"Black ice!"

Blair jerked the wheel of his Volvo and muttered a curse about `Control Freaks'. This particular one was about to get socked in the jaw from a former pacifist if he didn't stop with the obvious comments.

"I know, Jim," Blair said, losing any soothing effect as his words strained through clenched teeth.

"So slow down."

For crying out loud, Blair glanced at his speedometer. They were already crawling down the road. "What do you want, man? I could slam it in reverse and go backward." He paused for a cleansing breath. "Now don't take this wrong, okay? But... shut up."

There, that was clear and blunt. Blair wanted to look at Jim, read his face for clues, but didn't risk taking his eyes off the icy road. Jim didn't like to be told certain things. In the years they'd been together, the term `shut up' was high on the list only an idiot - well, okay, and Simon - might attempt to tell the six foot plus, ex-Army Ranger.

So why was Naomi's only boy-child playing the part of Captain Banks? Blair refused to be placed in the category with idiots. Because he already felt like an over-cranked guitar string, damn it! Jim's little comments weren't helping.

Blair took a second deep breath and forced his shoulders to relax.

Thankfully, Jim fell quiet and Blair concentrated on driving. The Volvo was an okay vehicle for a classic and for warm, sunny drives down the coast. But it absolutely sucked on remote county roads in the middle of the worst October snow storm in the weather history of the Northwest.

Blair had to remember to relax his shoulders again.

They were far off the beaten path. When the car radio's traffic reporter had announced a blocking accident, Blair realized they were heading it. Jim had dug out a map and picked an obscure cutoff route.

But the bad luck kept coming. There had been no warning. One minute they were cruising down the road joking about bad taste in music, with rain drops splashing the windshield, then suddenly snow was everywhere. At least it wasn't sticking to the roadway, yet. The temperature had plummeted with the sun, causing black ice, a term used when the deadly road condition appeared invisible to the driver.

Part of Blair's brain wondered if Jim's sentinel ability helped him to see the black ice. He chanced a glance at his friend, opening his mouth to ask.

"Road, Sandburg!" Jim ordered sharply.

Damn!

The rear tires picked that second to skid right. Blair focused on his driving, knuckles white on the steering wheel. He automatically steered into the slide, correcting the problem without adjusting their speed. Their road followed the edge of a steep ridge for the last mile, adding yet another element of drama to their evening.

Jim grunted approvingly.

Sitting a little straighter in his seat, Blair accepted the compliment. Maybe this was going to be okay.

Besides, Blair knew he was a good driver. He had possessed a natural knack and an appreciation of machinery at the early age of twelve, or so his `uncle' had told him. He and the guy used to sneak out together. Blair would get driving lessons while sitting on phone books, the seat pushed forward to allow a young Blair to work the pedals. It had been a miracle they'd never been pulled over by cops. The lessons had stopped when Naomi decided it was time for them to move on.

"We should have left sooner," Jim said.

Blair knew the real problem bothering his friend: Jim wasn't the one behind the wheel. Actually, it said a lot about Jim's trust in him that he hadn't been evicted from the driver's seat at the first sight of snow.

"We'll be okay," Blair promised.

"We should have just accepted Angie's invitation to sleep over."

They had spent the day visiting with the singer and her daughter, part of a planned outing and reunion of sorts. Angie and Pam were staying up at a ski resort for a few months. They had offered the invitation to both of them to visit. Pam had cooked a terrific dinner. It was a good time and the talk never returned to that near lethal encounter with her ex-boyfriend-turned-stalker a few years earlier.

"I didn't feel up fighting with you for the chance to sleep on the sofa," Blair said teasingly. "Unless you were hoping to share with..."

Jim growled. "Knock it off, Romeo. It's not like that."

Chuckling, Blair fell silent and concentrated on the yellow reflectors in the middle of the road. Each one caught the light from the Volvo and gave him a reference point in which to steer by in the heavy snow fall. Blair could only see ten to fifteen feet ahead. It was mesmerizing to watch the road seem to suddenly appear out of the whiteness, like some huge hand was drawing his world for him, just as he needed it.

"It's starting to stick to the road," Jim noted glumly.

"I wonder -"

"SANDBURG!"

A large deer blocked the road. The wheel jerked from his grasp as Jim reached over and wrenched it to the right, sending the car into a sideways skid.

"Jim! Let go!"

The front wheels crunched over the small ridge of shoulder. Blair stood on the brakes. The back wheels locked uselessly as the car slid over the edge and dropped at a sickening angle. Car nose-diving into a decent, their downward progress ended with a jolt. Blair's head bounced hard off the steering wheel. A brilliant light exploded behind his eyes and then everything blinked out.

Jim was furious with himself. His roommate was hanging by his seatbelt, from yet another blow to the head. And all because he'd grabbed the wheel. God, he hadn't even stopped to think. He'd just reacted

First things first.

Quickly turning off the engine, Jim noted Blair's respirations were even and steady. Thankfully, they hadn't been going fast. If not for the drop off, everything would be okay. The car seemed to be caught in a thick snarl of blackberry vines and shrubs growing about twenty feet down the steep slope. Hopefully, the vegetation would continue to keep them from going any further.

"Chief."

