Jim Ellison, ex-ranger and Major Crime Detective for the City of Cascade, braced himself for another evening with his two new roommates. That's a word he never thought he'd use: `roommates'. His home had always been his refuge, a personal place to retreat and let down his guard. His ex-wife had commented once that the loft was Jim's `other woman'. Jim would have been hurt by the tease, except he knew she was right.

Now he shared the twelve hundred square feet of solitude with a twenty-five year old grad student and an ape. God, what had he been thinking? Granted, there only a few days left in the week he'd agreed to, and Blair did a decent job of cleaning up after the primate, but there wasn't enough air freshener on this planet to mask the smell of an animal in his loft. Then the ape had trashed his place and escaped - only to return to the loft, like a truant teenager after a night on the town. The monkey deserved jail time, but Blair had managed to talk the Animal Control agents out of taking Larry into custody.

Deep in thought, Jim entered his apartment, going through the practiced motions of putting away his gun. That had raised another problem this week; how do you tell an ape not to touch a loaded gun?

"Sandburg?"

No answer. Peeking through the beaded curtains into his ex-storage room, Jim's eyes immediately went to the spot where Larry's cage normally sat. The cage was gone. Just the futon and an impressive collection of used boxes from the Quick-mart filled with the worldly possessions of a teaching assistant. In plain Blair-speak, which Jim was rapidly learning, that meant `a truck load of books, man'.

Deciding that he was on his own for a while, Jim turned his attention to dinner. There was leftover roast beef in his old-fashioned refrigerator. Setting horseradish, sliced tomatoes and fresh lettuce out on the counter, he turned his search toward the cupboards for bread.

Great, he was out.

He eyed Blair's temporary food cupboard. What was the proper protocol here? They had not discussed the issue of sharing food. Taking a peek, he saw a loaf of whole wheat bread. Not some large brand name from a supermarket either, this was a bakery loaf. Jim could smell the freshness through the plastic wrap.

Oh, man, Jim was tempted. Then he realized with a start that the tomato and lettuce he had set out wasn't his either. He sighed. He had three choices; eat Blair's food, go to the store or have a plate of roast beef for dinner.

The phone rang, interrupting his moral dilemma.

"Ellison."

"Sandburg there?"

"No, he's out. Can I take a message?"

"Where the hell did he go?"

The caller was male and sounded pissed off.

"I don't know." Jim worked to keep his voice level.

"Who the hell are you?" the caller asked.

Okay, enough was enough. This was Jim's home and he'd already spent a full day being courteous to jerks. "Listen, Mack. You can drop the attitude or don't bother calling this number anymore, got it?"

"Oh, so Sandburg is hiding behind your skirts now. What's wrong, he got the word I had issues with his shitty job of grading and he's running scared? You tell the little freak that he can't run fast or far enough to hide from me. Got that? You tell him Dennis Engelmen has plans for his face, starting with a free nose job, maybe remove some teeth and color those eyes the chicks are always swooning over."

"I didn't catch the name, sport."

"I'll slow down, old man. Dennis...Engelmen."

Jim watched the small light on his answering machine blink, he'd hit the record button two words into the threat. "So, let me get this straight. You're Dennis Engelmen, I'm guessing one of Blair Sandburg's students, and you plan to assault Mr. Sandburg, your teacher, in the near future for giving you a poor grade. Do I have the entire message?"

"Yeah, what? Are you retarded or something?"

"According to my caller I.D. you're calling from five-five-five-zero-two-one-eight. You gonna to be there long?" Jim asked in a pleasant voice.

"Why, you coming over to hurt me?" Dennis retorted in mock fear.

"No," Jim drawled slowly. "You wanted Sandburg to call you back, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah. Make sure you tell him."

The line disconnected.

Jim smiled to himself as he dialed the phone.

Blair entered the loft with a light step. He'd finally gotten Larry settled into his new home. His paper on TV violence and primate behavior was almost finished, just a quick edit for mistakes and that project was out of his hair. He vowed not to write any more papers that involved working with animals, excluding sentinels, of course. Blair saw Jim sitting at the kitchen table.

"Hey, Sandburg, I made you a sandwich, it's in the fridge."

Blair blinked at his friend in surprise. "You did? Wow, thanks! I'm starving."

Looking up from reading the newspaper, Jim shrugged. "It was a joint effort, my roast beef and horseradish, you provided everything else. Where's the chimp?"

"Ape, Jim. He's an ape," Blair said, fully aware Jim was baiting him, again. "Larry's at his new home. I placed him with a couple that work with animals, train them for TV shows and stuff. He'll get legal papers and everything."

Jim munched a potato chip and nodded. "All right then. Good for Larry."

Retrieving the sandwich and joining Jim at the table, Blair reached for the chip bag. "I didn't know you liked organic chips."

Jim shrugged. "I raided your cupboard, Chief. I meant to pick up groceries last night, but it's been a little crazy. I'll pay you back."

Blair flapped his hand in the air. "Forget it. I owe you for letting me and Larry stay. Did I tell you I think I have a place to rent? I should know tonight. It's not a warehouse, just a room, but that's okay. The warehouse jig was getting kind of drafty anyway. Just staying here for a few days has totally spoiled me."

Jim finished his dinner and carried the dish to the sink. "Speaking of calls, you got one from a Dennis Engelmen earlier."

"Really, what did he want?"

"Basically, he wants to commit a felony, with you as the victim."

"Huh?" Blair blinked in confusion.

"He called about a grade you gave him. I guess he doesn't think he deserves it, because he wants to pulverize you," Jim explained.

"Jim," Blair said with a laugh. "That's just Dennis, man. He'll be fine. I'll talk to him."

"Not tonight, unless he makes bail," Jim said, leaning a hip against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest.

"What!" Blair asked, pushing his chair back from the table in disbelief.

"Sandburg, he admitted to a police officer that he planned on assaulting you! I had him picked up," Jim explained slowly. He went to the answering machine and pressed a button. The angry threat filled the loft. When the recording finished, Blair's face was pale.

"Oh, man," he muttered. "That's didn't sound like Dennis."

"The uniforms arrested him at his dorm, he admitted to making the call," Jim said.

"No." Blair shook his head. "I mean that isn't like him. He may be a hot head, but he's never threatened me before."

"There's always a first time for everything, Chief."

Blair headed for the door, lifting his coat off the hook and slipping it on. "Which jail, main booking?"

"What? You're going down there now? Sandburg, you heard him, he wants to tap-dance on your face with his fists!" Jim exclaimed, his frustration evident.

Blair stood firm, his hand on the doorknob, looking back at the cop. "Something's wrong, Jim. I'm telling you, that's not Dennis. Now are you going to help me or what? Just tell me where he is."

Jim folded the paper and slapped it down on the table. Walking to the door, he grabbed his keys out of the basket. "You won't get in by yourself, Mother Teresa. I'll drive."

Even with Jim along, it was a complicated process to talk to Engelmen. They arrived at the single story brick jail during shift change and had to wait several long minutes at a side entrance. A security camera pointed at them as they stood in a pool of light from the overhead flood lamp. Finally, they were buzzed into a small room where Jim signed them in and secured his weapon in a lock box. Then they waited again before getting buzzed through a second door.

"Ellison, why isn't your prisoner in cuffs? You know the rules," a large woman with biceps the size of a wrestler asked with a frown. She stood behind a counter surrounded by computers and filing cabinets. Seeing Blair, she reached for a set of cuffs on her belt and headed around the end of the counter.

Blair backpedaled out of her reach, his hands outstretched, warding her off. "Hey, wait a minute!"

"Daily, back off," Jim said at the same time. As much as he'd love to make Blair sweat a little for dragging him down here, he couldn't do it. "He's riding with me for a while."

Daily stopped her advance and returned her cuffs. "Sorry, kid. I just got on shift and the place is a mess. We got guys still in holding, haven't been booked in yet. Now I'm being told dinner's gonna be late. You haven't lived until you've tried controlling two hundred of Cascade's finest when they're stomachs are growling," she complained, returning to her position behind the counter. "So what's up?"

"Have you booked Dennis Engelmen yet?" Jim asked.

She checked her computer screen, then frowned and started thumbing through a stack of paperwork. "Engelmen...here he is. No, he's still in holding, go on back."

They followed the windowless corridor towards the holding cells. The cinderblock walls were painted in eggshell white, stark and uninviting. They arrived at a metal door. Another closed circuit camera pointed at them from the ceiling. Jim waited for an electronic buzz before he opened the door.

Several temporary holding cells lined both sides of a short corridor. Each cell door had a window which allowed the guards to look inside the tiny, three by five foot room. The cells had a single metal chair bolted to the floor.

"Okay, Sandburg," Jim said with a wave of his hand toward the doors.

Blair walked down the corridor, glancing from side to side to search for his student. He stopped halfway down, peering into a window with surprise.

