"Sandburg, what's this mess in the living room?"

"Hey, Jim! You're home early!" Blair Sandburg, anthropology scholar and guide to one James Ellison walked out of his small bedroom with a bright smile. His glasses were perched half way down his nose, he carried a large book and judging by it's condition appeared to be a survivor of a century old flood.

"The testimonial hearing was continued, what about the living room?" Jim stared at the boxes that were scattered about the room. Crumpled newsprint and shredded paper littered the coffee table and sofas. An assortment of pottery shards, hollowed-out gourds and wooden bowls were placed on the floor in a row next to the French doors.

"Oh, sorry. I'm sorting out some artifacts for Professor Finholt."

Jim glared at the collection. "Why are you sorting it out in the loft?"

"She asked if I could help." Blair proceeded to stroll through his mess with a contented look on his young face.

"Your office was not an option?" Jim hung his damp jacket next to the door.

Not looking up from his examination of a nearly whole mud colored jar, Blair laughed easily. "I don't have enough room to spread this stuff out."

Punching the button on the answering machine with more force than necessary to retrieve his messages, the off duty copy opened the refrigerator door and scanned the contents.

"Jim? Just calling to remind you about the McFarland hearing this afternoon. One-thirty sharp. Don't forget this time."

Jim rolled his eyes, reaching for a can of V-8. `Miss one court date in six months and suddenly I'm incapable of remembering my own schedule,' Jim thought.

"Dude! Call me!"

Blair looked up from hunting through the collection on the floor and tossed his roommate a sheepish grin. "Forgot to erase that one." He picked up a jar and compared it with something in the book.

Jim grunted as he sat at the kitchen table to sort through the stack of mail Sandburg had placed there. No other messages were played.

Blair closed his book and sighed happily. "I'd better get this stuff boxed up. Finholt is expecting an inventory tomorrow and I still have some grading to finish."

Jim nodded, pleased to learn that some order would be returning to his territory soon. He finished sorting his mail; Blair must have already taken his out of the pile. He was just ripping through is second offer for a new low interest visa card when his roommate yelped in pain.

"What is it?" Jim looked up in concern.

Blair shook his right hand hard and jumped back from a small box setting on the coffee table. "Something bit me!" he exclaimed, waving his right hand back and forth. "Damn! It hurts!"

Ellison stood, knocking the chair over in his haste. Skirting around the sofa, he grabbed the flailing hand to examine it closely. Three small red holes appeared in his palm. "Hold still! Where are these boxes from, Sandburg?"

Blair tried to pull his hand free, his face contorted with pain. "Shit! It burns, Jim!"

"Blair! Tell me where the boxes are from."

"Southwest." Blair continued to ineffectively pull at his arm to release his hand from his friend's grip. "Arizona."

Jim pushed his friend onto the sofa with a hand on Sandburg's shoulder. "Keep your hand down! Don't raise it higher than your heart, got it?"

He carefully looked into the box without touching the sides. In the shadow, a small spider-like insect was backed into the corner. Jim zoomed his vision in on a flattened brownish triangular-shaped sternum with four pairs of legs, a pair of claws and a segmented tail that curled up over its body with a wicked looking spike at the end. He picked up an empty ice tea glass sitting near the box and trapped it safely within.

Crossing the room to the cordless phone, Jim dialed 911 while reaching into the freezer for a bag of peas. They never ate frozen peas, but he had learned over the years that it was a handy ice pack.

After giving his address to the operator, he softly requested the fire department and a medic for a scorpion bite. The reaction from the dispatcher was incredulous; Jim didn't have time to explain as he unlocked the front door and returned to his roommate.

Blair had curled into a ball on his side, clutching his hand to his chest. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his facial features twisted into a grotesque mask of pain. Cutting the connection with the dispatcher, Ellison tossed the handset and sat with his back against the armrest facing his friend.

Reaching out, Jim manhandled Sandburg back into an upright position. "Come here, kid."

Blair remained curled as he sat up and Jim was able to tuck him in close. He circled his right arm around Sandburg's back and with both hands, forced the injured hand back down into his lap.

"We need to keep your hand low, Sandburg." He placed the bag of peas over the bites. "Hold this."

Blair unfolded his legs into a semi lotus position and tried to bend at his waist without opening his eyes. Jim fought the move by hugging the man to his chest, almost pulling him into his lap.

