"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Fine!"

Slam.

"Fine!"

Slam.

Jim stood in the hallway. "Unbelievable," he muttered. "It's my damn home and I storm off? I don't think so."

Turning on his heel, Jim gave the knob a hard twist and walked back into the loft. Blair was still in his room, probably thinking up new tests to punish him with later.

A gale warning October storm battered the windows, throwing icy sheets of rain like warrior's spears. There was no way Jim was going out there. The atmosphere inside didn't feel much better. How had a simple disagreement turned so ugly, so fast? Jim eyed the door warily. To his surprise, it was wrenched opened and Blair glowered definitely at him from within his room.

"My loft," Jim announced firmly. "I'm staying."

"Fine! I'll leave." Disappearing long enough to pick up his backpack, Blair strode toward the exit.

There was no way Jim was going to let Blair out either. He closed the door and moved to intercept. "Forget it, Darwin. You're staying put."

Blair stopped by the center column as if stunned. "Ex-cuse me? You're telling me what I can and can't do now? Here's a newsflash, Jim. Your word is NOT the final law around here."

Pointing a finger, Jim lowered his volume in deference to his neighbors but inflicted his best menacing tone. "Stow the crap, Chief. You'll just end up stranded somewhere and I'd have to ferry you home. Keeping your sorry butt here just saves me the usual headache."

Blair's face darkened. He sputtered like cooking oil dumped into a hot skillet. Jim nearly laughed at the effect. In fact this entire argument had reached the ridiculous stage. Sure Jim had experienced the day from hell. And, from the way Blair acted the moment he had walked in the loft, it must have been mutual. Still this stupid fight had escalated beyond belief, completely out of proportion to the original dustup.

Unfortunately Jim's little revelation was - as usual - too little, too late.

"You... big..." Blair in a verbal warm up was a sight to behold. "...advanced Australopithecus throwback... sorry excuse for a human..."

Hands outstretched Jim backed away, retreating to the living room. He'd never seen Blair this pissed off before - at least not at him. The situation called for some divine inspiration on his part to intersperse a little reason into their disagreement.

"Calm down, Sandburg." Nice - very original, Jim thought, quickly back stepping. He'd think better with a large sofa between them.

Jim's leg smacked against a side table where one of Blair's new tribal masks had been left on top a stack of books. The mask landed with a loud crack on the hardwood floor, which caused Jim to glance down. Seeing no serious damage to anything except the ugly mask, he returned his attention to Blair and found him closer than expected.

Damn, Blair could look down right menacing when he wanted too.

Jim backed away and promptly tripped over the coffee table. As he fell, Jim realized his own stupidity. Blair fought with words; he would never resort to a physical attack.

The floor rushed up to meet the back of his head and Jim could do nothing for several long moments except watch the pretty fireworks.

"Jim?"

Blair's voice anchored him. The lightshow faded and the dull ache between his shoulders and the back of his head reported in.

Moving slowly so to check each body part for future use, Jim sat up, then grabbed the side of the overstuffed chair to stand.

Blair was still across the room, keeling by the fallen mask, his face frozen in fear.

"Jim?" he repeated, eyes fixed on the mask. "We are in so much trouble, man."

Blair sounded like a small, scared child.

Jim had a feeling he knew what was coming next. It was the kid's fault if that hideous piece of carved wood covered with flea ridden feathers and tinted mud was valuable. It belonged back in whatever museum he'd borrowed it from, not in the loft.

Still, the sight of a stricken Sandburg was enough to temper the anger.

"I'll pay for it, Blair," Jim said with a sigh. "It's not like it's the end of the w--"

"No!" Blair shouted, boiling up from his knees, eyes wide with horror. "Oh, God! Jim, don't say anything." He hugged himself and looked around the room as if legions of demons were descending on them.

Jim dropped into the chair. It was too late for this crap. "Sandburg, knock off the drama, will you? Just get over here and explain."

Blair rushed over, nearly throwing himself down at Jim's feet.

Jim pulled back in alarm. "Shit! What is going on with you?"

Blair was babbling so fast now Jim had trouble making out his words. "The mask, it's the mask. You released the spirit trapped within and now it's here and it's going to kill us both. It's supposed to be like a genie, only it's evil, Jim, EVIL! It'll turn all your words against us. You've got to be careful. `Cos everything you say is gonna--"

"Enough!" Jim demanded, rubbing his brow. Damn, he'd only caught half of that; something about the mask being evil.