"Jim!" Blair called out, waving urgently for Jim to join him. "Dennis is sick!" Blair began tugging frantically on the locked door. Jim hurried to look. A young man was seizing on the cell's floor, his body jerking violently.

"Shit!" Jim muttered as he ran for the intercom recessed in the wall at the end of the hallway. "Daily! Get a medic down here! Engelmen's having a seizure!" he ordered into the speaker.

Blair continued to pull fruitlessly on the door to the cell. "Jim, make them open this!"

"They're not going to let us in, Chief," Jim explained, returning to Blair's side to watch Engelmen. "They'll be here soon."

Within seconds, two officers arrived, stating the fire department was on the way. Engelmen's seizures remained constant. By the time the firefighters arrived, his face was turning blue. They dragged him, still seizing, into the hallway to allow the medics room to work. Jim pulled Blair back a few steps, knowing the only way they could help was to stay out of the way.

"Why doesn't he stop?" Blair whispered.

"They'll give him some medicine," Jim said quietly.

Sure enough, a medic administered a shot and the seizures seemed to quiet down. But before anyone had time to relax, a young firefighter touched the side of Engelmen's neck, calling out in an urgent voice.

"No pulse!"

Patches with wires leading to a machine that could deliver a shock were attached to Engelmen's bared chest as another medic tilted Engelmen's head back and checked his airway. He wasn't breathing. The firefighters performed their jobs quickly. Hours of practice and training kicked in making their actions smooth and fluid.

Blair moved close, his fists clenched. "What? Why did that happen?" he demanded, his voice filled with fear.

"Get him out of here!" a jail officer with a sergeant's rank on his collar ordered, pinning Jim with a glare.

Jim took Blair's arm, pulling him back towards the door. But Blair dug in his heels and tried to shake the older man off.

"No, Jim! I need to stay!"

"Come on, Chief. It's not an option here," Jim said firmly, towing Blair back, the shorter man's tennis shoes finding no traction on the waxed floors.

Blair continued to resist until Jim had no choice but to use a modified choke hold. He manhandled Blair through the door and into the corridor. More officers were arriving now to assist. Alarms blared and lights flashed along the hallways. A full lockdown was in place.

"Sandburg, knock it off or they're going to cuff you for real, and I won't be able to stop it," Jim hissed in his ear. He needed Blair rational. His senses were beginning to spike from the audio and visual mayhem.

"No, no ...it's happening again! He's dead!" Blair's eyes were wild as he struggled to get free.

Turning Blair loose, Jim spun him around, placed both hands on the younger man's shoulders and leaned down to look him squarely in the face. "Sandburg, they're doing everything they can! You need to relax, buddy. You're starting to scare me."

Blair's eyes focused on his friend, his body still. "What... Jim? Can't we go back in? I swear I'll be quiet."

"Sandburg, we'll just be in the way. We need to wait out here."

Blair nodded, biting his lower lip. Noticing the alarms, he looked up at Jim. "Hey, what about you, man? Are you okay with all this noise?"

"Yeah, I'm dealing. It's starting to give me a headache though," Jim admitted, letting Blair fuss over him. Blair pulled him over to stand near a corner, away from the strobe lights.

"Shoot! I need my backpack, man. The earplugs are in there," Blair said with a worried frown. "You think they'd let me run out and get it?"

Shaking his head, Jim answered, "They're in lock down, Sandburg. No one is going in or out for a while. Why are you carrying earplugs?"

"I carry a bunch of stuff in case you need it, Jim. Earplugs, wipes, smelling salt, lotion, antihistamines, eye drops ---"

"Okay, okay," Jim interrupted, holding up one hand. "I get the picture. I had no idea you had a sentinel `diaper bag' in that backpack of yours."

Before Blair could answer, a medic came through the doorway from the holding cells. Spying Blair and Jim, he quickly walked towards them with long strides. "We've got him stable again."

Blair relaxed his shoulders in relief. "Oh man, that's great!"

"Can you tell us anything about the patient? Any allergies? Does he take a medication or use drugs?"

"Uh... I don't think he takes medication. I don't know about allergies. Maybe I can call one of his football coaches and ask?"

"What about family? The jail staff says he doesn't have any local family," the medic said. "We're going to need some medical background."

"Yeah, okay. Let me get to a phone, man. I'll get as much information as I can," Blair promised.

Daily was still at her desk when Jim and Blair asked to use her phone. Blair got Engelmen's training coach on the phone, who admitted he had suspicions that Engelmen might be using drugs to increase performance on the football field. The staff was aware of the problem but unable to get proof. Every time they did a surprise check for drugs, the players would test clean. Either the drug was new or someone one on the staff was tipping off the players. He did confirm that Engelmen had no allergies and only took Advil occasionally for pain. The coach promised to meet the medics at the hospital with all the medical history he had on Engelmen's after contacting the student's family in Portland.

By the time Blair got off the phone, Engelmen was on a gurney and rolling past Daily's counter to be loaded into the medic's ambulance. Blair quickly relayed all the information he'd learned to the medic. They followed behind the fire crew to the parking lot.

"Jim, can we go to the hospital?" Blair asked as he watched the ambulance drive away, its red lights flashing a silent warning to passing motorists.

"The hospital won't let us past the waiting room. Let the coach deal with this one, Sandburg," Jim suggested. "We can call later and get an update."

Blair followed Jim to the Ford, his hands tucked in his back pockets. "So you think Dennis was taking drugs?"

"It explains his hostile attitude over the phone, plus the reaction to the medicine," Jim said, starting the Ford and turning towards the loft.

Blair was alone and scared. God, it was dark. Somewhere nearby water was dripping, splashing his bare arm. Why couldn't he see? And where was Chris? He should go back, but returning meant he'd get caught. And Chris said that would be a `very' bad thing.

He patted the ground, his fingers locating the flashlight. Thumbing the light on, he played the beam over the rock walls and ceiling, then down to his feet. There, a few feet back, about the spot where he'd tripped and dropped the light, a large black hole opened up in the dirt floor. Blair approached, shining the light into the hole, finding Chris. Why was his body shaking like that? Blair called out softly to his friend. They needed to keep running, they had to get away.

Suddenly a large hand gripped his upper arm, another clamping around his throat. Blair was lifted off his feet, unable to scream as the hand tightened and he was looking at his pursuer, face to face with---

Jim.

"Chief, wake up!"

It was still dark. Blair gasped, feeling the softness under his back. He was lying on his futon, the one he and Jim had picked up across town after seeing an ad in the paper. Jim was leaning over him, a hand on his shoulder.

"You okay?" Jim asked, sitting back on the edge of the bed.

Blair's face felt clammy in the cool air of the room. Jim was the type to turn the thermostat completely off at night, counting on the heat from the floors below to keep the pipes from getting too cold. Still, it was warmer than Blair's previous home.

"Slow it down, Sandburg," Jim advised sternly, a disapproving look on his face. "You'll hyperventilate."

"Sorry...Jim," Blair muttered, unaware until now that he was gasping for breath. He threw an arm over his eyes and worked on calming down. Damn, his heart was pounding. What the heck was going on?

"What was your dream about?" Jim asked. "You were calling out a name...Chris."

Blair had experiences with dreams before. He would always forget more of the dream the longer he was awake. Already, the details were starting to fade. Blair started blurting out the parts he remembered, before it could fade completely. "He fell. We were running, but I tripped and then Chris wasn't there, well he was, but not behind me...like before. He fell in a hole, big hole and he was shaking, like Dennis. Then there was a hand..." Blair's narrative trailed off as the memory faded and disappeared.

"Who's Chris?" Jim asked calmly.

Lifting his arm, Blair looked sadly at the cop. "I don't remember, Jim. I forget."

Jim crossed his arms over his chest, studying Blair carefully. "So are we talking about a nightmare or a memory?"

Blair shivered in the cool air; his blankets were twisted around his legs. "Both, I think."

"It's four in the morning, you want to try going back to sleep?"

Blair did the math. Just over three hours sleep. The thought of returning to that dark place was too terrifying to consider. Jim must think he was a real wuss. The small bedroom had one large window which doubled as a fire escape. Enough light from a distant street lamp entered to show Jim as he sat, dressed in his tank top and boxer shorts. Checking for signs of irritation on Jim's face, Blair only saw concern in the other man's expression.

"Probably not, man, you go back to sleep, though. I want to call the hospital and check on Dennis," Blair said, working on freeing his legs from the blankets.

Jim stood. "Actually, I think I'll head down to the gym. It's a good time to work out, beat the morning crowds," he said as he walked towards the beaded curtain.

"Jim, I'm sorry I woke you, man. I don't normally have nightmares," Blair blurted out.

"Forget it, Sandburg. It's no big deal."

Blair was on the phone to the hospital as Jim paused at the front door. Blair knew he was listening in as the nurse told him Dennis was still unconscious. Jim raised a hand in a silent goodbye before slipping out the door.

