an hour or so when Eli showed up at the hospital. He was smiling and brought me the biggest bunch of flowers I'd ever seen. He grinned and told me Alex was dead. I was shocked to say the least. After she'd dropped my sorry ass in that fountain, I figured she was home free, sunning herself on a beach in Mexico or some such thing. Eli laughed with glee when he told me how she died. The day after she killed me, (while I was unconscious and hooked up to every piece of equipment known to the medical world) she was in Spokane for some reason, nothing good I'm sure. The authorities said that she 'spaced out' on some kids playing with a red Frisbee while she was hailing a cab. The cab driver gave the cops an affidavit, said the woman walked right into the middle of the street and didn't respond to the loud air horn of a city garbage truck. The truck driver slammed on the brakes but the truck slid right over her, flattening her on the spot. Eli was torn about her demise, I think. One one hand, she was a Sentinel, something we considered rare and precious. On the other hand, she did kill me. He was happy I was alive, but some small part of him, the scientist part, regretted the loss of a living, breathing Sentinel. I was just glad to still be around. After I was released from the hospital, I left Cascade, never to return -- until today.

They're finally calling my flight. Flight is right. I should flee. What am I getting myself into? With Alex, I didn't feel -- special. Nothing Incacha had told me about Sentinels and Guides was true. I was okay with Alex, but nothing out of the ordinary. No overwhelming desire to protect, to -- bond for life, thank God! She was a woman who had heightened senses and a fucked-up mind. Just my luck. Better hit the john.

I'm back. Take-off was a little rough but now I have three hours before landing. Lucky I had a bagel with cream cheese and a mocha cappuccino in the terminal. Called Eli. He's anxious for me to get there. He's told me that he's 'preparing'. Trying to lay in supplies that a stressed-out, not in good shape Sentinel can tolerate. He says Ellison is pretty sick. Hasn't shaved or bathed lately because of adverse reactions to soaps and shampoos, even the unscented stuff. He says that the guy can still talk, but he's working with a few cans short of a six-pack. Oh, goodie. I told him to get some stuff from the health food store, and to buy a couple of cases of that crap they give preemie babies or to sick old people as a food supplement. He's getting Pedialyte also. That stuff is good for dehydrated bodies. If the guy's as bad off as Eli says, he needs some nutrients quickly. No telling if I can get Ellison to hold anything down after this long, but I'll try.

Why do I feel responsible? It's not my responsibility to save this guy, is it? Is it? Why is it? God, I'm questioning myself yet again. What am I going to do? I'm going to do as Eli, a man I trust implicitly, asks. I'm helping this man (if I can) and then I'm going home.

I guess I'm going into this with the wrong attitude, but I can't help it! For years, a Sentinel was my biggest dream -- my ultimate desire. My Holy Grail, as I always said. I am an idiot. Gonna take a nap.

Did I tell you why Eli has the guy at his house? I got the goods when I called from the airport in Chicago. About eighteen months ago, it seems the father, William Ellison, was called by authorities in Texas. Ellison was found unconscious on the street in Amarillo and taken to the local hospital. Since he was a John Doe, they ran his prints and voila! He shows up on the local authorities' system as an endangered runaway. Can a grown person be classified as that? The old man has junior's power of attorney apparently, so he had his kid flown back to Cascade and after a while, locked up at Conover. Ewww! That place gives me the shivers. I know about that place, trust me. I worked there one time. I wouldn't want my worst enemy locked up there. Well, maybe I would! LOL! Mean, ain't I?

Anyway, Conover apparently called the old man and told him that his son was going to die within a few weeks, if not sooner, and did he want some hospice care instead of hospital intervention. Junior wasn't dangerous or anything and Conover said the guy didn't belong there any longer. The old man said he'd take his son home to die, and promptly called Eli. Said he had just remembered about Eli (and me, obviously) from when we came around asking about his son back in '95. Old Man Ellison has another kid, a younger son, who'd been trying to figure out a way to help his brother. The old man told Eli that the younger son remembered his brother's strange habits as a kid and put two and two together. Old Man E. denied that junior had any strange habits, but Eli said the old man is really scared.

Turns out the younger kid did a net search on messed-up senses and found papers by Eli (and me, again). When he brought the papers to old man E.'s attention, the old man let his son know that he'd actually met Eli and me a couple of years back. Sometimes I hate the net. <big sigh> They called Eli and begged him to help, and he agreed. Eli is such a savior. Hell, he saved me more than once, but that's stuff I'm saving for my memoirs.

Half an hour. We land in half an hour. I'll grab a cab and in another thirty minutes, I'll be Eli's. Then I'll meet him... The sooner the better. I want to go back to my warm, sunny condo. Fuck this nasty, cold, wet place. I know where I belong, and it isn't Washington.

Friday, June 20, 2003

Oh, my God! Oh, my God! What can I say? I don't have a clue! I didn't have a clue and I'm so speechless! Blair Sandburg is speechless. My mother would faint. Where do I start? I have to start somewhere, don't I? I'm -- still speechless! Okay. Let's get serious here. I arrived in Cascade in one piece, not even airsick, thank heavens. Caught a cab about five minutes after I hit the terminal and was at Eli's in record time. I walked in the door and he hugged me like he hadn't seen me in ten years. God, I love that guy! We didn't even waste time with news and hello's. He just dragged me to where he'd ensconced Jim... Yes, I'm calling him Jim now! Wait, wait. I'll tell you!