Wonderful, a new dimension to the never ending fun of being a modern day sentinel. Jim hated the mystical aspect of their life, he liked his bad guys human, preferably behind bars.

Blair was still hunched down on the floor in front of Jim's chair, looking miserable. Frankly, Jim was amazed at his continued silence. He took a moment to examine Blair carefully. He looked sick or something.

"Okay, Chief. I know you're tired," Jim started, watching the other man seem to wilt with that comment. "But you need to calm down. You've been watching too many Halloween movies. You'd think we were trapped in the loft or something."

Blair's eyes bugged out like some giant had stepped on him. He waved both hands back and forth.

"What now, Bela Lugosi?" Jim demanded, starting to get angry again. "Cat got your tongue or something?"

"Auuuughhhhhhhh!" Blair released a frustrated scream and fell over on his side.

Jim was out of the chair and kneeling by his prone roommate instantly. "Blair!" Capturing Blair's head, he stilled the almost seizure-like convulsions and stared into a pair of anguished blue eyes. "What's wrong?"

Blair opened his mouth. Air escaped in a twisted, macabre sob, the best Blair could do... now that he didn't seem to have a tongue anymore.

"Oh my God."

Jim snapped his jaw shut before he said anything else he'd regret. He looked into Blair's mouth in disbelief. There was no blood, for that Jim was thankful. Blair opened and shut his mouth like a fish out of water, his mournful expression too much. Jim pulled his roommate into a sitting position, hugging him tightly.

Blair shivered violently, his face pressed against Jim's neck. Thankfully, he stopped making that pitiful cry. Jim closed his eyes, welcoming the silence, unable to shake the reality of what he'd seen. Blair shuddered, then stilled, releasing a low pitiful sounding moan.

If this was a nightmare, Jim was ready to wake up now.

Peering over the top of Blair's head Jim studied the broken mask lying on the floor. It had cracked down the middle and lay in two halves. What had Blair said? Something about an evil spirit that took each expression he said literal, with malice.

God, could it read his mind? No - he had to speak out loud.

Blair pushed away, catching Jim's attention and making hand gestures; up his throat and out his mouth, then shaking his own head in a negative motion. Jim nodded. Okay, they were on the same wavelength, at least.

Even mute, Blair was guiding him.

Jim closed his eyes and gently bumped his forehead into Blair's. What had he done?

Blair patted his shoulder before untangling Jim's hold on him and trying to stand. He was shaky and weak. Jim followed him up and supported him to the sofa. He almost asked if Blair was feeling okay, but stopped in time.

What had he said? Before the tongue thing?

Jim remembered. He had said Blair was tired. No wonder the kid looked like a breeze could knock him over. Who was this spirit? Why the hell would Blair bring such a dangerous object into the loft?

Okay, first things first. They needed help.

Releasing Blair and wincing as he toppled sideways into the cushions, Jim headed for the phone.

No dial tone.

He tried his cell phone, then rooted through Blair's pack and tried his partner's. None of the phones worked.

The storm or the spirit?

He tried the door next and nearly wrenched his back trying to open it. Blair watched from the sofa, appearing resigned to their fate. The door to the balcony was sealed just as tightly.

Fine.

Jim plucked a heavy pan off the hanging rack and threw it towards the window overlooking the balcony. It bounced off the glass and clattered to the floor.

Damn! What else had he said out loud?

Of all the stupid things! He'd made a comment about being trapped in the loft.

This was incredible. Jim scrubbed his face angrily. He needed to think - not do, just think. Blair had said it was evil, but with limits. Okay, so if Jim remained silent, it couldn't do anything else.

But what if Jim said something that would help the situation? Or - better yet - reverse the damage he'd already caused? Crap, Jim didn't have a clue.

This was almost like the classic horror story about the magical monkey's paw.

This meant if Jim did say something, no matter how innocent it might seem, the spirit would twist it around to hurt them. Okay, so he was better off not talking.

Right, Jim could do silent, no problem there.

On the other hand, if he doesn't try, how would they escape?

Damn. Jim needed more information. He looked to his only source.

