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When the Wolf Cries -- Part 2
by
KandaceK
9-24-98
Still squinting, trying to get the dial turned down, Jim simply waved a hand, and stepped into the lab. As his eyes finished adjusting, his nostrils flared as a familiar scent assailed him. His knees threatened to turn to rubber, but he fought off the sensation.
Mindful of the security guards, who remained in the doorway, Jim joined Simon in the lab's examination. At first glance, it appeared undisturbed. To someone like Ellison, trained to observe, it quickly became obvious this room had been recently used. Even without enhanced senses the detective noted the slightly mussed sheet on the gurney.
The captain was kneeling beside the lab table, looking at something. Jim quickly joined him. Without him having to ask, Banks pointed to what he'd found.
A syringe wrapper was caught under the wheel. Nodding, the detective glanced around. Spotting what he was looking for, he straightened and strode to the Hazardous Materials containers. He extracted a pair of vinyl gloves from his coat pocket, and pulled them on. Once in place, he carefully pushed open the lid on the sharps container. Peering inside, he spied three spent syringes. His jaw clenched and he had to fight back a sudden wave of nausea when the scent of Blair's blood hit his sensitive nostrils. Shaking his head in an effort to clear it of the sudden odor, Jim filtered out that smell, and turned his attention to the large, red trash can with the yellow hazmat symbol situated just beneath the sharps disposal.
Looking inside this container, he saw a pair of surgical gloves, an empty IV bag, and several cotton balls. Eyeing the swabs, Jim zeroed in on one that had only a tiny speck of blood, and wasn't saturated with alcohol. He retrieved it. With his back to the guards, he cautiously sniffed it. At first all he could smell was Blair. Filtering that out with effort, he sniffed again. This time he detected the scent of another human. His jaw muscle twitched once. It wasn't Alex's.
"Danvers," Ellison said, as the captain joined him, "are the labs cleaned every night?"
"Yes, sir."
"Trash and hazmat are emptied?"
"Yes."
Jim nodded, then looked expectantly at Simon. The captain peered inside the containers in question, then raised his gaze to Jim's.
"Blair?"
Ellison nodded again. "His scent is all over in here. His blood is on those syringes. Besides Alex, I think I smell someone else too. And-the scent is less than two hours old."
Banks frowned, then pulled out his cell phone and called for a forensics team. Meanwhile, Jim scanned the rest of the room. His eyes had just reached the gurney when his gaze caught, and locked on something unusual. Quickly moving to the table, he carefully plucked a single strand of dark hair from where it clung to the edge of the sheet-wrapped mattress. He knew, by the feel alone, that it was Blair's. Smell confirmed it.
He'd just finished placing the hair in an evidence bag when Simon came up beside him.
"Forensics are on their way. What'd you find?"
For answer, Jim held up the plastic bag. Banks accepted it, and looked at the dark, wavy strand.
"Damn. This just keeps getting more interesting." A heavy sigh punctuated the captain's statement.
"Yeah." Ellison agreed softly, staring down at the gurney. Oh, Chief. What must you be going through? What must you think of me now? Do you think I'll save you this time? Do you want me to?
A flash of gray fur appeared in his peripheral vision, and he raised his eyes to meet the blue-gold gaze of the wolf. The animal was standing on its hind legs, while it rested its front paws on the table, looking at him. Finally, it lowered its head and poked its nose into the mattress. With bemused curiosity, Jim followed the wolf's snout to where it met the white sheet.
Simon's voice distracted him. "Jim? You okay?"
The detective nodded. He only glanced at his captain, but it was enough. The wolf was gone. However, almost of their own volition, Sentinel eyes were drawn to peculiar irregularities in the fabric. The same spot the animal had been snuffling. Apparently, he had the answer to his silent question, and he couldn't describe the sense of warm relief that flooded him. He moved even closer to the table, and peered harder. Yes, there they were. Almost invisible, even to enhanced sight, distinct markings had been left on the sheet. On a hunch, Jim removed one of his vinyl gloves, and touched the surface. Turning up the dial, he easily detected the pattern Blair had left for him. But what did it mean?