Anyway, Eli is a wonderful man. He took his own bedroom and gave it to Jim and me. That sounds so -- fucking strange. Jim and me. Blair and Jim. I am an idiot! Calm down... Okay. Where was I? Eli took everything he could from the room so Jim's senses wouldn't go nuts. He scrubbed the entire place down so it would be as -- inoffensive as possible. He washed the sheets in unscented soap and used organic cleansers on the wood floor. Still, Jim was sick. He couldn't handle anything! Especially not me, wearing deodorant and smelling of airplanes and fast food and sweat and God knows what else.

This is not coming out properly. I'm just so damned overwhelmed. Eli wanted to record Jim's treatment. He had video and audio ready to go, but I refused. This wasn't a scientific experiment. This wasn't going to be published or even discussed with anybody, ever. I was done with Sentinel research. Eli wasn't happy, but he finally agreed. He wants me to publish in the Sentinel field again, but I'm never touching that subject ever again. Now, that isn't really true, but I'll tell you about that later.

I washed my hands and face before I entered the bedroom. I was stalling, but I was so damned nervous. I felt -- jazzed and scared at the same time. Eli had the foresight to give me a room monitor so I could talk to him in case I needed something, and I clutched it in my hand until I'm sure I had an impression of the logo buried in my palm. It was pitch black when I walked through the door.

“Mr. Ellison?” I said quietly, leaving the door open a crack so that a bit of light filtered in. I walked over to a small table. “I'm going to turn on a light, okay?”

A rough, low voice said, “Don't... please.”

“Hey, man. I can't see a thing. It's a low-watt bulb. Cover your eyes, okay?” I waited until I heard a small grunt. Taking that for acquiescence, I flipped the switch. The lamp cast a warm yellow glow, but the light didn't penetrate the far recesses of the room. I closed the bedroom door and waited a few moments for my eyes to adjust. When they finally did, I saw the bed sitting against the far wall, and on it lay my subject. Fuck, drop the research shit, Blair. Jim lay on the bed. There, better.

“Hey, man. You okay?” Stupid question, I'm sure, but I had to start the conversation someplace. I walked toward the naked man whose back was toward me. I sucked in a breath and stopped. His skin was pale and covered with bright red blotches. I could see a distinct line across his back where the waistband of his underwear had irritated the flesh. His legs, arms and back were mottled with more spots and patches. I knew why he was naked, and it wasn't to be sexy, it was because fabric bugs the shit out of him.

Jim didn't answer, but I could see his shoulders shrug minutely. I walked over and unconsciously put out a hand. I didn't mean to, really I didn't, but touching is almost second nature to me. I am so stupid! I touched his arm and he moaned and trembled, shrinking away from my touch. Then, right before my eyes, red bumps erupted where I had touched him. I almost cried. “Oh, God. I'm sorry!” I said softly, but Jim didn't answer, just moaned once again.

“Eli, I need -- some of that Pedialyte and the food supplement. What about white noise generators? And a couple bottles of water, too.”

“There are three on in the room right now. I've got the other supplies ready and waiting.”

I looked carefully at Jim's body. His hair was long and scraggly. It hadn't been washed in a good while and I'm sure it must have been irritating to be dirty. “Your hair is a mess. Does the shampoo burn? Is it worse to clean it than to leave it dirty?”

“Yeah,” Jim said softly.

I leaned over and looked down onto the side of his face, being careful not to let my shirt brush up against his skin. “Shaving painful, too?”

“Who are you?” Jim asked quietly.

“Oh, sorry. I'm Blair Sandburg. I'm here to try to help.”

“Go away, please.”

“No, I can't do that. I promised Eli I'd help you.”

“Why?”

“I'm an idiot?” Jim didn't respond to my smart mouth so I said softly, “Sorry. I used to study Sentinels -- people with heightened senses. I'm sort of an expert. Or at least I used to be. I want to help.”

“Let me just die in peace. Please. No more drugs. No more shock treatments.” Jim's voice cracked and his body trembled. “Please...” he whispered. The tone broke my heart and his face turned toward me. That's when I got my first semi-shaded look at Jim's eyes. They were such a startling clear blue that I thought I could see right into his soul. Fuck that shit. I thought he could see right into my soul!

I stood very still, all the breath in my body suddenly gone. I was frozen. Those eyes... Jim looked at me and I shook from head to toe. My bones felt like jelly. My blood ran cold. My mind closed down. I was stunned. I don't know how long I stood staring right into those icy depths. His gaze never wavered from mine and all I could see was -- myself. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Finally, Jim blinked and Eli's voice broke through. “Blair! Blair! Oh, for God's sake. I'm coming in...”

Then Eli was beside me and I just stood there, absolutely, one hundred percent stunned. At what, you might ask? Because... because when I looked into Jim's eyes... Oh, shit. This is going to sound so fucking stupid! But if I can't tell you, whom can I tell? Okay, Eli grabbed my elbow and yanked me from the room. He closed the door and spun me toward him, clamping his hands under my elbows. I knew I was trembling but I couldn't stop. My teeth were chattering. Eli tried to be calm, I know, but I wasn't any help at all!