Blair was sleeping; his body bonelessly sprawled out on the sofa, his mouth open revealing Jim's sin. With a rough shake, Jim brought Blair back to a diminished level of consciousness. Jim pulled the dopey man back into a sitting position and handed him a pad of paper with a message. If they couldn't talk, they would find other ways to communicate.

Blair read Jim's note.

How do we beat this thing?

Frowning, he took the pen from Jim and wrote.

Not sure. Info vague. Do NOT try undoing anything - makes it worse.

Jim nodded, glad he'd come to the same conclusion. Blair was still writing.

Jim, I'm tired. Can't think. Don't think this permanent. Sleep might fix.

Jim took the pen and added his line.

Go ahead. I'll keep guard. We stay together, though. My room, I want high ground.

Blair nodded his agreement, letting Jim support him off the sofa and up the stairs. His eyes were already closed as Jim pulled down the comforter. Blair hung from his arm, nearly asleep on his feet. Once he got the younger man sitting on the edge of the mattress and his shoes off his feet, he rolled him towards the center of the bed and covered him up. Jim trotted back down the stairs.

According to the clock over the sink it was nearly midnight. Snagging two water bottles and his gun, Jim headed back up, prepared to settle into the task of keeping guard.

It was going to be a long night.

The outside storm grew with intensity.

Jim sat on the bed, his back against the wall. It had taken some doing, but he had the room arranged to his liking; shoving furniture around until he had the bed in the far corner. Blair rode out the short trip without awakening; a fact that scared Jim. What if Blair's condition was as permanent as his missing tongue?

There was no point in crying over spilled...

Jim left the thought unfinished. Part of him still feared the mask's ability to read his mind. How many common expressions did a person say without thinking? Where do such idiotic expressions come from anyway? What kind of mind comes up with animals tearing out tongues? Damn, it's terrifying if you considered it.

What if Jim had said something more damaging? What if he'd used the expression `dead on your feet'?

With a shudder, Jim forced himself to listen to the wind as it hammered the old bricks outside. He laid his left hand on Blair's blanketed body at his side, tightening his grip on his gun in his right.

They would wait till morning, Blair will be better. He'll come up with someway to break this spirit's hold on them. Until then, Jim's job was to keep his friend safe.

A flash of lightening taunted him, flooding the loft with a second of intense light. Jim was ready; he had felt the electricity in the air just before it streaked across the night sky.

What he wasn't ready for was the sight of the large cougar pacing the floor below. As soon as he saw the beast his senses reported in with the smell of the wet fur and the soft steps of its massive paws on the wood.

In one fluid motion, Jim rolled off the bed and crept to the railing to check for other dangers. He extended his hearing and deduced they only had one animal to deal with.

Why? Where had it come from?

Jim knew he had not been thinking of cougars; other possible threat perhaps, but not cougars. He certainly hadn't said anything out loud. So what was going on now? Had the mask decided to play outside the box suddenly? Was this allowed? He needed to ask Blair.

He moved silently back to the bed. The cougar was still pacing the room below. It was just a matter of time before it came up to investigate. Like Jim, it would also want the high ground.

Jim tried to wake his friend, urgently shaking his hip, then shoulder. Blair didn't respond. He was breathing, but not waking up.

Pulling down the covers, Jim delivered a sharp slap to the sleeping man's arm, not willing to hit his face and cause anymore pain. Blair stirred, burrowing his face into the pillow with a huff before growing still again.

Well, at least Jim wouldn't have to worry about Blair wandering around. He took a moment to pull the blankets up, completely covering his friend, tucking the blankets in tightly around him. That done, he turned his attention back to the large cat below.

Cat.

Oh, shit. That's how the cougar became part of this nightmarish game. This is the cat that `got' Blair's tongue.

Jim ran a hand over his hair in frustration. If they managed to survive this, he was going back to Saint Sebastian's and take a vow of silence for an entire month; hell, a year if that's what it takes.

On the main floor, the cougar began to bound about, leaping over the sofas and tables, then disappearing into Blair's room. Jim raced down the stairs.

If he could get to the doors in time...

Arriving at the door, Jim slammed it shut.

Yes! Something was going right tonight.

The window that looked into Blair's room and the glass in the French doors were still an issue though, the cat could break out. Jim risked a peek to see where it was. Maybe if the animal could be persuaded to go out the other window, it could provide them with a way out of the loft.

