Chapter Two – Living the Nightmare

Our dreams are living, breathing pieces of our souls. Without our dreams there would be nothing to look forward to, nothing to keep us going, nothing to set us free. The Dream World is like that, it holds our futures and sets us free from our pasts. While some may say that living there takes from us our lives and our souls, there are still others who say that without this world, their lives would be intolerable. A lifetime of dreaming is sometimes all that keeps us sane and yet it is those same dreams that lay claim to our sanity, forcing reminders of our humanity into the far reaches of our minds.

A glimpse into this world of dreams is frightening unless you are entering. To look in is to rear back in fear. It is loathsome to see the life you want and yet not know how to gain it. We strive to gain acceptance by the gatekeepers but find our path is blocked by more than mere real life. Our fears are realized and they hold us back.

It is in this the Dream World that life takes on new meaning. A focus clearer, and yet more obscure than before. An ambiguous place where up is down and right is left. Nothing is as it appears and you are warned that if you enter here, prepare yourselves to spend all of eternity within the boundaries of this hell.

~*~*~*~

Present

Hargrove Hall, Rainer University

It was just before noon now and Blair was still debating going to rejoin Jim at the station. After the strange events of that morning he was a little scared, not just for himself but also for his friend. The strange behavior that Ellison had been displaying was so out of character for the man. Sure he had always had a temper and he was generally a more physical man but this…this was something else all together. Something was not right in Sentinel land and Blair needed to find out what it was before someone got permanently hurt.

That thought made his mind up for him. He began packing his bag, determined to face his friend turned foe. Before he could leave the office, his phone rang.

The phone rang three times before Blair worked up the nerve to answer it. That premonition he’d had that morning was eating at his very soul, much worse than it had been this morning.

“Hello?”

“Blair? It’s Simon. Are you okay, you sound funny?”

“I’m okay, Simon. What’s up? It’s Jim again, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Blair, we need to talk and sooner rather than later. He stormed into my office and demanded to know why I was giving him all these files, like I had intentionally given him more than the others. Then, when I reprimanded him about his attitude, he threw his badge and gun on the desk and stormed out of here. Blair, I am really worried about him.”

“Me too, Simon. But I don’t know what is going on and he won’t talk to me. It is almost as if I am the catalyst for all this. Nothing I do is right, every time I say anything or do anything, he blows up at me and now it seems to be crossing over into his work too. Not only that, but his senses have been going haywire. I am scared for him.”

“I think you are in danger.”

“From Jim. I don’t know. Simon, a few weeks ago I would never have believed it but now… I just don’t know. Sentinels are predisposed to protect the tribe and in particular their guide. I know that whatever demons Jim is fighting right now, his instincts should continue to come into play, but somehow this is different. I can’t explain it, Simon. Something isn’t right. Either way, don’t worry about me. It's Jim we should be worried about. There is something serious going on with him.”

“Blair, I think you are wrong in this case. We do need to worry about you. You saw his face this morning. I have never seen such rage in him. Not even before you came along. He was a son of a bitch then but nothing compared to this. All that rage seems mostly directed at you. He’s blown up a few times at others but his anger seems not only stronger but more focused when you are nearby. We need to get you into protective custody until…” Simon started but was cut off by Blair’s adamant denial.

“Simon, I will be fine. I can’t believe…” His voice broke off as there was a loud crash. His head came up to face the door where his partner, roommate and friend stood. As he watched in horror, Jim stalked forward; anger and hatred shone black in the eyes of the man. “Oh shit!”

~*~*~*~

Simon recognized the sounds of a door being broken down.

“Taggart, Brown. Get over to Hargrove Hall at the University. Now," he bellowed even as he heard Ellison’s shout and Blair’s soft cry.

~*~*~*~

“It’s all your fault, you punk. You made me like this. You ruined my life.” Ellison’s voice was charged with fury. Blair moved back from the heat of it. Jim followed. “Everything was fine before you came along and wrecked it all.”