“Blair, please...” he said pleadingly, finally pulling me into his arms and hugging me closely. “What is it? Take a deep breath and relax. Come on, son. You can do it.”

After what felt like hours, I eventually started breathing again. I know it wasn't hours, but it sure felt like it. I gave myself a stern talking-to while Eli rubbed my back and waited until I could speak coherently. After a good long time, I pulled away and gave Eli what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

“What the hell was that?” he asked.

“I... he... Oh, shit. Let me go back in and help him. I'll tell you later. He's in distress, Eli.”

Eli looked unsure. “I don't think...”

“I'm fine. Really. It was just a silly... Listen, I'll explain later. At least I think I can... Damn it, Eli, I don't know what the hell is going on. I only know that he needs me...” I pulled away from his light clasp of my arms and smiled. “Afterward...” I waved a hand toward the bedroom, “... we'll talk, I promise.”

“Okay, Blair,” Eli said and smiled.

God, I love that guy. He trusted me. He knew I meant what I said, and he didn't argue. With a pat to my arm, he shrugged and said, “I'll go and make something for us to eat and a fresh pot of coffee. When you're ready, we'll talk.”

“Thanks,” I said around the lump in my throat. “Thank you for... everything.”

“Go. Hurry. He needs you.”

I nodded and after taking a couple of cleansing breaths, I entered the darkened bedroom once again.

I crossed over to the bed and said softly, “Mr. Ellison?” I wanted to touch the dry skin on his arm. I wanted to stroke the dirty hair. I wanted to... Hell, I don't know what I wanted, so I said, “Mr. Ellison, you awake?”

“Yes,” he replied quietly.

“About what you said...” I swallowed hard, fighting the emotions that threatened to erupt when I thought about the pain he had probably suffered, the harsh treatments he had been forced to endure, performed under the guise of 'trying to help'. I was angry with the nameless, faceless doctors who had done that to a fucking Sentinel, for God's sake! I took another deep breath, realizing my anger was unreasonable, that my sudden need to protect this man wouldn't serve him one bit if I wasn't calm and coherent. I would help, unlike those... Knock it off, Blair, I hissed inwardly and said to my patient, “Listen, about the shock and drugs and shit. Nobody's touching you, do you understand? Nobody is going to touch you but me, hopefully. Not hopefully that nobody's going to touch you, but that I won't let anybody but me touch you. Besides, I hope you can tolerate me touching you so that we can work on getting you comfortable...”

Jim's mouth curled slightly and he looked at me from under pale lashes. “You're rambling,” he whispered.

“Get used to it. I'm a big mouth and I chatter when I'm nervous.” I laughed at myself then and added, “I chatter all the time.”

“Nice voice.”

“Thanks, man. Nice...” I clamped my lips shut. I almost said 'ass'. I looked at his ass? I am an ass! “Jim, man, when was the last time you ate?” I asked, changing my mind's subject quickly, seeing the individual ribs jutting from his body. The man looked tall -- it was hard to tell with him lying down, but he was so thin! He needed another good forty pounds on his frame.

“Can't.”

“We'll try to fix that. Are you thirsty?”

The shoulders shrugged, making Jim hiss in pain when the skin rubbed the sheets. I bit my lip and went to the door to retrieve the supplies I had asked for earlier.

“How is he?” Eli asked when I poked my head out.

“Still conscious at least, but damn, Eli, the man's almost dead from starvation! He needs food and fluids immediately or he's going to need intravenous feedings by morning.”

Eli shifted uncomfortably. “I can't allow that.”

“What?” I asked, shocked. “Why not?”

“Ellison signed a 'no intervention' affidavit when he was still able. I've agreed to honor his decision. His father insisted. I can't do something the patient expressly forbids.”

“Okay,” I said resignedly. Fuck. I believed in allowing a sane person the right to control their own body. What else could I do but agree? So I did. “Guess I'd better help him, then.”

Eli put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Yeah, you'd better.”

I rolled my eyes and took the stuff from Eli's hands. “Get me some clean clothes from my backpack, will you? These probably stink to high heaven to him... if he can smell, that is.”

“Good thinking.”

So I changed into a soft flannel shirt and a pair of sweatpants, hoping that if I could get close enough to Jim, I wouldn't cause any more damage to him. I didn't want to be responsible for that now, did I? And why not, you might ask. Because... Forget it! Back to the story. The 'unscientific' story, but first, I need to pee.

Where was I? Okay. My first task was to try and give Jim some sort of control over at least one sense, hopefully more.

“Mr. Ellison, you still with me?” I asked softly.

“Jim.”

“What?”

“Call me Jim,” he said quietly. His voice was deep and soft. I figure it must hurt to talk since he had spoken only in whispers.

“Okay. Cool. I'm Blair. Jim, man, listen to me. I want to help you but I need you to help me help you. Can you understand that?” I waited, but there was no response. I moved closer and leaned over. His eyes were closed; his breathing shallow. Fuck. He must have passed out. Deciding whether or not to risk more damage to his skin by touching him, I chewed on my lower lip. No damned choice, I mused angrily. Not angry with Jim, with myself and my inability to do something now!

I went into the bathroom and found a couple of washcloths. Rubbing the terry against my skin, it felt soft to me, but God knows what it would feel like to Jim. I knew I had to risk it, so first I gently rolled him to his back. Then I carefully slipped several pillows under his head and shoulders to elevate him so that he wouldn't choke when I finally got him to drink some liquids. I stood looking at him for a moment before I decided what to do next.

