New
Arrivals
Author-Amanda
Titles
Parnassus
by Amanda
Disclaimer: All Sentinel characters and locations are the property of Pet Fly productions Rated: MA.
The young woman looked about her. She suspected she had been dragged into the basement of a house, but she couldn't be sure as her head ached abominably from the blow he had struck her. The strong hands that had covered her eyes, and her terror, being enough to quell any thought of a struggle. The attack had been swift, not allowing her time to gather her wits and fight back. The door of her home had been split in half and the maniac had been on her in seconds.
Her senses had returned to her only intermittently during the car trip to where she was now imprisoned. She had been vaguely aware of being in the boot of the vehicle and, when it was opened and the light streamed in, she had pleaded with the man. He had said nothing.
She cursed her cowardice, wishing only now that she had fought the bastard. Physical damage would have been preferable to allowing him to lock her in here. She concentrated on gathering her wits. Keeping a level head and thinking things through would see her through this, she was sure.
She briefly thought of her life up until then. What she had left to accomplish. She was supposed to give a talk at the high school near her home that day. They would have been disappointed that she hadn't turned up. They may have already raised the alarm or, conversely, may not contact her office until Monday asking why she had stood them up. Her parents lived in another state and she only called them about once a week. They wouldn't necessarily miss her for a few days.
A few days in which this maniac could do whatever he wanted. He could kill her now and she could be days dead while the authorities still thought her alive and searched for her. He heart rate rose alarmingly and she felt her chest constrict in pain. Panic wasn't making this any easier.
It had been afternoon when she had been assaulted and removed bodily from her home. She could tell by the waning light that night was no more than an hour away. She covered her nose and mouth, the place stank!
The sliver of light wove its weakened way through wooden boards covering the only small window she could see. Particles of fine dust swirled about her in its brightness, its rest being disturbed by the new occupant. Running to this window she pulled desperately at the boards. She started to cry as she realised it would take a greater strength than she possessed to tear them open. She dropped her hands to her sides and, using what little light there was, surveyed her dungeon.
Assorted household junk was scattered everywhere, some of it very old. The sort of stuff that people accumulated over 40 or more years. Rags littered every corner and her curiosity was piqued by something familiar, something disturbing about them. Venturing closer she picked up a piece of wood and pushed at the rags. Her eyes widened and she dropped the stick, backing away.
She screamed and screamed and screamed.
**********
Sandburg watched the tape from the farthest corner in Banks' office as he could physically manage. Ellison, Banks and the department profiler also watched in silence. Ellison concentrated on the hidden sounds that only he could hear. Sandburg looked away when the woman on the tape pushed aside the clothes and rags lying all about the cellar. He covered his ears while she screamed, the anguish of her terror too much for him to bear.
Outside Banks' office Brian Rafe glanced up quickly at the awful scream. He hunched his shoulders and bent his head back to his task. He knew what was on the tape they were watching and he didn't want to think about it.
Sandburg busied himself with rifling through his backpack. He had a bag of nuts in it somewhere. He listened a moment longer to the quiet sobbing now coming from the tape and stopped his searching. Knowing they wouldn't miss him, he stood and left the office quickly. The others didn't spare him a glance, their attention riveted to the horror on the TV screen.
Banks stopped the tape and looked at his detective. "Anything, Jim?"
Ellison rubbed at tired eyes. "I'll listen to it a few more times, see if I can pick up something else."
Dr Helena Collins looked at the detective. She had heard about his ability to pick up clues from the flimsiest of evidence. She hoped he could work his magic on this one. This young woman had been the seventh person to be kidnapped in as many months. They were all identified as victims of the same man by the greeting card left at their houses. The perpetrator seemed to take men and women alike, not having a preference for any one sex in particular. None of them had a clue what connected these people. None of them attended the same clubs, or libraries, or universities. None of them had anything in common.
She only then noticed that Sandburg had left the room. She was glad of that. She liked the young man and, although closer to Ellison's age, she was, nonetheless, very attracted to the anthropologist. She didn't mind Ellison, either. The part of her brain she reserved for male appreciation certainly appreciated the two of them and she was glad to be working with them again. She snapped her errant attention back to the task at hand, berating herself for lapsing into mindless hunk watching.
"Dr Collins?"
At the soft calling of her name she looked up at Captain Banks.
"You're certain you've finished your profile?"
"Yes. This is a man who likes his privacy. A man because he would need the strength to overpower his victims. They don't appear drugged, assuming the tapes we're being sent are when the victim first arrives at the house. As this girl was only snatched two days ago we can assume we have a couple of weeks before he takes another." Collins rubbed her temple. The tapes the madman kept sending them were inexorably wearing her down.
She'd done this job for years but the terror exhibited by these victims was eating away at her composure. Most of the time she dealt with the victims after the bodies had been found. To actually see them terrorised and then killed made this particular case all the more horrifying. The killer had only started sending tapes for the four most recently taken, his first three victims probably having died in obscurity.
No bodies had ever been found but they were certain the earlier three were just as dead as the ones he had videotaped. They had first thought they were dealing with kidnapping, the greeting cards left behind for the videotaped victims linking them to the first three taken. Once the tapes started arriving they knew they had a killer.
Ellison could commiserate with her. The next tape would be of the girl's murder. He tended to keep them for a few days, terrifying them beyond all logical thought, before finally shooting them. They never got to leave the cellar, the rags that the girl had uncovered on the tape being his previous victims. He added his summation to Collins'. The house had to be isolated, the stench of month old bodies, despite the cool weather, surely having alerted any neighbours by now.
The greeting cards left behind at the site of the abduction failed to yield clues. The cards were home made, on ordinary photocopy paper, and depicted the sun in various forms. Some had been drawn in yellow crayon, some in watercolour paint.
Collins continued. "He likes mental torture as opposed to physical. But I think he likes his victims totally helpless, by the time he's ready to kill them, they're weak from fear and hunger. We have to find a connection between these people. Knowing his dark, inner compulsions isn't going to do it."