The wall brought Blair’s retreat to an abrupt halt. His eyes widened in terror as his best friend moved forward, crowding into his personal space. Jim’s hand reached up and grabbed his shirt. Blair felt the floor vanish from under his feet as the bigger man threw him to one side. He hit the wall hard and began to crumple to the floor but the hands were back, lifting him, tossing him as if he were nothing more than a rag doll. Another wall, more bruises, greater fear. He suddenly realized Simon had been right and with that realization came a relief that he had been on the phone with Simon as Jim had come crashing through the office door. He knew help was on the way, he just needed to be calm and stay alive long enough for them to get here.

“Do you think you can get away with everything you have done to me? Do you think you can escape punishment?” The ugly words were more terrifying with the way they were spoken. There was nothing of Jim Ellison in the voice. There was nothing of his friend in the harsh hands that lifted him once more. And nothing of the man he had once known in the face before him.

A fist slammed into his belly, doubling him over with the pain. He had known Jim was strong but this was more than he had thought. Another fist connected on his side and he felt the intense pain of a rib breaking. He cried out in agony as the white heat of the injury blazed up his side and settled in his head. The fist struck out once more, catching him on the cheek. He felt the skin break, warm liquid flowed down his face but that pain was nothing compared to the pain in his side or the deep wrenching ache in his heart.

His mind refused to accept what was happening. Jim was his friend, why was he doing this. “Jim, please,” he pleaded, willing to beg to stop the pain his friend was inflicting.

It was to no avail. The blows kept landing, over and over. His face burned, his left eye was swollen from one hit. His side ached from two more and then one final blow caught him on the temple and he fell hard to the ground. Blackness swept through his vision and he heard Jim say something but he couldn’t make out the words as the darkness grew, drawing him down into a well of nothing.

~*~*~*~

“Sandburg?” A voice called gently from somewhere above him. He wanted to respond but the effort was too great. The pain was too close up there where the voice was. He tried, really he did but his eyes would not respond and it just hurt too much. Memories flitted before his closed eyelids like movies on a black screen but they moved too fast for him to catch them.

He moaned with the effort to open his eyes but the darkness called and he felt it was easier to answer that one. He let himself sink deeper into the nothingness that didn’t bring pain.

When he once more became aware of his surroundings, he was alone. The pain had dwindled to nothing more than a dull ache. He felt a lingering lethargy in his body but he fought it enough to finally open his eyes. The brightness of the lights hurt and he squeezed them shut again with a groan of discomfort.

“Blair? Come on, kid. Open your eyes, please?” There was panic in the voice. He knew the voice but it was surprisingly gentle, not the gruffness he had come to expect from the man.

“Simon?” He breathed.

“It’s me. How you feeling?”

“Hurts.” He whispered. “Lights, bright.”

“Oh, sorry.” There was a click as the overhead lights went out. A second one a few seconds later another click as a softer light nearby went on instead. “It’s okay now, you can open your eyes.”

He tried again and this time they stayed open. Well at least one did. The other was so swollen he couldn’t even open it a slit. “Jim?”

Simon cringed at the terror that one word held. He cursed Ellison as he had done for the last three days since Blair had first been brought into the hospital.

“He’s gone, son. I promise, he won’t hurt you again. He is in a holding cell at the precinct.”

“No. Simon, it wasn’t him.” Shaking started, then grew in intensity.

“You can’t cover for him on this, Blair. Taggart and Brown caught him in the act, just as he was beating…” Simon stopped as if realizing how harsh the words sounded.

“Simon, you don’t understand. That wasn’t Jim. I mean it was, but not really. I can’t explain it but…” The string of words forced out in urgency, combined with the violent shuddering, caused a coughing fit which aggravated his injured ribs which in turn inhibited his breathing starting the cycle once again, with more coughing.

In a gesture that surprised both men, Simon helped Blair sit up, pulling him into an awkward embrace. The younger man leaned into the solid form of his friend and fought to keep the coughing spell under control. He felt strong hands rubbing his back, easing the fit and aiding his breathing. It was comforting. A tender gesture that Blair would never have expected from the tough captain of Major Crimes. It took several minutes but finally the coughing eased and the convulsing stopped.

Blair rested his weary, aching body in the embrace, too exhausted to be embarassed.