He looked up at Simon, who was gazing at him questioningly, and a faint smile touched his lips. However, before he could answer that unasked question, the forensics team arrived.
The next twenty minutes were spent directing their search and filling in the campus security guards on what was going on. Rafe and Brown were now present as well. Giving the two latest arrivals some final instructions, Simon left the scene to them and herded Ellison out the door.
Jim followed the captain wordlessly. Simon waited until they were in the car to ask, "So, what was that? What did you find?"
Raising a hand to rub tired eyes, Jim drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Sandburg left me a message."
"A message? Are you sure?"
The detective nodded. "I'm sure."
Banks waited for elaboration. "Well?"
"Hmm?" Jim gave him a distracted look. "Oh. Fish, sir. And what could be a spear."
"What? Fish? Spear? Jim, man, you're not making any sense here."
"Sandburg drew me a picture of a fish, and what was probably meant to be a fishing spear."
"Drew a picture?" The captain's voice was incredulous. "And just how did he do this?"
"He used something sharp, like a needle or something, and scratched a design in the sheet. It was nothing more than snagged threads, really, but..."
"...but enough for you to detect some kind of pattern," Simon finished. "What makes you so sure it was Sandburg and not Alex?"
A slight smile quirked the corner of Jim's mouth. "Several reasons, Simon." Not the least of which is that the wolf showed me. "The markings are barely more than snags in the fabric. If I hadn't been looking for something-different-I probably wouldn't have seen them. It took time to make them, time I don't think Alex would have bothered with, plus she wouldn't know anything about the spear. Last, their position puts them right where Blair's left hand would have been while he lay on that gurney.
"Okay, how do you suppose he would have done this?"
Jim shook his head, his jaw muscle bouncing once. "That, I don't know. Maybe a needle, or even the buckle of his watch. Hell, even a paper clip. I don't know. But he did do it."
Simon pushed his glasses up with one hand and rubbed his own eyes. "So, do you know what it means?"
The other man shrugged and shook his head slightly. "The only thing I can think he's referring to is our fishing trips."
"He probably means the location of a fishing trip, but which one?" the Captain mused. "Somehow, I don't think she took him camping."
Jim snorted. "No, I don't think camping was on her agenda. Maybe a cabin? In the woods?"
Banks pursed his lips, nodding slightly. "Okay, I'll buy that, but where? There're hundreds of acres of forest, we couldn't hope to search all of it, even if we get the sheriff's cooperation."
"She won't have gone far. You said it yourself. She's not done here yet. She wants to gloat. The scent in that room was fairly strong, meaning they couldn't have been gone long. She called me at the station before we left. It took us twenty minutes to get here. The guards were making their sweep about the time of her call, and detected nothing. Unless she took a chopper, she can't be more than fifty miles from here."
Silence descended in the car. After a bit, Simon said, "I'll get Connor and Joel started on a search for cabin locations within a seventy-five mile radius. We'll concentrate on rentals and time-share properties. Anything else they should be looking for?"
"Tell them to go back a couple of months on the rental records."
"You think she's been here for a while?"
Jim nodded. "I think she's at least been in the area a lot longer than two weeks. It doesn't excuse it, but it may explain some of my less than charming behavior toward Sandburg the past few months."
"That sentinel territoriality thing?"
"Yeah," came Jim's soft response. He lost himself in thought for a minute. Shaking the disturbing images out of his mind, he looked at his superior. "Listen, Simon, when we get back to the station, I'll start that search."
"No, you're going to get some sleep, and if I know you, you won't get any if I send you home, so you're coming home with me."
"Simon, I--"
"Jim, when was the last time you got any decent sleep? For that matter, any kind of sleep at all?"
Jim shrugged noncommittally, opening his mouth to protest.
"I thought so. You haven't had more than a few hours sleep at any given stretch since this whole thing began, have you?"
"Simon, I'm--"
"Save it, Jim. You're coming home with me, and that's an order. You can sleep in Daryl's room."