After starting the coffee pot, Blair headed for a hot shower, yet another part of staying in the loft that he loved. All that hot water! As he washed, his mind returned to what little he remembered about the dream. Maybe he should start writing his dreams down, a practice he'd learned back in high school when he signed up for a quarter of creative writing. Thinking about writing caused him to remember he needed to start on a paper due next month. He'd managed to get his hands on an authentic Klallam Indian blanket woven over a hundred years ago, which prompted him to research the local coastal tribe. He had sent an outline to an anthropology magazine and they wanted it, giving him two weeks for his first draft.

By the time Jim returned from the gym, Blair was working at the kitchen table, deep into the world of weaving and spinning mountain goat fibers into yarn. The coffee pot was in its final stage of drip, making gurgling noises. Blair had already finished off an entire pot by himself. Jim filled a large mug before freshening Blair's cup.

"How was the workout?" Blair asked absentmindedly, frowning at his laptop.

"Good... great in fact. I literally had the entire place to myself," Jim said, his good humor evident in his next statement. "I may have to find ways to give you more nightmares; your screams can really jumpstart the morning."

Blair's cheeks burned. He realized Jim was just funning, but still. "Aw, man...I'm `so' sorry about that. Another night and I'll be out of your hair," Blair promised, looking up from his monitor. He started to tell Jim about the room he'd be renting when something suddenly occurred to him. "Oh, crap! I never made that call last night!"

Jim shrugged as he unhooked the frying pan from the overhead rack and set it on a burner. "So call now, it's after seven."

Blair was already dialing the number. He drummed his fingers as the phone rang. "Hello? Allen? Is that room still available? Yeah....I know, but something came up....oh, right...no, I know...sure, okay. If you hear anything, call me...thanks." Blair returned the phone with a guilty glance at Jim.

"Room's no longer available?" Jim asked calmly as he broke an egg into the sizzling butter.

"Yeah, well, one of the largest dorms at Rainier got closed by the city, they found asbestos, I guess. Not a lot of places available right now." Blair muttered as he leaned back in his seat.

"How much did the room rent for?" Jim asked.

"Only three hundred, I can't come up with the kind of dough I was spending on the warehouse for a few months, I've got to replace the stuff that burned up. Some of it wasn't mine." Seeing Jim's look of concern, he quickly added, "Nothing major, just a thousand or so, it's cool. No one is beating my door down for the money."

Jim flipped his eggs. "Look, you're helping me with my senses, I know it's for your paper, but it still boils down to you helping. Why don't you just stay here? I'll charge you enough to cover the extra utilities, maybe use some of the money to paint and stuff. We can share the grocery bill since I seem to eat more of your food than you do."

Blair felt his face stretch into a wide grin, unable to suppress his joy and surprise. "You might try actually shopping for groceries, man. Not just order take-out," he joked. "Really, though? I can stay?"

"Really."

"Cool! Thanks, Jim."

"You're welcome. Now, how do you want your eggs?" Jim asked with a smug grin.

Blair gawked at the man. "You're making me eggs?"

"Actually, I'm cooking `your' eggs, so I thought I'd make enough for two."

Blair laughed. "I see a lot of trips to the grocery store in my future, man. But I'm warning you, I buy from the health food aisles."

The paperwork from Jim's last case wouldn't end. When the phone rang, Jim was happy for the distraction, even if it was just Blair calling to update him on Dennis Engelmen's condition. The student was awake and talking, Blair told him. His parents had arrived early that morning and between them, the doctor, and the coach's gentle persuasion, the truth about the drugs came out.

"They were taking a new mix of drugs that acted like a steroid, but didn't show up when the players were tested. Only this drug makes the user super aggressive. That's why he called the loft and said all those things, man. The doctors think Dennis had a reaction which caused the seizure. You know, if he hadn't been arrested last night, he would have seized alone in his room. No one would have missed him till morning. You saved his life, Jim!"

Jim smiled, cradling the phone against his shoulder as he typed. "First time anyone's ever accused me of saving their life by having them arrested, Chief. But I'm glad it's going to work out. You coming in today?"

"Uh...actually I need to unpack my stuff. I thought I'd go to the loft and ..." Blair sounding embarrassed.

Jim let him off the hook, resisting the urge to tease. "I understand. It's quiet here right now anyway. As good a time as any to settle in."

He heard Blair chuckle. "Can I redecorate?"

"Watch it, roomie, or I'll raise the rent."

"Hey, I know my rights! Landlords have to give adequate notice."

Later that day, Jim walked in to find a clean loft, a stew on the stove and soft music playing on the stereo. This was nice, Jim realized. This arrangement might work out after all, as long as the `no pet' rule stayed firmly in place.

"Sandburg?" Jim called, noticing a hideous, authentic-looking tribal mask leaning against the brick wall. His eyes narrowed as he wondered what Blair planned on doing with it. If he had any ideas of hanging it in the living room, he had better think again.

Blair wandered out of his room clutching a letter in his hand. His hair was pulled back, the multiple hoops in his ear catching and reflecting the light. The knees of his jeans were covered in dust; streaks of dirt marked his frowning face.

"What's wrong?" Jim asked, unloading his gun and hanging up his coat. It might be April, but the cold weather was holding on, especially in the evenings.

"I was unpacking some old text books. This fell out between the pages, it's like `ancient' history, but I don't remember ever getting it," Blair said as he handed the letter and envelope to Jim.

Jim checked the date on the postmark with a raised eyebrow, nineteen-eighty-seven. That's ancient history for this kid? He scanned the letter quickly. It was addressed to Blair. Jim skipped the bottom; it was signed by `Melissa'. Jim read the two short paragraphs. It was an invitation to stay with a fellow student from Rainier named Chris for spring break at his family's home. Melissa was apparently Chris's mother.

"Maybe you tucked it in the book and forgot to open it. You would have been what, eighteen?" Jim asked.

Blair shook his head. "Sixteen, that's the year I started at Rainier. I must have read it; my handwriting is on the back, see?"

Jim flipped the paper over. A message in Blair's familiar scrawl appeared, reminding him to pack a flashlight. "Okay, you read it, so he's an old friend you've forgotten, it happens."

Blair scratched his head. "No, something screwy is going on here, man. I never forget a name. I may forget an appointment or that I'm out of laundry detergent, but a person? Nah-uh, I'm an anthropologist, Jim. I study people."

"Even anthropologists can make mistakes," Jim insisted as he returned the letter and went to check the pot on the stove. It smelled great. Jim picked up a wooden spoon and stirred. "When do we get to eat this?"

"Soon, I just need to bake the cornbread," Blair said, eyeing the letter one last time before setting it down to wash his hands at the kitchen sink.

Jim's stomached growled. Did Blair say cornbread? Bake? As in hot and fresh? He headed up the stairs to change into jeans, wishing dinner was ready. A few minutes later, Jim was buttoning a soft shirt as he slowly walked down the stairs. Blair was pouring the coarse-looking, yellow batter into a square buttered pan, the oven already preheated and ready. Waiting until the bread was safely tucked in; Jim pulled two beers out of the fridge and handed one to Blair. Having a roommate was providing perks that he'd never considered. Stews and baking were definitely worth a few nights of interrupted sleep. Jim paused, recalling Blair's the early morning nightmare.

"Wasn't the guy in your dream last night called Chris?" Jim asked.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, that's the name you called out. Maybe he's the Chris from your letter."

Blair shrugged, setting the timer and checking the stew. "Maybe. I'll never know since both the dream and the letter are drawing a blank. It's too weird."

"Well, the return address in the letter was Black Diamond, there's no last name but we could always drive down there and check it out. Maybe solve your nightmare and the letter in one trip," Jim suggested as he retrieved two large size bowls from the cupboard.

Blair looked at Jim in surprise. "Really? All the way to Black Diamond? That's south of Seattle, right?"

Jim gave his friend a sheepish grin. "I might have an ulterior motive, Chief. I remember hearing about a famous bakery there. Still, it would be a nice drive and we `could' use a break this weekend."

"And check out the bakery..." Blair teased.

"Well, we've got to support the little businesses."

Saturday arrived with warmer weather, a perfect day for a drive. Blair's sleep had been free from any reoccurring dreams of tunnels and people falling into holes, but the mystery lingered. Blair's inability to recall an old friend was like a loose tooth that your tongue refuses to leave alone.

They woke early, took turns in the shower and headed out. Blair wanted to take the Corvair, saying the pleasant day was perfect for taking the back roads with the top down. Jim's strategy overruled him.

"Forget the wind in your hair thrill, Chief. I just want to get back without the aid of a tow truck," Jim commented as he walked towards his Ford.

They did take the back roads, staying off Interstate Five as much as possible. Farmlands, grazing cattle and small towns passed by. In Issaquah, they stopped for breakfast at a small caf. The house special was a skillet hash with more ingredients than Blair thought possible. They continued south on a two lane highway that took them over a mountain range called `Tiger Pass'. The forest was thick, broken with occasional homes and farms. The traffic was light, letting them make good time.