~*~*~*~

Simon didn’t mind either. He recognized that Blair needed this comfort right now and though usually it was Jim giving this, the man was in jail where he was going to stay for a long time. He felt a sudden surge of anger and hatred towards the man he had once called friend. A man whom he had once trusted and respected. A man who would never have let this happen and yet he had not only let it happen, he had done the deed himself.

‘Damn you to hell, Ellison. Damn you to hell,’ he thought as he rocked the man in his arms. He should be embarrassed but he wasn’t. He felt only a fatherly affection and a need to protect his young charge. This man had befriended his son, Daryl and had helped Simon to have his own continually improving relationship with Daryl. That was a gift that he could never repay.

He realized that Blair had fallen asleep again so he lay the limp body back against the pillows. He moved so carefully that not a moan escaped, he didn’t waken at all. Simon stood and watched for several minutes before he turned to leave. He wanted to get back to the office. He needed to confront the man he had once admired above all others.

He never saw the car at the end of the block nor the figure behind the wheel watching, waiting.

If he had, he and his team might have remained on guard, wary of the evil that flowed from the figure. Flowed outward, encompassing and degrading everything it touched. The evil was a tangible thing, a force that was all consuming. The figure moved slightly as a hand came into view and a light flared briefly. A cigarette was lit, a long drag into lungs then the light went out, never once during those long seconds did the figure’s face come into view. For ten minutes the car remained in place until the butt of the cigarette was thrown out the window. Finally, the engine turned over and the driver drove off without a backward glance.

~*~*~*~

Simon entered the holding cell just after eight a.m., two days following the attack on Blair. All Banks really wanted to do was give the detective a going over like he had done to his best friend. He wanted to beat the one-time Ranger to within an inch of his life, show him what it was like to be attacked and beaten by a friend, a friend who was larger and stronger.

The only reason he didn't do it was because he knew that Sandburg wouldn't want that. He wouldn't want to see Simon have to go through an IA investigation and possibly lose his job over something like this but damn it, it was the hardest thing he had ever had to do to keep that promise to the younger man.

The relief he had felt when his men had shown up and Brown had come on the line to say that Ellison had been taken into custody and that the ambulance had arrived and was preparing to transport the unconscious teaching fellow to the Cascade General Hospital had been enormous. He thanked God for the life of his friend. He had hung up and raced to the hospital, arriving just as the ambulance pulled into the emergency driveway.

A team of trauma specialists appeared instantly, whisking the gurney and its burden into the bowels of the hospital where Simon didn’t see him again for nearly four hours. When he had finally been shown to Sandburg’s room, he had nearly had a heart attack himself. He hadn’t realized how serious the injuries were, two broken ribs, a collapsed lung, minor internal bleeding, a broken cheekbone, and numerous contusions and lacerations. However, when he was finally faced with the harsh reality of the damage that James Ellison had inflicted on his guide, anger had flared violently through him and he had cursed Ellison over, again and again.

Blair’s face looked like he had been hit by a truck, his body was broken but it was for his soul that Simon felt the most concerned. Blair insisted, unhesitatingly, that Jim hadn’t been in his right mind and yet even that knowledge did nothing to alleviate the terror that just the thought of Ellison brought to the grad student.

Sandburg couldn’t speak of the attack or Jim without shaking himself into convulsions. Twice while giving his statement he had needed a sedative. It had taken many hours before the whole story had come out. Even having been on the other end of the phone, knowing what was happening, Simon still found it horrible to listen to the torment those words brought out in the kid. The betrayal that was eating at away his very soul.

Listening to Blair’s statement had been one of the worst things Simon had ever had to do. It was even more difficult than listening while Blair had been beaten, unable to do anything to help except pray that Brown and Rafe got to him in time. Knowing that one friend was in serious danger and knowing it was another friend responsible made him seriously wonder what was wrong with the world.

