With Jim's words still drifting through his thoughts like October's ground fog, Blair drove the dark country roads. The headlights of his Corvair lit up the wet, tall evergreens on each side of the asphalt, standing in a silent gauntlet. No other cars approached or followed. Blair liked that. It was fitting.

The demon had used him to get away from the street fight.

Used him to find that kid.

A kid.

A sign approached the headlight's range. Arlington was fifteen miles east if he took the next left turn. Jim would have a stroke. He was pretty sure his roommate was already pissed off. When they had arrived back at the loft earlier, Blair had walked over to his car and driven off without a word to his friend.

It had been rude. Blair knew that. But he had to be alone.

Checking the low gas gauge, he figured he had enough to get to the air show and talk to Brooksdale again.

Half an hour later, Blair wandered the grassy grounds, meandering between the brightly lit up, garish rides. Packs of teenagers laughed as they called to each other, drinking from large cups, eating greasy snacks that turned Blair's stomach. A few families were still out, although they looked as if they were getting ready to head back to the parking lot. The size of the carnival wasn't that large, nothing like the stuff Blair had seen at state fairs, but it seemed to attract a good-sized group.

"Mr. Sandburg?"

Blair turned, seeing Brooksdale standing by a booth selling tickets. "Hey." Blair looked around, suddenly wondering if this had been a good idea. The place was thick with people. "Can we talk?"

The ex-con silently led the way to his trailer, closing the door and cutting off a significant amount of noise as he waved a hand toward a chair. The curtain was pulled back and Blair could see the rest of the home. A clean kitchenette, no personal mementos or decorations, a pair of worn slippers rested on the floor next to a twin-sized bed. A door off to the side must open to a postage-size bathroom.

"What are you doing here?" Brooksdale asked, standing a second before sinking down into his chair. "Where's Ellison?"

"Home, I guess." Blair tilted his head, a half smirk escaping.

"So... he doesn't know you're here?"

"No." Blair straightened. "I had some questions of my own."

"I see." Brooksdale paused, like a man caught in a dilemma.

A bit of indignation rose. "Hey, listen, man. I'm not a kid. Jim's not my keeper. I'm a scientist and, if it's okay, I'd like to ask you more questions about this demon. I think it used me to get into our building."

Brooksdale looked startled, leaning forward to study Blair like a bug pinned to a board. "Followed you? Did you see it? Did it speak to you?"

Now that Blair had an attentive audience, a believing listener, he found the words stuck in his throat. Painfully, he told the man what had happened. Brooksdale didn't interrupt or give the impression of disgust. Blair was thankful when he had finished. He felt drained and oddly emotional.

Brooksdale seemed to understand. "Let me explain how the demon works. It taunts, it teases, it feeds on our darker emotions; fear, hate, lust, pride... you name it. The demon needs it to survive, to grow stronger. It takes a lot of energy for it to jump from body to body. You obviously don't let any dark emotion control your life, kid. Or you'd have been taken over, instead of it just tagging along. It can only do that for so long."

Blair rubbed his head. "I can't believe it was in my room. It freaks me out."

"Yeah, I know. I've done a lot of searching and evil has a definite shape. Demons are as real as you and me." Brooksdale stood, going over to a low, handmade bookshelf filled with battered hardbacks. He selected one and set it on the tiny table, taking a seat at Blair's side. "Demons are believed to interfere in one of two ways with their victims. They can cause an obsession, this one likes to dare them into destructive acts. The second is actual possession in which the devil physically takes over the human body."

The book looked old, pages yellow and brittle like burnt egg shells, ready to crumble. Brooksdale turned to a page filed with hand sketched drawings. Hideous creatures that walked on jointed legs and wings sharp with horns sprouting from their scaly backs. Their victims lay like fallen leaves at their feet, mangled and torn. Blair felt a shudder traverse his spine. "Puts a whole new meaning to the term `dare devil'," he muttered.

"No kidding. It literally feeds on our bodies, like the parasites it leaves behind," Brooksdale explained, closing and returning the book.

Blair caught a few more titles on the shelves; noting the titles on the spines; `New rules set to purge Satan: first update to exorcism ritual since 1614'; `Handbook about Demon Possession for Human Service Workers'; `Possession, multiple-personality disorder'. He shook his head. "So, how do we fight this thing?" He waved a hand toward the books, "Any of that stuff help?"

With a wry smile, Brooksdale shrugged. "Spending several years in prison gave me time to think. Some of this helps. But no... that stuff isn't what I was looking for. Basically, I realized if I was going to destroy this demon, I needed help, needed to learn control. The battle isn't mine. I'm just a tool."