"Simon--"
The captain held up a hand. "Uh-uh."
With a resigned sigh, Jim relaxed into the seat. "Can we at least go by the loft so I can get a change of clothes?"
A satisfied smile graced Simon's lips as he reached out and turned the key in the ignition.
The panther was waiting for him when he reached the clearing. There was something odd about the whole scene. The jungle seemed cooler, not as stifling. Then he realized he wasn't in the Peruvian jungle, but in a forest. There was something else not quite right. The black cat in front of him was lying on its side. It was making no move to get up, just staring at him with its yellow eyes. Finally, it morphed into the reflection of himself, in jungle gear.
He stifled a gasp of horror. The apparition was missing an arm and a leg. The implications of that were not lost on him, though he had no time to process it, as his spirit guide began to question.
"What do you seek?"
He hated these cryptic questions. "I...uh..."
"What do you seek? Revenge?"
"Justice," he answered truthfully.
His reflection inclined his head, gazing calmly back at him. "And what of your Guide?"
He swallowed. "I don't know," he whispered.
The spirit continued to gaze at him, his expression becoming stern. "You accepted the gift and kept it, but you ripped the Guide from your side, his rightful place. You effectively crippled yourself."
He bowed his head now, his shoulders sagging. "I didn't know. I didn't understand."
"Does the Sentinel trust his Guide?"
His eyes returned to the spirit's steady regard. "Yes."
"Will you follow him?"
"Yes."
"Even when he appears to be leading another?"
He cringed slightly, but nodded his head. "Yes."
"Then follow." He looked to where his image was pointing, and saw the gray wolf waiting. He stepped toward the animal, as his own spirit spoke again.
"The Guide without his Sentinel is as crippled. The Guide will always guide others, but he will only truly lead one. Be warned. Sentinel versus sentinel ends in draw. Guided sentinel versus sentinel, prevails."
He thought he understood. If he fully accepted his Guide back into his soul, he could prevail against the enemy sentinel. However, he was just beginning to realize that she wasn't really his enemy. Yes, she was a threat, to him, his Guide, and his city, but she was a sentinel lost without a guide. If circumstances had been different, he might have found himself just as lost. Was she a criminal? Most definitely. Was she a murderer? Again, yes. Whether predisposed to it or driven to it, she would have to be tried for the crimes, but he couldn't condemn her for a primitive instinct such as seeking a guide.
A low rumble drew his attention back. His spirit had morphed once again into the panther. The black cat was now standing, whole. Still shaken by the former image, he gulped, but a small smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. The feline regarded him for a moment longer, then turned its head to look over its shoulder. Following the motion, his eyes fell on the wolf, still waiting. With another faint smile, he set out after the gray animal.
The wolf led him steadily deeper into the woods, until they reached another clearing. In the center stood a large log cabin. With surprise, he recognized it. It was the same cabin the FBI had used as a safe house in their bungled efforts to capture the Russian assassin, Yuri, several months earlier. After that, the feds had pulled all their fancy equipment and sold the property to a rental agency. At least, he thought they had. Turning to thank the wolf, he found the animal grinning at him.
He smiled, nodding in gratitude. "Thanks."
Jim sighed and opened his eyes. He was momentarily startled by the strange surroundings. Memory returned quickly, however. He was in Daryl's room, in Simon's house. Glancing at the streak of sunshine streaming in under the curtain, he judged the time to be around 9:00 AM. A glance at his watch confirmed it.
The Sentinel continued to lie in the strange bed, cataloguing the unfamiliar scents and sounds. When he heard Simon walk down the hall toward the kitchen, he swung his legs out of bed and stood up. After indulging in a thorough stretch, Jim picked up his shave kit and headed into the bathroom across the hall.
Fifteen minutes later, showered, shaved, and dressed, he entered the kitchen to the smell of coffee, eggs, hash browns, and the sound of Simon's voice just finishing a phone conversation.
"Morning, Jim. Hope I didn't make too much racket for you?"