By the time he reached the check-in desk, the rage was back, just as strong. He recognized the guard as one who had worked for him briefly before a stray bullet had ended his street career and put him behind the desk. Simon greeted the man and asked the officer about the prisoner. The desk sergeant had told him that Ellison hadn’t eaten since being brought in, that he had become despondent and unresponsive. The rage and anger seemed to have vanished and in its place was left only anguish and despair. Simon saw this the instant he entered the cell.

The soon-to-be-former cop lay on the bunk, curled on his side, eyes open but seeing nothing. He didn’t respond to Simon at all. It was as if his senses were completely shut down. His eyes, though, would haunt Simon for as long as he lived, he just knew it. They were sunken into a pinched face. The suffering there was so strong that Simon felt it seep into his own psyche. Those eyes were dry, but the captain sensed that if he had been capable, James Ellison would be crying. Simon knew without a single doubt that the man before him was broken, beaten and had nothing left to live for in this world.

‘He knows what he has done,’ Banks thought to himself. ‘He knows and hates himself for it. The guilt is written all over him. God, what is going on here?’

He moved further into the cell, seating himself on the bunk opposite the lifeless man. “Jim?”

The only response was the closing of those haunted eyes.

“Jim. Blair is going to be fine, but I need to talk to you about this. I need to understand what happened if I am going to help you.” Simon was not surprised to find that the anger and hatred he had held onto so tightly earlier was gone. Seeing the heartbroken man before him had made him realize that Blair had been right and that it hadn’t been Jim Ellison who had attacked him. He wasn’t sure what it was but something had taken control of Ellison, unleashing the violent tendencies that lay dormant beneath the surface. The tendencies that Jim had fought so hard to control since he had gotten out of the military.

There was still no response from the still figure. “Jim, please. Blair needs you now more than ever. We all need to understand this thing that happened. Talk to me.”

“I tried to kill him, Simon. I tried to kill my best friend.” Misery leaked from every syllable uttered, matching the tears that at that instant began to trace wet paths down the man’s cheeks. Heartbreak was evident in every word. “I don’t know why but I did. How could I have done that, Simon?”

Simon watched as tears leaked out from behind tightly closed eyelids. Silent sobs shook tight shoulders and muscles tensed in an attempt to control the cries.

~*~*~*~

“Did you hear? Ellison is in lock-up. He beat his partner.” Graf told his partner. Walter Graf was a tall man with huge arms and an even bigger chest. His size was one of the things that made him a good beat cop. It also kept him there. He felt that his size gave him the right to intimidate and terrify the people on his beat into submission. He was used to little retaliation. His record was fraught with reprimands and disciplinary actions for his excessive force. The only thing keeping him on the force was his father’s name.

Eric Graf had been a good cop for thirty years before his retirement only three years before. He had been a beat cop and loved every minute of it. His one desire was that his only son should follow in his footsteps. If he had known of his son’s violent nature, he would have done something to stop it. The only reason he didn’t was because he died the year before. Heart attack at age 59. That left his son to fill his shoes now.

Graf’s partner, Kent Parker, a shorter man with thick black hair cropped short against his neck but slightly longer on the top, was speaking, “it’s about time, I say. The little creep had it coming.”

“He’s nobody and yet look at where he was. I mean, tell me this, what did a no-account anthropologist faggot Jewboy have to do to get into the elite of elite cop squads. I mean I have been trying for years to get into Major Crimes. He waltzes in and becomes a senior cop’s partner on the first day. Look at him, he’s no cop. What gives him the right?” Graf fumed, his anger unmistakable. His face was red with fury, his eyes bright with emotion. A smile marked his face but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Walt, watch it. He is still liked up there and if they catch wind of what you are saying, they will do something about it,” Parker hissed, as Captain Taggart stalked past. The man didn’t appear to have heard but Kent didn’t want to take that chance. He knew of Taggart’s reputation and his genuine liking of the police observer.

“What do I care? Let them try,” Graf laughed, wickedly. “Just let them try.”

~*~*~*~

Joel entered the elevator and made his way back up to the seventh floor. The bullpen was busy, almost every member of Major Crimes was there. He was furious. He had overheard a conversation that fueled his own justifiable rage at Ellison.