Jim woke with the same migraine that he'd gone to sleep with. How did the old joke go? If you wake up with a headache, get rid of her? `And I'm not even married anymore,' he mused silently as he downed aspirin with a swallow of black coffee. It was early, predawn yet Jim's body refused to sleep anymore. The headache had started when he'd gone back to work after dropping Blair off at Rainier yesterday. The theory of a demon who jumped from host to host should have been easy to disprove, or so he had thought. But it turned out the woman who had originally shot her husband was booked into Cascade's city jail the same time one of the gang members was bailed out by his girlfriend. Allegedly, the imaginary demon had then jumped into Blair after the street fight and then slipped through the loft's floor into the teenager during the night.

Bullshit. Jim refused to believe it.

He eyed Blair's closed doors with regret. Why had he blurted that stupid comment yesterday? His friend had immediately taken the words to heart and now blamed himself for their neighbor's death. After delivering a bowl of fresh fruit to the couple last night, Blair had returned to the loft, told Jim about the floor plan below - apparently the teenager's room was directly below his roommate's - and left without divulging his plans. Jim was still awake when he'd returned at five after one in the morning. Jim had then fallen asleep to the sounds of pages being turned in the room underneath his.

It didn't take a Blair-interpreter to know Jim was still in deep shit with the younger man.

Outside the row of windows, hints of color streaked the cloudless sky. The day promised a parting taste of summer with warm temperatures and mild winds. Earlier in the week, when Blair had been speaking to him, they had made plans to hike up to the North Cascades for some fly fishing; enjoy a final trip together before the fishing season closed in the rivers. Now Jim wasn't even sure Blair would still be his roommate by the end of the weekend.

"Hey." Blair emerged from his room. Dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and rumpled clothes, told of a night without sleep.

"You're up early," Jim said. "You okay?"

One shoulder lifted a fraction. "Yeah, I'm fine." He collapsed into a kitchen chair, one elbow braced on the table top, his fingers raking into his mussed hair until his palm supported his weary head.

Jim poured a second cup of coffee and placed it like a peace offering before his roommate.

Blair looked at it for a second, then offered a faint smile before snagging it with his free hand. He blew across the dark liquid's surface and took a sip. With an approving grunt, he closed his eyes and took another.

Jim felt his gut unclench. They were okay again. Blair would offer some convoluted theory on how sentinels must be hardwired to trust their senses first and supernatural hocus pocus second. Then he'd go on about how he should have known and how he'd reacted all wrong, thereby taking the responsibility...

No. Jim wasn't going to let that happen this time.

"Sandburg, about yesterday. I probably should have let Brooksdale finish. And I probably shouldn't have dragged you out of his trailer." Jim sat down, pulled a face. "God, Chief, I never should have implied you were responsible for any of these deaths."

Eyes opening fully in surprise, Blair straightened in his chair. "Wow, man," he whispered softly. "Just when I think I've gotten Jim Ellison pegged."

Jim feigned intimidation. "Careful, junior."

Blair grinned, an effect that did wonders to his appearance, gone was the half-dead look of a man without sleep. Now he was just a man with little sleep. "While we're confessing..." Blair wrapped both hands around his coffee mug and gave the beverage his full attention. "I went back to Arlington last night and talked to Brooksdale." He looked up at Jim, expectantly.

"Not funny, Sandburg," Jim growled.

"Not joking, Ellison." Blair leaned forward. "The guy made a lot of sense. Did you know the Navaho have a belief that a man, a good man, can become filled with a dark wind? Like an evil spirit, it possesses, making him do things and think things that he normally wouldn't do. And in South Africa? The Zar Baads; they're winds too. An individual said to be afflicted by one makes possessed gestures and speaks in languages known only to the tribe's shamans. That's just two cultures, Jim, there are dozens and dozens. All this folklore is out there, some of it must be based on a seed of fact."

The migraine graduated up to brain aneurysm level, pounding away at Jim's skull, beating him into submission. "You went back, alone, and interviewed a convicted murderer... alone."

Briefly rolling his eyes, Blair sighed. "He served his time."

"Alone," Jim echoed. "Without me."

Blair hunched over his coffee, eyes focused on the table top. "I needed to be alone, to think about stuff. I didn't intend to go there at first. The car just started out that way."

What good would it do to yell? Jim remembered having a similar discussion with his friend after finding out he'd gone back to Club Doom during the Lash case. Blair did what Blair did. He simply did not seem to possess the ability to keep his own personal safety high on his list of priorities. It only strengthened his own vow to keep Blair safe.

"What did he say?" Jim asked, capitulating.

"He talked about how his wife died," Blair said. "It was so sad, man. They had a bunch of guests on this big boat and everyone was doing cocaine. They got into a big fight about stuff, I guess she was going to divorce him and all their friends knew it." Blair paused, cocking his head to the side. "I don't get how people can have all that money and stuff, and still hate their life, ya know?"