Ellison shook his head. "Morning. Surprisingly, I slept pretty soundly."
"Good, glad to hear it. Have a seat. Eggs'll be ready in a bit. Help yourself to some coffee."
"Thanks." Jim got himself a cup of the hot liquid, then sat down at the table.
A couple minutes later Simon placed a plate in front of his guest. Two glasses of orange juice and another plate followed in quick succession. The police captain sat down behind the second plate and picked up his fork.
"So, you slept pretty good, huh?"
Jim nodded, taking a drink of juice. "Yeah. I'm surprised. I didn't think I'd sleep much, actually."
"Well, you obviously needed it."
The detective smiled slightly.
A few minutes of companionable silence fell, as the two men continued with their breakfast. Simon broke it quietly by saying, "That was Cassie a while ago. The DNA results aren't in yet, but the blood on those syringes had Sandburg's type. They've managed to lift prints from the inside of the surgical gloves. Nothing turned up in our database, so they're now searching the FBI's. Cassie's best guess is the blood found was less than two hours old."
Jim saw his friend watching closely for his reaction, but he simply nodded. "Good," he murmured.
"You're surprisingly mellow this morning, Jim. What do you know that I don't?"
Ellison smiled wryly. He shrugged, but before he could answer, the phone rang.
With an annoyed glare at the device, the captain got up. "Banks. Yeah, Joel, what you got? Where?"
Jim finished up his eggs, studiously ignoring the conversation. His crystal-blue eyes were now sparkling with anticipation. He looked up when Simon returned to his chair.
"You listened?"
With a slight shake of his head, the Sentinel replied, "No, though I gathered Joel and Megan found something?"
"Yeah. Remember that cabin the feds used as a safe house a few months ago?" Jim nodded. "You'll also recall that they sold the property to a rental agency right after that fiasco. Well, one Alexia Barnett, aka Alexis Barnes, has been renting it for about six weeks now."
Ellison nodded again.
"Why do you look like you knew this already?"
"Huh?" Jim pulled his wandering thoughts back. "Oh, I guess I did, in a way. Taggert was only confirming something I learned last night."
"Do you mind elaborating?"
Jim shook his head, a shy smile touching his lips. "I don't think you really want to know, Captain. This is one where Sandburg would be reaching for his notebook."
The dark-skinned man frowned. "You're right, I don't wanna know."
Silence returned, as Jim lost himself in thought. Finally, turning his gaze back to his superior, he found Simon had finished his own breakfast and was looking at him in concern. "Simon, how much leeway are you willing to give me?"
"What do you mean? If you're talking about going in alone, with no backup, you can forget it."
"Simon, when the time comes, I'll have to face her by myself, you know that."
"No, I don't know that. What exactly are you saying?"
Jim sighed, setting down his coffee cup. "Sir, this goes beyond the bounds of ordinary police work. As much as I hate to admit to it, this a sentinel thing. One sentinel against another. But, I won't be totally alone. Blair will be there."
Banks gave him an exasperated snort. "You've said that before. How can you be so sure Sandburg's going to be in any kind of shape to help you?"
The small smile returned to the detective's face. "Physically, he probably isn't in any shape to help me, but he'll be backing me up, nonetheless. In fact, it's imperative that he does." Only he could hear the joyful cry of the gray wolf, and his blue eyes gleamed with a feral light.
"Jim, I know I'm probably going to regret this, but please explain?"
Jim looked at his superior. Nodding slightly, he took a deep breath. He let it out slowly, as he thought how best to describe the barely describable. "It's hard to explain, Simon. It's definitely a sentinel thing, and an aspect I don't acknowledge very often."
"Uh-huh. Go on."
The Sentinel shifted in his chair. Choosing his words with care, he began. "A wolf has been guiding me toward my Guide since we fished him out of that fountain. Fortunately, I was open enough to listen to its call." His captain was staring at him as if he'd completely lost his mind, so he quickly finished. "When I told you I thought Blair might still be alive, the wolf was there--encouraging me. The wolf pointed me toward the snags in the sheet. And just now, when I said it was imperative that Blair help me, the wolf howled its approval." Then there's the vision itself, but we won't go into that.