Banks nodded. "Jim, I want you to go over the latest victim's place again. See if you can pick up anything." The police captain held his detective's gaze a moment longer than necessary, making sure Ellison knew he meant using his Sentinel abilities.
Ellison nodded and stood to leave, nodding to Collins. She returned his nod and returned to her notes. He found Sandburg at his desk, the paleness gone from his face. He clapped his friend on his shoulder and grabbed his jacket.
"Come on, we'll go over Janet Easterman's place again, see if I missed anything."
**********
Ellison sat on a lounge chair, eyes closed, Sandburg watching quietly. He opened the case file in his lap and read while Ellison concentrated on the scents around the room. He read, again, the names of the past seven victims. Janet Easterman, twenty seven years old, astronomer, based at the Cascade Observatory for the past three years. Professor Juliet Miller, forty five years old, Professor of Literature at Boston University, visiting for one semester at Rainier. Mairead Forester, thirty five, local poet. Samantha Clark, twenty seven and a dancer with the Cascade Dance Company. Father Jason Dennis, twenty nine, catholic priest. Paul Daystrom, twenty two, comedian. David Levarre, thirty three, song writer for a local band.
The victims couldn't have been further apart in professions and interests. Sandburg could see no one factor linking them all. He didn't know Professor Miller, and none of the other victims had had anything to do with his own Rainier University, so that wasn't the link. Some of them had qualifications, and some didn't. None of them frequented the same clubs or were members of any gym or political party or any other affiliate. The only thing Blair could see was they all seemed to be involved in some way with the arts. But the astronomer and the priest threw a spanner into that one.
Blair tired of sitting in the one place. With a murmured word to Ellison he left the house and went into the backyard. The attack had come through the back door and he was careful not to touch it as he ducked under the police tape. A small shed sat amongst the heavily wooded yard beneath a low spreading tree. Approaching the shed he wondered if Jim had checked it yet.
He didn't see the man standing behind the shed in the shade afforded by the tree. Blair saw the shed door was open slightly and pushed it ajar with his shirt sleeve. Peering inside he waited until his eyes adjusted to the dark interior before stepping in.
The man cursed his bad luck. He had to choose the one time to return to her house when the cops were there. Irrational anger rose within him to a dangerous level. Who was this little mongrel looking through her things? Her things were his.
Blair picked his way carefully amongst the bits and pieces, the day being overcast and the daylight not being brilliant to start with. Her shed was a complete mess. Then again, he thought, that was the purpose of a shed wasn't it? To hide a multitude of messy sins. A footfall outside snapped him back to attention and he glanced quickly at the door. His nerves were a taut as a bowstring as it was, being this close to the abduction scene.
He almost swallowed his tongue as a tall figure stepped into the darkness and closed the door behind it. To Blair the sound was as menacing as a gun being cocked.
"....Jim?"
"Scared you, didn't I?" came Ellison's deep voice. Ellison suppressed a smile as he saw his friend slump in what was obviously eternal gratitude.
"Don't do that, you shit! I musta lost ten years."
"Ah, you're young enough. Sandburg, what the hell are doing out here?" Ellison allowed himself a smile at his friend's expense. He couldn't see him, anyway.
"Nothing. Just curious." Be still my beating heart, he thought. He couldn't see crap in this dark but he knew the Sentinel was watching his every move.
Ellison pushed the door open. "Come back in, for a minute. I want to check something and you may have to bring me out of it."
Blair followed him dutifully into the house, glad for something to help with. Ellison knew the smell he had detected in Easterman's house was also outside in the yard. House first, though, he decided.
Back inside Blair watched him close his eyes and open his sense of smell, taking in long draughts of air. Blair looked about the room. Whatever Jim had found must only be detectable by him.
He heard Ellison mumble something. Blair's attention snapped back to the detective. "What was that?"
"Dirt."
"Dirt?"
"Dirt. Fertiliser."
Blair looked around. "No plants to speak of. She didn't seem to have a green thumb. Maybe she tracked some in."
"Maybe our man tracked some in. I can remember this from Clark's apartment." Ellison slid from the chair and knelt on the floor. His partner watched him scrape his hand across the carpet pile and brush it back and forth. He stood again and motioned for Sandburg to follow him.
"We'll get them to vacuum this room. The dirt may give us a clue. I caught it in the backyard, too, but I didn't see any bags of fertiliser. Did you?" Ellison glanced at the younger man, annoyance clearly showing in the handsome face. Blair shook his head.
"How is he meeting them? He must be spotting them somewhere."
"Maybe he just comes across them. It could be just that. Random," Blair offered.
"Collins said the choosing of victims in a case like this is rarely random. They're all linked somehow but it must be by a very thin thread and we're just not able to see it."
"Why just the one link, Jim? Why not a few."
Ellison looked at him, not seeing what the young man was getting at. "Meaning?"
Blair brushed his long hair back, he had an idea forming. "Maybe only one or two are linked in some way, something common to, say, two or three of them, and then the others have a totally different reason to be similar in some way."
Blair watched the hypothesis sink in and wished he had kept his mouth shut. The look on the big man's face wasn't a happy one. But then a large hand reached out and clapped him on the cheek.
"I knew there was a reason for not killing you at birth! Let's run that past Collins. You may have hit on something there, kid."
Blair watched the tall man leave the house at a run. "Not kill me at birth? Where the hell do you dig these up, Jim?" But the man was gone.
**********
Dr Collins didn't look pleased. Ellison had asked Sandburg to repeat his thoughts on how the victims were picked. Sandburg looked back and forth between Banks and Ellison, worried that she had yet to utter a word.
"Gentlemen, I think we have made a grave mistake. I'm ashamed I didn't think of that one earlier."
Sandburg still wasn't sure. "You think my theory might be right?"
"It's why we've been coming up blank. We'll have to link two victims at a time. I remember that the dancer and the poet belonged to the same Cascade Bay Library. The others must have had something in common. Our killer could be a member of said library, or at least decides to pick some victims there."