"No, Blair. Hold the bag down on your hand and sit up." He softly instructed into his ear.

"Oh, God. Jim, what was that? It's burning!" He turned pain filled eyes toward his sentinel.

"You tangoed with a scorpion, pal. Try and relax."

Blair's heart rate shot up, contradicting his friend's last instruction. "Jim, you've got to get out of here! What if it gets you too? We don't know how your senses would handle it." His eyes had closed again; an involuntary muscle jerked his right arm.

"Listen to me, Junior. I've got it contained. It's okay. You're going to be fine. Scorpion bites are painful but rarely deadly." Jim tightened his hold. He'd seen scorpion bites while training in the Army. Thinking his guide would be better off knowing what to expect, he began to talk in a low and comforting voice.

"Sandburg, you may have some involuntary muscle movement. Don't be alarmed if you can't swallow. I know it hurts, but the more relaxed you are the less the venom moves, that's why we're icing your hand."

Another spasm and Blair nodded his head. "How rare is death man? I mean, what are the chamse...chass...SHHH!" Blair looked at Jim in panic, working his neck muscles.

"It's okay. It's the neurotoxin, buddy. It's a bitch, but I expected it. You're not going to die. You're young and strong.. The medics are going to give you some drugs and probably intubate you," he explained.

Blair shook his head in denial and squirmed restlessly in the older man's arms. Another muscle jerk caused a tear to break over and slide down Blair's cheek. His glasses were becoming unhooked from one ear and Jim deafly snagged them, tossing them to the table. He quickly re-established his hold supporting Blair's upper body. The muscle jerks were almost mimicking a seizure now.

The shrill sound of approaching sirens was music to Jim's ears. "Help's coming, Chief."

Blair nodded and closed his eyes. A whole body jerk bounced his left temple off of Jim's right collarbone, causing the cop to shift his hold to cradle the younger man's head into his shoulder.

"Almost here. You're doing good, Sandburg. Try and take deep breaths."

"Ummm"

Ellison watched Blair's pupils dilate and his eyes began to swing rapidly back and forth.

"uunnnnhhhhh"

"It's okay, it the venom. Eye movement is a very common sign." Jim forced himself to remain calm, knowing if he showed any anxiety then Blair would really loose it.

Ellison could hear the emergency vehicles braking to a stop on the street below. Doors were slammed and footsteps sounded on the stairs. With in a few moments the loft was crowded with uniformed men and women from Cascade Fire Department.

"The scorpion is in that box with the upside down glass! Watch you don't knock it over." Jim ordered from his position on the sofa.

Two large firemen gently lifted the coffee table, contents and all, moving it to the far corner. A short man in his forties knelt down on one knee in front of Blair.

"Hey, son. My name is Ed Wazacheck, this is my partner Shawn Garth. I understand you got a little close to a scorpion?"

Blair nodded as his body jerked.

Ed reached to examine the hand when Jim removed the bag of peas. The palm was red now with small lesions. Ed lightly tapped one. The result was instantaneous.

"UUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!" Blair jerked the hand away, turning away from the medic and towards Jim.

Jim grabbed the injured hand above the wrist and pulled Blair's shoulders tightly into his chest. "Easy! He won't do that again, okay?"

"Sorry! Sorry, it's one of the tests we need to do Mr..."

"Sandburg. Blair Sandburg." Jim informed him over Blair's head.

With some urging, the medic and Jim were able to coax Sandburg onto the gurney they had rolled in. Jim stayed close as they inserted an I.V. Garth was on the phone with the E.R. doctor consulting on the field treatment. Epinephrine was discussed and used. The doctor wanted Blair intubated just to be sure his airway would remain open during transport.

Jim held Blair's left hand and reassured his roommate with soft encouraging words. Blair's eyes closed, still moving under the lids, as he became unconscious for the procedure.

"How the hell did he get a scorpion in here?" A fire captain asked Ellison.

"He's a teacher at Rainier. He brought some artifacts home to inventory them, it was in one of the boxes." Jim scrubbed his skull with both hands. He grabbed his cell phone and moved out into the kitchen. Simon was in a meeting, so he left word with Rhonda to have him call as soon as he was free.

