New
Arrivals
Author-Amanda
Titles
Black Widower
Part One
by Amanda
Disclaimer: All Sentinel characters and locations belong to Pet Fly Productions. Rated: PG.
This follows on some time after Catalyst. You'd better read that one first to understand the strange goings on in this one.
Ellison sat quietly on his couch. He was too angry to think of offering any of the guys some tea or coffee. Brown shuffled his feet and Rafe looked at him for something to do. Taggert, likewise, fidgeted in his own way by walking about the room looking at the books in the book shelf or at the few pictures on the walls.
Banks had told them all to stay with Jim and wait for him. He had something important to attend to and he would need their help when he returned. Taggert cast a glance at Ellison. No change. The detective was still locked in his world of fury and guilt over Sandburg's kidnapping. The note had said they would be contacted that day with the demands.
"Uhh, Jim? Can I make us all a coffee? You guys want one?" Taggert ventured. It was still early morning and none of them had even had a chance for breakfast before the frantic call had come from Ellison.
No answer. Ellison continued to look at the note in his hands. Taggert grew more concerned with each passing minute, their fellow detective not having uttered a word for almost an hour. Taggert approached him.
"Jim? You OK?"
Brown leant forward in his chair. "What's wrong with him? I've seen him do this a few times before."
Taggert placed a hand on the broad shoulder. "Jim?"
Their attention was diverted for a moment with Banks coming through the front door of the loft. Behind him walked a man they recognised.
Brown actually took a step backwards. "What in hell is he doing here?"
James MacLean looked at them all coolly. He could see the suspicion in their eyes and knew they could see it mirrored in his own. He looked at Ellison sitting zoned on the couch. The tall man tossed his head and smiled at Brown, remembering him from the last time he was in this apartment, walking past him to approach Ellison.
MacLean still wore his dark shoulder length hair tied back, the handsome face incongruous with the crimes they had known him to have committed. The murder of his wife and the kidnapping of Sandburg some six months earlier. Rafe and Brown had never really found out why this man had chosen to take Blair that night. Ellison and Banks had been very closed mouthed about it. But the two detectives knew that Blair continued to visit the man in prison and they had never got a clear explanation of that one either.
Rafe stood and walked to Ellison's back, not really wanting this criminal so close to their friend. Simon tried to assuage their feelings of dread at the appearance of a man Ellison went to great pains to capture.
"We need his help."
"Listen, Simon, something's wrong with Jim. He's not talking. He just sits there and stares. This has hit him really bad." Taggert decided to deal with MacLean's presence later, right now he was concerned with the fact that Ellison hadn't said word one for an hour.
MacLean knelt in front of Ellison. He looked into the man's slack face. Blair had explained to him, in their months of therapy and learning during MacLean's prison sentence, that Sentinel's with the full complement of senses were prone to concentrating too intently on one sense. Blair had called it zoning and MacLean knew he could draw Ellison out of it. He dearly wanted to smack his rival straight in the face but he knew the other's wouldn't stand for it.
He settled for softly spoken words he was sure would work just as well. "Ellison? It's MacLean. I've come for Blair."
The other four men barely heard them. But they certainly saw the reaction to them. They were rewarded with Ellison blinking. The tall detective settled his stony gaze onto MacLean. Before Simon could draw breath, the big man grasped MacLean by the lapels of his shirt and both surged to their feet.
"Jim! Wait!" Simon threw himself across the room and seized Ellison's arms. Or tried to. Ellison shrugged him off with little effort.
The only thing that stopped Ellison from tearing MacLean's head off was the fact that the man was smiling at him like he was his best friend. That gave him meaning to pause and take stock of his surroundings. Brown, Rafe, Taggert, Simon. He released the crumpled shirt and stepped back, his glare shared equally among them all.
Rafe was glad, not for the first time in his life, that he was counted among Ellison's friends. Simon stepped between them. Jim dropped back and resumed his seat on the couch, his hand to his head. His headache was draining him of all reason, the pain was excruciating. Simon pointed to one of the lounge chairs and MacLean seated himself. Simon bade the other three to find chairs. Everyone thus settled he turned to Jim.