Back in the bathroom, I found a box of sterile cotton balls. At Jim's side again, I dampened several of the cotton balls with bottled water and lightly pressed them against his lips. I hoped that this would help revive him so I could get some fluids down his throat. I took one of the wash clothes and after liberally wetting it, I used it to wipe his hot, dry face. He was so dehydrated that he wasn't even sweating. I could bet dollars to doughnuts he had zero urine output. I poured more water on the cotton balls and touched his lips again, thankful that the skin didn't bleed at my touch. I also rewet the wash cloth and draped it across his forehead, hoping to cool his skin a bit.

Finally, after a long while, Jim's eyes fluttered wildly and he moaned softly, trembling all the while, I tossed the cotton balls aside for now. When his eyes opened, he had trouble focusing. I could see the confusion etched on his face.

“Hey, Jim,” I said softly, careful not to startle him. His eyes flickered over me, then away before returning. I hoped I gave him a comforting smile. “Can you hear me?”

A slight nod was my reward.

“Good. Does this hurt?” I asked, using a finger to point at the washcloth that was lying across his forehead.

Jim shrugged, so I took that as an okay.

“This is what we're going to do. Close your eyes and listen to me.” When Jim looked at me, I figured he was going to ignore me at first, but after a few seconds his eyes closed. “Good. Now listen carefully. Each of your senses is a tangible object that you can control.” Jim's eyes opened. “Don't look at me in that tone! I wouldn't lie to you. Now close your eyes.” Jim obeyed. I removed the washcloth from his forehead and added more water. I looked closely at his lips. While they were still peeling and cracked, they looked a bit better with the small amount of moisture that the dry skin had already absorbed. Since he didn't seem to object to the cloth, I returned the wet material to his forehead.

“Okay. I want you to picture a dial. A black dial, about two inches in diameter.” I figured I'd better be precise since Jim's mental health was precarious then and I wanted to make it as simple as possible. “On the dial are numbers in white.”

Jim mumbled something.

“What?” I asked.

“Roman or cardinal?” he asked softly.

Damn, the man was intelligent in spite of his sorry condition. “Smart ass. Cardinal. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, up to 10... You get the idea. Picture the dial. You got it? Now picture it controlling your sense of touch. One is where the sense is totally turned off. Setting the dial at one means you can't feel anything under your finger. Ten means that you could feel the molecules in whatever you're touching. Something around three or four would be what you might call normal. Are you following me? I'm trying to help, Jim. Trust me.”

Please trust me, I begged silently. I want to help you so much! I sighed and waited until Jim decided.

“Okay,” Jim finally said, eyes still closed.

“Set your sense of hearing dial at three. Then move on to taste. You haven't eaten for a while so set it at two. You can adjust it after you're stable. I'll shut up and wait for you to do those two.” I waited a good five minutes before Jim shifted a bit. I took that as a sign he was ready to move on. “Now let's do touch. Set your tactile dial at three for now, as well as your eyesight. Try three and if the light still bothers you, move it down to two.” I waited again. This time, something remarkable happened. Jim's tense face relaxed. His breathing sounded more normal and his body seemed to sink into the mattress a bit as if some of the tension melted away.

“Jim?”

“Hmmm...”

“You're falling asleep. Don't fall asleep just yet. Let's do the last one and then I want you to drink some fluids. Set the dial for your smell at three. We'll adjust all of them later after you've rested. Go ahead and I'll wait until you're done.” I watched closely and in a few minutes, I was thrilled when Jim's eyes opened and he turned his face toward mine.

“Thank you,” he said with a grateful sigh.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes.”

“Let's drink this stuff first, then I want you to try some liquid nutrient. You're dangerously dehydrated.” I put a straw in the bottle of Pedialyte and bent it to his lips. Gingerly, Jim took a small sip. “Take your time. Tiny sips until your body adjusts.”

Nodding, Jim sipped slowly, taking at least half an hour before he finished the bottle. I could see that his strength was waning in spite of the apparent relief he was now feeling. His eyes closed and he sighed softly.

“Jim, come on, man. Hang in there,” I coaxed. I tossed the empty bottle aside and grabbed a can of Ensure. Vanilla. I shook the can before I popped the top and put in another straw. “Come on, Jim, you need to drink this. You're going to pass out on me again if you don't get something in your body!” Jim must have heard the distress in my voice, because his eyes opened and his lips parted. Grinning with relief, I slipped the straw in and said firmly, “Drink. Slowly. You can do it, man. Come on!”

The container held only eight ounces, but it took Jim forever to finish it. By the time he finally reached the bottom, he was wiped out. He fell asleep with the straw still in his mouth and with the creamy liquid dripping from between his lips. Gently wiping away the drips, I grinned. I was thrilled. Now all I had to do was make sure he didn't toss it up in his sleep and choke to death. I removed the pillows from under his head and shoulders and carefully rolled his onto his side so he wouldn't suffocate if he vomited, and covered him with the oldest, softest satin sheet Eli had provided. I stuffed a couple of the pillows behind his back so he was nice and snug before I went to the door to talk to my hovering mentor.

“Hey, Eli. He's asleep.”

“I heard you, Blair. You were adequate.”