Waiting was not something the tall Cascade detective did well. During the ride to the hospital Blair had awakened, fear plainly evident on his face. Jim had been authorized to ride in the back with the hopes it would keep the patient calmer should he regain consciousness. It worked.

After arriving, the hospital staff had ended the ride-a-long with an understanding look but a firm recital of procedure. So he promised he'd stay in the waiting room.

He had made no promises about listening in. Two doctors were evaluating Blair, Jim eavesdropped as one soft voice and an older voice discussed the pros and cons in using antivenom. Jim did not understand all of it, but the talk had something to do with a shorter hospital stay versus possible serum sickness. Both doctors did agree with using antihistamines and muscle relaxants.

A nurse appeared at Ellison's elbow asking if Blair was current with his tetanus shots. Jim nodded and she disappeared back down the hallway towards the treatment room. Both doctors were happy with the information and with the results from a machine that was monitoring Sandburg's heart. The soft voice doctor finally was able to convince his medical peer not to use the antivenom. A nurse was instructed to secure a bed in the hospital's ICU.

Jim began to breathe easy. Sure, he knew that scorpion bites rarely caused death, and although his mind was happy with the knowledge, his gut was still reacting to watching Sandburg go through all that shit in the loft. He'd been told by the fire department personnel that an officer from animal control would be transporting the scorpion to the hospital, after making sure that no other little surprises were hiding in the boxes and packing material. Ellison had been agreeable to the plan, but he still planned on calling an exterminator as soon as he had a chance.

Finally, the soft-spoken doctor wandered out into the waiting room.

"You're here with Blair Sandburg?"

Jim nodded, pushing himself away from the wall and joining the short dark-skinned man.

"Dr. Zamora. I'm part of the team that is treating your friend."

They shook hands; Jim glanced towards the metal clipboard in the man's hand. "How is he?"

"Good, he's responding to the medication, his airway is fine, the involuntary muscular activity is nearly gone although we expect the symptoms to persist for another 10 hours, maybe longer. He's being transported to ICU for observation. But it's been nearly 2 hours. If no severe cardiorespirator or neurologic symptom develops then I'm predicting a very good prognosis." His accent was slight as he spoke.

"Have you seen many scorpion injuries?"

Zamora smiled and nodded. "Three years in Arizona. Moved up here to escape the heat and live among the green again. I've seen more scorpion envenomations than I've cared to." He frowned as he added, "I believe that the same type we had down there stung your friend. `Centruroides' I believe they're called. Very painful bites."

"Can I stay with him in ICU?" Jim asked. "I was a medic in the army, I'll help with his care or just stay out of the way, whatever you want."

Zamora studied his pen. "I'll talk with the staff. Your fast thinking did a lot to slow the absorption of the neurotoxin."

When Simon caught up with Jim, Blair was just getting ready to be moved into the intensive care unit of the hospital. Jim gave his supervisor a quick nod and turned his attention back to listening in on the activity down the hall.

"Jim, how's Sandburg doing?"

Ellison pulled his hearing back and massaged his temples. "Not bad. He's medicated now, but his heart and airway are fine. The doctors are going to watch him for a while."

Jim felt a large hand gripping his shoulder.

"How about you?"

"Just tired."

Simon shook his head. "Come on, let's get some coffee and I'll fill you in."

Easing down onto the cafeteria chair, Jim listened as Simon relayed the information he'd learned. After hearing of the incident from his secretary, he'd contacted the animal control duty officer en-route to the hospital.

"Your place checked out okay. The scorpion is not found in the northwest. He believes it got transported up in the boxes from Arizona. They're contacting the University that mailed them now."

Jim nodded. "The doctor that worked on Blair thought the same thing." He rotated his head from side to side to loosen up stiff muscles. "Damn, Simon. This scorpion bite is not something you get over in a few hours."

"I know, Jim. I've got a niece in New Mexico who was stung by one. But you do get over them, and so will the kid. Who knew being a college T.A. was so dangerous," Simon added with a soft snort.

Jim tossed back the last of his coffee and stood. "I want to get back. The doctor's letting me sit with him in ICU."

"I'm going to push off then. Daryl is begging for a visit to the mall tonight. I'm not sure my pocket book will survive the trip." Simon slipped his arms back into his long raincoat. "Tell Sandburg we're pulling for him."