"Jim, we need help on this one. You said you knew who took him."
Jim didn't answer, his angry gaze was still on MacLean. MacLean's eyes didn't waver from his own. Simon sighed, but he knew it wasn't going to be easy. The alpha male thing was happening all over again. If they couldn't get beyond it they were in serious trouble.
"Who, Jim?" Simon prompted again.
Jim's eyes still bore into MacLean's as he answered, "Brackett."
MacLean's expression softened, the self-satisfied smile wavering slightly. "He's the one who knows about our kind, isn't he?"
Brown and Rafe had the distinct feeling they were becoming privy to something important, and hoped their presence was forgotten. It wasn't.
"You will be quiet," Ellison growled.
MacLean had the grace to look surprised. He looked at the other men. "They don't know, do they? They don't know what you are. What kind of monsters we are!"
Ellison made to stand again but Simon reached for his arm. "Jim, we'll need their help, too. I think we can trust them. We have to trust them."
MacLean smiled again, he was enjoying this. Ellison glared at him, squirming in his seat. The Sentinel thing was something he never intended to become known. He considered himself a freak, he didn't want others to think him one, too. MacLean's crack about being monsters burrowed deep within him. Would that be how the others would think?
Brown moved to sit beside Simon and Jim. "Is this about what Jim can sometimes do?"
Simon looked at his detective in a whole new light. But then, why should he be surprised? They had all seen a lot over the past couple of years, a lot most men would have questioned. Simon looked over at Taggert, the big man was already in the, so called, inner circle having had Jim's abilities already explained months earlier when MacLean had been the one to kidnap Blair.
"Yes," Simon answered, looking at Jim the whole while assessing how much he could tell them, "Jim has certain....abilities that we don't. Jim, you had best explain it."
Ellison removed his gaze from MacLean's infuriating face and turned it on Taggert and the others.
"I'm not sure where to start, exactly. I can see, hear, taste, feel, smell beyond normal...." he paused, lost for words for a moment.
"You can what?" Rafe asked quietly, not sure what he was hearing himself.
Simon decided it best he step in. "I want you all to promise me, this is never to leave this room. What Jim possesses is very dangerous. The wrong people can cause him immense harm. Brackett tried to. I want your word you will protect this secret." He took in the faces of the three detectives.
Brown moved closer to them, to stand beside his partner. He looked at Jim, not as a freak, but as a question finally answered. Jim was grateful for that much, anyway. He leant back and rubbed his face.
"This....ability. I never wanted it. It's more of a curse. It is dangerous. I've almost been killed several times because of it. What you saw before, when I was ignoring you all, is something that can happen. I can turn it on but not always switch it off. Blair has to bring me out of it." He looked at MacLean. The man's face was blank. All amusement gone.
Brown also looked at the prisoner. "He's one too?"
Ellison nodded, eyes locked again with MacLean. "To a certain extent. But you're not a full Sentinel, are you?"
Brown interrupted again, "Sentinel? Is that what it's called." The disbelief was still not completely gone from the young detective's voice.
Simon could understand. It was a lot to take in, if they ever could. Superhuman senses was not something they encountered every day, and they encountered strange things in their line of work. "That's Blair's line of study. He was studying Sentinels when he came across Jim."
MacLean watched quietly as Ellison proceeded to explain what he knew about Sentinels and their part in the world. The old world. How they fit into the modern world was Blair's dissertation. He finished by telling them Blair was the better one to talk to.
"Is this why Blair's been taken?" Taggert pressed. ‘Again' he thought.
Ellison looked at his friend. "Brackett knew about me because he was there when I was pulled out of the jungle, he debriefed the team that found me and determined my....affliction from that."
"He's the key to it all, isn't he, Ellison?" MacLean finally broke his silence. "He's the reason you even work properly, isn't he?