Sorry, I lied. Eli said I was brilliant, but I was embarrassed so I changed it. Hey, this isn't scientific. I told you that! I thanked him and asked for that cup of coffee.

I didn't want to leave Jim unattended just yet, so Eli was good enough to set up a small card table and a couple of chairs out in the hallway so I could keep a close eye and ear out for Jim, while Eli could keep a close watch out for me. We left the bedroom door open and Eli played host, sweet man that he is. He put a plate of food in front of me and a steaming hot cup of java. I rubbed my tired eyes and sighed.

“Rough?”

“Not too,” I said. “Hell, for me, not at all. For him...?” I shrugged. “I can't even imagine what he's going through.”

Eli thoughtfully looked at me from over his plate. He watched me while he ate. I ignored his careful scrutiny and ate like a starving man. Finally sated, Eli rose, gathered the plates and carried them back to the kitchen. Returning he brought the coffee pot to the table and we each poured another cup. I sat back and belched.

“Thanks. Good food.”

“Did you even taste it?” Eli asked with a chuckle.

“I was hungry! Besides, I'm...” I shrugged again and sipped my drink.

“Blair, let's have it.”

I leaned forward ward and put down my cup. Propping my chin in my hand, I said softly, “I fucked up, Eli.” He remained silent, waiting for the deluge that he knew was coming. I sighed and let loose.

“You were right. Incacha was right. I was wrong. So fucking wrong, it's not even funny.”

Eli's mouth opened to protest, I'm sure, but I held up a hand. “No, let me say this. I was wrong about Alex. She wasn't what I had hoped, what I made her out to be. She wasn't even close, and she sure as hell wasn't my Holy Grail.” There, I said it aloud. For the first time -- and it felt good. “Jim Ellison is.”

Eli grinned. I flipped him off. He laughed and I finally smiled. “He's going to be okay,” I said adamantly. “Please let him be okay,” I added in the next breath, with my voice cracking.

“Blair,” Eli said, reaching out to take my hand. He gave it a healthy squeeze before he released it with a pat on the knuckles. “I'm not big on 'I told you so's'. Now you know. God, I wish I could feel it! It must be so wonderful!”

“It's scary. I'm not sure... I don't know what to do!” I rubbed my eyes again and covered my face with my hands.

“Do what you feel is best. What you feel is right. What your heart tells you to do.”

“But I did that with Alex,” I hissed softly, instantly irritated. “And look what it got me! Killed, for God's sake! I can't -- won't die again for a fucking Sentinel!”

Eli solemnly looked at me and asked, “Does your heart tell you Jim Ellison will hurt you?”

“I can't know that.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I can't!”

Eli sighed. “Okay,” he said quietly before he fell silent.

I shifted. “I don't feel afraid of Ellison,” I finally admitted. “I feel -- protective. I feel -- attracted. But it's too soon! I just met the guy! I'm not... I've never... I don't know if I want to even!”

Eli smiled at my disjointed ramblings, although how he knew what I was trying to say was beyond me. I wasn't even sure what I was trying to say. Eli, wonderful man that he is, said the right things, as usual. “It's okay. I know this must be unsettling for you to happen so quickly. You were in the room with him for only a couple of hours. Besides,” he added slyly, “I didn't think you were homophobic.”

My mouth fell open and I sat there stupidly before I said, “You know damned well I'm not!” I saw him smile and I lightly smacked his arm. “You are such a bastard.”

Eli laughed. “Blair, I've had a few lovers in my life. Women are warm and soft and cuddly, I know. But I have a big surprise for you. Men are too.”

“What?” I was shocked beyond belief. Eli was -- adventurous in bed? Whoa! TMI, man. TMI!

Eli smiled. “You heard me. If you and Jim have the bond that Incacha said you did, you won't feel repulsed or revolted; you'll feel -- loved.”

“Yeah, right. Okay. Well. I'd better, you know...” I hiked a thumb toward the bedroom where Jim lay sleeping.

Eli smiled and gave me another pat on the hand. “You'll see.”

I cleared my throat, ignored his last remark, and returned to scientific in a heartbeat. “I'm going to treat him like a newborn puppy who's lost its mother. Feeding every two hours for the first forty-eight hours, and then we'll see what we have.”

“Sounds good. I'll man the coffee pot and kitchen duties.”

“Eli...” I rose and stood awkwardly for a moment before I smiled. “I love you.”

“Me, too, son. Now go. Your -- he needs you.”

I went into Jim's room and stood beside his bed, watching him sleep for the longest time. I made a list of what steps to take next. I knew he wasn't out of the woods yet, but I did believe that a good step had been taken. If we could continue with little successes, he just might live after all. I wanted that, very much. And why was that? Because...

Because I am an idiot. Because I felt it. Because Eli was right. Because Incacha was right and I was wrong. Because Alex wasn't who I was destined to guide. Jim was. I thought about it and it felt -- right. But how could it feel so right after a couple of hours? Heaven only knows, but I was a creature of my own senses and feelings, and it felt right to help Jim. So I did.

The next forty-eight hours went like clockwork. Man, I am so full of shit sometimes, it scares me. The next forty-eight hours went by pretty well. That's better. Anyway, I unfolded the cot that Eli had leaning against the wall in Jim's room. I was so tired, my eyeballs burned. I crawled into bed and slept until Eli woke me two hours later.