"Black Diamond is the next town. Do you want to check out that address first? Or go to the Bakery?" Jim asked.

"The address, I think," Blair admitted, drying his sweat-damp palms on his jeans.

Driving into Black Diamond from the north gave them an impressive view of Mount Rainier, an inactive volcano covered with a blanket of snow year round. They passed a Baptist Church, sporting goods store, meat market, tavern and a Red Apple grocery store before arriving at a `Y' in the road. An old coal cart, the type that miners pushed along rail tracks, sat in a grassy strip next to the road. It was painted white with black trim and was filled with large black painted rocks. The words `Welcome to Black Diamond' were painted on its side.

"I know that cart!" Blair blurted out suddenly, pointed with his finger. "I remember that! Jim, I was here!"

"Okay," Jim said with a nod. "Do you want to look around town some more or go to the address?"

"Drive around. Turn right, I think there's an old salon that got turned into a restaurant down there," Blair said with excitement as he leaned forward in his seat to look out the windshield. "There, man. That's it! And that used to be a gas station, but now it looks like a nursery."

They drove to the end of town, only a few blocks in all. Jim turned the truck around and headed back, picking a well traveled road and taking a right turn. Blair was silent now, watching his surroundings, hoping to see another landmark that he remembered. The road took them past an Elk's Lodge and a small museum. All the houses were old and small, the type the large mining companies would build for their workers to rent.

"Stop!"

Jim pulled over, eyeing the building with a wry smile. "Figures you'd want to check out the museum."

"No, the house in the trees, over there. See it? Is that the address we want?" Blair pointed to an old wooden house, badly in need of paint. The wood was silver from years of exposure to the elements. The trees and bushes were overgrown to the point of nearly covering the single story building with just a small part of the front porch visible.

"Yeah, I think you're right," Jim said slowly as he zoomed in on the numbers on the house next door. "The street is right, and the other house numbers are close to the address we want."

Jim turned off the motor and set the parking break. The few windows visible through the greenery were bare of any curtains or signs of occupancy. The yard was filled with high grass and overgrown holly bushes. The front porch looked dangerous, incapable of supporting a house cat. They walked through tall grass to knock on the back door. Blair peered into a small kitchen; the counter top was bare. The oven door hung open.

"No one is living here, Sandburg," Jim said, tilting his head as he spoke.

"What do you hear?" Blair asked.

"Nothing, no movement, no radio or TV, not even the hum from electrical appliances," Jim said, focusing on the short electrical meter at the corner of the house. The round disc was still. "Come on, let's try the neighbors."

No one answered the door at the next house. They crossed the street and tried another. This time, their knock brought a young woman to the door. She held an infant in her arms and looked happy with the distraction.

"Yes?" she asked, keeping her screen door locked, gently bouncing the sleeping baby in her arms.

"Excuse me. I know this is strange, but we're asking about the house across the street. Did you know the family that lived there about nine years ago?" Blair asked.

"Nine years, no, we've only been here three. But I know the place has been empty all this time. I understand the owners moved out of town, Renton or somewhere," she answered pleasantly. "Why, you guys buying a house?"

"No, nothing like that," Blair explained. "I visited the family that lived there, I'm ...looking for them," he finished lamely.

"Any idea what the family's last name was?" Jim added. When she shook her head, he continued. "Do you know of any person that lives in town that would know who used to live there?"

"Sure!" She pointed down the hill. "See that white house with red trim? Ask there, Addy used to work in the museum."

Blair wanted to walk, but Jim was not leaving his truck on the street. Black Diamond might be a small town, but a bored kid with a rock was still trouble. They drove the short distance, parking on a smaller street and walked through a small orchard of apples to knock on a comfortable looking ranch house door. A young woman answered, a dishcloth in her water-wrinkled hands.

"Yes?"

This time, Jim explained the reason for their visit. The woman invited them into a spacious, well-lit living room. A braided circular rug covered the wood floor. The house was old but clean. They sat together on a sofa while she went to get her grandmother. Blair wasn't still for more than thirty seconds before his eyes caught sight of the framed pictures on the wall. He stood and moved closer to study them.

"Wow, Jim, check these out," Blair whispered. Dozens of enlarged photographs hung on the wall, some in color but most were old black and whites. The salon-turned-restaurant was featured; another was of a mining operation and more of the bakery, an old fire engine with volunteers. The pictures displayed aspects of the entire town.

Jim studied the photos without moving from the sofa. Before he could comment, a woman entered, smiling at both men. She was short and stood with a curved stoop. Her hair was thinned to almost balding. Her granddaughter walked slowly behind her, pulling an oxygen tank that was attached to the older woman's face by a plastic tube.

Jim popped out of his seat as she entered. She nodded with a smile at the gallant gesture. "You're both asking about the Adair house?" she asked, her voice surprisingly strong for a frail-looking person.

Blair returned to stand next to Jim. "Yes, my name is Blair Sandburg and this is Jim Ellison. One of your neighbors told us you might be able to help. I was just looking at your pictures, they're amazing," Blair told her.

She lowered her body down to sit in a recliner, her eyes straying to the wall. "Yes, I'm the town's honorary historian. Addy Douglas." She smiled at the young woman standing next to her. "If I can talk someone into taking over, I'd die a happy woman," she teased with a slight smile.

The woman rolled her eyes and chuckled. "She never misses a chance to say that," the granddaughter said to the men. "I'm going to finish the kitchen, Gram. We have coffee. Can I get anyone a cup?"

"Coffee, yes... and those cinnamon rolls from the bakery," Addy said.

Blair started to protest, but felt a hand on his arm. Jim shook his head slightly, nodding to the granddaughter. She was looking at her grandmother with a joyful smile on her face, as if thrilled the older woman was ordering her around. Blair leaned back on the sofa. "Sounds great!"

"Why are you boys interested in the Adair house?" she asked as her granddaughter disappeared into the back of the house.

"I'm not sure, but I think I visited about nine years ago," Blair said.

She nodded. "Nine years? That would be when the Adairs lived there, it was their first house. They had two children. My granddaughter went to school with their daughter. I think it was eighty-eight when they moved away." She paused, her eyes returning to study Blair. "You must have been friends with Chris."

Blair nodded his head, his mouth suddenly dry. "Do you know where Chris is now? Did he move to Renton with his folks?"

She gave Blair a puzzled look. "I thought you knew. Chris died. That was why his folks moved away, the memories were too painful for them." She shook her head slowly, her eyes looking at the wall of old pictures sadly. "It's an awful thing when parents outlive their children."

Before Blair could ask another question, the granddaughter returned with a tray of coffee and sweet rolls. They waited until she set down the tray, passed out the cups and returned to the kitchen before talking again.

"How did he die?" Jim asked gently, handing Blair a roll before taking his own.

The old lady poured creamer into her coffee, turning it light brown. "He fell. This town is surrounded by coalmines. That's what the town's name refers to; `black diamond' is another term for coal. Back in the old days, everyone needed coal to heat their homes and such. The hills around here are filled with them."

"He fell?" Jim asked, "Do you remember the details?"

She nodded sadly. "The companies try to keep the entrances sealed, but kids have their ways. Chris was one of the persistent ones. He started exploring them when he was young, about ten. He spent a lot of his weekends grounded. His parents tried all sorts of punishments to keep him out." She chuckled without humor.

Blair became aware of a low roar in his ears, filling his head and drowning out the woman's words. He set his coffee down; afraid he'd spill his drink. What was she saying? Could his nightmare be a real memory? Was he there when Chris died?

"Honey, are you all right?" Addy asked, looking at Blair with concern.

"Sandburg?"

Jim's voice sounded so far away, which didn't make any sense. They were sitting so close, their elbows bumped each time Jim lifted his cinnamon roll to take a bite. The room was growing dark. It was like the ending to a Bugs Bunny cartoon when the edges of the TV screen went black and Bugs got squeezed inside a shrinking hole.

Jim stood, urging Blair to lie down on his side. A throw pillow with a blue crocheted lace cover appeared under his ear, the pattern pressing into his cheek. Before he could launch a protest, his tennis shoes were slipped off and his legs were bent and lifted onto the sofa. God, this was totally embarrassing, but it was working. The roaring noise faded as his vision restored to normal. Blair closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing

When he was able to open his eyes again, Jim's face appeared, looking at him with concern.

"Feeling better?" Jim asked.

"Yeah," Blair whispered. His face felt warm. He noticed Addy's chair was empty; they were alone in the room. "God, I can't believe I did that."

"Your face turned white as a sheet," Jim told him. "Did you remember something?"

Blair slowly sat up, setting his feet on the floor. "No, nothing. I have no idea why that happened."

"Here, drink this. Addy will be right back, she went to get her scrapbook," Jim said, handing him a glass of water. "Eat some of this roll while you're at it, the sugar will help."