Collins jumped up and opened the case file. "I'll take those two and these, you two take these ones. We'll write a list of all interests and memberships of anything, anything..." she trailed off and left Banks' office looking into the file.
Ellison glanced at Banks. The tall police captain shrugged. "It's a start, Jim. Good work, kid."
Sandburg smiled back at him, happy with himself. Ellison tossed him two of the files, before it could go to his head.
"You can take the professor and the song writer, I'll take the others."
Banks watched them leave. Finally a lead had presented itself. He only hoped they were in time for Janet Easterman.
**********
Blair looked up from his laptop computer as his roommate walked past him and into the kitchen. He was waiting patiently while it downloaded a certain web page.
"Want a coffee?" Ellison asked.
"Mmm, yeah, thanks." Blair watched his screen. "I'm surfing here and you'd be amazed at the number of pages on serial killers. None seemed to use a symbol of the sun, though."
Ellison looked up from his preparation of their coffee. "You didn't expect to find him there, did you?"
Blair graced him with a look of infinite patience. "Hardly. I just thought, you know, in case he was a copy cat or something."
Ellison mouthed an ‘Oh' and handed Blair his coffee. The detective drew a chair alongside him and peered at the small screen. A number of options had come up and Blair chose one. Ellison sipped his coffee as the desired page appeared. ‘Serial Killers of the Twentieth Century'.
They spent the next half hour searching such pages in an effort to glean something that could help them understand what they were after. Blair got bogged down as his interest was caught every now and then by the vagaries of murdering minds and Ellison grew tired of the tangents his young friend sent the computer on whenever something caught his attention.
"I'm tired. I'm going to bed," Ellison announced, levering himself up from his chair. Blair mumbled something that sounded like goodnight, he wasn't sure.
It was 1am when Ellison dragged himself out of his bed, descended the stairs and clapped a hand on Blair's shoulder. So intent was the young man on the computer that the shake barely registered.
"Wha?" the bent head not even looking up.
"Bed. It's one am and we have to be in by eight."
A long arm reached over Blair's shoulder and drew the laptop's screen down, closing it and severing the connection. Blair yawned, absently thinking how lucky Jim was that he didn't have any unsaved documents under the web pages. He nodded his assent and went to his room, Ellison returning upstairs to his own warm bed.
**********
They met Collins in Banks' office later that day to compare notes. Sandburg had found nothing in common between the song writer and the visiting professor, but Ellison had found that the comedian regularly performed at the Comedy Arts Club and one of the bands that sometimes employed the song writer had performed there once. The only connection between the priest, Father Dennis, and the poet Mairead Forester was they were both Catholic. Easterman and Professor Miller had nothing linking them to the others.
"These two just don't pan out." Collins said that afternoon. She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, failing to notice the surreptitious glance thrown her way by Blair. He found her very attractive, despite the ten year age difference.
Ellison remembered something he had seen in Easterman's apartment. Books. Hundreds of them.
"Janet Easterman was a lover of books on old writing. She had dozens of them on poetry and the classics, you know, like Homer's Iliad."
Sandburg stared at him, knowing his expression must have resulted in him looking like a simpleton, but he was mulling things over. Ellison, seeing the signs, waited patiently.
"I noticed those!" he blurted out eventually. "An astronomer interested in epic novels and ancient history."
Ellison looked down his nose at him. "Stranger things have been known to happen."
Sandburg waved his hands at him. "No, no, you don't see what I'm getting at. That's her link with the others. Her love of epic and old writings links her with Professor Miller. That's what she taught!"
Banks interrupted, "OK, so we have something linking all of them with at least one of the others, but where does that leave us? We can run member lists for the library. The comedy club probably won't have a members list of any kind. Easterman may have attended a class run by Miller and Father Dennis and Mairead Forester may have gone to the same church one day where she was unlucky enough to have been spotted by our killer." He looked over at Blair.
Sandburg scowled at the police captain. "Sheesh, Simon, you sure know how to dampen enthusiasm."
Banks leaned back and crossed his arms. "That's my job, Sandburg. It's up to all of you to figure out how he picked them."
"Oh, goody," mumbled the young anthropologist.
Collins threw her files onto the table. "OK, so far, we have two Catholics, two comedy club goers, two fans of epic poetry and one belongs to the same library as another."
They all stared at the desk while Sandburg mumbled to himself. His hair fell from behind his ear and over his face. Banks absently wondered how the young man could stand having that much unruly hair when his attention was brought back by Blair's continued mumbling. Mumbling that rose an octave as an idea made its way to the surface of the agile mind.
"One astronomer...two poets...no three...and he's a writer, too...one comedian...one dancer. Poet. Writer. Dancer. Astronomer." Sandburg stopped and looked at the others. He knew why the killer chose these particular people as his victims. What if it wasn't the reason? Should he tell them?
Conscious of his sudden silence they all stared back at him.
"Shit."
"What?" Ellison prompted.
"Calliope, muse of epic poetry. Terpsichore, muse of the dance. Urania, muse of astronomy."
Banks straightened in his chair, feeling he was missing something. "Are you all right?"
"He's choosing muses."
"That doesn't help me, Sandburg," Banks growled.
"Muses, Simon. There are nine of them. They're from ancient Greece and they were meant to inspire man to great works of writing and the arts. I think the others are...are...I can't remember." The young man bolted to his feet and strode to the captain's computer. "Excuse me, captain, let's fire up this puppy and look them up on the internet."
Banks stepped away and let the younger man have his chair. The other three remained quiet as Sandburg logged into the internet and set the search engine to look for ‘Muses'.
Sandburg pointed at the screen. "Erato is love poetry, our song writer." He grabbed a notepad and began to list them. "Song writer of love songs. Urania is astronomy...Easterman. Terpsichore is dance...Clark. Thalia is comedy...Daystrom. Polyhymnia is sacred poetry...the priest. Euterpe is lyric poetry...Forester. Calliope is epic poetry...Professor Miller. That's why the sun! They were connected some way with the sun god Apollo. They resided on Mount Parnassus in ancient Greece," he said absently, lost in thought. Parnassus rang a bell for some reason. "Maybe he thinks he's Apollo."