"Money brings problems all its own, Sandburg," Jim commented, his mind remembering his own childhood and fights he overheard his parents having. "The report said he pushed her overboard and didn't order the boat to stop and go back."

Blair gently rotated his ceramic mug on the table top, eyes still down. "He said she dared him to jump, then tried to push him in but fell in herself." Blair looked up at Jim. "He said the demon leapt into him then. He could sense its evil and it convinced him to leave her behind."

"Blair," Jim said softly, leaning forward. "They were high on drugs. It was nothing more than that. There is no demon or devil."

"But I felt it too, Jim," Blair explained. "I even saw its shadow. It dared me to sneak up to your bedroom."

"And do what?" Jim asked in mild shock.

"Just wake you up." A smile appeared and Blair scratched his nose.

Jim found himself smiling as well. "Ooh, scary."

That produced a chuckle. "My point is this. Brooksdale says he believed this thing thrives on hosts that are troubled, insecure and unhappy. I am apparently none of the above." Blair sobered. "That's probably when it went below. Brooksdale said it can travel up to fifty feet to get a new host."

"See?" Jim slapped the table. "Where does he get this stuff, Sandburg? It's ridiculous!"

"There's one way to find out, Jim. Let's figure out who the demon took next."

Blair knew this was not how Jim planned on spending his day off. They parked in the underground garage used by the employees of Cascade police department. Without the regular, non-commissioned support staff that worked weekdays, available parking was plentiful. They found the patrol division manned with the duty sergeant who checked the duty schedule upon Jim asking if the female officer he'd met on his roof was on duty.

"Yes," the sergeant answered. "Officer Lorena Baker is patrolling the east side today."

Jim pursed his lips. "Could you contact her? Ask her to meet us at Tully's Coffee shop on Mountainridge and Seneca in twenty?"

"Sure, this about a case you're working on?" The man reached for his phone.

"I'm not sure yet, could be," Jim answered.

When they arrived at the coffee shop, Blair's first impression of Officer Baker was favorable. She was tall and wiry with an easy smile and sun-burned cheeks. She and her partner, a shorter man with graying temples, had a corner table, both sitting with a view of the front door. Jim led the way, pulling out the wooden chair and taking a seat when invited. Blair followed suit, aware of the double take both officers gave him.

"Detective, what's up?" Baker asked, stirring a yellow package of artificial sweetener into her cup of tea.

"This is Blair Sandburg," Jim said quickly.

"Nice to meet you," she nodded, then introduced her partner. "Pete Yale."

To Blair's surprise, Officer Yale extended his hand to him in greeting, his handshake firm. "You're the guy that Kincaid snatched, right? In the helicopter?"

"Yeah," Blair answered, glancing at Jim. "My first day, actually."

"I hear you brought the bastard back with a flare gun." Yale looked at Jim. "And you were hanging off the skid. Too bad that nutcase didn't fall to his death. His men killed my partner."

Blair remembered that incident in the parking garage where Jim had smelled blood. If only he hadn't dismissed it as a minor cut, things might have turned out differently. His face burned with shame. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Yale's knuckles whitened on his coffee mug.

"Where's your rookie partner today?" Jim asked Baker.

"Guess that suicide call was too much for him," she answered, forehead creased with concern. "The chaplain's been out to see him a couple of times. He's had to take some personal time to deal. His first jumper."

"What about you. Any problems?" Jim pressed.

She seemed surprised at the question. "No," she drawled. "It's sad and all, but life goes on."

Jim nodded in agreement.

"Is that why you called for the meet?" she asked Jim. "Is there more than what we're seeing?"

"Blair talked to the family," Jim answered smoothly. "They just wanted to thank us, for trying to stop him, I guess. We promised to pass the word on personally."

All in all, Blair was impressed with Jim's answer. Baker's smile was sad, but genuine. "Thanks."

Later, when they were back in the truck, Blair couldn't help but think about all the fallout that police officers must have to deal with, responding to calls that went bad or when, no matter what they did, tragedy occurred. How do they manage to keep it together? No wonder their divorce rates were high. Jim and Carolyn never had a chance.

"We're really going to check on her rookie partner?" Blair asked, seeing Jim wasn't heading back to the loft.

"We might as well," Jim answered. "Sounds like he's having a hard time."

Was Jim suspecting the demon or just worried about a fellow officer? Either way, Blair was glad. Remembering how Baker had perked up after Jim's comment, brought a smile to his face. It was true; the family had told Blair that they appreciated all that the police tried to do for their son. And he had told that to Jim. The police chaplain had stayed with them for most of that day, explaining police procedures and what they could expect.