I was very diligent and woke Jim right on schedule. I coaxed, cajoled and bullied him into drinking four ounces of Pedialyte and four ounces of Ensure each and every time. He tried to comply, honest he did. He was so damned weak that the first few times he'd fall asleep in the middle of the feedings, so that it took almost the entire two hours to get the stuff down his throat. I was tempted to drop the total count to four ounces, but I knew that wouldn't be enough to get him going again, so I was relentless. I hope I wasn't very mean. I hope he'll forgive me for pushing so hard -- if he remembers, that is.

Eli was great. I know he didn't sleep much either. Probably less than me since he manned the alarm. He always had fresh coffee ready, or a glass of cool orange juice, or a turkey sandwich -- something to keep me going. I don't know what'd I'd have done without his help.

Anyway, by the last couple of feedings, Jim was getting much stronger. I was tickled pink. He managed to drink the liquids in only a few minutes. I was very grateful because by that time I was so tired, I was seeing double. I collapsed onto the cot and hard barely fallen asleep when I woke to a soft voice calling, “Hey, buddy... Doctor...? Sandburg...? Chief...!”

“Wha...? I peeled open my bloodshot eyeballs. “Jim?” I looked over and saw him struggling to rise from the bed. I shot upright in a second. “Wait!” I shouted, much too loudly.

Jim clamped his hands over his ears and fell back onto the mattress, groaning. I launched myself toward him. “Sorry,” I whispered. “Sorry, Jim... I'm so sor...”

“It's okay,” he said through clenched teeth.

“No, it's not. Dial down, Jim. Remember?”

He looked confused for a moment before he nodded. “Oh, right. Yeah.”

“Take your time.” I quietly waited until a small smile crossed his face.

“Okay,” Jim whispered.

“Cool, man. Very good,” I said, reaching out to lightly touch his arm. I was pleased when he didn't shrink from my touch and his skin didn't redden where my fingers rested. “Now what do you need? We need to get some food down you.”

“I need -- ah, could you give me a hand here, Chief?” Jim asked, those incredible blue eyes sliding away from my face.

When the sheet slipped, I glanced down and saw his -- oh! “Bathroom?”

“Yeah. Please.” A light blush crept up his face.

“Great! That means the old insides are starting to work. Potty break coming up.”

Jim almost smiled. “I'm not two years old, Sandburg.”

I grinned and shrugged. “Lean on me. I'm going to put my arm around your waist.” I slipped a hand around the slim waist. “Does this hurt?” I asked.

“No.”

“Good. Okay. Let's try a few steps.”

We slowly walked together. My arm circled Jim's body and his arm slipped over my shoulders, hugging me tightly against him. I felt -- tingly, and very irritated at myself for enjoying Jim's undernourished body against mine. I felt so protective, it scared me.

“Easy,” I said when he stumbled a bit. “One step at a time.”

“Hurry.”

I chuckled. “It's working!” I said with a grin.

“Gonna work on the floor in a second, Chief.”

“Light?”

“Don't need it.”

“Oh? Right, okay. After you -- finish, you want to try and have a bath?”

“That'd be good, but I can...”

“No way, man. I'm not risking you taking a header and dying of a concussion after all this work. You're doing great. Anyway, I'm a guy. You're a guy. It's no big deal to help you out. I can wash your hair and give you a shave. You'll feel much better. How about some pajamas or sweats?”

“Okay, stop with the lecture, Teach. Give me a few minutes of privacy then you can help.”

“Deal.” I led Jim into the bathroom and carefully lowered his long body onto the toilet seat. “Call me when you're ready.” I waggled a finger in his face. “No getting up without help. Not until you're stronger. Got it?”

Rolling those beautiful eyes and with a ghost of a smile, Jim nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said softly with a small salute.

I gave a bark of laughter and closed the door on my way out. I paced the room, waited fifteen minutes, heard the toilet flush, and waited some more. Becoming concerned when I couldn't hear anything through the closed door, I decided enough was enough.

“Jim?” I called. “Jim, man. I don't hear anything. You okay?” When Jim didn't answer, I almost barged right in.

Just as I was pushing open the door, Jim answered. “Sorry. Yeah, I'm okay. Almost fell asleep on the can.”

I laughed. “May I come in?”

“Yeah.”

“I need a little light even if you don't. I'm going to turn it on, so be ready.”

“Go ahead.”

I flipped the switch as I walked into the small room. Two tired blue eyes looked up at me. “You okay?” I asked.

“More tired than I thought.”

“Drink this.” I held out a can of Ensure.

“Ugh. Not again.”

“Yes, again. And again. And again until you can start eating real food.”

“When?” Jim asked, sipping the thick liquid through a straw.

“How do you feel?”

“Tired.”

“How are the senses?”

“Kind of muddled, but otherwise, okay.”

“Good. That's great progress. Maybe in another twelve hours we'll try something light to eat.”

“Thank God.”

I had to smile. It was good to hear Jim grousing about the awful food supplement, although he said the cherry Pedialyte wasn't too bad. That meant he was starting to feel better. When he handed me the empty container, I smiled at him. “Good boy.”

“I am not your pet.” Jim glared, eyes narrowed, arms crossed. “Who the hell are you anyway?”