Ellison had been counting them off as he went. "That's seven. You said there were nine."
"He must have two more after this one." Blair looked at the screen again. "What's left? Clio is history and Melpomene is tragedy."
Ellison moved closer to the young man, standing at his back and staring at the screen. Sandburg pointed at it, tapping the screen.
"Maybe another university professor in history and an actor?" Banks suggested.
Collins nodded. "You may be right..." she was cut off by a knock at the door.
Rafe poked his head in. "I'm sorry, another tape has come for you."
The four of them looked at him horror. Sandburg regarded the tape in the young detective's hand as if it were a snake. He left the office quickly, mumbling his apologies, "I can't watch this one." He followed Rafe out the door.
Banks wiped his big hand over his face and picked up the tape. He placed it in the video player still sitting in his office and they watched, in silence, the execution of Janet Easterman.
**********
Sandburg brought his coffee back to Ellison's desk but found he couldn't drink it anyway. He watched the others through the blinds in Banks' window, their grim faces telling him all he needed to know. Rafe joined him and Sandburg looked up tiredly. Rafe sympathised with him, knowing what the tape contained. He joined the young anthropologist at the desk, pulling a chair over with him.
"Did they arrive the same way as the others?" Blair asked.
Rafe nodded. "By courier, organised over the phone. Different company this time, though."
"Different how?" Blair lifted the cup to his lips but found he could barely taste it. He had hoped it would settle his churning stomach. Knowing what was on the tape had instantly made him feel ill.
"The others all came Pony Express Couriers but this guy had no company markings."
Sandburg perked up. "Maybe he can tell us something the others couldn't! Can you catch him?"
Rafe jumped off the desk, "Sure!"
Ellison's attention was diverted by sudden movement in the corner of his vision. His Guide had leaped up from behind his desk outside and he and Rafe had left the bull pen at a run. An alarm sounded in his mind and he excused himself. He caught up with them in the hallway.
"What's wrong?"
Sandburg, despite only running a short distance, was almost breathless with excitement. "Different courier this time. I thought he might have something different to tell us but we think he's gone."
Sandburg ceased all talk as Ellison held up a hand. The Sentinel had picked up something, he could tell. Ellison sniffed the air like a wolf. Rafe ran up to them, falling silent at Jim's raised hand.
"It was him," Ellison spat. "I can smell him. Fertiliser. Rafe! Get them to seal this building now!"
**********
Collins slumped in Ellison's chair, her hand reaching over to clap Sandburg's. The young man looked at her in sympathy. They hadn't been quick enough. The bastard was getting daring, coming into the police department and delivering his tape himself. They both quietly watched the two angry men inside the police captain's office. Ellison paced furiously and they could see him gesticulating wildly at his captain. Banks was remaining still, obviously deciding to allow his detective to blow off steam.
Collins rubbed at her eyes. "I gotta get some sleep. I think we can attack this in the morning with a fresher perspective after some rest. Say goodnight to Jim for me."
"Sure. See you tomorrow." Sandburg watched her leave with regret. The older woman intrigued him. He enjoyed working with her. Her dark brown eyes seemed to see straight into you. But, then, that was her job, to see right through people. Sandburg rubbed his own eyes, mimicking her earlier gesture. He couldn't believe how close they had come. He shivered internally as he thought of the vile creature being only feet away from them, laughing at them all.
Blair remained at Ellison's desk while his partner finished up with the captain. He watched quietly and, through the office window, he could see the two of them arguing. They both managed to keep their voices down but he could tell it was getting heated. He thought for a moment about entering the office and maybe breaking it up but he was, honestly, too damn tired. He waited for his partner to finish his tirade and, after Jim apologised to his captain for ranting at him, they left for home. They were all tired and knew they had a couple of weeks before another would be taken.
They were wrong.
**********
The woman dried her hair with the towel. It had been a hard day and she was exhausted and the hot shower had helped her relax. Her cat curled its purring way around her legs, ignoring the moisture it collected along the way. The smooch was worth getting a bit damp for. She smiled at it and called its name, eliciting further purring.
"Hungry, Sissy?"
Another smooch.
"All right," the woman laughed, "Let's get you fed, then."
The cat bounded ahead of her as she left the bathroom and headed for its favourite room, the kitchen. The woman felt the cold creeping up on her again and diverted her course for the bedroom. The cat skid to a halt and wondered where its human had gone. Changing its own direction it joined her in the bedroom where she had decided to put some clothes on. Jumping up on the bed it watched its human get dressed.
"In a minute, Sissy. It's too damn cold in here."
Moments later the woman resumed her trip back to the kitchen, the cat eagerly bringing up the rear. After spooning some food into the bowl the woman placed it on the floor. Straightening up she rinsed the spoon in the sink and looked through the window out into the darkness of the backyard.
Dark trees. Dark skies. And a man's face.
**********
"Coffee, you two?" Banks called from his office. He hadn't slept well at all, Janet Easterman's death weighing heavily on him. He could see the circles under Ellison's eyes. Sandburg didn't look any prettier. The young man looked up at him and managed a smile for the captain. Banks returned it.
Ellison raised his head and smiled. He needed a coffee badly. He looked at Sandburg with raised eyebrows.
"I'll be in in a minute. I just want to look something up." Sandburg had logged into the net on Ellison's computer.
The older man nodded and left him to it.
Sandburg set it searching for muses again and relaxed back in the chair. Collins would be in soon and maybe she would like to go somewhere for lunch. He found her very interesting to talk with. Secretly he had a bit of a crush, but he'd never dream of telling her that. All thoughts of lunch fled his mind when he noticed someone enter the bull pen. He felt a sick feeling rise in his stomach as he saw the Pony Express Courier man. His stomach churned as the man made a bee-line for him.
"Package for a Captain Banks?" The courier looked about him and finally noticed he hadn't gotten a reply. He looked at the young man behind the desk again who stared back at him open mouthed. The courier wondered if maybe he'd encountered the idiot of the office.