"And why you wanted him," Ellison spat back at him. The enraged detective rose to his feet, Simon unable to hold him this time. "Why are you even here, MacLean?!"
"Jim, calm down. He's here on my authority. I went to him to ask if he'd help. He said he would." Simon breathed a bit easier when Jim stopped his advance. "He knows who Brackett is..." he stopped at Ellison's look. "Yes, I supposed it was Brackett, just as you did. Who else could get past you while you were sleeping only thirty feet away? He's taunting you, Jim, he wanted you to know how close he was. How impotent you were against him."
"He used white noise, didn't he?" MacLean asked.
Ellison nodded. "Simon, it's dangerous for them to know." He indicated the three detectives with a tilt of his head. "You know that."
"Jim," Simon attempted to placate, "we will need help. I can't control MacLean alone. We'll need their help, Jim, you can see that. If you zone, I'll have to keep MacLean in line." Simon looked at the prisoner, "Don't get any ideas about yourself, MacLean, I just know you can't be trusted and I'd rather not have to worry about you both on my own."
"What do you want us to do, Simon?" Brown had accepted all he had heard. He'd not really been all that surprised. He had noticed things, he wasn't stupid. He knew Blair was an unusual addition to Major Crimes and that the kid had been given access above the usual observer status. He hadn't questioned it because it had been a combination that obviously worked.
Rafe was thinking along the same lines. He didn't quite understand the finer points, such as why MacLean was slightly different, but they both unconsciously decided they were questions better left until a safer time.
"I realise you don't trust me, hell I wouldn't either," MacLean said, "but I *will* help you get him back. He has helped me over the months, helped me get myself in order. If Sam had been more like him I wouldn't be where I am right now. But she didn't have the background of learning that he has. Her interests originally lay in another field of anthropology, she just recognised me for what I was and we took it from there. If I'd had better control...better...I would never have hurt her."
MacLean looked at Jim with an expression as if begging for understanding. Jim thought for a moment on what would have happened if Blair had come across MacLean before himself. He would likely be the one driven insane and asking to be trusted.
"I will accept your help, on one condition."
"Name it," MacLean said.
"You leave him alone. He is not yours."
MacLean nodded. "He has promised me a guide. He said he would look for one for me. So your guide is safe, cop."
Brown was becoming uncomfortable with the way they were talking. Possession of Blair, like he was a commodity between them. He knew Ellison cared for the young anthropologist but he couldn't ignore their tone of voice. His guide, not yours. He knew MacLean had kidnapped Sandburg months ago and they never really got a good reason for that one. Hell, he'd been there when MacLean had come in and taken him. He guessed they had the reason now. Two Sentinels. One with a guide, one without. One wanting what the other had. The one in possession of the guide willing to fight to keep it.
He shook himself and filed that train of thought away for more consideration later. He noticed Rafe was looking at him, a slight smile on his face. He had the feeling his partner was thinking along the same lines as him. He wanted to know more about what they were dealing with.
"Thanks for the history lesson, but I want to know exactly what you can do," Brown pressed.
"As we go, Brown. We haven't the time right now," Simon growled. "Right now these two share what we have so far: a note from Brackett and some minute forensic evidence Jim's managed to find."
MacLean reached out his hand and Ellison stared at it a moment, until he realised that the Sentinel wanted the plastic covered note he still held tightly. Handing it to him he returned to the couch and sat beside Rafe.
MacLean removed the letter from the bag and sniffed it. Rafe and Brown watched open mouthed as the man then licked it.
"Blood," MacLean said. "Brackett's?" he asked of Ellison.
"Blair's," Ellison said in frustration. "I can't tell anything from it, I keep zoning everytime I smell his blood. It's not fucking working....!"
MacLean waved his hands at him. "Chill, cop. This isn't helping Sandburg. Remember? I don't zone. This note must have been written here the same time he took him. From the blood he must have had to clock him to keep him quiet." The note told them nothing, other than they would be contacted soon.