Jim searched inside Blair's room for the cat. Nothing. Maybe it was under the futon. Jim decided it must be. He'd get the tools from the closet. He could use the furniture, break it apart and board up the small window.

A sound above his head stopped him, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stiffen. He heard it again; a low growling sound from his bedroom.

Blair!

Gun in hand, Jim ran for the staircase. He could smell the cat now, hear its heartbeat. The animal had somehow managed to get back up to Blair. Running up the stairs, he froze in horror at the top.

"No!" Jim screamed, bringing his gun up to aim.

The cougar had Blair off the bed, out of the blankets. The beast was a grizzly equivalent to a normal sized cougar. What the hell was happening? How could it grow so much in just a few seconds? The cougar's lethal jaw clamped around Blair's shoulder as it effortlessly dragged the now semi-awake victim toward the railing. Blair's mouth was open in an impotent scream.

If the cat was able to transport from a locked room, what if he took Blair somewhere else, somewhere outside the loft, leaving Jim trapped and unable to follow? Forgetting his vow of silence, Jim took aim.

"Drop him!"

Jim fired just as the cougar leapt over the railing, Blair trailing from its enormous maw. The bullet pierced the cat's head, just below the ears. As ordered, the cat's last act was to drop its prey.

Blair fell to the hardwood floor below with a sickening thud.

The cat landed a few seconds later, sprawled across the kitchen table. It twitched once and stilled.

Jim took the stairs three at a time, eating up the distance until he could reach Blair's side. The younger man had fallen with his legs hitting the floor first. The left one looked broken, deformed below his knee. Blood soaked his shoulder. Jim didn't even know where to start. Words pushed to escape from his mouth, but Jim knew better. He couldn't risk it. Anything and everything he said only made it worse!

He carefully felt Blair's neck and spine before gently rolling him onto his back, revealing a pale face. Jim recognized the signs of shock and quickly moved to snag the afghan from the nearest sofa to cover him up. The worn neck of Blair's sweatshirt was easy to rip and Jim quickly exposed the damaged shoulder.

It looked bad. Jim could stop the bleeding, but what about infection? Blair needed a hospital, he needed his leg X-rayed and put in a cast. God, they needed to get out of the loft.

Moaning and twisting in pain, Blair snagged Jim's sleeve. Pain filled eyes begged for relief. Forced to remain silent, Jim took a second to gently stroked Blair's cheek before leaving his side long enough to snatch clean kitchen towels from a drawer. He'd get the bleeding stopped first, then deal with the leg.

When Jim returned, Blair was seizing.

Doing his best to keep Blair from further injury, Jim waited it out. When it ended, Jim thumbed the closed eyelids open and confirmed the worse possible cause for the seizure.

"No!"

One pupil was constricted, the other dilated beyond normal: head injury.

This was too much. Jim curled into a prayer-like position, forehead on his arm, struggling to push back his fear. He needed to keep it together if he wanted to find a way to save Blair's life.

The reality of the situation was unavoidable. Everything depended on them getting out of the loft. Their only chance had been Blair's memory of the origins of the tribal mask. Their chance of escape now was slim to none. Too tired to think straight and too sick with fear for his guide, Jim turned his head just enough to whisper into Blair's ear.

"I'm sorry, Blair."

Let the mask do its worse, Jim didn't care. He was sorry. Stupid anger caused this and Jim was willing to shoulder most of - if not all - the responsibility.

Another flash of lightening caused him to jump with a start. Jim lifted his head in time to see the cougar crouching on the table then launch himself directly onto Jim's exposed back.

As the massive weight of the cat landed on his back and slammed his head against the floor, Jim had one last thought.

What does it take to kill this cat?

"Jim?"

Something wet and cool pressed against his forehead.

"Oh, man. Come on, Jim. Please don't do this to me."

It took some effort, but Jim managed to crack open one eyelid. Blair's face, framed by a riotous mess of curls, hovered inches from his own. "B-blair?"

"Yes!" Blair closed his eyes in apparent thanksgiving.

Head pounding, Jim struggled to arrange his thoughts. Blair backed off just a little to give Jim breathing room. Flexing his fingers as if scared to touch, Blair nervously licked his lower lip before catching it between his teeth.

