© December 2001 by Charlotte Frost
Blair slammed the pickup door shut and came around to join Jim as they headed to the outdoor arena. They had taken some wrong turns, but they’d finally found Rainier’s livestock farm, which was where the Rainier polo team’s horses were stabled. Thankfully, Jim hadn’t gotten too upset at Blair’s faulty directions, because they were both still on a high from the Poulson arrest. The man had confessed to the frat murders. Rather than being gay bashing, he was claiming temporary insanity because he was in love with one of the murdered students, and couldn’t bear the thought of the object of his affections having sex with anyone other than himself.
“That’s gotta be Tommy,” Blair said as a bay horse in the arena with a tall rider cantered by. In fact, as they approached, he saw that there were actually two riders, the other on a gray, and both had mallets, which periodically swung at a ball on the ground. On the opposite side of the arena was a group of onlookers who shouted encouragement with each hit.
Blair glanced at Jim. “You know anything about polo?”
Jim shook his head. “I think my father actually played a little when he was young. But I never paid any attention to it.”
“I know the point is to hit the ball and score a goal,” Blair said, “but that’s about it.” They were close enough now that Blair waved his hand in the air. “Hey, Tommy!”
Tommy pulled his horse up and turned to face Jim and Blair as they came up to the fence. “Hey, you guys made it,” Tommy said.
Blair glanced at the horse, whose neck was foamy with sweat. “This must be Legend.”
“Yep. I’m putting him through some moves with one of my teammates.” Tommy glanced over his shoulder to the opposite side of the arena. “That’s some relatives and friends. We’re having a family picnic later on.”
Blair said, “Uh, Jim and I don’t actually know much about polo. So, what exactly are you doing here?”
“Just practicing. Getting the horses accustomed to following the ball and taking sharp turns, and having the mallets swinging around them on either side. Watch and you’ll see.”
Blair nodded and Tommy turned away. Blair noticed the reins Tommy was using. He nudged his partner. “That bridle has two sets of reins. Can you imagine trying to keep track of four reins and using a mallet to hit a ball?”
“I can,” Jim said.
Blair looked at him in disbelief and Jim explained, “I had riding lessons when I was a kid. You know, English, not western. I can remember using a double bridle. It didn’t seem that hard.”
Blair grinned, shaking his head. “Man, even as a kid, it’s hard imaging you as part of the genteel horsie set.”
“It was fun actually,” Jim said. “But as I got older, I got more interested in contact sports. I wanted to do the roughhousing – not be dependent upon the horse to do it for me.”
“Helpless animals.” Blair recalled Jim’s words about racehorses.
Jim gestured to the two horses that were twisting and turning around the small white ball, as their riders swung their mallets, trying to hit it. “Do you think it’s natural for horses to do that? Do you think this makes any sense to them?”
As he had been at the track a few years ago, Blair was surprised at how strong Jim’s feelings were. He glanced from the horses to Jim. “Does it bother you to watch this? Do you think they’re being cruelly treated?”
“No, I wouldn’t go that far,” Jim relented.
A cry went up from Tommy’s family as he hit the ball down the center of the arena, and both horses went galloping after it.
Jim continued, “It’s not for me to judge, Chief.”
Blair watched as both horses spun around at the end of the arena, the other rider now taking a whack at the ball, but it only went a few feet before Tommy intercepted by hitting it back. Another cheer went up. “I think it’s cool!” Blair said, needing to be honest in the wake of Jim’s concern. “These horses are amazing athletes. What would be the point of just leaving them out at pasture? They wouldn’t be serving any purpose.” He studied the equipment on Legend’s body and nudged Jim. “At least they’ve got all sorts of protective stuff on their legs and feet to keep them from getting banged up.”
Blair watched with enjoyment. After a few minutes, he became aware that Jim had gotten very still. He glanced up and forgot about the horses. Jim was staring at the crowd on the opposite side. Softly, Blair asked, “What is it?”
Still staring, Jim said, “We need to go over there. There’s a woman wearing a yellow sweater that looks like it’s the same design as the red one we found. Could be the same fiber, too.”
Blair’s heart beat with excitement. “Okay.” He grabbed Jim’s wrist for a second to pull him out of his stare. Then, with pride, “Good job.”
“Pure luck,” Jim said. “I just happened to look over there and my sight caught the yellow – and zoomed right in to the fiber.”
“You’re awesome, man,” Blair beamed. As they made their way toward the large group, hands stuffed casually in their pockets, he said, “Okay, how do you want to play this? We need to talk to her without making her suspicious. I mean, if this group is all Tommy’s family, they’re probably going to protect him. Or her, if she was the sweater-wearer involved with the murder.”
“I have an idea,” Jim said, and he quickened his walk until he was near the woman. Blair had just caught up to him, noting that the group looked to be of Hispanic heritage, when Jim bashfully said, “Uh, ma’am, excuse me, but I would like to ask you about that pretty sweater your wearing.”
She turned to Jim. She looked thirtyish and not anything like a criminal. She shielded her eyes against the sun.
“I’m looking for a gift,” Jim went on with an easy smile. “My sister needs a sweater, and she’s real particular, and I thought the one you’re wearing might be just what she needs.”
The woman relaxed and looked down at herself. “Oh, yeah, these sweaters are great! They’re really comfortable and they last a long time. They would make a great gift.”
“Do you mind if I look at the tag? My sister is particular about the material.”
“Sure.” The woman began removing the sweater. “I bought it out of a catalog. I’m afraid I can’t recall the name right off hand.”
Blair noticed that the other family members were glancing at Jim and the woman with expressions ranging from annoyance at the interruption to amusement at their family member being the center of such attention. Most cheered when Tommy hit the ball once again.