Before he knew it, they were parked in front of the address Officer Baker had given them. Her new partner, Officer Bob Kelly, lived with his girlfriend in a modest, single-story rambler in a new housing development. Green lawns and pristine sidewalks formed a grid work of rectangles down each side of the street. The houses were stamped from the same contractor's blue prints, just reversed in mirror images to break up the mundaneness. Small trees, still supported on each side by stakes, promised a future of shady places to sit and watch life drive by.

Jim rang the doorbell just as a woman's scream shattered the Saturday morning tranquility. The hairs on the back of Blair's neck stood straight. Jim's hand flashed, his gun suddenly appearing as he pushed Blair off center from the door's direct view. Jim ducked to the other side while his left hand reached out to try the knob. The door was locked.

"Cascade police!" Jim yelled as the scream ended.

Pressed up against the house's siding, hemmed in on one side by a picture window and the other by the doorway, Blair did his best to keep his knees from knocking together.

The sharp report of a single gunshot from within the house sounded the same instant the window to Blair's left side shattered. Without thinking, Blair slid down the wall, his butt hitting the heels of his sneakers, the stitches in his right calf pulling painfully. He pressed back against the siding, looked up at Jim for direction: stay or run for the truck?

Reaching into his jacket, Jim pulled out his cell phone, caught Blair's eye and tossed it to him. Blair caught it with both hands. Jim pointed to the truck, but mouthed the word `wait'. By the tilt of the sentinel's head, Blair knew he was listening to whatever was happening inside. A few seconds later, he nodded.

"Go, Chief. Call for back up."

Blair pushed off, sprinting for the truck. He hated leaving Jim behind, but knew trained backup was the best way to protect his friend right now. Hopefully, Jim wasn't going to try anything until they showed up. The slip of paper Baker had written her partner's address down on was still on the dash. Blair made the call, telling the dispatcher their location, that Jim needed help, that a gunshot had already been fired from within and that a woman had screamed.

The dispatcher promised to send all available units. Blair stayed on the line, watching Jim standing alone next to the front door. A heavyset man from the house next door ventured outside, looking toward Kelly's house. Jim saw him and waved his arm in a wide arc. Blair made the same gesture and the neighbor caught the clues and disappeared back inside his own home.

When Blair looked back, Jim was moving toward the corner of the house, crouching under the windows. "No, Jim," Blair muttered. He wanted the cop where he could watch him, where he could be certain he was okay.

Reaching the corner of the house, Jim spared a second to look back at his truck. He made another hand gesture before slipping around the side and out of sight.

"Great," Blair whispered. "I've just been told to sit and stay. Woof."

Two heartbeats inside the house.

Jim edged along the house's side. A fence was in the process of being constructed to hem in the back yard. Thankfully, it hadn't reached the house so Jim was able to slip around the corner to where a concrete patio held a beat up set of lawn furniture. A sliding glass door was open a few inches and he knew he had a way into the house.

A woman's sobs made for an eerie backdrop to a low conversation between Kelly and another man, the voice deep and guttural. Jim paused, his mind working to remember where he'd heard that voice before. He had it. On the roof, this was the same man that had dared the kid to jump. Jim smiled, feeling like a hunter about to catch his prey. He slipped into a breakfast nook and followed the sounds past a yellow and black kitchen and down a hallway toward a master bedroom. The stench of rotten meat hit, nearly causing his eyes to tear. He cranked his dial for smell down.

The sounds were louder now.

"I dare you... kill her."

"No."

"She's worthless, she's cheating on you."

The woman cried heartbrokenly.

Jim held his gun ready, debating the options of bursting into the room or announcing his presence.

He heard the familiar click of a gun hammer being drawn back and made his choice. Using his foot, he crashed the door open. It bounced hard off the wall. Jim moved fast, dropping low and entering with gun drawn and pointed. His brain took in the scene in a split second.

The woman, a young brunette, hunkered nude in a corner, pressed up against a high dresser. Officer Kelly was dressed in just his boxers. His face was red as if from exertion. He held his service gun in a quaking hand. The barrel was pointed at the woman but as Jim entered, it swung. Jim had expected that, but he hadn't expected the gun to swing up and point at Kelly's own mouth.

"No!" Jim shouted, watching the tip of the gun disappear past Kelly's lips.

A dark shadow morphed from Kelly, like a rat from a sinking ship.

As Jim watched, trying to understand the data his eyes sent to his brain, the shadow wavered and moved away from Kelly just as the trigger was pulled all the way back.

Jim never heard the gun go off. He struggled to define the shadow. He cranked his vision dial up and promptly fell into a zone.

The second sound of gunfire nearly catapulted Blair out of the truck and back into the house. Yeah, he didn't have a gun and he wasn't a cop, but Jim was inside without back up and he was not going to sit around doing nothing. But the timely arrival of two police cars kept the observer from running back down the driveway. Still it was harrowing to watch and wonder while the two officers advanced on the house. Guns drawn; they took up positions on each side of the front door. More police cars screeched to a stop in the sleepy, unassuming new neighborhood and Blair absentmindedly wondered what the neighbors must be thinking. It appeared Cascade's entire police force had arrived, shattering their quiet Saturday morning.