Moving quietly, Jim slipped into a private room with a long row of glass windows to allow the nurses to look in. Blair was resting on his left side, multi-colored thin cables snaked out from his gown, running to a complicated looking machine on rollers. Ellison sat down on a metal stool directly in Sandburg's line of vision. If he was cognizant enough to acknowledge Jim's presence they could talk. If not, then Blair needed the rest.

"Jim," Blair breathed with the strength to barely lift a butterfly's wing.

"Hey, Chief. How ya doing?" Jim whispered, carefully covering Blair's left hand with his own.

"Feel....funny...can't...see...too....good."

"You're on muscle relaxants. Just keep your eyes closed, your vision is blurry from the venom."

"'Kay."

"I'll be here. Why don't you go to sleep? The time will pass faster that way."

"'Kay."

Three hours of watching Sandburg sleep passed quickly for the Cascade cop turned Sentinel. Jim was a practical person. Routine was not just a term but a life style for the ex-Ranger. If a new problem appeared, he'd analyze it and attack it with determination. Afterwards, he would return to his routine without a backward glance. It may be boring to some, but Ellison had had more than his share of excitement. He was willing to let the younger population step up to the plate.

Sandburg twitched slightly in his sleep, a frown appeared on his face. Jim pulled the cotton blanket back up around his roommate's shoulders.

Jim's thoughts returned to that time he had been on stake out in Auburn. His senses had suddenly started to act up and Ellison found himself sliding out of control, his routine gone. He studied the smaller form in the hospital bed. Here was his key, his return to some semblance of normal - as long as he was willing to put up with a messy home, odd hours, weird food and bizarre tests, that is. If something should happen to his ... Jim looked for the word that fit. What had Brackett called him, a guide? Okay, maybe that was the term: guide, anchor, tether, whatever! But if Blair disappeared, Jim shook his head. No, he was not even going to go there.

Dr. Zamora entered the small room. He had been in and out several times over the last several hours. Blair had become something of a celebrity to the small medical family that worked in the hospital. Each visit seemed to bring another doctor to see the scorpion bite victim. Jim had stepped back each time, watching closely to make sure that Blair's comfort wasn't being effected by the extra attention.

Ellison stood to move back but Zamora was alone. He checked Blair carefully with a stethoscope and pen light, waking the sleeping man from his sleep.

"Good news, young man. You're graduating to a normal room."

Ellison smiled at the look of confusion on his friend's face.

"I'm getting out?" Blair mumbled softly but clearly, his voice sounding stronger than three hours ago.

Zamora returned the pen light to his front pocket. "Yes, out of ICU. You'll continue to be our guest for another 24 hours and then we need to discuss your outpatient care and some lingering symptoms you no doubt should expect."

"Cool."

By the time Blair was placed into a normal room, he had fallen asleep once more. Jim was advised Sandburg would more than likely be out for the night. When midnight arrived, Jim gave his friend's shoulder a pat and headed back to the loft.

The next morning Ellison warned his boss he was likely to be late. Simon was not surprised to learn his detective was swinging by the hospital to check on Sandburg before arriving at the bullpen.

Once the detective did show up for work, Simon ordered him to stay in the office, knowing that he would be too preoccupied with checking on his roommate throughout the day.

Finally tired of catching Jim checking his watch or on the phone to the hospital, Simon dismissed him a few hours after lunch. Jim didn't let the door hit him on the ass as he left the room.

"What are you doing here man?"

"Simon let me go." Jim tossed his jacket over the back of the ugly green chair and studied his friend with hands perched on his hips.

"Oh, driving him up the wall were you?"

"Smart ass. You okay?"

"Yep, almost back to normal."

"Wow, this is a miracle producing hospital. You haven't been normal since I met you."

Dr. Zamora walked in just in time to see his patient sticking his tongue out at his roommate.

"Hello, Mr. Ellison. I was just going to explain to Blair what he may expect during the next few days."

Jim sat in the chair and listened attentively.

Blair could look forward to symptoms for up to 72 hours from the bite. The doctor's big concern was a false recovery followed by a total relapse, which was common. That was the main reason for the 24-hour hospital stay. But it never happened.