Blair snorted, sugar never helped, but he didn't feel like pointing that out at the moment. He emptied half the glass, enjoying the cool liquid as it traveled down his throat.

"You know, it's possible you just heard about Chris' death when you were sixteen. Maybe you never made that trip down. You could have heard about the accident and your imagination filled in the blanks," Jim said, taking a bite of his roll.

Addy returned to the room, a large yellow scrapbook in her hand, her granddaughter handling the oxygen bottle again. "How are you feeling, Mr. Sandburg?"

"Please call me Blair, ma'am. I'm better, thanks."

"Good. I'm afraid I've lost some of my tact," she said with a sigh, sitting down on the sofa next to Blair. "It's a sign of my old age, just blurting out Chris's death like I did. I'm sorry." She patted his knee before opening the scrapbook. "I have the some clippings from the accident here." She flipped through a few pages. Yellowed newsprint flew by, pictures of wedding and local news stories glued to the pages. "Here we are." She stopped and pointed a gnarled finger at a black and white picture of a large man wearing a fire chief's uniform standing next to a man and woman. Two smaller teenagers stood behind the adults off to one side, a backdrop of trees making it clear the group was outside somewhere. Blair read the caption printed below. `The Adair family waits with Chief Jackson for the recovery of their son's body."

Blair studied the face of the man next to the chief. It was grainy and yellowed, but the face looked familiar. Why couldn't he remember? "Do you have any pictures of Chris?" Blair asked.

"I might, he was on the high school's swim team. I think he went to State." She started to turn the page, but Jim stopped her.

"Wait! Sandburg, that's you!"

Blair looked at the two teenagers standing behind the woman. Half hidden by her shoulder, but face clearly visible, he recognized himself, looking very young and very frightened.

"Oh, my God. I `was' there."

Addy gave Blair a sad smile. "I thought I recognized you."

Blair looked ready to pass out again.

"You remember me?" Blair asked the woman, suddenly sounding very young to Jim's ears.

Addy squeezed Blair's hand. "Your hair was shorter and you talked nonstop about tribes and things, but yes, I remember you. Did you have an accident that caused you to forget all this?"

"I don't know," Blair admitted. "I had a dream Chris and I were together in a dark tunnel and he fell. Then I found a letter from Chris's mom. But everything else is a blank."

"I see." She turned back a few pages and showed Blair a new page. "This is Chris."

Jim looked at the clipping. It was large and in color, maybe from a Sunday edition of the local paper. The date was nineteen-eighty-five. A group of seven boys wearing warm-up suits stood with arms around each other's shoulders, looking young and happy. Jim felt a keen pain of loss, one of those boys never made it to adulthood. Addy's finger rested on a tall youth with short blond hair and braces. He was photographed during a laugh and Jim could see the mischief playing in his eyes.

Blair stared intently at the picture. "I don't remember him," he said, his voice soft and flavored with disappointment.

"I was in the museum when the call came over the fire radio that someone was hurt in the mineshaft," Addy explained. "A group of us set up a schedule to take meals over to the family and I was delivering my fried chicken. I saw you sitting in a chair in the living room, Blair. You never said a word. The next morning, Melissa said they woke up and found you gone. She was frantic. But the Police Chief checked with your school a few days later and you were back in your classes." She shrugged her thin shoulders. "I guess we all thought your parents came and picked you up."

Blair studied the picture in the scrapbook. "Nothing. I don't remember any of this," he muttered softly.

"Addy, can we get your phone number? We may need to call you and ask a few more questions." Jim was monitoring Blair's heart rate and it was starting to climb. Blair wouldn't appreciate an audience if he was heading for a panic attack.

"Certainly." She picked up a nearby pen and wrote the number on a napkin, passing it over to Jim. "I'm so happy you did stop by, Blair. I've thought about you quite a bit over the years. Did you ever find that person you wanted to write about?" She frowned in thought.

Blair's bewildered expression broke for a moment and Jim saw a smile flash across his friend's face. "I'm working on a paper about the police. Jim's a cop in Cascade, a detective. I get to ride with him and watch him work."

Her eyes widened as she appraised Jim with pleasure. "How exciting! Oh, promise me you'll come back and tell me some of the cases you've worked on. I love watching those shows on television."

Jim gave the woman a genuine smile. "We will. Blair tells stories so well, I have a hard time remembering I was there," he teased, earning him a poke in the ribs. Addy carefully closed her book, small lines visible around her eyes and mouth, reinforcing Jim's decision that it was time to end the visit.

The granddaughter insisted on walking them out to the truck. "Your visit was wonderful medicine. Thank you both for stopping by."

"I hope we didn't tire her out," Blair said.

"She'll rest, but she'll talk about you two for weeks. It's hard for her. All her friends are gone or too sick themselves to visit. She gets lonely. A lot of the old families have left town." The woman wrapped her sweater tightly around herself. "I hope you do come back, I know she'd like to talk to you."

Jim handed over his business card. "My cell phone and home numbers are on the back. We'll call you before we come down. I have a feeling if the bread at the bakery is half as good as those rolls, we'll be making frequent trips."

After getting directions, they arrived at the old bakery and parked on a wide dirt shoulder that ran the length of the road. The building was a normal looking two story farmhouse, but with two long additions on either side. Cars and trucks lined both sides of the street. After waiting fifteen minutes, they were seated at a small round table in the corner.

"I'm not really hungry, Jim," Blair said folding his menu and setting it aside.

"How about a bowl of soup? It comes with something called `Sasquatch bread'."

Taking Blair's shrug as a yes, he ordered two bowls of cheddar and cauliflower soup. They sat together silently, watching the other customers eat. Jim noticed the sign in the back that directed people who wanted to view the unique brick lined ovens. The smell of baked breads, sweet rolls and donuts filled the room. It looked like the farm house was the original bakery. One addition was for the restaurant, the other addition on the opposite side was more of a coffee shop with a counter where customers could order breads and rolls to go. Jim planned to check over the selection before they left.

"How could I completely forget Chris? I mean, now I've seen his picture and know how he died...and still, nothing."

Jim expected the question. He hadn't known Blair very long, but he knew enough to realize the younger man talked through his problems. "Our minds have defense mechanisms. Sometimes when we experience a ...terrible thing, it kicks in."

Blair nodded. "Okay, I can buy that. But now that I know, what am I defending myself against?"

Jim shrugged, sitting up as the waitress returned with two bowls and a round loaf of hot bread quartered with fresh butter. She set the meal down, asked if they needed anything else and left.

"I can't say offhand," Jim replied, reaching for the bread and starting to butter a large piece. "Do you want to remember?"

Blair stirred his soup slowly, his eyes focused on the bowl. "I'm not sure."

After lunch, Jim ended up spending over twenty dollars on baked goods. The clerk boxed up the baked goods and the two men headed back to Cascade, making good time on the freeways. Blair watched the passing scenery without comment.

Later that night, when Jim returned from delivering some of the breads and rolls to Simon's house and the detectives stuck working the weekend shift, he found a simple dinner of lasagna warming in the oven and his roommate already in bed. Jim stuck his head through the doorframe to see Blair reading by a small desk light balanced on a cardboard box next to his bed. It looked like Blair was going to need a few things in the way of furniture for his room. Jim made a mental note to check the basement. Over the years, he'd stored a few small pieces of furniture, too good to toss, not wanting the extra clutter.

"You okay?" Jim asked.

"Headache," Blair said. "How'd the guys like the bread?"

"For the next week, I will be called a god and revered," Jim pronounced solemnly. "Even Simon gushed, it was almost disgusting. Thanks for the lasagna, did you eat anything?"

Blair set his book on the floor and removed his glasses. "Yeah, a little. I'm gonna crash. I should feel better in the morning."

"Okay, good night."

Jim ate his dinner on the couch. Finding a rebroadcast from an earlier baseball game, he sat back to enjoy Blair's cooking and more of the Black Diamond bread. If he continued to eat this well, he'd have to increase his workouts at the gym to more than twice a week.

After the game, Jim washed the dishes and stored the leftovers in the fridge. He hesitated to climb the stairs to his room. It was after midnight now. He found an old comedy-mystery with James Garner and Bruce Willis and sat back to wait for the inevitable. If seeing Dennis Engelmen go into a seizure two days ago was enough to cause Blair to have a bad dream, then today's revelation should produce the mother of all nightmares.

Just as Willis was about to catch the killer, Blair's first scream pierced the night. Jim was off the sofa and running for the room, intent on waking Blair before half the building called the police. It appeared Blair liked to jump into his nightmares without a lot of warm up.

"Sandburg!" Jim called out as the second scream ripped out of Blair's throat. Jim's head narrowly avoided a swinging fist. He called out Blair's name again, waiting for an opportunity to touch his roommate without getting hit. Seeing his chance, he grabbed Blair by the shoulders and gave a shake, wanting to wake Blair quickly from his nightmare. Blair opened his eyes with a cry of fear, his breathing fast. Jim could hear his friend's heart, thumping in his chest like a wild animal, fighting to get out.