Movement caught Blair's eye. Jim emerged, standing in the front doorway, one arm around what appeared to be a hysterical young woman. Blair couldn't hear what was being said, but Jim spoke to the officers, who then went inside the house. Jim led the barefoot woman dressed in a robe down the concrete walkway to the asphalt driveway and toward the first police car.

"Jim!" Blair called out, terminating the phone call with the dispatcher and jogging over to his friend.

Opening the rear door and gently setting the sobbing woman inside, Jim acknowledged the younger man with a jerk of his chin toward the woman. "Take care of her, Sandburg."

"What happened?" Blair whispered as he slipped in close.

Jim patted his shoulder, looking exhausted. "Kelly killed himself," he whispered back. "I'll be inside."

Blair crouched down, ignoring the sharp pain that caused in his leg. Looking a few years younger than him, the woman hid her face in her hands. "Hey, my name's Blair. Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"

She shook her head, making a supreme effort to calm down. "N-no. Bob didn't h-hurt me." She shuddered, lifting her tear ravaged face. "He's been depressed before, but nothing like... He wasn't himself. H-he was possessed, I swear!"

"I believe you," Blair assured her, placing a hand on her forearm. He stood, leaning over and spotting a box of tissues in the front seat. "Hold on a sec." Taking the box, he moved back to her side and held it out. She took several and scrubbed her eyes angrily.

"I don't get it. What the hell happened?" She pounded the back of the seat with her fist. "Goddamn it! We were supposed to get married next month." She broke into fresh sobs that shook her frame.

Blair rocked back on his heels. Anger was not so unusual during times like this, but he remembered what Brooksdale had told him. This demon needed an out and he would have taken it before the officer had killed himself. The woman before him now had it. Did she know?

The place was thick with blue uniforms now. Two officers appeared at Blair's side. He gladly gave up his spot, watching from the edge of the driveway, keeping one eye out for Jim's reappearance. Picking up his cell phone, he pulled out his wallet and found the slip of paper with Brooksdale's cell phone number.

The man had been chasing this demon for years. Hopefully the guy had a plan on how to get rid of it forever.

But before the carnie owner could arrive, the woman was being bundled up to be transported away. A female police officer had arrived. Clothes had been retrieved from inside the house. The woman was allowed to change clothes in the garage with the woman cop to assist her. Now she was being taken away to someplace unknown.

Blair chewed his lower lip, his gaze searching the road in both directions. Where was Brooksdale?

She was being gently tucked away into the back seat of the sergeant's car now. Blair jogged over to where Jim stood with other uniformed police officers. "Jim!" He bobbed his head to acknowledge his interruption. "Sorry, sorry. Jim? Can I talk to you, man? It's important." He tugged the taller man away from the cops. "You gotta do something. They're taking her away."

"What are you talking about?" With Blair pointing, Jim looked over to Kelly's now ex-fianc as she tucked her jean-clad legs into the car.

"You've got to keep her here a few more minutes." Blair leaned forward, his mouth close to Jim's earlobe. "The demon, Jim. The demon's got to be inside her. It's getting away."

No one did exasperation as well as James Ellison. Taking Blair by the arm, he towed the observer further away from the others, as if afraid Blair's excited utterances would be overheard. "Sandburg, get a grip. There is no demon. We've just got a stressed-out cop that made a really bad choice."

"Jim, you've got -"

"Listen to me," Jim whispered harshly, hand slicing the air between them with finality. "Drop this, okay? Even if I did believe you - and I don't - how the hell would I explain it to anyone? Do you want to see me standing in the unemployment line?"

The car with the woman inside was pulling away from the curb. Blair ground his teeth with frustration, but he kept quiet. Jim nodded once and patted his arm before releasing him.

Blair dropped into the sofa, exhausted and nursing a headache. He let his head fall back against the cushions and closed his eyes, his brain barely acknowledging the sounds of Jim locking their front door. The meticulous details recorded, photographed and sketched in a crime scene investigation never ceased to amaze Blair. Maybe it was because a police officer had died. Blair sadly recalled the events after Jim's friend, Danny, had been gunned down right in front of them. What a nightmare that day had been. Not that today was much better.

"How did Brooksdale get there?" Jim asked from the kitchen.

Blair heard glass bottles clinking and knew a cool beer was about to be delivered. Exactly what the doctor ordered. "I called him," Blair answered. "That's why I wanted you to hold her there longer, Jim." Blair frowned, remembering having to explain to the ex-con that the demon was gone. Brooksdale had seemed confident he could find her.