His palm would be red and itch with some sensitivity of the skin. The worse was a paresthesia or tingling that felt like an electric current. Blair groaned when he was told that this last symptom had been known to last for several weeks and was the last to resolve.

Jim sat quietly as the doctor carefully listed the problems that may arise. When he finished, Jim asked a list of questions that Zamora answered efficiently. After the discussion between the doctor and cop ended, Blair looked at both men with a hangdog expression on his face.

"What's wrong, Sandburg?" Jim asked, concerned that Blair might be in pain.

"It's gonna be a long two weeks, man."

After the procedures for checking a patient out of the hospital had been completed, it was after six. The rain still fell, causing the wet roads to reflect the street lights.

Blair yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth.

"You up to a quick swing through wonder burger?" Jim asked seeing the familiar logo for his favorite fast food down the street.

"Yuck."

Jim laughed as he turned and pulled up to the large menu to give his regular order. Turning to his passenger, he raised an eyebrow.

"Number 7," Blair told him with a sigh of surrender. "No mayo or fries!"

"And a number seven, supersize it, hold the mayo."

"Jim!"

"What?"

"You're going to eat TWO large orders of fries?" Blair swatted his friend's shoulder.

"Your fault, Darwin. I'm starving here." Jim pulled up to pay at the first window.

Blair got half way through his chicken sandwich before reaching the loft. Ellison limited his eating to just Blair's fries.

Tossing the remaining half of his meal and the empty french-fry box into the dumpster, Sandburg followed his roommate into the building. Once inside the loft the boxes, wrapping material and artifacts caused the younger man to come to a standstill.

"Leave it, Sandburg. We'll clean in the morning." Jim hung his coat up.

"Sure?"

Jim nodded and set his dinner down on the table. "Animal control checked for any more scorpions, they're pretty sure it was just the one. I'm just going to check your room and then you can change out of those wet clothes."

Blair rolled his eyes. "My shirt is barely damp, man. Besides, I bet you checked the whole place over last night," he told his friend, following the older man into his room. Blair watched from the doorway as Jim looked in corners, cracks, seams and any place a shy scorpion might find to hide.

"Okay. Call me if you need anything." Jim headed back towards his dinner.

"Thanks, Jim."

Blair did change into a warm set of sweats for sleeping. As he dressed, his right arm jerked. An electrical current coursed through his limb causing him to gasp in pain.

Ellison was at his side before he could finish getting the sweatshirt over his head.

"What's wrong?"

Blair jumped, startled at the silent approach. "Damn, Jim. It was just a twitch. Dr. Zamora said to expect it, remember?"

"You feel okay?"

"Yes, mother. Hand itches, eyes are still blurry and an occasional trip into electro-shock therapy; but otherwise, I'm just peachy. Now go back to your dinner." He grinned at the cop, pushing him towards the doorway.

Watching the man go back towards the kitchen, he turned and contemplated his futon, unmade from that morning. "Ummm Jim?"

"What?"

"Could you double check the bed, man?"

The next morning was Saturday. Ellison decided to sleep in `til seven. He had the artifacts boxed up, coffee made, and the bathroom cleaned by the time his roommate started to make noises that he was waking. Not much at first: a few sighs, a mumble, the rustling sound of sheets and blankets moving.

Sandburg opened his eyes and watched the fuzzy outline of his roommate set a glass of water next to his bed.

"Unggh."

"Morning."

Blair moved his arms and legs just a fraction and groaned.

"Sit up, Sandburg. You need to take these."

Blair eased his body back until he could lean against the wall at the head of his futon. His hair was an explosion of curl.

"Whatimeizit?" He began to dig at his palm through the gauze wrap with fingers from his left hand.

Jim pulled his hand away and placed three white pills in it. "Almost nine. Don't scratch." He picked up the glass as Blair brought the pills up to his face to examine. "They're for your itching and sore muscles."

"How'd ya know, man?"

"About what, Chief?"

Blair yawned. "Feels like twenty bikers broke in last night ...used me for a soccer ball. Then some African fire ants decided to build a nest in my palm."

"Well you're sounding more awake." Jim pointed to the medicine. "Swallow." He handed the glass over when the pills were taken.

Sandburg finished the entire glass and swung is legs slowly over the edge of the bed. "Oh, man."

"Your body got quite a work out. It's gonna be sore."