Jim had the sweater in hand and looked at the tag. His fingertips rubbed at the material. “Yep, this is the real thing,” he said, and Blair knew it was for his benefit. The yellow sweater was exactly like the red one they had found. “Only thing is,” Jim smiled at the woman as he handed it back, “my sister favors red. I wonder if they make them in that color.”
The woman’s face lit up, and Blair knew there was no way she had any connection to Alan Carter’s murder. “Yes, they do,” she replied. “In fact, I used to have one. I lost it somehow, and I loved it so much that I looked for it for days before I finally gave up and ordered another.” She slipped the sweater back around her body. “I decided on yellow this time.”
A mustached man standing next to the woman was darting his eyes about nervously. He was shorter than Blair, with a leanly muscled build. His eyes hardened as they settled on Jim, who continued to talk with the woman.
“It’s too bad you can’t remember where you got it,” Jim continued in his friendliest manner.
Blair turned away, stuffing his hands in his pockets and gazing at the ground, shuffling his feet as though he was bored. Under his breath, he said, “Jim, the short man to her right is getting very nervous. Like he knows what you’re up to. We need to draw him out.”
Just then, the short man said to Jim, “Hey. She says she doesn’t remember where she bought that sweater. So get lost.”
The woman turned to him. “Freddie,” she scolded tersely, then looked back at Jim with an apologetic expression.
Blair made a decision and suddenly stepped closer to the talking trio. “Hey, if you’d like your own red sweater back, I think I know where it is. We happened to come across it at Grayson Farm.” He pulled his badge out. “I’m Detective Blair Sandburg with the Cascade Police Department and,” he gestured to Jim, “this is Detective Jim Ellison. We have your red sweater,” he said to the woman, “in evidence for the murder of Alan Carter.” He turned abruptly to the short man and looked him in the eyes. “Would you happen to know anything about that, Freddie, my man?”
Everyone had fallen silent around them, and Freddie’s eyes widened in alarm.
“Freddie?” the woman asked in confusion. Then, gasping with a hand to her mouth, “Oh, please, don’t tell me you – ” She turned away, shaking her head.
“Freddie,” Blair said, gentle now, “how about coming down to the station with us and answering some questions.”
“What’s going on?” Tommy asked from where he pulled Legend to a halt next to the fence.
Jim said, “We need to question this man Freddie here about the murder of Alan Carter.”
Tommy’s mouth dropped open and he looked at Freddie. “Oh, God, you didn’t.”
Freddie jerked with his head and spit in Tommy’s direction, causing everyone else to back away with murmurs of disbelief. He shouted, “What do you know about it, Tommy? Your father married a white bitch and you grew up with a silver spoon in your mouth.” He nodded toward Legend. “You don’t know what it’s like to struggle to keep your wife and children from having empty bellies.”
Blair asked, “Freddie, did you kill Alan Carter?”
Freddie jerked his head back to Blair, his eyes blazing. “No, I swear! It was that bitch! That bitch! Melinda, that bitch! She pulled the trigger!” His harsh demeanor faded. “I swear, man,” he looked from Blair to his family members, “I didn’t do it. I’m not into murder, man. That bitch Melinda shot him. The gun went off and she shot him. We were too scared to tell anybody. If I told on her, I knew I didn’t have a chance in a white police department. She’d say it was me, and everyone would believe her because she’s white and acts like a goody-two shoes with the farm. But she was the greedy one in this. I was just supposed to get a cut for helping set up the connection.”
“What connection?” Blair demanded, not wanting to do anything to disrupt the flow of information.
“Grayson Farm. I work with the contractor that does maintenance work there. The supervisor and I were talking about how the polo ponies there live better than we do. One thing led to another, and I was telling him how Tommy said there was this ex-racehorse with great polo potential. He got an idea to pretend to be an agent and sell Legend to Grayson Farm, without Mr. Grayson ever knowing where he actually came from. I don’t even know for how much. I just know I was supposed to get a couple of grand for helping Melinda secretly get him off the farm – I think Jenkins figured he couldn’t pull it off without her help – and to his place, where I guess he had room for a horse."
Jim was now standing next to Blair. “What’s the supervisor’s name?”
“Sam Jenkins. But he really didn’t have anything to do with it. He wasn’t going to be involved until Legend was actually at his place. But that never happened, because when Melinda and I were going to get Legend into the horse trailer, Alan Carter appeared and wondered what we were doing. Melinda thought all the help had gone home, but Carter had stuck around late. Melinda told him to go home. He probably would have, but when he asked another innocent question or two, Melinda pulled out a gun. I was stunned, because I didn’t even know she had a weapon. It was supposed to be such an easy job. The next thing I know, the gun has gone off and Alan fell down. Melinda was in shock, but when she saw Carter on the ground groaning, she went up to him and shot him again – deliberately. I high-tailed it out of there, and I haven’t been back.”
“What about the red sweater?” Blair asked.
Freddie looked at the yellow-sweatered woman. Apologetically, he said, “I grabbed it because it was right there on the sofa, when I was going to Melinda’s farm that night. When I got to Highway 6 after the shooting, I picked up a ride and had them drop me off a mile away from Grayson’s. I didn’t want anyone to see me sneaking in, but I was supposed to meet Jenkins there to let him know Melinda and I had the trailer a few blocks away. But, instead, I had to tell him something bad had happened, and I wanted nothing more to do with it. I quit my job right then, so he couldn’t ask me questions. Anyway, when I was sneaking around Grayson Farms, the sweater got caught in some brambles. I was so freaked, I just wrestled my way out of it and left it there.” He shook his head, looking up at Tommy. “That Melinda is a cold bitch. I can’t imagine shooting a man in cold blood like that, but that’s what she did to that Carter person, after she’d shot him accidentally the first time. I still have nightmares.”