"Why?" Jim entered the sitting area and dropped into the chair. He took a long drink from the lone beer in his hand.

Staring resentfully at Jim's beer, Blair pushed off the cushions to help himself. "To catch the demon."

"You still harping on that subject, Sandburg?"

Blair stopped, turning in disbelief. "Earth to Jim. Newsflash, man, why else would a guy, starting a new career, off himself? Kelly was getting married. He had a new house. Everything was falling into place for him. Of course the demon made him do it. What's it going to take to get you to believe?"

Jim dragged a palm down his face. "You realize how stupid that sounds, right?"

Blair leaned on the open refrigerator door. They were out of beer, no wonder Jim hadn't offered him one. In fact, they were low on quite a few groceries. Blair snagged a bottled water and closed the door. Thankfully they'd hit a drive through on the way home. Fixing a creative dinner based on what they had on hand was unthinkable at the moment. In fact, it looked doubtful they had enough for breakfast.

"I'm too tired to argue with you, Jim," Blair said wearily, turning for his room. He had schoolwork to finish. "See you in the morning."

The stack of books still waited, unread, on the edge of his desk. Monday was Labor Day and he wondered if he'd have time to wade through all the work he'd foolishly told himself he could handle this term. Riding with Jim was going to involve more than just burning the candle at both ends. He grabbed a text book off the top and settled in to read for a few hours. Out in the loft, he could hear Jim moving about. As the minutes stretched into hours, Blair's body grew stiff... and cold.

"Jeeze, what's with the heat?" He pushed his book aside and closed his notebook. Opening his door brought cold, brisk night air rushing into his room. "Jim? Give me a break, I'm freezing." He could see the solid silhouette of his roommate on the balcony, at the same time noticing the balcony door standing wide open. "No wonder."

On his way to close the door, his cell phone rang. Blair detoured to snap it up from the charger. "This is Blair."

"Hello, Blair? This is Brooksdale."

"Hey, how'd it-"

A numbing pain exploded up Blair's right wrist. The cell phone was wrenched away and thrown to the hardwood floor where a heavy heel smashed it into a splintered mess of plastic and wires. Incredulously enough, the foot was attached to the leg of Jim Ellison.

"JIM!" Blair shouted, cradling his injured arm to his chest.

Jim struck again. A stinging slap to Blair's face was quickly followed by a solid fist sunk deeply into his gut that folded him in half.

Blair dropped to his knees like a truck-load of granite.

Air was unattainable.

Blair had forgotten how to inflate his lungs.

All logic left the room. A brutal kick sent Blair rolling on his side, then he was dragged along the floor by one arm toward the center column next to the kitchen table and dropped. His cheek smacked the floor while his lungs still labored to pull in oxygen. Talking was impossible, unthinkable. Icy panic hit.

Blair just wanted to breathe.

Abruptly, like a gear shift slammed into low, everything worked again. Blair sucked air and traces of dirt off the floor, the rush of wind loud in his own ears. Blair felt Jim's close proximity as his injured wrist was caught and twisted.

"Auugghhhh." Blair kicked out with one leg, too stunned yet to put up any real fight. "Shit! Stop it, man!"

Arm twisted backwards, Blair was forced to sit upright; a fistful of his shirt, a convenient handle. His non-injured hand was grabbed. Before he could suck in another pain-filled lungful of air, he was cuffed, arms behind him, circling the column. Then Jim squatted on his heels in front of his prisoner, a broad grin plastered across his face.

"I dare you to scream," Jim challenged.

For a second time in a few seconds, all the air collapsed from Blair's lungs, only this time it had nothing to do with being punched. Blair's mind focused on the interrupted phone call. He knew what the ex-con had wanted to say. The demon hadn't jumped into the rookie's girlfriend.

It was in Jim.

"Wha...you..." Blair's mind couldn't lock down a single thought and for once his mouth wouldn't engage.

Jim laughed. "If I'd known this would shut you up, I would have done it months ago, Chief."

A slow burn started low in Blair's toes, rising up and filling his entire body, boiling into anger. "Unlock these cuffs, Jim."

"Ohhh," Jim responded, mocking fear with raised hands. "He's making demands now!" Icy blue eyes narrowed. "Or what, tough guy?"

Blair considered his options. He needed help. Jim needed help. This demon left nothing but dead bodies in his wake and Blair wasn't volunteering to be next. More importantly, he didn't want Jim hurt or killed. Brooksdale would know what to do, but would he realize Jim had terminated the call? As far as the man knew, it could have been just a lost signal.

Wait a minute; did the demon have Jim's memories? He must, he called him `Chief' and that was a nickname only Jim used. On the other hand -

Another slap broke Blair's concentration and nearly a tooth. Jim was hitting him with an open palm, but hard. Blair's eyes filled with involuntary tears as his cheek continued to sting.