Blair tried to sneak a scratch when Jim collected the water glass and turned his back to return to the kitchen.

"Don't scratch, Sandburg, or I'll duct tape my boxing glove over your hand."

Blair frowned at the broad retreating back.

"Man, did I ever tell you living with a sentinel can really suck sometimes?"

Breakfast was french toast with fruit. Ellison was just pouring the syrup on his third piece when the phone rang.

"Ellison."

"Detective Ellison?"

Jim recognized the voice of Blair's doctor from yesterday.

"Yes."

"This is Dr. Zamora, I'm sorry to bother you at home, but something has come up."

Shifting his gaze to watch his guide try and use his fork with his left hand, Ellison frowned and walked into the living room so not to be overheard.

"Is something wrong with Blair's treatment?"

"Oh, no. I'm so sorry. Nothing like that."

Jim filled his lungs with relief. "What's wrong?"

"I just got a call from our entomologist. He examined the scorpion that stung Mr. Sandburg. He talked with a friend of his that works at the Cascade Zoo and learned that two similar centruroides are missing."

"What!"

"Two southwest scorpions are gone. I thought since the nurse told me you are a police officer, that the police might be interested. The coincidence seems very odd."

Jim wrote down the name and phone number for the department where the entomologist worked. He thanked the doctor and returned the hand set to its base.

"What's wrong?"

Jim pursed his lips in thought. Returning to his meal, he started cutting up the bread into bite size squares.

"Tell me about the professor you were helping out, Sandburg."

"Finholt? Why? What's going on, Jim?"

Ellison relayed the information he'd learned as he quickly finished his meal. "Did you pick up the boxes from the U or some were else?"

"From her home. She lives in big farmhouse in the valley."

"Were the boxes still sealed?"

Blair searched his memory. "I don't think so. They were on her front porch, but I think the tape had been removed."

Ellison waved at the other man's plate.

"Eat up. We're going to make some phone calls and go visit your professor."

The first call was to Simon. Jim updated his boss as Blair took a shower. The Arizona school had been adamant that the scorpion had not been packed into the box by their staff. At the time, Simon had figured they were simply covering themselves for future civil actions. But now he wasn't so sure.

When Blair was dressed, Jim had him locate the professor. She was home and Blair suggested they bring the artifacts over. After loading the boxes into the Ford, they locked up the loft and headed out for the farmhouse.

"Jim, Zamora said that two scorpions were missing from the zoo, so where's the other one?"

"If it got out of the box, then we may never find out. They're not aggressive unless trapped. The first freeze will probably kill it."

"Or send it into her house. Man, we've got to warn her!"

"We will. But first I want to know how they got into the boxes," Jim said. "Did anyone else know you were doing the inventory for her?"

"No, I didn't even know until I offered."

Blair pointed towards a dirt road that branched off the main road and led them to a large two-story white farmhouse. A small woman in her early seventies waited on the front porch. Blair made the introductions and handed over several pages of printed material.

"Oh, thank you dear. You got this done so fast! But I didn't see you at Rainier yesterday, were you sick?"

"Actually, I had a problem with - "

Blair was cut off by a zap of electricity that shot through his arm and into his neck, causing him to fall backwards. Jim caught him before he took a backwards header down the porch steps.

"Blair! Are you all right?" the woman exclaimed in surprise.

Jim braced his friend up and smiled at the professor. "He was stung by a scorpion Thursday. I'm afraid he's going to have lingering symptoms for a few weeks."

Blair got his feet back under him and patted the cop's arm to signal he was okay. Jim released him slowly.

"Oh my goodness! How awful! Come sit down." She disappeared into the house, the two men followed.

Jim searched the floor for any sign of the missing scorpion. He steered his guide to sit in a wooden rocker as their host continued to talk.

"Where on earth could a scorpion have come from. I'll have to ask my grandson if there are any in western Washington."

Jim jumped in with interest. "Your grandson knows about scorpions?"

"I imagine he would, he works at the zoo. Just a part time job, but he told me that he's seen lots of exotic creatures and I'm sure he mentioned scorpions."

Jim and Blair exchanged knowing looks.

"Where is he now, Professor? I'd like to talk with him about the ones he's seen," Blair asked innocently.

"He might be in the barn. Would you like me to go get him?"