Tommy released a heavy sigh. “That’s so hard to believe.”
Jim pulled out his cuffs. “What’s your full name, Freddie?”
“Freddie Ruiz.”
“Freddie Ruiz, you’re under arrest. Please put your hands on your head.”
Freddie did as he was told and Jim began searching him and reading him his rights.
Once Freddie was restrained, Blair looked up at Tommy. “I’m sorry, man.” He nodded at Freddie. “What’s his relation to you?”
“He’s my cousin,” Tommy said sadly, and turned Legend toward the arena’s gate.
Henri and Rafe were the ones sent to arrest Melinda. In the meantime, Sam Jenkins was picked up for questioning, and Freddie was questioned further. Jenkins readily accepted a plea bargain, and confessed that he and Melinda had planned to sell Legend to Grayson Farm for $50,000. They had intended to make up bogus references and claim Legend was an experienced horse from Argentina. They hoped Legend would be talented enough to pull off the deception that he had some professional matches behind him. They would pay Freddie two grand for his assistance, and pay another three thousand to the retirement farm as a “donation”, and draw up paperwork to indicate Legend had been adopted out to a family that took him out of state. Then Jenkins and Melinda would split the remaining $45,000. As Jenkins explained it, they had agreed that if the Legend deal went well, they’d consider doing it with other horses.
In the questioning room, Blair watched from where he sat across from Melinda, who looked calm.
Jim shook his head back and forth in disgust. “We really fell for it, you know,” he said as he paced. “We thought you really cared about those animals. All that effort you put in to promoting the farm. But it was just a scam, wasn’t it?”
Melinda had waived her right to an attorney. Coolly, she said, “You obviously haven’t read your own reports. As you’ve told me, Jenkins himself admits to the idea being his and Freddie Ruiz’s. Yes, I went along with the idea of pocketing about twenty grand for myself – I have bills to pay, too – but my momentary greed hardly erased all the work I’ve done to give ex-racehorses a second life.”
Blair couldn’t stay quiet, but he did manage to stay calm. “Tell that to Alan Carter’s family.”
She shook her head. “His death – it was a horrible thing. Freddie Ruiz got scared and up and shot him. I know I should have called the police right away, but I was too afraid of how it would look. And Freddie had run away like the coward that he is.” She tossed back her hair, scoffing, “I never wanted anyone in on it, except me and Jenkins. But he insisted that Ruiz had to be involved, because he and Freddie had come up with the idea together.”
Jim snorted. “And despite Freddie's being one-half of the master plan, you and Jenkins were going to pay him a measly two grand, while you each took more than ten times that.”
Because they’re white and he’s Hispanic, Blair thought. Maybe Freddie had a point that he never would have had a chance at anyone believing his word over Melinda’s, if he had reported it right away. He shifted uncomfortably. Is our modern, enlightened society still that racially prejudiced?
“Tell me, Melinda,” Jim said, his voice still dripping disgust, “just why did you have that gun on you, anyway? All you and Freddie were supposed to do was put Legend in the trailer and deliver him to Jenkins. Why did you think you might need a gun?”
“Freddie is the one who had the gun,” Melinda said.
Jim folded his arms and stood over her. “You know what? Despite you being well-practiced at being a liar, I can hear your heart slamming against your chest from here.”
Blair looked at Jim in surprise, then withheld the grin he was feeling. Good move.
“You know what I think?” Jim went on. “I think you had the gun because it bothered you greatly that you were going to have to give up a lousy one thousand dollars of your half and pay Freddie Ruiz. So, since I’m sure you were perfectly capable of delivering the horse by yourself, you planned to murder Freddie, hide the body, and tell Jenkins he never showed up.”
“If I were going to hide the body,” she said, “why didn’t I do that with Carter? You’re fishing, Detective. Face the truth: no matter what you may think of me or my motives, you don’t have any proof.”
“On the contrary,” Blair said. “We have an eyewitness to the murder itself.”
“The coldest of cold-blooded murders,” Jim reminded.
“Ruiz?” Melinda asked in disbelief. “How can you believe him over me? All you’d have to do is slip him a twenty, and he’d tell you anything you want to hear.”
“How would you know that,” Blair challenged, “if you’d never met Ruiz before that night? You’re the one who’s fishing here, Melinda.”
“So, Melinda,” Jim said, “when you have your arraignment in a few days, who’s going to post your bail? It’s kind of hard to imagine a barracuda like you having any friends.”
“Lacking friends isn’t proof of murder.”
“Perhaps not,” Jim relented. Then he leaned on the table, a few feet from her. “But we can prove your word can’t be trusted. You did not give full disclosure about your intentions regarding Legend’s Lair in the listing you faxed to us. More importantly, despite claiming you notice people’s clothing, you lied to us when we showed you a picture of the red sweater and asked if you’d ever seen anyone wearing it. Freddie Ruiz was wearing it when you killed Alan Carter.”
Melinda blinked and seemed lost for words. Then she quickly recovered and reminded, “According to him.”
Blair said, “And according to his live-in girlfriend, who has stated that the sweater was hers, and she couldn’t find it the next morning.”
“Face it, Melinda,” Jim leaned closer to her. “You’re fried. Literally, if a jury finds you guilty of murder in the first degree. Cooperating with us can only work in your best interest.”