"I'm not boring you, am I?" Jim asked, eyes hard and smile false.

"What do you want, Jim?" Blair asked. There was no reason to show all his cards yet. "If this is some new macho cop game, I don't want to play. If you wanted me to move out, just tell me. I'm like so gone."

Jim tilted his head as if in thought. Then his eyes narrowed. "Nice try, kid." Up until now it had been Jim talking. Now the demon spoke, his voice deep and gravelly. "But I know you know that I'm not Jim. And you're still too young to know what you are, aren't you? Perfect. It's truly my lucky day."

Blair's skin crawled, the effect was that creepy. Jerking his head back when Jim neared, Blair smacked it on the post. Jim was so close now he half expected to be kissed. God, it was too much. Blair twisted his face away and shuddered as Jim's tongue obscenely lapped his cheek.

Jim smacked his lips and grinned. "What to do with you?" the demon muttered softly to itself.

Every joint hurt, even his jaw.

Blair watched the morning sunbeams creep inch by inch across the wall as it slanted in from the skylight above Jim's bed. He was still cuffed to the post with a kitchen washrag crammed into his mouth and tied in place with a strip of torn T-shirt the demon had stolen from his bedroom. The night had been long and freezingly cold, thanks to the open door to the balcony. Apparently demons liked cold temperatures.

A creaking bedspring overhead warned the helpless man that round two was coming.

Blair tucked his knees in closely to his chest. He wasn't ashamed to admit he was terrified. The possibilities were endless and all of them led to more pain. At least his wrist had stopped throbbing, or maybe both his arms had gone to sleep.

Footsteps on the stairs, Blair closed his eyes and waited.

"Sandburg?"

God, that sounded like the old Jim. Had the demon left?

"What the hell!"

Jim was at his side, kneeling as fingers pulled on the knotted cloth. Blair turned to get a good look. Yeah, this was Jim and he looked pissed. Jim grimaced when he lost his patience with the knot and pulled the gag down, taking a few strands of Blair's hair along for the ride. Blair didn't care, the washrag was out.

A groan escaped as his tortured jaw tried to close.

Jim was cursing the handcuffs. "Who did this? Damn it! I never heard a thing. What's happening? Where's the damn key?"

"Jhhim," Blair slurred. Movement meant pain, but the situation was too critical. "Get phone. Call... Brooksdale."

"Why? What happened?" Jim paused, cupping Blair's face with his hands. "Who was here? What do you know?"

That last question bounced around in Blair's brain, setting off four-alarm fire bells. He had no evidence to believe Jim would not recall the demon's actions. In fact, Brooksdale had told of just the opposite. The ex-con had a clear memory of being possessed. The truth felt all too much like one of Jim's face slaps. Jim should know exactly what happened. The demon wanted information from him. This was probably the only reason Blair was still alive.

`Nice try, demon scum,' Blair thought. `Almost had me.'

"Brooksdale will know what to do. Maybe where it's gone next," Blair answered out loud.

Jim studied him, like a puzzle that needed solving. "Where what's gone next?"

Okay, okay. Time to act like a guy that's cold and sore and tired of being cuffed to a post all night. Actually, not too hard of a part to play. "Jim! Man, uncuff me, okay? I'm seriously in pain here and I gotta pee." He held his breath, would the demon buy it?

Standing slowly, Jim walked over to the table and returned. Blair's injured wrist was released first. It felt thick and stiff and moving his arm was torture. He got a good look at the damage. Oh yeah, his wrist was swollen. A red ring marked where the cuff had pressed into the swelling. Standing up involved a lot of grunting and pushing, but he managed it. Jim watched from a few feet away, face a blank slate of emotion, further proof to Blair he was still dealing with the demon.

Pointing to the bathroom, Blair shuffled along like an old man. "Pee first, talk later. Be right out."

Closing the door brought some sense of safety. Blair locked it and leaned against the sink a minute to get his body to stop shaking. The mirror had some pathetic looking guy with a white face, bruised cheek and wild looking hair staring back at him. Blair ignored the sight and lifted the lid while fumbling to open his jeans. After taking care of his bladder, he washed up and took inventory.

He could move his fingers, so he was looking at only a bad strain or was that a sprain? The difference eluded him. His stomach muscles were tender and it hurt to twist. Splashing water on his face, he took a few minutes to brush his teeth and awkwardly comb his hair back into a ponytail. Then, with nothing left to do, he looked at the door.

He so did not want to go back out there.

"Sandburg?" Jim's voice called.

Blair steeled himself and opened the door.

Jim stood by the column, still wearing his robe and watching Blair like a hawk watched a field mouse. Self-consciously rubbing his wrist, Blair licked his lips, eyes darting to the cordless phone. Should he risk a call? Who? Simon or Brooksdale?