"Calm down, Blair," Jim ordered sternly. "It's just a dream."

Blair nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and fighting to hold his breath. It was a full minute before he could talk. Jim waited patently, sitting on the side of the futon again. "I though you said nightmares weren't the norm for you, Darwin," Jim teased, making sure to smile. "Another dream about Chris?"

"Ohmygod...Jim, I remembered ...we were running," Blair gasped between words. He pushed himself up to sit with his back against the wall.

"Running?"

Blair nodded, calmer. "We were running. I think we were trying to get out or get away."

"From what?"

"I don't know. But I do remember tripping or being pushed. I dropped the flashlight and it was dark. When I found it and saw Chris ...someone grabbed my arm and my neck!"

"In the mine? Who?" Jim asked.

"I don't know, I was looking at his face, it was a man and he was so angry...God, I was terrified." Blair bent his legs, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. "No wonder I blocked this memory, man. I don't think I've ever been this freaked out before in my life."

"Are you sure this is a memory?"

Blair dropped his head forward, touching his forehead to his knees. "Oh yeah, I remember, this much anyway... Jim what if it wasn't an accident? What if ..."

Jim sighed, a nine year old murder case.

"We'll keep asking questions, Chief."

Jim filled his heavy ceramic mug with Simon's coffee and took a seat in the chair in front of his boss's desk. Simon watched as his friend took an experimental sip and gave an approving nod. It was mid-morning and even though Simon had a load of work to do, Jim had made a few comments, hinting that he needed to talk. Simon made a guess it was about Jim's new sensory problems.

"Sandburg's having nightmares," Jim stated without warning.

Then again, maybe it was nothing to do with the sensory stuff.

"Uh huh," Simon said with a flat tone. "Jim, I'm tickled you have a new roommate and all. But I am your Captain. I am not Dr. Laura."

Jim chuckled softly. "Thanks, Simon. But I'm not coming to you for advice," Jim explained, becoming serious again. "He's remembering an accidental death he witnessed when he was sixteen. That's why we drove to Black Diamond last Saturday. Only now he's remembering the facts differently from how it happened in the police report."

"You read the official report?"

"I called their Police Chief yesterday. He's a decent sounding guy. He remembered the accident. I'm expecting a fax this morning." Jim shifted in his chair. "I gave him your fax number, I hope that's okay."

Simon waved a hand in the air. "Whatever. So, what happened?"

Jim took a drink before starting. "The Chief said Sandburg ran to a nearby house to report his friend falling into a vertical mine shaft---"

"Sandburg was messing around in an old mine? Does he have any idea how dangerous that is?!" Simon exclaimed angrily, haunted by mental pictures of his own son, lying in a deep hole, broken and lifeless.

"Simon, Blair was only sixteen. He was a kid. We all did stupid things when we were kids."

"Right, sorry, so what happened?"

Jim graced Simon with a brief smile before continuing. "Anyway, the facts are kind of sketchy. Their city hall had a fire about five years ago and a lot of reports were lost. The shaft had been sealed by wooden planks, rotten out from years of moisture. Chris had fallen through. Apparently they had to rig a special hoist with a tripod to lower EMS crews down, but the kid was dead from head injuries by the time they reached him."

"How is Sandburg's memory different?"

"Well, he only remembers parts, but he thinks there was a man in the mine with him. He remembers being grabbed and being terrified."

"Can he describe this guy?" Simon asked, getting interested in spite of his earlier reaction.

"White guy, no beard or glasses, huge...well, actually, judging by Sandburg's size when he was sixteen, all adults would have appeared huge," Jim confessed. "He's had a growth spurt during the last nine years."

Simon nodded, wisely refraining from comment. "You think he might recognize this man again?"

Jim shrugged, finishing his coffee and turning the mug in his hands. "Maybe, I'm not sure where to start looking. Something's got to be done though, Sandburg's not sleeping, hardly eating and letting his guilt eat him up inside."

"Guilt? What did he do to feel guilty about?" Simon asked in surprise.

"He forgot a friend, forgot how a friend died and that he was part of it... maybe because he couldn't do anything to keep his friend from dying," Jim explained quietly, looking at the framed trout poster mounted on the wall behind Simon's head instead. "It's hard."

It occurred to Simon that Jim wasn't just thinking about a tragedy in an abandoned mine. Although Jim never talked about it, Simon wondered if he was thinking about the time in Peru when his helicopter crashed and killed his entire squad. "Maybe Sandburg should see a specialist. I would think anyone that went through a similar experience would need expert help."

That got a slight reaction from the detective. Jim's eyes narrowed, a quiet huff of disagreement escaped, but he remained silent. Simon sighed, leaning back. "Okay, how about this? I have a few contacts; maybe I can track down the boy's family."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Jim looked up when Blair walked into the Bullpen, nodded to a few of the other detectives and dropped into an empty seat next to Jim's desk.

"Hey, Jim."

"Sandburg, what are you doing here?" Jim asked, knowing Blair had been up all night, working at his computer.

"I came to help you with your paperwork," Blair replied with a hurt expression on his tired face.

"No offense, Zombie-boy. But, you don't look like you could string a noun and a verb together right now. Go home. Rest."

Blair turned his haunted, bloodshot eyes towards the ceiling and snorted. "Yeah, riiight. I'll take a pass, thank you very much. Come on, man. Give me something to do, I'll spell-check your finished stuff."

"I have a computer program for that, Darwin," Jim insisted.

"Jim, spell-check only tells you if you've used a word, any word. I can check your grammar and stuff."

Rolling his eyes in defeat, Jim passed over a stack of reports. "Knock yourself out."

"Jim, I got a hold of my contact in Renton," Simon said, walking out his office door without looking up from his paperwork.

Jim caught the sudden interest in Blair's face. "I'll get it from you later, Sir."

"But...oh, hi, Sandburg," Simon stuttered, suddenly looking like a suspect singled out in a line-up.

Blair set Jim's reports down and looked at both men with suspicion. "What about Renton? What did Jim ask you to do?"

With a sigh, Jim nodded. "Go ahead, sir."

"Okay, then. A Mr. Dale Adair and his wife Melissa still live in Renton. He works at the Boeing plant there," Simon reported, handing a slip of paper to Jim. "This is their current address and phone number."

Jim accepted the paper. "Thanks, Simon."

Simon returned to his office. Jim glanced at the address and passed it over to Blair without a word.

"Are we going to go talk to them?" Blair asked as he unfolded the paper and glanced at the address.

"What do you want to do?" Jim asked, turning the question back.

Blair pursed his lips as he studied the address. "Yeeaaaahhh...I think I'd like to talk to them. Maybe it will help me remember more. God, Jim, what if we find out Chris `was' murdered?"

"Then we'll report it, Chief. There's no statute of limitations for murder."

Jim tapped the reports in front of Blair. "Get cracking, Mr. Editor. We'll call from the loft and make an appointment to go see them."

Later that night, they returned to the loft with an order of Thai take-out. Jim dialed the number. An answering machine picked up. He quickly introduced himself as a friend of Blair Sandburg, leaving the phone number to the loft and asking them to call back. Jim realized the call would be long distance, so he added they could call collect.

Blair was chewing on his lower lip as Jim spoke, mixed looks of disappointment and relief warring on his face. "Not home, huh?" he said, stating the obvious.

"Nope, let's eat, then we can get started on the walls," Jim said, choosing that moment to announce `Operation: get Sandburg to Sleep'.

"Walls? What about the walls?"

"Bricks don't stay clean on their own, Chief. With both of us working, we should finish tonight."

Blair looked at the large expanse of red brickwork with wonder. "Clean? You clean your bricks?"

After eating, they moved all the furniture away from the brick wall. Jim set Blair up with a bucket and brush, directing him to start low while Jim used the ladder to clean the top. A spring-training ballgame played on the radio. Jim turned the volume up and they worked while commenting on a promising Mariner season. By nine, the bricks looked great and Blair looked exhausted. Still the younger man refused to go to bed.

Jim put phase two of his plan into operation.

"I'm in the mood for some of that tea you make in the evenings," Jim said, looking through the cupboards. "Which one is it?"

"In the mason jar to the right of the sink," Blair answered. "You really liked that?"

"It's okay, better if you add honey."

Jim had the kettle boiling. He filled a teapot and helped Blair return the furniture to its previous location while the tea steeped. "You want a cup?" he asked keeping his voice casual.

"Okay," Blair answered flipping through the channels. "What do you want to watch?"

"You pick, I don't care." Jim brought two mugs into the living room, knowing Blair was likely to pick a documentary, which would do a better job at putting him to sleep than anything Jim would pick. It was hard to drop off to sleep when the TV was showing buildings blowing up and shoot-outs every five minutes.