The past hours came rushing back to Jim in vivid color. "You're talking!" Jim exclaimed. "You have your tongue!"

The statement caused Blair's jaw to fall open in shock.

Shit! The cat!

"Hey! Easy, man. You shouldn't move around. You're hurt. I called nine-one-one." Blair pressed down on Jim's shoulders.

"Sandburg, the cat! Where is it?" Jim demanded. The pain in his skull was receding enough to think clearly. He didn't know what was going on, but they still had that cougar to deal with.

"Cat?" Blair sat back on his heels in bewilderment. "What are you talking about?"

Opening his mouth to fire off a quick reply, Jim paused and looked, really looked at his friend.

Blair's shoulder was undamaged; no blood soaked his sweatshirt, no holes, no rips. Jim pushed off the floor and took Blair's left ankle in hand.

"Hey!"

It was whole.

"What the h--" Jim cut himself off. He wasn't going to risk this again. He released Blair and stood, over riding all Blair's attempts to keep him still. He wanted to see that mask. It still laid in two broken pieces against the wall.

Blair misunderstood his interest.

"Jim? It's okay, man, no big deal. Legend has it, breaking one is good luck." Blair tried pushing him toward the sofa. "Now, sit down, will ya? You're really freaking me out. I'm so sorry. I never meant for you to hurt yourself."

Jim used his senses. They were alone in the loft. Capturing Blair's hands, he towed the smaller man to the front door and opened it. The hallway was empty. Jim closed it, then opened it again. He remembered Blair saying he had used the phone and reached the emergency dispatcher.

They were no longer trapped.

"Jim?" Blair waited patiently, scrutinizing Jim's face, his left wrist still Jim's prisoner. "What's happening? This is more than you just hitting your head, man. Did you have a vision or something?"

Jim's gaze panned the loft. The clock showed the time a few minutes after eleven. The pot he'd used to try and break the window was back where it belonged. Above his head, the end of his bed was visible, pressed up against the railing, not hidden from view because he'd moved it back. There was no blood on the floor from where Blair had fallen.

None of it happened.

"Jim?" Blair sounded scared.

Jim shook his head in disbelief. Was Blair right? Had the entire thing been some sort of vision? If so, why?

Jim knew one thing, he didn't want a repeat. The residual emotions still lingered heavy on his mind. Releasing Blair's hand, Jim gently captured Blair's face with both hands, still marveling at the fact his roommate was whole again. Blair didn't even try to pull away, the trust was enough to make Jim's chest ache.

"I'm sorry, Blair," Jim said quietly. "I don't ever want you to think I resent you, or that I don't value our friendship, understand?"

Blair nodded once, his eyes wide with surprise.

"If you need me... to pick you up, or help with a problem - hell, anything - you call me first. Got it?" Jim demanded.

A slow smile blossomed on Blair's face. Two eyes - with equal pupils - twinkled in mischief. "This is about me calling you an Advanced Australopithecus throwback, isn't it?" he asked with a chuckle.

"I'm serous, Junior," Jim said with feeling.

Blair sobered, patting Jim's hands and gently freeing himself. He squeezed both Jim's hands before releasing him. "Yeah, man. I understand. Back at cha, okay?"

"Okay." Jim took a deep breath and swung an arm around Blair's shoulder, guiding him to the sofa. His head still hurt. And they still had a fire department to deal with in a few minutes. Jim could hear the distant siren over the sounds of the storm outside.

Damn, that dream or vision or whatever had really done a number on him. He just wanted to relax for a minute. Part of him still expected the cougar to jump out from behind the sofa or something.

"While we wait, you can explain that comment to me. Something tells me I've been reclassified from mere Neanderthal."

Blair tried to pull out from under the arm, but Jim held him tight. Not that Blair was struggling all that hard. Jim just needed tactile proof none of that stuff had happened to them.

"Well..." Blair started.

Jim chuckled. "So, did I go up or down on the evolutionary scale?" He let Blair ease him onto the sofa, then pulled him down and transferred his hold in to a loose headlock.

"Hey, I was pissed at the time I said it, man," Blair said happily, trying to wiggle free. "Let's just say you shouldn't challenge Larry to game of checkers the next time he swings through the loft." Blair broke into a laugh. "Jim! Not the hair!"

End - Happy Halloween. Be safe!

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

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