He had once thought the man to be his friend. A loyal, trustworthy man whom Joel would have trusted with his own life. Now, there was no chance of that. That same loyal man had walked into the office of his best friend and beaten the crap out of a smaller, younger and more defenseless man. A man he had called his best friend. What kind of friendship is that? Did Ellison really hate Sandburg so much that he would do such a thing? Would he turn on his other ‘friends’ next?

That thought frightened Taggart just a little but the worst part was that he really didn’t think that Ellison would do this willingly. He knew that Jim thought too highly of Sandburg to do this, so that meant that there were outside forces at work. That meant that it would be up to his ‘friends’ to help him out and find out what was going on.

Joel took a look around the bullpen, noting all the angry glares directed towards Ellison’s desk. He realized, quickly, that he would get little support here. That would be fine. It might be easier to work on his own, anyway.

The first thing he would look into would be Ellison’s old case files.

~*~*~*~

The dark and silent figure stood hidden by the darkness surrounding him. The red end of his lit cigarette glowed briefly as he took a drag into his lungs. His sunken face drew up in a grin that reflected only death and disease. His face showed nothing but hatred and evil. A look formed that would have terrified even the most stalwart of military men.

He watched the door to the building with a gleam of excited anticipation in his eyes. He waited for a sign that his plans were already deeply entrenched in the lives of the men he sought revenge against. Well, the one man in particular, but this would affect more than one. A ripple effect was what he strived to achieve. His plan called for increased action but he was more than aware of his need to proceed slowly if all were to attain completion.

Finally, the object of his search appeared. The tall man with skin as black as the night itself exited the building moving South. The man in the darkness cursed his misfortune. The black man was not alone. His companion was a tall woman with long blonde hair.

The secretary, the man thought.

The mysterious man grinned with thoughts of what he could do with her. She was interfering with well laid plans so she, too, must be included somehow. He would think on it. Captain Banks had a reprieve, for now. It would not last too long.

~*~*~*~

Rhonda Sheppard kept paced with her Captain. He shortened his long stride, taking into account her own shorter pace. Her expression was grim as she listened as Simon painted an ugly picture of what had been going on over the last few days. She was horrified to learn of the brutal attack on the police observer. She was even more horrified to learn that it had been Jim Ellison himself who had attacked Blair.

Rhonda was fond of the kid. She had developed a warm rapport with the young anthropologist. She’d even entertained thoughts that maybe they might get together, go out on a few dates. She hated what was happening in her department.

She listened as Captain Banks outlined their next course of action. She nodded in agreement, plotting out her own plans to aid in the search for the culprit behind these strange attacks on Major Crimes.

~*~*~*~

The loft was cold as Blair entered. It was also silent, empty and uncomfortable. It was no longer the home it had been. The love he had known here was gone, replaced only by a fear so powerful it threatened to overwhelm him. The betrayal he felt hurt him more than he could ever have imagined. If he’d had any choice at all he would never have returned. He was here for one reason and one reason only. To get out.

He had been released that morning after badgering the doctors into releasing him a day early. He had taken a taxi back, knowing that Jim was still in jail and Simon wouldn’t know about his release until he was long gone. He didn’t have much stuff, a few boxes worth. The heartache would ease he was sure, though he knew that it would never entirely disappear. He would just clear out and he wouldn’t look back. He began throwing things into the boxes without care. His intent was to get out, not spend time packing properly. He moved from bedroom to bathroom to kitchen to livingroom. It was in the livingroom that things finally hit him and hit him hard as he got a good look at the pictures that told the story of his life up until a few days ago.

The friendship between Sentinel and Guide had meant more to Blair than anything else in the world but he could never face Jim knowing what he had done. He couldn’t stand to go back to the bullpen and see the looks of pity. Besides there was nothing for him there. There was nothing for him here.

‘Oh god, it hurts.’ The pain in his heart was like a living thing pervading his entire soul, eating his heart out of his chest, sending more pain into his head. Images flashed before his eyes, all the happy times he remembered but now tainted with the stench of betrayal, turning from something once precious into something horrible.