Sandburg heard a door open, but he couldn't drag his eyes away from the package the other man held. He recognised Ellison's big hand as it came into view and took the package. He signed for it and thanked the courier. Sandburg dragged his eyes up to meet Ellison's.
"It's OK, it wasn't him." Ellison went back into his captain's office, the younger man hot on his heels.
Upon entering, Ellison tore open the package and shoved the video cassette angrily into the video player, causing Blair to wince in sympathy for the machine. Banks grabbed his phone and asked someone to locate Dr Collins as they'd had another tape delivered. The receiver dropped from nerveless fingers as he watched the drama unfold on the TV screen. Sandburg suppressed a groan.
They watched Helena Collins being dragged into the cellar. They watched as she screamed at her attacker. They watched as she looked fearfully around the room and they watched as her face showed her resignation to her fate. She looked at them as if she could see them through the camera lens she had managed to find in the near darkness. She tried not to look at it too long and betray aloud what she knew to her abductor. But then, she considered, he knew who she was. Knew she had seen his previous tapes, her abduction wouldn't have been random and a case of bad luck. He would know she knew she was being recorded.
‘Jim' she mouthed. She had been able to keep enough presence of mind to suspect that the killer viewed these tapes before sending them off. She knew she couldn't betray where she was for fear of the tape never getting to them. She said as much to them in her facial expressions alone.
She wrung her hands in desperation and smoothed her clothing with nervous gestures. "I don't know where I am, Jim. Please help me," she lied. Her hands smoothed her jacket again and her fingers clenched and unclenched in apparent, agonised fear.
Ellison watched her silently. He suspected her clenching hands weren't merely a result of nerves. He knew Collins would be able keep more of a level head than the other victims, purely because she knew what was happening and, exactly, her predicament. The abductor didn't have the element of surprise with this particular prey.
"She's signing. She knows exactly where she is. She just can't tell us out loud."
"Signing?" Sandburg asked. "As in sign language?"
"Yep." Ellison leapt to his feet and seized the phone.
"Why her?" Banks asked. He felt squeamish. Their killer must have been watching the precinct and watching Collins, following her home the night before.
Sandburg shook his head. "There's only History and Tragedy left. Tragedy? Her line of work certainly deals with it."
Ellison nodded. Helena Collins dealt with tragedy every day in her line of work as a profiler of violent crimes. Within five minutes a sign language expert was seated in Banks' office and watching the tape intently. The woman was Elaine Mock from Vice whose husband was deaf and was the one called when a suspect or witness was deaf. She wrote down what little she could decipher from the tape and presented it to them.
"She keeps repeating many of the same words. She's saying ‘Cascade' and then the letter ‘H'. She then finishes with ‘Forest'. That's all she can seem to manage."
"Maybe it's all she could see," Ellison finished.
Banks nodded his thanks and, after Mock had left, he seated himself back behind his desk. "Directions?"
"Undoubtably," Ellison agreed. "My bet is the Cascade Highway out of the city. We can assume she was snatched last night from home. The national forest borders the highway, maybe a property. We'll run by her place first, Simon." Ellison left the office at a run, Sandburg close behind, and shouted again at Banks over his shoulder, "meet us at the Old Duck truckstop diner and we'll scan the highway from there!"
Banks left his office barking orders at the closest men and they all bolted for the garage.
**********
Helena Collins had wedged herself as far into the corner of the room as she could. The stench had almost reduced her to unconsciousness but she'd had some time to become accustomed to it. She could just make out the bundles of rags strewn about the dark cellar. She had no need to satisfy her curiosity. She knew exactly what they held. One sad bundle, in particular, didn't completely cover the corpse and she could see a white hand. A woman's small hand. Her mind wouldn't allow her any refuge as she speculated it was probably Janet Easterman. Easterman was the most recently taken victim. The others would have been more desiccated by now....Oh God, she thought, sickness welling up inside her. She tried not to look at the other bundles of rags. Dried bodies. People murdered.
Holding back a gasp of pure fear she forced herself to think clearly. They may not be able to find her. He may have seen her giving clues for the tape. The tape may never have gone to Banks. She would have to think of her own way out. The floorboards above her creaked and she shivered in terror. Her repeated reminders to herself to be courageous were wearing thin.
Then, for some reason, she found herself becoming insanely angry. Hatred for the man that reduced her to this quaking coward. She listened and watched and waited for an opportunity. But, at the back of her mind remained the fervent wish that Jim Ellison would come down the cellar stairs.
**********
Sandburg hung back while his partner and Rafe mounted the front stairs to Dr Collins' house. The front door was intact and there no sign of forced entry. Moving around to the back they found the back door splintered and the lock shattered. Inside the house there was revealed signs of a brief struggle but she had apparently been taken quickly and quietly. Rafe found a cat huddled under the couch but it refused all entreaties to come out.
Sandburg stepped up to his partner while Rafe was occupied with said cat. He watched the detective close his eyes and turn his head slowly in a sweep of the room. Finally, blue eyes opened and frowned down at the other man.
"Picking up anything?" Sandburg rubbed his hands together. The increasing chill in the air was moving through the open house.
"No. There's something, but this scent is different." Ellison found his partner's reaction to the cold contagious and he shook himself, half in annoyance and half in agreement of the inclement weather.
Sandburg looked around the room. "Maybe he took a bath."
"Maybe."
Blair went to stand beside Rafe. He watched the detective give up on the cat and then went into the laundry near the back door where he had seen some cat food. Blair poured the dry food into the cat bowl and returned the packet onto the shelf. It could be some time before Helena Collins could again feed her cat. He'd come back later if they didn't find her anytime soon. The water bowl was full so there was no problem there....
Looking up he saw the two detectives watching him. He smiled briefly and shrugged.
Ellison smiled. "Come on." He led them from the house at a run and they sped for their rendezvous with Banks.