She looked at Jim, and Blair thought her expression changed just a bit, as though a hint of pleading had set in. To press her, Blair said, “Now I can hear your heart pounding, Melinda.” He let that sink in, but her gaze remained fixed with Jim’s. “You know what the right thing is to do here. For once, think about helping your fellow human beings, instead of just the horses.”
Her hands clasped as she abruptly turned her head to stare at the table top. “I-I’m used to fending for myself. I have a hard time with admitting to weakness. That night, when the gun went off, I –I was just so scared.”
Blair released a breath and looked up at Jim, who turned away, so that now Blair could take over with the gentle probing for additional facts. Blair gave himself a moment to slip into character, which he found a little difficult this time around. Despite her upcoming confession, he felt a complete lack of compassion.
With the aroma from Blair’s homemade chili pleasantly filling his nostrils, Jim had his back to the kitchen as he placed silverware on the table. Just as he released a spoon at Blair’s place, he watched his own hand as it pulled back to find a knife –for the rolls – from the pieces he held in his other hand. He took the knife and placed it next to the spoon, puzzled at his own fascination. He straightened, staring down at the spoon and knife atop the paper napkin. He moved to his own spot at the head of the table and placed the other spoon and knife there, unable to shake the feeling that had come over him.
Something was… different. But what?
Jim glanced out at the balcony. The evening sun was shining through the open windows, allowing sharp rays of light to pattern the living room. He opened up his hearing and moved his gaze slowly about the loft, trying to understand what had grabbed his attention. Behind him, he was aware of Blair opening the oven, so that the smell of the rolls became more pronounced. Finding nothing around him, he glanced up at the bedroom. That was where he and Blair… did things. At night. With the lights dimmed. A whole other sensual world, was their bedroom.
Jim slowly turned around so that he was facing the table again. This was where they ate.
The kitchen, where Blair was stirring the chili, was where they prepared food. It was also where they stored food and supplies and dishes.
The living room was where they watched TV, read, did email, and generally hung out.
The balcony was where they went to get fresh air and enjoy the view and sometimes just hang out.
Blair’s old room was where he still kept his clothes, and where they both now tended to toss things that didn’t belong elsewhere.
The bathroom was where they attended to bodily related functions and cleansing.
They. They were a they.
“Jim, what is it?”
Jim looked at Blair, who was regarding him worriedly from where he stood over the chili, his hair pulled back.
“You have a really odd look on your face, man. What’s up?”
Since he wasn’t sure what to say, Jim said the first thing that came to mind. “I belong here.”
Blair narrowed his eyes. “Yes, Jim. You belong here. This is your loft, where you and I live. Your name is even on the mortgage.”
“No,” Jim quickly shook his head, wishing communication wasn’t so dependent upon words. “I’m not talking about the loft. I belong here. I belong… in this life.” He plopped down in Blair’s chair, nearest the kitchen, abandoning the remaining silverware.
Blair reached to shut off the burner. He turned to Jim. “What’s going on, man?” His voice was full of concern.
Jim held out his hands to take Blair by the waist as his partner straddled his lap, facing him.
Blair stroked his cheek. Gently, he said, “Of course, you belong in this life. You were born into it.”
Jim shook his head, memories competing for residence in his mind. “No. It was never of course.”
“Then tell me, Jim. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
He wished Blair didn’t get worried so easily. His hands circled around Blair to rest at his back. He looked into the blue eyes opposite his own. “When I was four or five, there was a neighbor boy whose cat had had kittens. When they were just a few hours old, he had me come over to see them. He told me, ‘There were six, but my mother killed one, because it was a mistake.’ His mother appeared and she very gently explained that the sixth one had been born with its mouth locked closed or something, so it wouldn’t be able to nurse and would have died of starvation. So, she killed it.” Jim no longer saw Blair’s eyes, because he was back in his neighbor’s house, over thirty years ago. “I remember her saying, ‘Sometimes, nature makes a mistake. You have to get rid of those ‘freaks of nature’, so that the normal ones have a better chance of survival.”
Jim looked into Blair’s anxious face again. “A few years later, shortly before my mother left us, she told me where babies come from. She also told me that I was born differently.”
“Caesarian,” Blair put in, as though Jim needed reminding.
“Yeah. She was explaining that because of complications, she or I could have died – or both of us – and they had to cut into her and take me from her. She kept stressing to me how joyous it was that I was born healthy and she was going to be all right. How happy she had been. How happy the doctors and nurses had been. How happy our father had been. Anyway, about that time, I was starting to realize that I wasn’t normal, because of my senses. And, of course, that feeling kept intensifying up until the time of Bud’s death, when I started repressing my senses. So,” he looked at Blair, amazed that he hadn’t remembered any of this until now, “I explained it to myself with the C-section.”
Blair’s eyes squinted. “I don’t follow.”
“I was a freak of nature,” Jim said, acknowledging the ancient pain, but not feeling it. “A mistake. If I had been born normally, I thought I would have been killed by – somebody. The doctors or nurses, I guess. Maybe even my parents. Because I somehow thought they would be able to see from the moment I was born that I was one of nature’s mistakes. But because there was all the trauma of having to do the C-section, it was a celebration that I was born alive. So, the doctors and nurses and my parents were willing to overlook that I was a mistake. I thought that’s why I was allowed to live.”
Blair gripped Jim’s shirt and rested his forehead against his chest. When he pulled back, his eyes were full of pain. “Oh God, Jim.”
Jim shook his head, wishing he could plant what he was really feeling into Blair. “Blair, honey, don’t take all this on.” He ran his finger down Blair’s cheek. “It doesn’t hurt any more. Even now, I don’t feel it anymore – that feeling that I don’t belong.”
Blair demanded, “What the hell were you thinking just now that brought all these memories back?”