"So talk," Jim ordered, crossing his arms over his chest.

With his hair spiky and stubble on his face, Blair almost believed he was dealing with just Jim Ellison. If only. "Okay, don't freak or anything, but you were possessed last night and knocked me around. Then cuffed me to the post." When Blair moved for the cordless, Jim subtly blocked him with his body. Blair detoured toward the balcony. He was freezing and that door needed to be shut.

"Possessed by what? You went and talked to Brooksdale alone. What did he tell you?" Jim asked.

Blair didn't want to talk about that. He closed the door, rubbing his arms briskly. "Let's call Simon."

"No."

"Jim, we need help." Blair made another move toward the phone and found Jim in the way again.

"What did he tell you?" Jim repeated. A knowing look accompanied by a ghost of a smile spelled danger, the pretending was about to end.

Blair ran for the loft's door. Had the chain been unlatched, he would have stood a chance, instead Jim hit him hard from behind and Blair was smashed face first into the door with Jim pressed against his back. A hand clapped over his mouth, cutting off any call for help.

"You're pretty smart, kid," Jim whispered. "How'd you know? Huh? Did Brooksdale tell you I can't jump out of a new body within twenty-four hours?"

Blair tried elbowing Jim in the stomach but the bigger man was too close. Blair couldn't budge. Jim's breath was hot on the side of his face. He listened to the demon talk. If he couldn't escape, he could at least learn whatever he could.

"Not that I want to leave this one. I like it too much. I haven't had a warrior like this in decades. And he's such a baby with his talents. It was easy to take him. He freezes up on the littlest of things." Jim leaned down, whispering into Blair's ear.

Blair suppressed a moan. Jim had fallen into a zone, giving the demon a chance to fully possess him. Was Jim still in a zone? Did he even know what was happening? He cursed himself for not working harder on Jim's senses, on making him more resistant. If they survived, Blair would never let Jim talk him out of a test, ever.

"This is what we're going to do," the demon said with Jim's voice. "You're going to stop trying to run away. You're not yelling for help. Or I'll kill you now and your Jim will have to live with the fact he murdered his best friend. Understand?"

Blair nodded. Jim's hands shifted to take handfuls of Blair's collar and yank him away from the door, spinning him around. Blair raised his hands, ready to block another blow but found himself hurled gracelessly toward the sofa. When he stumbled against the wooden box against its back, Jim backhanded him, effectively cartwheeling him over to land in a sprawl on the rug. Two large fists lifted him up and tossed him back on the sofa.

Face numb from the stinging slaps, Blair wiped a trickle of blood from his lip and watched Jim move away from the sofa to the center of the room. "What are you?"

Standing proudly, the demon struck a pose, fists on his hips and spine straight. "I am."

"Right." Blair snorted. He was fed up with being shoved around. The demon was arrogant and Blair intended to find a way to use that fact against it. "What do you want?"

That produced a short burst of laugher from the demon. "I never get to have these conversations much anymore. Humans usually get all tongue tied around me." He pointed at Blair. "You're different. I'm going to keep you around for a while. You help the warrior, don't you? With his ability? Is that why he's so inexperienced with them? You're not very good."

This was become annoying. Blair felt his pride become trodden. "Look, dude. We just met, okay? Jim's senses just came on -"

Crap, what was he doing? Blair snapped his jaw shut and glared at his roommate, who was grinning broadly.

Before either of them could say another word, the phone rang. Blair pivoted, leaping one handedly over the back of the sofa to snatch up the phone before the demon could stop him. One thing learned, Blair decided as fingers entangled his long hair, threatening to rip his scalp from his head, being possessed by a demon didn't seem to slow Jim down very much. Blair's cry of outrage and pain was cut short. Jim made it look so easy, one hand in his hair, the other gripping his throat and squeezing. Blair was bent backward as Jim's face loomed over his. The smile was pure evil and Blair closed his eyes.

The phone continued to ring.

"I'm happy with just the two of us right now, don't spoil it for me," Jim ordered.

The answering phone kicked in and a woman's voice spoke after the canned speech from Jim announced to leave a message. "Hi, Blair. This is Brenda. Call me, okay?"

Breathing was becoming a chore. Both of his hands on Jim's arm weren't breaking the punishing hold. If Blair could speak, he'd remind the demon of his plan to keep him alive. Just as dark spots appeared along the edges of his vision, Jim released his throat and raised a fist high. Blair had just enough time to wheeze a cough and strangle out a limp protest before it struck.

Unconsciousness flirted with Blair's mind as the pain exploded across his face, leaving a numbness in its place. He landed hard on the floor between the sofa and coffee table. Jim's slippered feet walked by and then blackness descended.

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

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