**********
Twenty minutes later saw them at the mouth of the Cascade Highway at the beginning of the national forest. Banks was waiting with several cars. Rafe left Ellison's truck and joined his captain at Banks' request. Banks then waved Ellison ahead of them and instructed the others to bring up the rear behind him, knowing that they would be relying on Ellison's tracking ability and would have to afford him some breathing space to do so.
Sandburg watched as he first blocked out the sound of the cars behind him, then his truck's engine. He opened his ears and his sense of smell. The highway was too well travelled to supply any clues for his sight. He had to find the strange fertiliser smell he had found at the other abduction scenes. They continued this way for another hour before the concentration began to tell. A lunatic driver, annoyed at having to travel slowly behind the cavalcade of police cars, leant on his horn as he overtook them. Ellison winced, almost swerving as his fingers bit into the steering wheel in response to the pain.
Sandburg placed a hand on his arm. "You using your hearing, too? Don't. Just use your sense of smell. Hearing won't do us any good."
Ellison nodded and sniffed. He wasn't sure what he'd been hoping to hear, instinct had just told him to concentrate both smell and hearing. Sandburg was telling him otherwise. He chose to listen to Sandburg.
They passed a sign telling them of their approach to Mount Parnassus, the tallest mountain in the area. Blair started in excitement and told Ellison that Mount Parnassus was, according to the history he had looked up, where the Muses had resided in ancient Greece. Ellison grunted to him, returning his concentration to the road ahead.
It wasn't until the truck started to waver to the side of the road that Blair realised Jim had focused too much and had zoned. Behind them Banks watched in apprehension as Ellison's vehicle veered sharply to the right and careered through the dirt embankment.
"What the hell's he doing?" Rafe shouted as Banks narrowly avoided rear-ending them. The shaken police captain exited the car, shouting at the others to stay where they were.
He approached the truck and could see that Sandburg was talking quietly to Ellison. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Ellison answer.
"I'm OK. That smell, it just hit me." Ellison looked out the truck window and smiled an apology at his captain.
"You two all right?" He looked at the young anthropologist who seemed anything but OK. Sandburg had his arms wrapped around himself against the cold. And, probably, the near impact, Banks thought. He brought a hand down on the young man's shoulder and Blair smiled up at him.
The young man nodded shakily in response to the question. "He thinks it's near here. He's picked up a scent he found at Clark's and Easterman's." He peered through his own window into the national forest. "Maybe there's a house or something."
Banks looked in the same direction. "If there is, it's illegal. No housing allowed around here so it'd be difficult to trace through the normal channels." He looked at Ellison. The expression on the Sentinel's face told Banks not to argue. Ellison was right.
"A perfect place to keep people against their will for a few days," Ellison said, looking up at the morning sky. Rain was threatening but would probably hold off until the late afternoon.
Banks turned back to his waiting men. "Break out the dogs! We'll start here!" He turned back to the other two. "Which way, Jim?"
Ellison stepped out of his truck and circled a few times. Sandburg remained where he was, watching him. Banks held out a hand holding everyone where they were for the moment. Ellison opened his eyes.
"This way."
**********
The house was maybe a mile from the main road. The decrepit old thing must have been seventy years old and built way before the zoning laws had come in. To normal view it seemed to have been uninhabited for some time but to Ellison's eyes the evidence of recent disturbance became obvious. The old garage held a car and the ground in front of the house was recently worn away by traffic of the human booted kind. They all remained hidden behind the cover of the trees for a few minutes and Ellison took advantage of checking the area himself. The dog squad were keeping their animals quiet, wondering why they had brought them when the tall detective had done most of the tracking.
Banks ordered several men to circle around the back and he and Ellison approached the front door. Sandburg stayed with the dog handlers, preferring to leave this one to the experts. He watched apprehensively as the first wave entered the old house as quietly as they could.
None of them noticed the pair of eyes watching from the dark basement window.
**********
"Ellison!" Banks whispered urgently. "Can you pick up anyone?" He had long ago decided that having a Sentinel on your side was a definite advantage.
"Yeah, maybe two. No, one heartbeat."
"Collins? Maybe he's not here at the moment."
Ellison shook his head and whispered back at the tall man crouched with him inside the front door. "No, the car's still in the garage. He must still be in here."
Just as they were about to move on, Ellison froze. The dust from the old house was starting to affect him and he dialled down his sense of smell.
"What?" Banks whispered.
"The smell, I had it for a moment, but it's outside the house. He's gone somewhere. But there's still someone here, I can hear their heart." He led Banks deeper into the house.
The police captain thought his detective was being reckless in his quick reconnaissance of the dark house but also knew that Ellison sensed no one near enough to do them harm. They found their way to the kitchen and the trap door leading to the basement. Ellison pointed his gun at the floor and allowed Banks to lever open the door. The stench that was released at them drove them back but they pressed on and descended what was left of the stairs. Rafe and two others had entered the kitchen and watched their backs as they disappeared into the floor.
Sentinel eyes penetrated the darkness and surveyed the dank cellar. He could see several bodies wrapped in old rags littering the furniture and the floors. Quiet whimpering reached his ears and he bounded off the ladder steps and into the darkness. Banks called after him, not wanting to step any further into a darkness he couldn't see past.
"I've got her, Simon." Ellison drew back into the light at the base of the stairs and Banks could see he carried Dr Collins. The woman found the light disturbing and buried her face into Ellison's shoulder.
**********
"Sandburg!"
The young man's head shot up at the shout and saw his partner at the door of the house waving him in. He stepped into the loungeroom and Ellison pushed him towards Helena Collins, ensconced in a blanket on an old lounge. He ran to her and folded his arms around her in an attempt to stop her shaking.
Her voice was tremulous but strong, "He left about ten minutes ago, I heard him leave. He told me he has another cabin not far from here, deeper in."
"Will you wait with her, Sandburg? We're going after him." He hesitated, not wanting to give too much away, "I think that smell I picked up before is deeper into the trees like she said. We'll be back soon."
Blair nodded and stroked Collins' shoulder soothingly. Collins accepted the comfort. She was normally a very rational woman, but her time in the dark cellar, surrounded by rotting bodies had taken its awful toll on her nerves. She leaned in closer to Sandburg's warmth, eternally grateful she was now safe.