Jim grinned, even though he was sorry he was getting Blair so upset and confused. “I wasn’t thinking about anything. It just suddenly occurred to me that something was different.” He patted the small of Blair’s back. “But it had nothing to do with anything on the outside. It was just me. Inside. I’ve always had this feeling that I’ve had to-to prove that…,” he searched for the right phrase.
“That you had a right to life?” Blair suggested.
Jim nodded eagerly. “Yeah.” He’d known Blair would figure this out and explain it to him. His brilliant professor. “But that feeling isn’t there anymore. I was just noticing that it’s… gone.” He nodded, affirming his new state of being to himself. “I know I belong here. That it’s okay that I was ever born.”
“Yes, Jim. It’s okay that you were ever born.” The sadness had left Blair’s voice and his confidence was back. “Listen to me. This is important. I’ve had discussing death preparations on my mental list of things you and I need to talk about. But, for now, you need to understand something.”
Jim almost felt he wanted to turn away from the eyes that gazed into his so determinedly.
Blair said, “Your worth is not tied to your senses. Nor is it tied to the fact that I love you. Your worth is tied to the fact that you were born in the first place. You have a right to life, Jim. That’s granted to every human being from the moment they are born, if not at conception. I don’t believe that nature makes mistakes.” His hands yanked where he gripped Jim’s shirt, as though to make certain he had his attention. “If I get killed, or die somehow, my current theory is that your senses will become dormant. If they don’t, it’ll mean there’s somebody else out there to help you with them, and your path will cross with that person – as long as you’re open to it and don’t fight it – so you can join up. But if your senses go dormant, it won’t mean that you are of no use to society. It’ll just mean the time for you to protect the tribe has passed. And you’ll find other ways to be useful to society. You won’t owe the tribe anything, because you no longer have your senses, and so it would be ridiculous for you to feel guilty about it. It’ll just mean that the cosmic forces have released you from the responsibilities of your gift. Do. You. Understand?”
Jim had to smile at Blair’s seriousness. “Yes. That’s what I was trying to say – and not doing a very good job of it. But I know now that I belong.” He shrugged and decided to fish. “I don’t know why that other feeling that I had to prove myself has taken a hike.”
Blair tilted his head thoughtfully, studying Jim’s face. After a long moment, he said, “You know what I think it could be?”
Jim restrained a laugh at how easy Blair was. “No. That’s why I brought it up, Darwin. I count on you to know everything, you know.”
Blair slapped Jim’s forehead with the backs of his fingers. “Wise ass.” Then he wriggled to get more comfortable, his arms loosely around Jim’s neck. “I think, that for the very first time in your life, you love yourself.”
Jim’s gaze shifted away while he considered that. It seemed too easy. After all, he’d always had a strong instinct for self-preservation. Didn’t that count as self-love? Carolyn had told him he was exceedingly selfish. Did that count?
“You know your own worth,” Blair said.
Ah, that made a little more sense. It seemed not quite the same as self-preservation and sounded more profound. And it was, perhaps, something he had only recently discovered about himself. “Maybe you’re right,” he relented.
Blair smiled.
Jim smiled back. His fingertips rubbed at the small of Blair’s back. “You know what I want to do?”
“What?”
“When we go upstairs tonight, I want to forget about dials. They’re all artificial, anyway.”
Blair shrugged. “Yeah, if you mean artificial in that they’re only useful in terms of the relativity of one number to another. A three is low on a scale of one to ten, but it’s not bad on a scale of one to five. And you can’t really know what any one of the numbers means, without knowing what any of the others mean.”
“Right,” Jim said, pleased that he understood what Blair had said just now. “When you first asked me, that time on the floor, where my cock was at on a scale of one to ten, I said point-five because you had brainwashed me into believing it should be low.”
“It wasn’t brain-washing,” Blair protested. “It’s what you thought it was, compared to what you thought a ten could be.”
If they started arguing logic, Jim knew he was going to lose. Softly, he enticed, “When we go up tonight, I want to forget all about dials and open up my sense of touch, all over my body, as far as it can go, and still retain my sanity. Maybe even lose my sanity a bit. There’s nothing to fear, right?”
Blair smiled lovingly, shaking his head. “No, there’s nothing to fear. Every input you get from your senses is perfectly natural. If you weren’t supposed to dial up that high, you wouldn’t be able to.”
“So,” Jim said, “is that all right with you, Mr. Boss Professor?”
“Yes.” Blair quickly kissed Jim’s lips, then hopped off his lap. “We’ve got to eat a good dinner, so we have the energy for an all-nighter.” He turned the stove back on.
Jim headed to the bathroom to relieve his bladder. They’d done all-nighters before, or nearly so. Blair was tremendous fun. He had been fun when Jim worked him over night after night; but Blair was even more fun now that he had taken charge of their bedroom activities. He worked Jim over, but then wasn’t the least bit shy about demanding that himself be worked over. He also wasn’t hung up on equality. Sometimes he would spend a long time pleasuring Jim and learning new ways to do so, which meant asking Jim lots of questions, and then just needed a quick hand or mouth job to satisfy him enough to go to sleep. Other times, Blair’s only concern was demanding that Jim pleasure him – the way only a sentinel could – and he was usually explicit about how Jim was to do it. Jim loved knowing that what he did for Blair was exactly what Blair wanted.
As he relieved himself, Jim considered how odd it was that he had turned into something of a well-oiled sex machine. Odder still, the thought didn’t bother him. He used to look down on other men who treated sex as the top priority of their lives, because Jim himself couldn’t relate, and he thought it spoke of simplistic minds and immoral ethics, albeit harmless. Jim couldn’t figure out if sex was a top priority in his and Blair’s lives. Except for unusual circumstances that might prevent it any given evening, it was simply what they did when they went up to bed. There was very little overlap into other areas of their lives.