Banks continued to stare. He seemed on the verge of shouting his disbelief, but then he blinked. Rubbing a cupped hand over his forehead, he sighed. "I knew I was going to regret this. Okay, Jim. You know I don't understand this sentinel thing much, and don't really have any desire to. I know your instincts are usually dead-on when it comes to things like this. Be it phantom wolves or anthropologists, I'll accept your source of information. It's beyond my realm. But I still don't understand how Sandburg's going to be able to help you."
"I don't quite understand it all myself, sir. What I do know, is that Blair will be here," Jim tapped his temple with a finger, "in my head, somehow. It's the only way I'll be able to defeat her."
"You sound like this is going to be a battle royale. Why does it have to go that far? Why not just surround her, cuff her, and bring her in like any other criminal?"
"I'll have to take her into custody, but first she has to be neutralized." His thoughts wandering back to his vision, he murmured distractedly, "Sentinel versus sentinel, ends in draw. Guided sentinel versus sentinel, prevails."
"What does that mean?" Simon demanded.
Ellison mentally shook himself and brought his attention back to his superior. A faint quirk touched his lips. "It means that if I don't confront her with my Guide, it'll never end, for me or my tribe."
Simon didn't say anything. What could he say? He simply stared at the other man for a long moment. Finally, he blinked, and rubbed a hand over his forehead.
"All right, Jim. How do you want to handle this?" The captain sounded resigned.
Ellison chewed on the inside of his cheek while his brain ran through possibilities. "I'm going to make some calculated assumptions from what little I know of Alex. My hearing range is about half a mile, farther with Sandburg. I'm going to assume hers is about the same." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "We can bring in teams to just outside the half-mile mark. If I use a white-noise generator, I should be able to approach the cabin unnoticed."
"But Jim, you'll be as deaf as she will be, if you use that."
Jim nodded slightly. "Almost, but since Brackett, Blair and I have been practicing. I'm able to identify the null area created by the field. I can't hear through it, but I can hear around it. And since I'll already know where the field is, I'll be able to compensate with my other senses."
Simon frowned in concern. "I don't like it, but it's probably our only hope of getting close to her on our terms, with an element of surprise."
"We, sir?"
"In case you've forgotten, I said you weren't going after her alone. I'm going in with you." The dark-skinned man held up a hand to forestall the protest. "Our people will stay the half mile away, as you suggested. Until you actually get inside, you'll need someone to watch your back, and unless you've suddenly decided to bring Connor in on your little secret, that means me."
"Simon, I won't..."
"Normally, no, you wouldn't, but this isn't a normal situation. I'm not willing to risk you zoning, and despite what went down before, I don't think Sandburg would be too pleased with me if I let you do it. There's another reason. Instead of chancing things on a prearranged time for backup to come in, I can call them in when I think it's necessary. Is that acceptable?"
Jim gave his superior his most sheepish smile, and nodded.
"Good. Now, let's get this stuff cleaned up and get to the station. We have people to brief and things to set in motion."
It was just past two-thirty in the afternoon when a silver Chrysler sedan turned slowly onto a weed-covered lane. It stopped at a signal from the passenger, barely ten feet from the turn off.
Banks looked at his detective, who nodded. Tightening his full lips, Simon picked up the radio mike. "All right people. Just like we discussed. Sit tight and quiet, until I give you the signal to move in."
They waited as the other pairs checked in with confirmation of their positions and instructions. An additional half-mile away, a SWAT team stood by.
"Jim, you okay?" Simon inquired, as he returned the mike to its holder.
The blue-eyed man nodded once, his gaze on the indistinct cabin. "Yeah."
"What do you see?"
"It's clear on this side. No sign of guards or any other look outs." Jim turned his head toward him. "Simon, I need to tell you something."
He arched a questioning eyebrow.
Jim took a deep breath. "I just want to forewarn you. When we step out of this car, I'll no longer be Jim Ellison, cop. I'll be Enqueri--the Sentinel."