He saw before him the fishing trip he had gone on with Jim and Simon. The joking and the teasing that had ensued before the noise of automatic weapons had sounded. He knew what had happened after but the pictures in his mind told another story. He felt pain in his chest, burying itself in his heart. He glanced up at Ellison who held a machine gun on him, laughing, Simon there laughing with his detective.

The two of them sitting in the park, sharing their hotdog with a stray was the next memory, but on the bridge instead of the girl, was Blair. Jim wasn’t trying to save him now. He was trying to push the observer off the bridge. He heard himself scream as he fell. He felt the pain as he landed, not dying right away but still conscious, feeling the blood pour from his mortally wounded body, feeling the deep heartache of betrayal once more.

Then the worst memory of all surfaced. Alex and his death in the fountain. He saw her come in to get him, force him out to the fountain. He felt the blow to his head which had stunned him, causing him to fall face first into the water. Then he was lying on the grass, Jim laughing at him with both arms around Alex, her mouth only inches from his own. Blair watched the scene as Jim turned slightly to take those lips with his.

The agony of it all was too much for the young man. He collapsed on the floor, his whole body shaking in his torment. His grief overwhelming, his soulache too much for his weakened spirit to take. Tears ran down his pale face, pooling on the floor beneath his head.

His eyes closed and he drifted into nothing. His own senses shut down, his mind collapsing inside itself until the pain, the despair, the grief was gone and all that remained was an automaton. An automaton who rose and left, leaving behind a memory and a mockery. A shattered soul, a broken heart and a lost guide.

~*~*~*~

Simon entered the hospital, a faint smile on his lips. He'd been unable to get away the day before to visit Sandburg but now he would be able to pick the kid up and take him home. Although there was much healing to do, Simon now had some good news to give Blair to hopefully speed up his recovery.

He paused briefly outside the room 1117 and took a deep breath to calm himself, then pushed the door open. His eyes sought to find the grad student but to his surprise the room was empty. An orderly was making the bed.

"Where's the patient who was in here?" Simon asked with authority.

"You mean Mr. Kent? He left this morning."

"Who's Mr. Kent? I am asking about Blair Sandburg."

"Mr. Sandburg. He left here yesterday afternoon. He was discharged."

Simon swore under his breath and raced from the room. He managed to snag an empty elevator and with no stops he made it to the parking level quickly. The trip to the loft was not so easily done.

An accident on Prospect had him sitting in traffic for nearly an hour before he finally reached the apartment at 852. He parked by the door and ran inside, up the stairs. He knocked loudly on #307 but there was no answer. After the third knock, he pulled out his spare key and entered the dark apartment.

"Sandburg?" he called out but there was no reply. Entering the small second bedroom under the loft, Simon found the evidence that Blair had come back here with the intention of packing and leaving. But only half the things were packed and the rest was strewn about the room haphazardly.

For several long minutes, Simon was stunned into immobility. The sudden rush of comprehension slammed him back to himself, the implications of what this meant stabbed him like a knife. Blair Sandburg, Guide to a Sentinel was gone and there was no way to trace him.

To say that he was terrified to find out how this new development would affect the barely aware Sentinel would have been a gross understatement. He had to find some way to track the observer, bring him back even if only for the other members of Major Crimes. This would be a terrible blow for all of them, not just Ellison.

~*~*~*~

In the semi-darkness of the rundown old house sat the silent figure of a man, hunched over a table which was illuminated by a soft table lamp. On the table were papers, strewn about haphazardly. Every so often the figure would reach for another piece of paper, never looking up or around.

Beside him on the table was a large glass ashtray filled to over flowing with cigarette ashes and butts. A lit cigarette hung from discoloured lips and smoke hung heavy in the air creating a harsh sillouette. To look at him was to see someone who was half dead from all appearances. His face was thin, drawn with lines of anger and hatred. His hair fell in lank strands of dark blonde hair. He wore a faded pair of blue jeans and a dark sweater.

He would write something on the paper, then laugh harshly, before writing again. If anyone was to read those papers, they would have been horrified by the contents, the plans he was making... Plans that would destroy, hurt and eventually kill a certain grad student but not before causing much suffering to that same grad student and his friends.

Chapter 3

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