He shook himself dry, realizing that he still maintained his adolescent determination to stay dialed down, so that he didn’t respond, even to the smallest degree, to the touch of his own hand. The difference was that now he dialed up readily on command. From Blair.
Yeah, I’m a tool. Not just his sentinel tool. But his fucking sex tool. Literally.
“Come and get it,” Blair called in a slightly elevated voice.
Jim ran his hands under the faucet, wondering what would happen if he caught Blair off guard some evening, and took back the dominant role in their bed. A pissed off Blair might be lots of fun.
Or maybe not.
“Jim, get in here. Dinner’s ready.”
Jim quickly dried his hands and left the bathroom. He’s got me too well trained. He restrained a smile as he took his place at the table. Being well-trained is the best part.
Simon realized he was muttering as he pushed open the door to the break room. He quickly schooled his features and moved to the candy machine.
Blair came up beside him. “Simon, this is your third trip in the past two hours!”
Simon put in his change and pushed the correct button for a Snickers. He bellowed, “Sandburg, what the hell are you doing spending two hours in the break room?”
“Well, we aren’t on break, sir.” Blair gestured to the back table where Megan sat. Papers were strewn across two tables. “I was just helping Megan understand the politics of doing a thesis paper, since an old dissertation figures prominently in the Collins case. We spread out here because Rafe and H have hogged the conference room with the Jennings case.”
Simon grumbled something that he hoped Sandburg took as a sort-of apology. He nodded politely at Connor, then bent to retrieve his bar.
Blair said, “You’re eating candy at a faster rate than you smoke cigars.”
“I’m giving up cigars,” Simon replied tersely, opening the Snickers.
Blair blinked so hard that his head snapped back. “You’re kidding! That’s great!” He placed his hand on Simon’s arm. “But, man, you can’t do this on your own. That’s crazy. There’s all kind of help programs available. Groups. Gums. Patches. You need support, man. Not candy bars so you’ll get so fat that you’ll get depressed and start smoking again.”
Simon turned to face Blair directly, prepared to tell the young detective to go stick his editorial where the sun never shines.
Just as he opened his mouth, Simon found himself gazing into the deepest eyes he’d ever seen. Jim’s words came back to him: “If reincarnation is true, I think Blair is an old soul.”
Simon took a step back.
Blair’s arm tightened and he stepped forward, breaking their eye contact. “Simon? You okay?”
Simon recovered. “I’m fine,” he snapped, and turned on his heel.
He wasn’t in his office thirty seconds before Connor walked in. “Sir?”
“What is it, Connor?” Simon reluctantly put his Snickers aside so he could speak.
“I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.”
She’s such a fine addition to our team, he thought. In more ways than one. “I’m fine, Connor. I know I about bit Blair’s head off, but he had it coming.” He grabbed the Snickers and wrestled a bite from it.
“He’s just concerned.”
Simon made of a grumbling noise that he hoped she interpreted as “I know.”
“All right then, Captain. I won’t bother you any further.” She turned.
Simon quickly swallowed. “Connor, can I ask you something personal?”
She faced him and placed her hands behind her back. “Well, I suppose that would depend on the question.”
“Do you believe in reincarnation?”
Her eyebrows shot up to her forehead. Then she said, “My family has been into the occult for quite a number of generations. Generally, people who believe in the occult believe in reincarnation. So, yes, sir, I do.” She tilted her head in that way she did when the wheels were spinning. “Sir, do you think you might have had some sort of lapse into a prior life, back there in the break room? Some sort of momentary transgression into a previous lifetime?”
He had no idea what she was talking about. Incredulously, he asked, “Standing in the break room with Sandburg beside me?”
“Well, then, I suppose you didn’t. Usually, if you have a flashback, you suddenly see everything around you as images from a prior time. As for Sandburg, well, they do say that souls who knew each other in the past always tend to find each other when they reincarnate into future lives.”
“Meaning…” Simon prompted, not sure he really wanted to hear this.
“Meaning that if you experienced some sort of past life transgression just now, it probably means that you knew Sandburg in a prior life. Even if you didn’t experience a past life regression, the theory still remains that you knew Sandburg in a past life, as well as just about everybody else who is important to you.”
Simon shook his head, and took another vicious bite of the Snickers. “That’ll b’all.” And thanks a lot for completely ruining my day. Me and Sandburg stuck together for eons through time. Yeah, right.
She opened the door, then turned to face him. “You know, sir, if what I’ve said is true, then you and I probably knew each other in a past life, as well.” She winked at him and walked out.
He chewed more slowly. Maybe this reincarnation stuff isn’t so bad after all.
Blair sat in the middle of his old room. His daily clothing and been moved up to the bedroom, along with a chest-of-drawers, and Jim’s special-occasion clothing had been moved down to join Blair’s in the closet. They planned to turn this room into a den, except they’d keep the futon in it, in case any visitors needed to stay over. Now, Blair was going through boxes of his stuff, preparing to move it down to storage, or keep it for the new office furniture he and Jim had ordered. Or rather, Jim had ordered. Blair had let Jim take over all their finances without protest. He no longer even carried a checkbook. Jim allowed him one credit card – in Jim’s name, since Blair’s credit was so bad – and a debit card that was used strictly for household expenses, such as groceries. In addition, Jim gave him a cash allowance, which Blair thought a generous amount. It seemed so wonderfully odd to actually have money that was his to spend, and that wasn’t meant to be forked over for old bills with ever-increasing balances.