“I'm the guy your father hired to save your sorry ass,” I said, laughing at Jim's petulant tone. I had the greatest urge to reach out and stroke his head. I don't know if the image of me petting Jim's head or Jim scowling at me set me off, but I was so tired that I started to giggle about the pet remark and before you know it, I was into a full-scale giggle fit. The harder Jim scowled, the more I giggled until I had tears on my face and my sides ached. I almost threw up.

“Oh, man,” I choked out. “You are hilarious.” I looked up from my current position on the floor at Jim's feet. He carefully looked at me and his eyes widened a bit. I sat cross-legged at his feet while he scrutinized my face. I wondered what was up for a sec, then I realized that it was the first time he'd really looked at me. “Scary, huh?” I asked jokingly.

“Not hardly.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So...?”

“So... what?”

“Not too verbal, are you?”

“Depends.”

I laughed. “Do you like what you see?” I asked carefully, enunciating each word clearly.

“Depends.”

“On what, may I ask?”

“On what kind of information you want.”

“Oh, now we're sparring, are we?”

“Are we?”

“Do you want a bath?”

“Who are you?”

“I told you--.”

“Yes, I know what you said. What you didn't say is what I want to know.”

“Honest, man, your father asked Eli for help. You remember Eli?”

“Vaguely.”

“Anyway, since I'm the resident Sentinel expert, he called me.”

Jim stared into my eyes, silently and closely. I fidgeted. He stared some more. Finally, I said, “What?” I know I sounded -- irritated, but I wasn't sure I was ready to divulge the entire Incacha saga.

“What else?” Jim asked softly.

“You're a Sentinel. I'm here to help.”

“The heightened senses.”

“Yeah.”

“You know about people like me, I take it.”

“I've met... Hey, how about that bath?”

Jim raised an eyebrow, but allowed me to change the subject. I saw his nostrils flare and I knew he had smelled my apprehension over what I almost spilled, about -- her.

“God, yes. I think the stench is from me.”

“It isn't me.”

“You are a smart ass, Sandburg.”

“Thanks,” I said, rising and turning on the water. “Nice and warm, okay?”

“I'd rather shower.”

“No way, man. I don't want you standing too long in case you become dizzy, and the only way to be safe would be for me to -- ah, join you.”

“We're not that close yet, Chief.”

Laughing, I tested the water. “In. There's a detachable shower head. I'll wash your hair.”

“I can do it myself.”

“You are such a stubborn son-of-a-bitch!”

“Thanks.”

I helped Jim into the tub and he sighed softly. “Feel okay?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “Feels -- wonderful. Thank you.”

“Sure. Glad to help. Here. All-natural, unscented five-bucks-a-bar soap.”

“I'll pay you back, with interest,” Jim said, his body stiffening.

“Hey, man, I was just kidding. Don't get all prickly with me, okay? I have the power.” I held the shower wand in my hand.

Jim scowled for a moment before he broke down and smiled. “Sorry. You're being very -- helpful.”

“Nice of you to notice.”

“I noticed.”

“Good.” I fell silent and flipped the switch on the wand to direct the water through the shower head. While Jim washed his body, I washed his hair. Rubbing gently, I massaged the dirty hair until it was nice and wet. Then I used some of the six-dollar-a-bottle shampoo (all natural, of course) and washed his hair. Rinsing, I ran my fingers through the wet strands, not yet satisfied with the results. Another wash, a bit of conditioner, then a final rinse, and Jim's hair was a thousand percent better.

The long brown strands touched the back of his neck. It was a nice color, kind of tawny and very silky now that it was clean. A good trim and he'd look like a changed man.

“How's that?” I asked, waiting until Jim ran his fingers down his own scalp.

“Good. Nice. Thanks.”

“You don't need to thank me every time I help you.”

Jim shrugged and yawned. His shoulders slumped and his head listed.

“Jim?” He started and I said, “Whoa. Come on, man. No way I can get you to the bed by myself. You still with me? We'll save the shaving for another time.”

“Huh?”

“Come on. Up. Let's get you dried off and in bed. Tell you what. I'll let you sleep for four hours before your next feeding.”

“Make me sound like a fucking baby.”

I cajoled and tugged until I had Jim sitting back on the closed toilet seat. I dried his hair with a towel and he sagged against me while I tried to dry the rest of his body, which was next to impossible with him leaning against me. I almost resorted to calling Eli, then I figured, what the hell. I'll drag him into bed damp and cover him with a couple of blankets. Jostling Jim semi-awake, I coaxed him until we finally made it over to the bed. He slipped from my hands and pooled onto the bed, a pile of liquid flesh. I guess that bath really relaxed him because he barely moved when I lifted his feet onto the mattress. Digging out several freshly laundered blankets and a clean sheet, I tucked Jim in, turned and fell onto my cot. I figure it took me less than ten seconds to pass out and I slept for six hours, missing that four-hour deadline that I had given Jim.

Next thing I remembered was Eli shaking my shoulder. “Blair! Wake up, son.”

“Huh?” I sat up, groggy, and rubbed my gritty eyes. “Ugh. I hate gunky eyeballs.”

Eli laughed softly.

“What time is it?”

“Almost ten a.m.”

“What? Shit. I missed the eight o'clock feeding.”

“I didn't want to wake you. You were both exhausted and he's sleeping soundly,” Eli said, nodding toward Jim. “How much did you get down him?”