MacLean looked about the room and noticed a notepad on the kitchen bench. Retrieving it he handed it to Ellison. "Strange he didn't have the note already written when he knew what he was coming for. I'd say he used this. Use your touch, can you tell any indentations? Same as the note he wrote?"
Ellison ran long fingers across the paper. It was, indeed, the notepad Brackett had used. Ellison nodded and threw the pad onto the seat beside him. The bastard had broken into his home the night before and calmly written a ransom note before carting Blair out the front door. All the while Ellison had been asleep upstairs.
"That doesn't help us," MacLean lamented. "If he had brought the note with him we could have maybe traced the paper. Writing it here was very smart. Has he contacted you at all? Said what he wants?"
Ellison shook his head and slumped further into the cushions of the couch, looking very much like a petulant child.
MacLean waited. Nothing forthcoming he pressed for more information. "Is there something I can get a scent from? Did Brackett touch anything? Ellison! Snap the fuck out of it!"
The other men somehow managed not to jump at the shout. Ellison drew his gaze away from the floor and rested it on MacLean. The tall man returned the deadly look with a smile added. Ellison sighed, nothing he did seemed to faze the man.
"Sandburg's room showed some signs of struggle. He threw a fair few things at Brackett before he reached him."
"That's a start," MacLean said, heading for the bedroom.
Ellison stood quickly and followed, not liking this man having free rein in his apartment. MacLean paused at Blair's doorway. The other men watched him take in a deep breath.
MacLean turned to them. "Any of you been in here today?"
Banks joined him at the door. "We all have."
MacLean walked around the captain and walked to Rafe. The young man watched, alarmed, as the strange man bent his head slightly and took in Rafe's scent. The same procedure was repeated with all of them, MacLean only pausing when he came to Ellison, the most dangerous and volatile of them all. Unspoken permission was granted when Ellison tilted his head away. MacLean took in the man's scent and moved into Blair's room, explaining as he went.
"On Blair's last few visits he started teaching me this. He hasn't done this with you yet, Ellison?"
MacLean couldn't help adding that last little dig. At the cool gaze levelled at him, MacLean smiled and continued. "I've not actually met Brackett, I've only heard about him while I was in the service. So, I don't have the advantage of knowing him by sight. Blair taught me to memorise the scents of people and store them, bringing them back later to discern them from others. If Brackett touched anything I'll be able to know him when we get near him."
Ellison followed him around Blair's bed. The other man picked up Blair's pillow and pressed it to his face, inhaling deeply. Frowning he threw it back on the bed.
"That's Blair's scent only. Brackett must have touched something." MacLean picked up a book from the floor and held it to his nose. "That scent I don't recognise. I'd say our anthropologist caught Brackett fair in the face with this." He handed the book to Ellison.
Ellison held it to his own nose. Memory was triggered as the strange scent made it way inside. "It's Brackett. I remember his scent now."
MacLean nodded. "Now we have something to go on. Now, if he only walked away from here instead of using a car I'd be able to track him. But, that's not gonna happen, is it?"
Banks left the bedroom, finding it too cramped to accommodate three men who all happened to be over six feet tall at the one time. "We'll have to wait for him to contact us. He doesn't want Blair, Jim, you know that. He wants you. He has to get you to go to him somehow."
Jim followed him out, MacLean close behind.
"At least this time," MacLean added, "he doesn't know about me. I'm the wildcard. He'll think he's only dealing with one Sentinel."
Ellison resumed his former slumped position on the lounge, his mood preferring him not to look at, or even talk, with the others anymore. His fellow detectives recognised the signs and left him alone, seating themselves at the kitchen table. MacLean stepped out onto the balcony, knowing that Ellison was tracking his every move.
**********
A very cold figure paced the dark room where he was contained, the bulb in the ceiling having been smashed. Blair Sandburg was too worried to be really pissed off. He knew, too well, the man that had taken him from his bed in the middle of the night. Brackett was a maniac of the worst kind. He wasn't actually insane. He was very methodical and not prone to many mistakes. He did things for a reason. The reason usually being for his own gain.