Jim nodded, "We'll walk with you, ma'am."

The barn was set back from the house. During the walk, Jim sniffed the air. The wind had changed directions and a light smell of ammonia was drifting from the barn. He slowed and snagged his roommates arm.

"Hold up, Sandburg."

Finholt paused, turning to face them. "Is there something wrong?"

Jim nodded towards the large barn. "Do you store ammonia or other chemicals in there?"

She shook her head. "Heavens no, just some artifacts that I'm getting sorted out. I'm retiring at the end of this year and I've donated my collection to some museums that are interested in them. The boxes that Blair worked on are my best pieces that I had loaned to Tucson for studies."

"How about your grandson?"

"He works back here, but only on his vehicles."

Jim took another sniff and shook his head. Backing away from the barn, Ellison pulled his guide along with a hand on his arm.

"Ma'am. I'm a police officer with the City of Cascade. I'm afraid your grandson may be storing dangerous chemicals in your barn. We need to back away and call the police."

"Oh my!" She stared at the structure in bewilderment, but obediently followed them back to the house.

"What are you smelling, Jim?" Blair whispered as they followed her back to the house.

Jim had his cell phone out and was dialing 911. "The ingredients used to cook meth, Chief."

"Oh, man!"

Skagit County sheriff's office responded and arrested Jason Finholt for possession of dangerous drugs. He was unaware of the pending arrest and was taken without incident. From the looks of his mental condition, he'd been sampling his cooking for a few months.

When the fire department arrived to help with the de-con, the second scorpion was located in a small cardboard box on a shelf in the barn. Both scorpions were returned safely to the zoo.

Professor Finholt admitted her grandson had been arrested before for drug use while living in Seattle with his parents. She had offered to let him move in with the hopes that removing him from the city would help to keep him out of trouble. Unfortunately, after getting a part time job with the zoo, he decided murdering his grandmother would bring a windfall by the way of a healthy inheritance. The problem with using meth is that the user is hardly a rocket scientist when the chemical is finished with their brain.

A week later, Ellison strode down the hallway and entered his friend's office. Blair was typing on his laptop.

"Should you be straining your eyes?"

"No problems man. Eyes are back to normal. And I haven't been zapped in over 24." He hit the save button and started the shut down procedure. "Have a cookie man, I'm almost ready to go."

Jim had smelled the plate of chocolate chip cookies half way down the hallway. He picked up two and started munching happily. His eyes caught sight of a note card next to the plate. Picking it up to read, he noticed the cover had a green frog gazing sadly at the viewer. He flipped open the card and read the spidery handwriting.

Blair,

Thank you for all your help. Your friendship is a treasure. Enjoy the cookies. I know I'm a coward to leave without saying goodbye face to face, but I feel too much like the frog. I'm the fool that gave the ride, but you got hurt. Please forgive me.

Estelle Finholt

Jim flipped the card back over and studied the frog again. Blair waited sadly as he finished and returned the card to the desk.

"She gave notice last Monday. Took early retirement. I tried to call her, but I think she's traveling." Blair shook his head and headed for the door.

"What's the business with the frog about?" Jim asked, snagging two more cookies.

"Just bring the plate, Jim," Blair instructed switching off the light.

In the truck, Ellison set the plate carefully down between them, keeping it within arms reach. "So?"

Blair buckled is belt. "What?"

"The frog?"

"Oh, she's referring the frog and the scorpion. She says she's the frog."

Jim nodded, checking over his shoulder as he pulled away from the curb. "What about the frog and the scorpion?"

"It's an old fable. The scorpion asks the frog to ride across the river on her back. But the frog is afraid it will sting her."

"It probably will."

"Yes, but the scorpion points out to her, that if he did, they would both drown."

"True, so what then, they get across?"

"No, the scorpion stings her in the middle of the river." Blair paused, swallowing.

Jim gave him a concerned look. This fable more than likely takes on a whole new meaning after actually being stung by a scorpion.

"So, they both drown? Not much of a fable, Chief."

"There's more. When the frog feels the poison start to paralyze her she points out that they are both going to drown and asks why he stung her."

"What did the scorpion say?"

"He said `I am not like you. We lie and sting. It's our nature, didn't you know that?'"

They were silent for a few blocks.

Jim consumed another cookie.

The End

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