**********
"How far, Jim?"
Banks waved his men down, preparing to wait until Ellison was sure. He wasn't about to have four men blunder noisily through the undergrowth and warn their target. Sunlight tried to make its way through the think canopy overhead as Banks peered up into it. The weather seemed to be clearing. Much too nice a day for discovering and cataloguing bodies. He watched as his detective stood, circled, and then nodded he was certain.
Ellison turned back to his captain. "It's confusing. The scent is all around, but it's definitely in that direction."
"Is he alone?"
Ellison nodded again. "I'm sure of it." The Sentinel drew on his hearing and sent it into the trees ahead. One heartbeat, not far from where they were. "A heartbeat. One man. Maybe fifty feet," he said quietly waving two fingers in its direction.
The heartbeat was erratic, fast. The man knew they were there but they had no choice but to pursue.
"He knows we're here, Simon."
Banks indicated the approximate location and distance with hand signals and sent two of his men circling around to the right. The men headed off at a run, the dogs leading the way this time. He and Ellison continued in their original direction.
**********
"Did he hurt you?"
Collins looked up at Blair from where she lay curled against him. "He didn't have the time. I imagine I would have remained locked away for a couple of days and then killed me, like the others. He broke into my place last night. It all happened so fast, I didn't even have a chance to fight back." She shivered and Blair drew her closer.
Collins tried to talk some sense into herself. She had seen worse, surely. But she had never come this close before. Blair felt her shivering lessen and drew the blanket up around her chin. He could only imagine the terror she had experienced. He found himself thinking of the close calls he had had in his time. He didn't have to imagine, at all. He knew exactly what she was enduring. His own encounter with a serial killer had tormented him with nightmares ever since. He berated himself for lapsing into his own self pity. Helena was the one needing comforting.
She felt the need to talk. "You were right about the Muses. I was Tragedy. Blair, it's awful, the bodies down there. The state of decay is enough to drive you out of your mind. I mean, I see some pretty horrible things in my job but this was sickening. Those poor people...."
"I know, I know, it's OK now." Blair soothed. Lash's face rose in his mind's eye...I can be you...
His attention was caught by sounds outside. One of the cops had been left on the front porch as a lookout and Blair called to him now.
"Henderson? Everything all right?"
No answer. Footsteps sounded coming into the door and Helena Collins stiffened against him in imagined fear, her nerves having taken a long deserved holiday.
**********
Banks watched Ellison circle the cabin. If it could be called that. It only had two walls standing. The man they were after was inside. Ellison could make out his heartbeat, it was racing frantically. The Sentinel looked at the sunlight dappling the leaf covered ground ahead of him. It anchored him while he concentrated his hearing. Banks was about to order everyone forward when he saw Ellison stop. The detective stood up like a madman and glanced back the way they had come.
"Ellison! Get down!" he hissed at him angrily.
The police captain ordered his men forward and they stormed the wooden dwelling. Inside sat a young man. A young man that watched with blank eyes and not much else. He didn't seem fazed by the guns waving in his face.
Banks couldn't believe his eyes as his best detective swung about and ran back towards the house with nary a word. The Sentinel's long legs carried him out of sight within seconds.
"Ellison!" Using every profanity he could think of, he returned his attention back to their quarry.
"Stand up, son, face the wall."
"I didn't do anythin' bad. Jerry only sends me up here if I do somethin' bad, but I didn't do anythin' bad today."
Heart gone suddenly cold, Banks asked him, "Where's Jerry, son?"
"Back at the house, with the pretty lady."
Banks knew his mouth to be hanging open. "Oh, shit! Watch him. You two come with me!"
**********
A man stood in the doorway to the loungeroom. A tall man, maybe in his forties, dressed in a suit. He looked, for all the world, like a detective. Collins gasped. The man looked at Blair and spoke, a smile splitting his face.
"You're my other one."
"What? Who are you?" Blair felt Collins' grip increase. Her fear was contagious and he felt his own rising apprehension at the unannounced appearance of the stranger.
"Nice of you to come to me. Now I have Clio and Melpomene together." A small gun appeared in his hand. "While your friends are off chasing my brother, I'll introduce to the others. My collection is now complete."
Blair tried to extricate himself from the doctor's grip, but she wasn't having it. Clio. Muse of history.
He was Clio. He was history.
In more ways than one. The man advanced on them. Help was a long way off and would be a long time coming. Blair could only think of one thing.
"JIIIIMMMM!"
**********
Blair hit the cellar floor painfully, landing awkwardly on his side. The man in the suit half carried Collins after him. She was still weakened but her rising fear brought out the fight in her. She beat at the face only inches from her own. He smiled as he let the blow roll off to the side and leant in closer.
"My sweet Melpomene," he whispered.
Not waiting for Collins to get out of the way, Blair attacked. He launched himself at the killer with all he had, one knee connecting with the man's stomach and his hands smashing into the face. The man dropped Collins unceremoniously to the floor and intended to rid himself of his annoying muse of history then and there. He swatted Blair's face with a backhand punch and floored him.
But Blair didn't intend to give up so easily. If he did, they were as good as dead. He crawled back to his feet and ran at the man again, this time his head down. The man staggered in shock and pain as the head connected with his midriff and drove him backwards, his breath forced from his lungs painfully. The hand that held the gun came down across the top of his head and Blair was smashed away again.
Blair landed awkwardly against some rather suspect rags and felt sickened, primarily because he knew what they probably held, and also because he felt the hardened substance crack beneath his weight. He fought against the bile that rose in his throat as a new, terrible smell made itself known. The horror of what he lay on stunned him for a few fatal seconds.
The man's boot kicked out at him and he narrowly ducked it, the blow glancing off his temple. Rolling away he brought his arms up to, belatedly, protect his head.
"Why do you fight? You can't win," the man growled.
"The others are coming back. They'll get you," Blair gasped. His hand came away from his head covered in blood. It hurt like hell and he struggled to remain conscious.