Earlier this week, he and Jim had spent a full day filling out forms and visiting appropriate offices to make sure that all their accounts were in both their names. Then they had gone to an attorney to set up each of their wills. The attorney had, as politely as possible, encouraged them to agree to a kind of prenup agreement, so that it was clear what belonged to whom, in the event that they ever broke up. Blair had exchanged a glance of amusement with Jim, and they both had turned back to the attorney, shaking their heads. Obviously disappointed, the $180-per-hour lawyer had proceeded to the next item of business.
Blair grabbed the next cardboard box from the corner of the room and looked inside it. He was greeted by a two-inch high, 8.5 x 11 box that looked like it held computer paper. He removed it from the larger box and took off the lid.
A title page stared back at him. The Sentinel, by Blair Sandburg.
His eyes watered.
“Oh, man,” he muttered, amazed that he could still feel so emotional about it.
Jim walked in. “What’s wrong, Chief?” He squatted beside him. “Oh.”
Blair wiped away his tears before they could fall. “Man, I can’t believe it still has this much power over me. It’s just… ink on paper.”
Gently, Jim reminded, “It’s what brought us together.”
“It’s also what caused our worst fights. It’s what you always hated most about our life together.” He waited for Jim to dispute that, and was both relieved and disappointed when he didn’t even try.
Instead, Jim said, “I still want to read it. But… not now.”
Blair nodded. “There’s still too much emotion tied to it for you, too.”
After a moment, Jim asked, “What do you want to do with it?”
“It’s the only existing copy, of any kind. I erased all the computer media.”
“Maybe we should put it in the safety deposit box,” Jim said. “That way, there’s no chance that anybody will ever find it. And if we ever decide to do anything with it at some point in the future – including when I decide to read it – we’ll know where it is.”
Blair nodded again. A safety deposit box made sense. “You’ll know when the time is right to read it,” he assured.
Jim gave him a loving smile. “For such a brilliant mind, you live your life by such simple beliefs.”
Blair shrugged. “They’re not mutually exclusive.”
“I know. You’re the personification of the truth of that.”
Blair allowed himself to glow inside for just a moment. But he was too busy to feel syrupy. “Okay,” he said with a sigh, placing the lid back over the box, “one thesis for the safety deposit box.” He handed it to Jim. “Put this with our other legal papers that we’re taking to the bank tomorrow.”
Jim saluted, “Yes, sir.” He stood.
Blair reached into the larger box and pulled out a video cassette. “Here. Throw this into the VCR and see what the hell it is. It’s not labeled.”
“That’s what you get for not being anally retentive,” Jim said merrily, taking the cassette.
Everything else in the box was small. Pencils. Pens. Stray paper clips. A few dead insects. Blair stacked the box in the corner with the other empty ones. Then he pulled out the next one and found some favorite textbooks that he couldn’t bear to throw out, even though he knew they were out-dated. He heaved the box on top of another slated for the storage room.
“Hi. Thank you all for coming.”
Blair froze. Wasn’t that his voice coming from the living room?
“I just have a short speech prepared here. Um...”
He rushed out to the living room, where Jim was sitting on the floor in front of the TV, engrossed.
“In our media-informed culture, a scientist receives validation by having his or her work published and after years of research there is great personal satisfaction when that goal is reached.”
Blair watched, fascinated, as his twenty-nine-year-old self read that short, fateful speech. He listened to his voice quaver, amazed that he had managed to keep from bursting into tears on national television. Even though he well remembered the pain that had taken over his emotions, he was relieved to realize he was watching with detachment. Unlike the black and white reality of his paper thesis, it didn’t hurt to watch himself destroy his academic career.
Except he did have to draw a breath when he saw himself pause after saying Jim’s name. I loved him so much, even then.
On the video, his quavering voice continued.
It was over a few seconds later. The screen went to snow and Jim sat there, staring at it.
Blair stepped closer to him, from behind. “I forgot I had that. At my request, Wendy Hawthorne – that TV reporter who followed us around – got a copy for me from her station. I listened to it over and over one afternoon, a few weeks after it had happened, until I could watch it without feeling the pain anymore.” He hesitated, then placed his hands on Jim’s shoulders. “I don’t feel any pain now.” He squeezed.
Jim finally moved, hitting the rewind button on the controls. Then he turned on the floor to face Blair. “I’d forgotten how much it hurt you to give that. It’s so clear in your voice, how much pain you were in.”
Blair reached up and stroked Jim’s cheek. “We don’t need to rehash this. We already did that in the weeks after it happened.”
“But it wasn’t until recently,” Jim said, “that you realized what you had given up then. You told me you gave up the way of the sentinel at the same time you destroyed the credibility of your thesis. It wasn’t until all this time later that you were able to feel happy again, because you understood your purpose.”
Blair curled up next to him. “Yeah. But it all turned out all right, didn’t it? There’s no way things could be any better than they are right now.”
Jim’s arm came around Blair and hugged him.
Blair looked up. “You know, thinking back, I’ve never felt like you did growing up – that I needed to prove that it was okay that I was alive. I always had plenty of validation from my Mom that I was a worthwhile addition to society. But, being able to look back at that time objectively when you and I first met, I remember,” he grinned widely, “how blown away I was when you mentioned me being your partner. It was after The Switchman and the bomb on the bus. Man, I think I wanted so much to belong to somebody back then. To have a place. I was trying to convince you that you needed me, but you seemed like such a grim-faced hard-ass that I never really expected you to take me seriously. So, in some ways, that was the most special moment of my life, when you first called me ‘partner’.”