Blair found a National Geographic special and sipped his tea. Before the show was half over, he was curled on his side, fast asleep. Jim tossed a throw over his still form, muted the TV and switched it over to an early James Bond movie with Sean Connery. He looked at Blair with satisfaction and checked the clock on the VCR display: nine-twenty.

Not bad.

Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang. Jim leaped out of his chair, snatching up the handset before it could ring a second time.

"Ellison."

"Uh...hello. This is Melissa Adair?"

"Thank you for calling back, Ms. Adair," Jim said quietly, heading for the bathroom to have this conversation without waking his roommate. "Did you call collect?"

"No, it's okay. I don't mind paying for the call." She sounded breathless, as if just talking to Jim took an enormous physical effort. "You said you know Blair? He was a friend of my son's."

"That's right." Jim closed the door and sat on the closed toilet seat. "Blair is having nightmares about your son's death. I'm not sure how to say this, but he's forgotten your son. He forgot that he was in the mine when Chris died. Now he's remembering bits and pieces and ... well, he's confused and wants to talk with you and your husband, if that's okay."

Jim waited, sounds of breathing the only noise on the other end. After the silence stretched to an abnormally long length, Jim spoke again. "Mrs. Adair?"

"I'm sorry. I was just...he forgot? All this time?" she asked. "How can that be?"

"Well, I'm not sure. But he works with me; I'm a police detective with the city of Cascade. He saw a young man having a seizure and I think it triggered the dreams. Do you think we could come down to Renton and meet with you and your husband?"

"Yes, of course," Melissa said quickly. "When Blair left that night, we were so worried about him. I just thought since he went home and never contacted us again or came to the funeral, he just didn't want to."

"No, Sa...Blair's not like that, believe me," Jim insisted. "He's one of the most sincerely caring persons I've met. I'm not sure, but I think the shock of what happened to your son caused his mind to isolate the memory. He feels bad that he forgot."

"He was such a nice young man. When can you two come down?"

Jim made plans to meet them the following day, about five pm. Blair had morning classes at Rainier and Jim knew that Simon would give him a few hours off. After returning the phone to the charger and sitting back down in his chair, Jim finished his cold tea and smiled to himself. Bond was flirting with Miss. Moneypenny and Blair was still sleeping like a baby.

All in all, it had been a very productive evening.

The drive to Renton the following afternoon was quiet, without the spirit of adventure they shared on Saturday's trip to Black Diamond. The couple lived in a modest split level home located in an older, established neighborhood. New townhouses and condominiums were being built all around the cul-de-sac they lived on. Blair sat in the Ford, not wanting to open the door.

Jim waited patiently, not pressuring, as if understanding the other man's inner battle.

A white Jeep Cherokee sat in the driveway. Lights were on in the living room. Blair rubbed his face; he was tired, but not as tired as the last few days. Somehow he'd managed to get a full night sleep on the sofa, without any nightmares. Still, he felt exhausted, perhaps more mentally than physically. With a determined huff, he opened the door and stepped out. It was time to meet Chris's family. Maybe meet Chris's memory, his ghost.

Melissa answered the door. She looked much older than the woman in Addy's news clipping. Her eyes filled with tears as soon as she saw Blair. Without thinking, Blair stepped forward and opened his arms, a silent invitation. She accepted as the tears broke, falling down her cheeks and landing on Blair's shoulder as they hugged.

"I'm sorry," Blair mumbled, his voice choked with emotion. "I didn't mean..."

She squeezed him hard, hushing him firmly. After a few seconds, she laughed and pulled back, holding Blair's shoulders as she looked him over, her eyes going from the top of his head to his feet. She was a tall woman, a few inches taller than Blair. "God, look at you Blair! You're so grown up!" She touched his hair. "And this hair, it's beautiful!"

Blair felt his face grow warm; he knew a blush was in full bloom. It never failed. "This is Jim," Blair said as Melissa wiped her tears, her smile widening as Jim shook her hand.

"Come in, Dale's still at work, but he's due home soon." She led them into a comfortable living room. The sofa and loveseat had matching striped fabric. The coffee table held a plate of cut vegetables and dip as well as cheese and crackers. An air-pot of coffee with creamer and sugar completed the appetizing spread. "Please sit."

She poured the coffee and smiled as Jim filled a small paper plate with food. Blair followed his friend's lead, finding comfort in having something to hold on to while he sat in the woman's house. She must have seen his discomfort, though, starting the conversation without preamble.

"Blair, do you remember me, now that you're here?"

Blair blinked, finding her frankness a little disconcerting. "Uh...I'm not sure. I remembered the old house and I think you liked roses?"

She smiled. "That's right. I grew them in the front yard."

Blair nodded. "I remember that."

"What else?"

Blair shrugged. "Not much. Just the dream about the mine...and Chris falling," he added in a soft voice, afraid he might be causing her more pain.

But Melissa seemed to be more focused on Blair than the memory of her son. She leaned forward, clasping her hands together as if in prayer. She looked in her late forties, her figure slightly plump. She had shoulder length natural looking blond hair, styled in a page cut that curled around her ears. "Do you want me to help fill in the blanks?"

Blair's throat grew tight. God, he wanted that so much. Not trusting his voice at the moment, he nodded his head.

"Okay, you and Chris met in college. You both were freshmen; only Chris was a year older. You both enrolled in the jumpstart program. Chris said he sat directly behind you in English. He told me you got teased a lot about looking so young. When one of the seniors took the teasing too far, you got in trouble with the college for fighting. Chris saw the whole incident and refused to let the senior get away with lying as to who started the fight." She paused.

Blair had dropped his eyes to his place of food, concentrating on her words, trying to force the memories to surface. But it wasn't happening. There had been so many confrontations in those early years. It seemed like every day was an uphill struggle, and he had felt so alone, so damn young.

"Chris said the senior was a football player, real popular with the school. For a few weeks the two of you were not very popular with the rest of the student body because the senior got in trouble for harassing you," Melissa continued.

Like a light switch, the memory flooded into Blair's brain. The plate tilted dangerously, the food sliding towards the edge. Jim snatched the plate from Blair's hand and returned it to the coffee table. Blair never noticed.

"He stole my essay! Tried to use it for is own, but I had a photo copy! They suspended him for it!" Blair turned to Jim, excited with his realization. "They jumped me on the way to my dorm, Chris heard it and helped me. Jim, he was `so' cool. He didn't back down. Ohmygod! Chris! How could I forget him?"

Blair's elation with his ability to remember turned to pain as he pictured his friend, tall and blond with an easy smile and mischievous grin, always ready for an adventure and fiercely loyal. Then his memory focused on the last time he saw his friend, lying at the bottom of that dark hole, his body seizing from a serious head injury. Blair doubled over with a groan, the pain in his chest threatening to consume him. His groan ended in a choked sob.

"Easy, Chief," Jim muttered, cupping the back of Blair's neck and squeezing gently.

"He fell!"

"What the hell is going on?" a loud voice boomed. A large man stood in the entry way, a briefcase in his hand.

Blair looked up and the rest of the nightmare clicked into place. "You were there!" Blair said, rising to stand but becoming lightheaded as the roaring noise started to fill his head again.

"Blair?" the man asked in surprise.

"Dale, I told you Blair was visiting tonight!" Melissa said sharply.

"Sandburg?" Jim said.

"We weren't supposed to be in the mine...Chris said if we got caught he'd be grounded for the summer," Blair said, his body starting to shake as he backed away towards the far end of the living room. "But we heard you calling our names...we were running for the other exit. Oh, God, it was my fault."

Chris' father set his briefcase on the floor, his face twisted with grief as he listened to Blair remember the day his child died. "Blair, listen to me, son. Chris was always exploring those mines. He would have gone even if you hadn't been visiting us that week." The man's voice broke. "I am so sorry for what I said to you, Blair, I had no right to say those things."

Blair was beyond listening, he dropped to his hands and knees on the carpet, sobs washing over him in waves. Jim knelt down next to his friend, shooting an accusatory look at the older man. "What did you say to him, Mr. Adair?" Jim demanded, circling an arm around the heaving shoulders.

"I was ... angry. Chris was dying and there was no way to get to him," Adair confessed, his face wet from his own tears. "Blair, I'm sorry. I was wrong. It was never your fault."

"Oh, Dale," Melissa cried out softly, reaching out for her husband. They embraced, drawing comfort from each other in their shared pain.

Jim cursed, pulling Blair close and tightening his hold when Blair turned to bury his face in Jim's chest, his tears soaking the fabric of his shirt.

Blair was back in the mine shaft. He was breathing hard, caught up in Chris' fear of being caught, even though the worst that could happen to him might be getting sent back to his dorm before the end of spring break. He never should have let Chris talk him into doing this, he knew better. But Chris wanted to prove to Blair his earlier claims of being able to see in the dark. Just because Blair was going to find a Sentinel, Chris wanted to be one.