And he wouldn't think twice about killing if he thought his victim was no longer of any use.
Blair stopped his pacing for a moment and clapped his arms around his shoulders repeatedly in an effort to keep warm.
"I'm freezing in here, you bastard."
He jumped, startled, when a key turned in the lock and the door swung open allowing bright light from the hallway beyond into the room. Blair backed up as he took in the tall, intimidating figure blocking most of the light. The man held a gas lamp.
"Hungry, Mr Sandburg?"
Brackett stepped into the room, locking the door behind him. Turning up the lamp he placed it on the floor and, crossing his legs, settled down next to it. He gestured next to him, suggesting silently that Blair join him. Blair chose to remain where he was.
Brackett sighed. "I'd rather you joined me down here. I don't want a crick in my neck from having to look up at you."
Blair didn't move.
"You'll sit with a broken leg, maybe," came the threat.
Blair chose to be prudent about his situation and joined him on the floor, but kept just out of arms reach. He looked at the lamp and welcomed its light, the darkness having taken its toll on his nerves. He moved his eyes to take in Brackett's face. The man was smiling at him.
"You're a peaceful kind of person aren't you, Blair?"
Blair swallowed at the use of his first name but said nothing.
Brackett continued to smile, relishing the effect he was having on the young man. He knew he made the anthropologist very nervous, hell, he made it a point of making people uneasy.
"Ever killed anyone?" Brackett asked him.
Blair tried to remain calm and met the man's eyes. He knew the ex-agent was trying to rattle him. In truth, Brackett only had to be within the same city to rattle Blair.
"Ever killed anyone?" came the soft question again.
"Hell, no."
Brackett sat up straighter. "You don't know what you're missing. To end another's life. To have that power over them."
Blair looked at the man's face carefully. Maybe Brackett was mad, after all. No, he thought as he took in the humour around the eyes, the bastard's only doing this to get to me. It's working.
"You don't kill for fun," Blair said, "it has to profit you in some way before you'd be bothered."
Brackett's smile faltered slightly, but then re-appeared full force. The young man was a good reader of people, a very good judge.
"Ya got me there, kid." Brackett leant closer and clapped him on the shoulder. "Now, how can I profit from your death, hmm? Or, more appropriately, from the threat of your impending death? What hoops can I have Ellison jump through to ensure your safety?"
Blair had paled when Brackett had mentioned his impending death. His face then muted into anger at the idea of his friend being used again. Brackett watched with amusement the differing emotions that raced across the expressive face.
"Hang on!" Brackett shouted, hardly containing his glee when he saw the young man flinch. "I said something about food, didn't I?"
Reaching into his jacket he pulled out a banana and a packet of nuts. In another pocket he had a bottle of water. These he tossed at Blair while getting to his feet.
"See you in the morning. Don't eat too quickly, don't want to get a belly-ache." Brackett added as he went to the door.
Blair looked at the food in his hands, not noticing the man coming back. A hand reached down for the lamp on the floor. Blair reached out and grabbed it, cold fingers closing over Brackett's warmer ones.
"No! Please leave me the lamp."
Brackett's face loomed eerily above him, distorted by the lamp's light. "Afraid of the dark, kid?"
Blair deigned not to answer that one. He dropped his gaze back the floor. There was no way he was going to beg anything of this man. He tried not to register his surprise when Brackett's hand dropped the metal handle and left the lamp where it sat. He didn't look up as he listened to the man leave the room and re-lock his cell.
He, instead, concentrated on the food he had been given. The banana didn't seem to have any cuts in its skin and the packet of nuts still held its vacuum of air, an indication it hadn't been tampered with. The bottle of water seemed all right, too. Healthy paranoia helped when around one such as Brackett. The man had told him not to get a belly-ache and he took the words to heart. When he was satisfied the food hadn't been interfered with, he ate it all.
Shifting closer to the lamp he opened the bottle of water and drank some. Deciding to save the rest for later, not knowing when Brackett would next visit him, he twisted the lid back in place and lay down next to the lamp, watching its brightness for comfort.