"They're too busy chasin' me brother to worry about you." The gun was pointed in his direction. "You join my other muses."
Collins shrieked, "Blair!" and, leaping to her feet, she ran at their tormenter, her hands reaching for his face. The man screamed at her as her long nails gouged at him. He levelled a punch at her and she fell to her knees. Blair shakily pulled himself up and prepared to attack again. This time he wouldn't go down helpless, like with Lash, this time he would go down fighting.
The trapdoor opened and light spilled into the cellar, bathing the man with the gun. He gazed up into its brightness. Momentarily blinded he failed to see the large figure launch itself into the cellar and land across him. Ellison grappled with the older brother, each fighting for mastery of the gun. The gun which then fired. Collins shrieked as the bullet grazed the wooden beam near her face and Blair ran to her and threw himself on top of her, dragging her to the side and out of the gun's trajectory. Another shot sounded and Blair looked up from where they lay.
Neither Ellison or the other were moving.
"Oh, god, Jim?" he coughed frantically in the rising dust. He relaxed when he heard the deep voice answer him.
"M'okay, Blair. Just a bit sore. I think I've broken my wrist. You two OK?"
Blair sat and called again to his Sentinel, "We are now." The young man slumped in relief but the pain of his injuries caused him to cry out and straighten up again.
Ellison sat up, nursing the broken wrist. He grimaced in pain and crawled towards Blair and Collins. The young man flinched as Ellison probed his head with his good hand. Abrasions cut an unattractive swath across the young face and Blair smiled at his scrutiny.
Ellison couldn't help smiling back, despite his throbbing wrist. "What on earth do you find so funny?"
"Us. What a pair, hey? Cascade Private probably thanks its lucky stars we never sought medical with them, eh, Jim?"
The detective shook his head and chuckled. His eyes sought Dr Collins, finally finding the silent woman across the room. She smiled at him and Blair, but then her face grew serious as she looked about the ill lit cellar. The unseen bodies were still there, patient for their discovery.
"Jim?" Blair asked, "is he really dead? Can you check?" At Ellison's strange look he added, "You know those movies, man, the bad guy always gets up at the last moment."
Ellison had pocketed the man's gun but approached the body anyway. Kicking at it he received no response. "Quite dead, Blair."
"Good," muttered the battered young man. Blair held his head in his hands. It felt ready to split.
A voice bellowed above them. Banks. Blair stood and went to the stairs, peering up into the light. The captain stood back from the cellar's entrance, not intending to show himself until he knew who was alive and who was holding a weapon. Blair coughed as he tried to answer. Banks appeared at the top of the stairs at the familiar sound.
"We're OK, Captain. Jim thinks he's broken his wrist."
Banks stepped aside to allow Rafe into the cellar. The young detective helped Helena Collins out, followed by Ellison and Sandburg. When they stepped into the light Banks took in Jim's carefully cradled wrist and shook his head. He was very pissed off. He levelled his glare onto the next poor unfortunate. Blair. His gaze softened when he saw the bruising beginning to form. The kid had taken a few bad hits. Before he could ask how he fared, Ellison ushered the young man out of the house.
The removal of the bodies took some time. Blair and Helena had stayed by Ellison's truck, not willing to watch the victims being finally brought out into the light again. Ellison had stood with his back to them, effectively blocking their view, watching his captain help the coroner supervise their recovery. Blair could only see part of his Sentinel's grim face. A face set in stone as it watched the unsavoury task being performed and performing his own task by not allowing Blair to witness more than he had to.
Banks left those accustomed to the task to finish their job and walked over to them. He saw, again, the bruising beginning to surface on Blair's face.
"You OK?" A big hand reached out to the younger man, fingers not quite touching the hurt face.
"Yeah, thanks, Simon." Blair ducked in head in embarrassment at the attention. He was beginning to feel foolish at being caught so easily by their killer.
Banks settled for clapping him on the shoulder. "You did good, kid."
Blair returned the smile, more proud of himself for not flinching when the big hand landed on his sore shoulder, rather than having come out of this one alive.
**********
Two days later they found themselves back in Banks' office. Helena Collins sat with them and they discussed Jerry Martin's apparent reason for insanity. According to his brother, Jerry was manufacturing his own Muses. Sending them to his imagined underworld so they would work for him and restore his failed writing ability. It seems he had been a writer of text books on ancient religions and he had been out of print for some time. They could only speculate on his pleasure at finding Tragedy and History so easily, kindly provided by Cascade PD.
None of them could comprehend why he thought the way he had. That was probably the reason they still moved about in the sane world and he lay in a refrigerated room.
Ellison's arm was in a cast. The bruises on Blair's face had finally made their unwelcome way to the surface and Helena Collins looked very worn around the edges. They all fell into mutual silence and Banks regarded the three sitting across from him. He knew he should probably feel guilty at being the only one to come out of it looking halfway decent but he decided not to waste his time.
"You three got anything on tonight?"
That got their attention.
Blair smiled as best as his face would allow. "I was rather hoping to extend Jim's balcony and maybe paint my room."
"Funny ha ha. Dinner at my place?" Simon continued.
Sandburg's face beamed at him. "Watcha cooking?"
"Well, I do a mean apricot chicken curry."
"Mmmm, my favourite," the young man said, rubbing his hands together.
Ellison tilted his head at him. "Everything's your favourite, garbage guts."
"Garbage....?" the young man spluttered, "I'll tell you who eats garbage...."
"8 o'clock, then?" Banks interrupted.
Helena Collins stood slowly, stopping in the doorway. "8 o'clock it is, Simon. See you then, fellas."
Banks waved his other two out of his office. He watched Ellison gesture to the young man to precede him through the door. Sandburg was still muttering at the accusation of being called a garbage guts. The tall Sentinel pulled the door shut behind him, pausing a moment to smile at his captain.
"8 o'clock. Sooner, if Blair has his way."
Banks smiled at the shut door. He owed them dinner, at the very least.
FINIS