Jim’s lips gently pressed against Blair’s forehead. Then he said, “Maybe we were both pretty lonely back then, huh? So, we were ready for somebody special, especially somebody special without all the complications of romantic relationship.”
“Yeah,” Blair agreed thoughtfully. “It was time for our paths to cross so we could fulfill our destiny as sentinels.”
Jim pulled back to look at him doubtfully. “Are our destinies fulfilled?”
“Naw, man, not hardly. Bad choice of words. Our paths crossed so we could start the journey toward fulfilling our destiny.”
Jim shifted, pushed, and Blair fell to the floor with Jim on top of him. “Hey, man,” he protested.
Jim grinned. “You know what part of our destiny is my favorite?”
“What?” Blair then felt a hardness growing against his thigh.
“The part where you turn me into a sex fiend.” Jim kissed his chin. “I want you right now.”
Blair pushed at his chest. “Jim, no.” Hardness ground against him. “Jim, no.”
Jim straightened and frowned. “I had a neighbor once who spoke to her dog in that exact same tone of voice.” Then “What’s wrong with a little spontaneity?”
“Nothing. But we burn up too many calories during our lovemaking to go about it half-assed. To say nothing of how important it is that we’re both one hundred percent present when you go opening up your sense of touch all the way. I don’t like trying to do it when I’m thinking of other things. You’re vulnerable when you’re open to that degree, and I need to be aware.” And I think I need earplugs, since you’ve been screaming so loud lately. “When we go up to bed, my whole mindset is geared toward our pleasure. But we do have a life outside our bedroom. Right now,” he pushed into a sitting position, “I want to finish getting the den cleaned up.” He brushed off his hands and knelt up. Jim was looking at him with resignation. Blair squeezed his shoulder, “Hey, sorry I’m not in the mood. But lovemaking as intense as ours carries some responsibility with it. We can’t afford to get lackluster about it, for a variety of reasons.”
Jim stood and went to the kitchen. He grumbled, “I suppose it doesn’t matter if I agree or not.”
Blair was sorry that Jim was disappointed. But he hadn’t been gifted with a brilliant mind for nothing.
He rushed to catch up and grabbed Jim’s hand, turning him to face him. “Hey,” he whispered enticingly, still holding Jim’s hand, “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll go up to bed first tonight. When you’re ready to come up, you’ll find a present in your bed. There will be a card from the citizens of Cascade that’ll say they’ve given you the attached gift in appreciation of their sentinel for the Chambers bust. The gift will be a male sex slave, guaranteed for full operational capabilities for one night. He’ll be handcuffed to the bed. Blindfolded. Gagged. Fully clothed.” Blair placed his hands on Jim’s chest as he gazed up into the eyes that were staring back at him with a smolder in their depths. “He’ll be programmed to obey every command. He’ll be completely proficient in all sex acts known to man, both giving and receiving. He’ll require neither kindness nor praise. He’ll know he’ll be punished for any mistakes. He’ll be incapable of any thought other than pleasing his master.” The smolder in Jim’s eyes intensified, and Blair jumped away just as Jim grabbed for him.
Blair trotted to the den, calling over his shoulder, “I’ve got work to do before sunset.” He pulled the next box that needed to be gone through.
He heard a growl, and then some muttering about having some errands. A moment later, the door slammed shut.
Blair knew Jim wouldn’t return until sunset. The “errand” remark was code for, “I’ll be back when you’re ready to fuck.”
Jim had been more aggressive lately about sex, ever since he’d opened up his sense of touch to its fullest, a couple of weeks ago. That had been a trip. Blair had never imagined it was possible for one person to do so much groaning, moaning, gasping, screaming, and outright sobbing. It was fun, because you could touch Jim anywhere and he would love it. If you touched him in particularly sensitive areas… well, then it was like the roof was going to come off the loft. When he was dialed up that high, he was all the more sensitive to Blair’s nerves, too. Blair’s newest addiction was Jim biting him. Jim knew how to do it so that it didn’t hurt. He never drew blood. But he’d clamp down with his teeth with such confidence and firmness that Blair thought he might actually lose some pieces of himself. The most memorable time had been when Jim had bitten into his scrotum. Blair had felt a genuine fear of castration for a few moments. But it hadn’t even hurt. Just titillated the hell out of him.
Blair tossed some outdated pamphlets into the trash. I guess he is a genuine sex fiend now. Hard to imagine that just a few months ago, he was somebody who could go a whole year without sex, and then still not be all that interested. Man, was his cock repressed. Now, he can hardly even wait until we get up to our bedroom.
After trashing all the pamphlets, Blair felt something long and round along the edge of the box. He pulled it out.
It was a riding crop. A gift from an old bedroom acquaintance, as a joke.
He grinned. It’ll be perfect to attach to the card from the citizens of Cascade. I guess I’ll have to put a few sentences on the card about how the riding crop is for punishing the slave when he’s disobedient. So, I’ll need to be disobedient a few times and give Jim a chance to use it. That would be a kick. Jim wouldn’t really hurt him, wouldn’t cause him pain. But it would be fun to feel threatened by it.
He wondered how much fun Jim would let himself have tonight. Probably a lot, judging by his current mood.
Jim Ellison, Sentinel of the Great City, certainly deserved it. The Chambers bust had taken a major cocaine distributor off the streets of Cascade. Jim’s nose had been awesome in that one, though he’d occasionally complained about all the different places Blair had ordered him to sniff. In the end, it had been worth it.
Blair grabbed some of the empty boxes and carried them to the front door, and left them for a trip to the dumpster the next time he went downstairs. On the table next to the door was the stack of papers and items slated for the safety deposit box. Including the thesis and the video.
In the end, that had been worth it, too.
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