**********
Banks tried to explain to his two detectives what he knew about Ellison's abilities. Brown couldn't contain himself for questions, Rafe preferring to sit quietly and take it all in. Taggert managed to learn a few extra things he hadn't been told before. Banks, again, stressed that they were never to refer to anything they were now discussing outside of their small circle.
On the balcony outside, MacLean took in the view. Nice place to live, he thought. Ellison was lucky. He was doing a job he enjoyed, had all his friends around him. Friends that would do anything to help with troubles such as this. His life was perfect. He had someone to watch his back and escort him through his abilities. Someone to guide him....
His attention was caught momentarily by someone entering the building from the street below. A kid on a bike. The kid left the bike up against the side of the building and ducked inside. Moments later he exited the building and jumped back on his bike, peddling away. As if leaving a note for someone....
MacLean hurried back inside. "A kid just dropped something off! A kid on a bike."
Ellison erupted from his reverie and bolted out the front door, leaving Simon and the others to watch MacLean. Less than a minute later he returned with a note, having already torn open its envelope.
Banks retrieved the envelope thrown to the floor by an irritated Ellison. They watched Ellison's face contort in anger as the note was silently read. Rafe paled in the face of the man's anger as Ellison began shouting.
"What the fuck is this! Does the man think he's the Riddler or something. Fuck!" Ellison threw the letter at Banks who managed to catch it before it fluttered its way to the floor.
He read it aloud for the benefit of the others.
"‘I don't mean to feel you die. But if that's the way that God has planned you. I'll put pennies on your eyes. And go away. See? You've only lived a minute of your life.' What the hell does this mean? Is he talking about you?" Simon looked at the Sentinel briefly before returning to the letter. "‘Welcome to my nightmare. Listen to Steven and awakening.'"
Simon waved the note about. "Who's Steven? Your brother?"
Ellison shrugged.
Rafe butted in. "Welcome to my Nightmare is the name of an album. Alice Cooper, I think. One of the songs is ‘Steven'. My older sister used to play it incessantly."
Ellison brightened. "Blair has that CD. I've seen it." He ran into the bedroom again and rifled through the stack of CD's. Not finding it he then tore his own collection apart. "It's not here. I know he has it."
The search was futile. Ellison threw his hands up in despair.
Banks pat him in the shoulder. "Maybe Brackett took it with him, for some reason. We're obviously meant to listen to the song."
"My sister only lives about an hour from here. Do you want me to see if she still has a copy? I can call her," offered Rafe.
Banks nodded and the young detective made for the phone. Banks couldn't understand why the ex- agent had decided to become cryptic. "He took a bit of a chance didn't he? Presuming you would know the song."
"He probably thought it was Ellison's album," Rafe piped up, the phone still in his hand. "That Alice Cooper album was made in the seventies, I think. I was still at school...." At Ellison's expression he returned his attention back to the phone and finished his call.
Presently Rafe handed the phone to his captain. "She'll play it over the line for you while I go over and get it. I've sort of told her its to help with a kidnapping and that the song is a clue so she'll play it as many times as you like."
"Thanks, Rafe. Quick as you can." Banks spoke quickly to the sister and he pressed the speakerphone button so they could all hear, Rafe bolting out the door.
Alice Cooper sang to them all....
*I don't want to see you go, I don't even want to be there, I will cover up my eyes, and pray it goes away, you've only lived a minute of your life, I must be dreaming, please stop screaming.
I don't like to hear you cry, you just don't know how deep that cuts me, so I will cover up my eyes, and it will go away, you've only lived a minute of your life, I must be dreaming, please stop screaming.
Steven, I hear my name, Steven, is someone calling me, I hear my name, Steven, and I see breath in whispered screams of pain.*
Ellison's eyes were fixed at one point. MacLean's face. The other man returned his look. They both imagined the worse possible fate for Blair contained within the lyrics. The song reverted to music for a moment and then the words continued, this time the voice singing sounded maniacal.