Finding the flashlight, Blair thumbed the switch on and the inky darkness wasn't so huge anymore. He played the light on the walls and floor, until it found the hole. A cold block of ice suddenly developed in his gut as he stumbled to his feet and neared the edge.

"Chris?" He pointed the light down, becoming dizzy with vertigo as the light stretched an impossible distance until it found his friend, small and fragile looking. Oh, God! He was jerking like he'd been hooked up to a live current of electricity. "Chris!"

Before Blair could organize his thoughts, the ground underneath him dropped away a split second before a strong arm appeared in his line of vision, cinching tight around him but missing his shoulders and catching him by his neck as he started to fall. Blair was pulled backward, yanked safely away from the crumbling wooden planks.

Someone was yelling. Mr. Adair, Chris' father had finally caught up with them, after they had tried to dodge him for over ten minutes.

"How can two boy geniuses be so damn stupid? Where's Chris, Blair?"

Blair couldn't answer, the seriousness of the situation making words impossible. Mr. Adair released him and Blair pointed to the hole.

"Oh my God! Chris, no!" The man leaned forward carefully, shining his own bright light into the shaft. "Chris!... Oh God, Blair, run back and get some help!"

Blair felt rooted in place, as if his own guilt in the events prevented him from missing any chance to witness Dale Adair's anguish. Blair couldn't even close his eyes.

"Didn't you hear me? Haven't you done enough? Go. Get. Help!" Adair screamed in anger, his voice bouncing around the mine shaft and echoing in Blair's head.

Blair ran, blinded by hot burning tears.

Jim hated feeling helpless, when it wasn't a matter of not knowing what needed to be done, but a matter of knowing that nothing `could' be done. He felt Blair's body shudder and held on tight. His shirt was getting a large wet spot and his knees were starting to ache. Part of him realized that the Adairs had stepped out of the room, he was thankful for their thoughtfulness.

"Blair?" he whispered, wincing when the grip on his biceps tightened. "Okay, take your time."

Blair's muffled cries continued for several long minutes until they began to diminish in strength. Finally, the sobs stopped all together and Blair weakly pushed away. Jim kept his hand on one shoulder while he reached back to snag a handful of napkins and pushed them into his friend's hand. Blair quickly brought them to his face and turned away.

"You okay?"

With a jerky nod of his head, Blair finished drying his face. "We were running...Chris didn't want to get into trouble," he whispered.

"I figured."

"He was just... I didn't believe him. Oh, God. Jim, it's my fault."

"No!" Jim turned Blair by the shoulders to look him squarely in the face. "Listen to me, Sandburg. No one is blaming you, not the Adairs, not the police, not the town, and not me. Do NOT do this to yourself!"

As the large blue eyes started to fill again with tears, Jim softened his approach. "Blair, you were kids. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. It sucks, but it's the truth. Would Chris want you to blame yourself? If you'd fallen and died, and he was sitting with me on the floor, right this minute, would you `want' him to say that?"

Blair's eyes dropped down to contemplate the carpet under his knees. His long hair swung slightly as he slowly moved his head from side to side. "No... I wouldn't."

"You deserve the same truth, Chief. That accident was just that, an accident. Bad choices were made, that's for sure, but kids have a tendency to do things like that." Jim released Blair's shoulders. "I think this is why your mind shut out Chris's memory. You weren't ready then, but you are now."

Blair shivered and looked around the room, his gaze landing back on Jim. "Can we..."

"Get out of here?" Jim finished as he stood up slowly, his knees popping in protest. "Yeah, I'll tell the Adairs we'll call them later," Jim said as he helped Blair stand on his feet. "I'll meet you in the truck."

"Thanks, man," Blair said with a ghost of a smile before heading for the front door.

"So, it was an accident after all?" Simon asked, his fingers fiddling with an unlit cigar. "Why did this take nine years to surface?"

After arriving back at the loft, Blair had gone to his room to rest. Simon arrived an hour later, curious about the results of their visit.

"Engelmen's seizure was part of the trigger, but I was the other part," Jim admitted unhappily. "When Sandburg was in the mine, he got too close and almost fell in. Dale Adair yanked him back. Back in the holding cell last week, when Blair was freaking out, I had to use a choke hold on him."

"So, seeing Engelmen's seizure and getting manhandled like he did in the mine brought on the nightmare."

"Right, Sandburg remembered running from someone. It wasn't until he saw Chris' father that he realized who they were running from."

"Damn, that's got to be tough," Simon said. "And he just blocked the entire memory of his friend. No one at Rainier talked about it?"

"I doubt anyone asked. Rainier is a large campus, they were freshmen and not well liked at the time. The teachers probably thought Sandburg didn't want to discuss it. Who knows?"

"What about now? How's Sandburg doing?"

"Well, he's talking about it. That's got to be a start," Jim said.

When Blair finally woke up, Simon was long gone. The smell of lasagna being reheated in the oven filled the loft. It was dark outside, almost nine-thirty and neither man had eaten dinner. Jim cut large slices of soft bread from the Black Diamond stash, looking up as Blair shuffled out of his room and dropped into a kitchen chair wordlessly.

"How'd you sleep?"

Blair shrugged. One side of his head had a serious case of bed-head going on. He wore a threadbare thermal shirt that looked soft and suitable for sleeping in. An ancient looking pair of gray sweatpants completed the unique pajama set.

"Hungry?" Jim asked, not surprised when his roommate answered with an identical shrug. Two plates were already set out on the table. Jim added the re-warmed dish of pasta and a plate of sliced bread. Pouring two glasses of apple juice before sitting down, Jim picked up his fork and started eating.

After a few minutes, Blair helped himself to a small helping of lasagna and started eating. He chewed slowly, his eyes dodging Jim's direct gaze while they finished their late dinner. Jim didn't push. After they finished, he was pleased to see Blair clearing the table, running hot water in the sink to start washing. Jim picked up a dish towel and stood shoulder to shoulder with him, ready to dry.

"Simon dropped by, I think he was hoping we had more of those cinnamon rolls," Jim said, hoping a little small talk would start a dialogue.

"Did you tell him?" Blair asked emotionlessly.

Jim paused as he dried a plate. He had. Was that a mistake? "Yeah, I'm sorry, Sandburg. Maybe I shouldn't have."

"No, it's okay. I don't mind. It doesn't matter."

That sounded ominous in Jim's mind. "Of course it matters; it was your place to let him know. I shouldn't have said anything."

Blair shrugged. "I'm just sorry you got caught up in this. Something I did years ago pops up the first week I move into your home. I wouldn't blame you if you want me to move out, man."

"While you're at it, why not take the responsibility for the gas prices? Or that ugly business going on in the Middle East?" Jim teased, bumping Blair gently with his hip. "Cut yourself some slack, Chief. I'm not gonna toss you out because of a tragedy that happened to you nine years ago."

Blair's knuckles whitened around the glass he held. A small hitch in his breath telling Jim he was fighting to keep his composure.

"When I woke up in Peru, the first morning after I'd buried my men; I realized there was nothing more I could do for them. For some reason, that hurt more than when they were dying." Jim swallowed hard, finding the subject difficult. Hell, he'd never talked about it before tonight. "I knew I had to finish the objective, I needed to know they didn't die on a failed mission."

Blair's hands were still, he turned to study Jim's profile with a hint of awe. "But their deaths weren't your fault, Jim."

Jim shrugged. "Maybe not, but I still felt guilty. They all died and I didn't."

Blair nodded his head slowly with that comment, returning his attention back to the task of washing. "Yeah, I hear that. I kinda feel the same way. Why did Chris fall through and I didn't?"

"He was bigger than you, wasn't he?"

"Jim, everyone was bigger than me back then," Blair said with a touch of dark humor. "Chris was so cool, you would have liked him. He was smart. When I met him, it was like, suddenly the campus wasn't so scary anymore."

"He started young like you did?"

"Yeah, it was kind of a curse in a way. Don't get me wrong, it was great learning all that stuff, but..." Blair picked up the lasagna dish and started working at the baked cheese stuck to the sides.

"I get it. I was the youngest in boot camp. You're always an easy target."

"Oh yeah. God, I can't believe I forgot him."

"Well, now you can remember the good times, too."

Blair chuckled. "Good point... once when Chris and I first started hanging together, there was this teacher that liked to pick on us..."

Jim smiled as he watched Blair clean the pan. It wasn't going to happen in one night, but Blair was on the right path to healing. He could have a few more nightmares and probable periods of depression to work through, but he wouldn't handle it alone. Jim listened as the story progressed, interested more in the small spark of enthusiasm he was starting to hear in Blair's voice than the actual words.

The pan was clean. Blair continued his story as he drained the sink. Jim leaned a hip against the counter, his eyes drifting to the clean brick wall. That stupid looking mask of Sandburg's would look kind of nice hanging there.

"...So when he opened his desk and all that stuff popped out, the class laughed so hard that one poor guy actually hurled chunks."

"Oh, gross, Sandburg," Jim moaned.

The End

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