Simon studied his friend and best detective for a long moment. The man he saw sitting next to him was someone he'd never expected to meet. Somehow, the picture of a careworn and lost-looking soldier didn't quite reconcile itself with the cool, confident, physical presence of that same soldier in a full set of army fatigues. Banks wasn't easily intimidated or put off stride, but he found himself staring at the insignia patches on the sleeve with a new level of respect. Special Forces, Ranger, Airborne, the arrowhead, they were all there. The reminder of what Jim used to be, coupled with the sense of how easily he'd slipped back into the role of operative, told Simon just how seriously his man was taking this "mission". He looked up to meet crystal-blue eyes. He saw wry understanding reflected back at him. "Inquiri?"
A faint smile. "Enqueri, sir. My Chopec name. I was their sentinel."
"I remember now. What you're saying is that Jim Ellison and the Sentinel are two different people?"
"At times they seem to be," Jim answered, turning his head away. "Most of the time I'm a cop who uses a gift, but sometimes...it can work the other way too. Sometimes it's better to let the Sentinel have control, and follow his instincts. Now, is one of those times."
"If you say so."
The smile returned. "Just trust me, Simon, and stay close until we get inside. You'll understand-and if you don't, Blair can explain--when this is over."
Simon continued to gaze at him. He knew this man had abundant skills. He'd counted on those skills any number of times. If it weren't for Ellison and his unique background, senses as well as military training, he and his son wouldn't have made it out of Peru alive. He nodded.
Jim returned the gesture, and reached for the door handle. He stepped lithely from the car.
The two large men moved to the front of the vehicle. Simon immediately noticed the change. Jim's concentration seemed to intensify, his sharp eyes continually scanning, while his nostrils flared slightly. Apparently satisfied with the situation, Jim made a small jerk with his head, and started off into the underbrush. He followed closely, trying to move as silently as the ex-Ranger in front of him.
They'd only gone a few yards when Ellison stopped, then froze. The man was so still, Simon worried that he'd zoned, but just as he was about to say something, Jim held up a cautionary finger. Relaxing, he waited. A moment later, Jim slowly eased his way back the way they'd come, gently pushing him back as well. When they were apparently at a safe distance, Jim stopped again, and pulled out a small metallic device. Banks realized it was one of Blair's white noise generators. The Sentinel flipped the switch. Simon saw him flinch. Jim handed him the device, then with a signal to remain silent, they were moving in the direction of the cabin once more.
From tree to tree, bush to bush, they advanced stealthily. Simon found himself splitting his attention between watching Ellison's silent, catlike stalking, and simply keeping up.
Ten minutes later, their advance ceased. They'd reached the edge of the clearing. Looking back at Jim, Simon recognized the subtle signs of the detective using his heightened senses, and he prepared to guard against a zone out if necessary.
The Sentinel scanned the dwelling. He caught movement and zoomed in a little farther. His jaw muscles bunched as he recognized Alex moving around inside. She was pacing. He had been careful to bring them in downwind, and now he sniffed the air. Yes, there it was. His Guide was there, along with Alex. He frowned. The scent of another reached his sensitive nose. Sampling the air again, he analyzed the unfamiliar smell. After a moment, he recognized it. It was the scent of the person who had handled the syringes back at the University. He had originally intended to leave Simon here, but that was no longer an option. Normally, the former Ranger wouldn't have thought twice about dealing with two adversaries, but when one of those adversaries was a sentinel, he figured he'd need the backup.
Jim turned his attention back to the woman pacing in the front room. She was on a cell phone. Concentrating, he filtered out the white noise behind him, and extended his hearing. What he heard torqued his jaw up one more notch.
"...Good. Yeah, one at the University and one at Cascade Central Park. Good. Seven-thirty. Rainier has that Jazz on the Green tonight. Last for the season. And the park has that Fall Festival. It'll be perfect. No, I have that cop to take care of first. I still need the punk for a little while, so he's coming with. I'll dispose of him later. All right. Bye."