*I don't want to feel you die, but if that's the way that god has planned you, I'll put pennies on your eyes, and go away, see? you've only lived a minute of your life, I must be dreaming please stop screaming, Steven.*
Both men looked away as the voice screamed out the chorus.
*What do you want! What do you want!*
The song then mutated into what was the second suggested song, ‘Awakening'.
*I wake up in a basement, I'm so hungry and dry, I must be here sleepwalking, mustn't I?
Getting up from my easy chair, looking for my wife, following a trail of crimson spots, that lead into the night, suddenly I realise, I see it all through real eyes, these crimson spots are dripping from her hand, and it makes me feel like a man.*
MacLean paled as he listened to the words. His thoughts were dragged from Blair's predicament to the memory of his wife's death. He had told Blair how his wife had died. After mistakenly killing her he had put her on the bed and watched as the blood dripped from her fingertips.
Ellison was watching his face, and an unspoken question appeared on his own which MacLean caught.
"He knows about me, Ellison. That....that's what happened to my wife the night she died." MacLean's voice faltered and he stood, walking to the balcony doors.
Ellison advanced on the man in barely contained anger. Banks quickly came alongside them in case it came to blows but the Sentinel had stopped and merely regarded the other one.
"Okay," said Banks, "so our ace has gone. He knows about MacLean. So what?"
Ellison rounded on him. "I don't give a fuck if he does know about him. What I want to know is what he did to Sandburg to get this information!"
**********
Blair rubbed at the burns on his arms. As he was doing so he eyed the machine across the room from him, barely evident in the darkness of the room. An incongruous little machine with ugly little electrodes poking out. A soldering iron hung from it and it was this small piece of equipment that had made his life so miserable the past hour.
Scrubbing at his eyes furiously, he wiped away the tears. Brackett had managed to get something out of him at last. He wanted to know about his pet project that took him to the prison every month. Despite being in a different, high security prison in another state, Brackett still had friends and they still kept him up to date.
Blair had finally relented and told him that the man he visited had a heightened sense of taste, to the point where he could discern any trace element in any or all combinations. To give his lie an air of realism he went into depth about MacLean's wife and how she died, that she had been a guide to him in much the same way he was with Jim.
Brackett had left him to his misery, pausing long enough to leave him some more food. Moments after he had left, the food sailed it merry way into the door. Blair was determined not to eat. If Brackett wanted any more information he wasn't sure he could resist the methods Brackett had at his disposal. The weaker he was, in his reasoning, the less information he could impart.
Two hours later he was visited again. The door creaked its way open, making the room sound all the more like the dank dungeon it was.
Brackett smiled at the huddled figure on the floor. Blair looked up at him bleakly and then across at the machine. Brackett shut the door behind him, plunging them both into the inky darkness. Blair listened as best he could and felt, rather than heard, Brackett's presence near him. He backed away but the wall wouldn't swallow him up. Brackett's voice near his ear made him jump.
"Don't worry. I won't use it again. I was never one much for causing pain. Despite what you may think, I didn't enjoy doing to you what I did before. Hurt does it?"
Blair hissed as the hand crossed one of his burns. Brackett grabbed at the withdrawn arm and closed his hand over the wound, twisting. Tears coursed down Blair's face and he ceased his squirming.
"Well," conceded Brackett, "maybe I do like inflicting a little pain. But, you're so much fun, Blair. You don't really know how to defend yourself, do you? I've always been one for picking on the defenceless. I do like to watch their struggles. I bet if I gave you a gun, you couldn't bring yourself to use it."
Try me, thought Blair. Please try me. Blair felt his jaw seized in a steel grip by the long fingers.
"No, my little pacifist," Brackett answered for him, "it's not in your nature. Not like Ellison. I bet he's thinking up dozens of ways to kill me right now. All very painful and terminal."
Brackett smiled in the darkness. He really liked picking on this one. Ellison would gladly do his bidding to get him back.