I yawned and stretched, smelling myself. “Ick. I need a shower.” I wrinkled my nose. “Let's see.” I rose and counted the empty cans. “Seven cans of food supplement, and six bottles of the electrolytes liquid. He likes the cherry flavor the best.”

“He looks a thousand percent better.”

“Yeah, he does.”

“Go. Shower. There's a plate in the microwave for you. You need to eat.”

“I don't think...”

“Go,” Eli repeated, gently pushing me toward the door. “Clean clothes, a shower and food will make you feel human again. I'll stay here in case he wakes and needs a hand.”

“Thanks. You're a prince.”

Eli smiled. “I know.”

I have to admit I felt that thousand percent better after the shower, clean clothes and food. I also shaved and brushed my teeth. Revitalized, I went to check on Jim.

Monday, June 23, 2003

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! Jim's gone. I can't believe I wrote those words without barfing. God help me, but I've never felt like this before. I could have actually killed a man. I wouldn't have even blinked. I scared myself when I realized how easily I could have taken a gun or my bare hands and killed William Ellison. I hate him.

Okay. Okay. Calm down, Blair. Can't. Fuck! Eli is in the kitchen, fixing another meal that I won't eat. Jim is gone. I feel myself choke up just thinking about it, but I need to write it down. I need to do something!!! Since I know I won't kill Ellison, I'd better find an outlet before I explode. Where to start...

Jim was doing great! He was. By Saturday night, he was awake and alert. He shaved himself -- with me hovering nearby, of course. God, he is so fucking gorgeous! That jaw. Those lips. That chin. Oh my God! I love that face, so strong, yet right now, so vulnerable. I can't even begin to describe how I felt -- feel about Jim. It's way beyond physical; it's almost -- spiritual. Yeah, that's a good way to describe it. My soul felt complete. I feel complete being with him. That sounds so sappy! But you know what, I don't care. I think -- I know I'm falling in love. He makes my heart sing! Damn, what mush! I have never, ever felt this way about another person before. I love my mother. I love Eli. But this -- this is indescribable, which makes Jim's absence hurt so much! Jim, I love you!

I wish I had said the words to him before... Crap. Okay, I'd better hurry. I don't have long. Eli received a phone call from Captain Simon Banks of the Cascade PD. Banks and Eli are old friends, golfing buddies it seems. Banks took the complaint from William Ellison, apparently a long-time acquaintance of the captain's also. Poor man, stuck in the middle it seems. Maybe I'm cursed. Maybe I fucked up in a former life and this is my punishment. Man, am I wallowing in it now.

Anyway, when Eli's name was mentioned, Banks apparently tried to run interference, not believing that Eli would allow anything immoral or unethical to happen on his watch. Banks finally admitted that Ellison had enough to have an arrest warrant issued for me, but Eli's in the clear. Thank God. If anybody's fucked up, it's me. Oh, shit, an arrest warrant. Issued for me. I am going to barf.

I feel like shit, but here goes. Sunday morning, Jim and I were sitting in the backyard. It was still fairly early, cool and clear, with dew still on t he grass. We'd had breakfast and Jim managed to eat two of Eli's homemade waffles with maple syrup. I hadn't let him have coffee yet since this was only the third meal he'd eaten, and Eli's coffee is so strong, it could eat the ceramic from a cup, but Jim seemed to enjoy the freshly squeezed orange juice and the peppermint tea I gave him just the same.

Jim was feeling claustrophobic and when I suggested we walk outside for a bit, he jumped at the chance. The last few days had been cool and rainy so I hadn't wanted Jim outside. I wasn't risking any colds or pneumonia in his condition. But today seemed pretty nice. Jim had been cooped up so long that he was like a little kid being let out to play. Eli has a nice backyard. A bit of grass, some trimmed shrubs, a small flower garden with a birdhouse. The yard ended at a stand of trees, a small green, dark forest. There aren't any neighbors close by, so it was nice and secluded. There was an old bench under a couple of trees and Jim wandered around while I sat on the bench, watching him.

Jim kept glancing at me and smiling. I smiled back. He was enjoying the fresh air and I let him. Besides, I enjoyed the show. Jim is a great looking guy. I'm sure he had muscles on muscles when he was in top shape, but even then, he had that look about him -- powerful and strong under the vulnerability that he was showing. I drank in the sight of his healing body, thrilled that everything seemed to be in working order. I decided to give him a small test to see if his senses were acting properly.

“Jim?” I whispered, Sentinel-soft.

“Chief?” he answered, his clear blue eyes searching my face. “You okay?”

I grinned. “I'm good,” I said very quietly. I was rewarded with a nod and a quick smile. Wow. He heard my whisper from fifty yards away, even in his present condition. I raked my fingers through my hair, wondering if he could smell the fragrance of my shampoo from that far away also. I watched the long legs and then let my eyes feast on the rest of Jim's body, dredging up the mental image of him naked. I guess I didn't count on my reaction being quite so -- strong.

Jim stopped and tilted his head, nostrils flaring. He walked quickly toward me, his eyes holding mine. “Sandburg?” he said softly, sitting beside me so closely that our thighs touched.

“Jim?” I squeaked, suddenly realizing that he must... But he couldn't, could he? Smell my arousal? I know I blushed. I felt the hot flush creep up my face and I turned away.

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