"You see, Blair, I know all about MacLean. I know he's a full Sentinel. I didn't really have to torture you, after all. But, I needed to know how much you knew about him."
Blair found his eyes adjusting to the darkness and he regarded Brackett in horror. He tried to extricate his face from Brackett's grip but instantly abandoned the attempt when the hand shook him roughly.
"Let me tell you a little story."
**********
I'll twist his head off, thought MacLean. He looked across at Ellison, not surprised to find his fellow Sentinel watching him again.
"When we catch up with him, he's mine," Ellison's voice whispered, pitched only for MacLean to hear.
MacLean smirked. "How ya gonna do him?" he whispered back, wanting all the gory details.
Ellison shrugged. "Swift. Quick. Bullet to the brain."
Brown, Taggert and Banks watched the two Sentinels conversing, knowing they hadn't a chance of hearing what was passing between them.
"Not very satisfying," MacLean offered.
"I don't want satisfaction. I just want him gone."
MacLean faltered for a moment. Ellison was actually more bloodthirsty than he had taken him for. No pleasure in the kill, just get it over with like slaughtering a steer. Quick decisive. MacLean wasn't sure whether that rated Ellison as more vicious than him or not.
A knock at the door told them Rafe had returned. The young detective handed the CD over to his captain and they listened to Cooper's lyrics once again.
"I think the reference to waking up in a basement must mean Blair. A basement somewhere? Sleepwalking?" Ellison drove thoughts of his friend lying in a basement as they all tried to decipher the lyrics into some sense of order.
He sat at the kitchen table across from MacLean and Simon. Rafe, Brown and Taggert listened from the lounge chairs.
Taggert agreed. "The reference to putting pennies on your eyes must be a threat to you, Jim. To make you panic? Do something stupid?"
MacLean shook his head. "I think we're attributing too much to this. This isn't Batman. He isn't the riddler. Not everything has to have a meaning. I think the basement bit is relevant. ‘Steven' must mean something. I think the part where he's looking for his wife and finds her dead is a direct message to me. He knows I'm a Sentinel too and would help you look for him."
Ellison wasn't buying it. "That's a leap in logic, MacLean."
"We know that ‘Steven' must point to something, but what? He's trying to be clever and show us how much he knows, that he's one step ahead of us."
The other detectives watched as Ellison's ire rose by the moment. Clearly, two Sentinel's together wasn't a good combination. They were both very argumentative and overbearing. Not one of them doubted that Sandburg's temperament was what kept the act together. A domineering partner to the Sentinel would probably cause more problems than solve them. Sandburg's disposition and willingness to accept the nuances of people and situations played off well against the dominant, narrow Sentinel.
"Look at the lyrics, MacLean. They mean zip. Nobody could possibly follow where they're meant to lead. He's jerking us off."
MacLean wasn't prepared to give up. "Look, Ellison, I know you don't like me very much but this is what I read into this. There are hidden meanings we're meant to decipher...."
Ellison rose slowly and placed his face inches from MacLean's. "Don't like you? If they weren't here I'd snap your neck."
Banks looked at his friend incredulously. He had expected dislike and fighting between the two of them but the boiling hatred he kept witnessing coming from his detective kept throwing him. "Jim! Settle down. This isn't helping."
"‘Steve's Basement Bargains.'" Rafe called.
It took a few moments for the words to sink in but, presently, they all looked at the younger detective.
"What?" Simon asked.
Rafe waved the phone book at them from where he sat on the lounge. "Bedding store called ‘Steve's Basement Bargains'. It's in here."
Brown looked at his partner in amazement. Rafe returned the look, kind of insulted that Brown thought it incredible that he may have stumbled on something.
"What do you reckon, Jim?" Banks asked him.
"Good enough for me." Ellison left the table and grabbed his keys and gun, leaving the loft at a run.
The other men were spurred into action, Banks and Taggert keeping MacLean between them. Upon gaining the street Banks pushed MacLean into his car with Brown and Rafe and told Taggert to go with Jim.
**********