"Uhhggghhh." Blair lifted a hand to his head, his eyes closed. Pain wrinkled his forehead.

"Easy," Jim ordered, catching the probing fingers and stilling them. "Open your eyes and talk to me."

Blair groaned again. "J-jim, man. What the h-hell ...," he demanded in a hoarse whisper.

Fearing head injury, Jim released his own belt and braced himself with the dash. He leaned over to look into Blair's eyes. "Don't you remember?"

"Yeah, you went nuts and crashed us."

Jim saw even-sized pupils in his friend's accusatory glare. Maybe Blair was okay. "Sorry, chief. You were about to nail a deer. Didn't you see him?"

Confusion appeared. "I did? I d-didn't... Jim, are you like... sure?"

"Don't worry. We missed him. How's the head? What day is it?" Jim gently probed the back of Blair's neck.

"Cool it, Mr. Medic. I'm okay. Bell's hardly rung." Blair made unsure movements to unbuckle. "Let's check the damage. You are so paying for my repairs this time."

Since his partner seemed alert and aware of his surroundings, Jim went with the plan. Jim took a flashlight from the glove box and handed it to Blair. They opened their doors. Cold air attacked like ice water filling a boot. Jim fought back the vegetation as he stood, his feet sinking into snow and crushed vegetation. The far away moan of the wind gave Jim a clue of the drop off below them. He was glad the fog hid the view or Blair would go ballistic.

Blair ran loving hands over his car, grumbling while admitting there was no real damage. Slipping and sliding and using small bushes for leverage, they finally reached the road's shoulder. The snow was falling so heavily now, the tracks the Volvo had made were already filling in.

"Where's the deer?" Blair asked, gazing up and down the road, playing the light like a search beacon.

Jim stepped out onto the pavement. The black ice played with his balance and he took a second to maintain a wide stance before searching the fog. The snow added a touch of brightness to the otherwise black night. Jim barely needed to adjust his sentinel abilities to see.

They were alone.

"He must've ran off."

"Maybe you dozed off," Blair suggested, while briskly rubbing his hands together. "I didn't see anything but snowfall."

"Yeah, maybe." Had he been imagining it?

Blair turned and peered over the edge. "Nothing short of a tow truck is going to get us back on the road tonight."

Jim was already fumbling for his cell phone. He didn't hold much hope. "No signal," Jim reported with a sigh.

"So, we walk?" Blair stomped his feet and tucked reddening hands under his armpits. He wore jeans, a thin leather coat over his shirt and tennis shoes.

They weren't dressed for this.

"Any chance you carry emergency supplies?" Jim asked.

"We're not talking a spare tire, are we?" Blair asked with a sheepish look.

"Coats? Hats? Mittens?"

Blair shook his head.

"Blankets?"

"Oh!" Delight broke over the younger man's face. "I used a blanket to wrap an artifact a few months ago. It could still be inside."

When he started to go back down, Jim stopped him. "No, Jack London. Let me. My hallucination got us into this. Give me the keys."

"I left them in the ignition."

Ten minutes later Jim stuffed his bounty under one arm; a smelly, cheap blanket, a single woolen glove and a pair of dirty sweat socks. He locked the doors and started the laborious climb back up to the road.

"Hey!"

Blair's call startled him. Jim couldn't see his partner. "What's wrong, Sandburg?"

"Hey! Mister!" Blair called out again." Wait!"

Another man was out in this storm? Jim hurried, slipping in the fresh snowfall, going down on one knee. He extended his hearing. The only sound he could hear was Blair's breathing and heartbeat.

"Jim! There's someone out there. He's leaving."

Finally reaching the roadway, Jim searched. His vision backed up his hearing. Nothing was out there. He turned back to Blair. "You sure you're okay?"

Blair looked annoyed. "I saw him. A guy about my age. He even looked right at me before walking off."

Jim turned toward the direction his friend pointed, scanning the snow on the roadway. "No prints, Chief. I think your head needs a rest. You took a pretty hard hit."

Blair glanced down the road, then back at Jim, his face in total bewilderment. "What?"

"I didn't hear anything but you up here a minute ago," Jim explained. "Come on, let's find a phone or something."

Blair looked both ways down the road as he rubbed his forehead, then turned a complete circle. "You're serious? No one?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jim closed his eyes. "Quiet, let me listen."

The snow drifted down silently, stroking his cheeks. Nothing. No sounds of movement except for the light flutters from birds and perhaps the heartbeats of a few small rabbits. Jim shook his head.

Blair sighed with resignation. "I don't know, Jim. I'm not sure what I saw." Briskly rubbing his arms, Blair looked miserable and tired, the beginnings of an ugly lump forming on his wide forehead.

Jim tried to remember how far back he'd seen any signs of a house or farm.

Blair seemed to be having the same thought. "I think our nearest house is this way," he said glumly, pointing back the way they had come.

"Okay, let's get going. Maybe a car will come by and give us a lift."

Snowflakes the size of butterflies floated down around them. Several clung to the blanket wrapped around Blair's head and shoulders.

Jim couldn't feel his toes. He wondered if it was possible to reattach frozen body parts. He didn't think so, something about the fluid inside the skin freezing and destroying the cells. But it had been a while since he'd read anything about extreme weather emergencies, so he wasn't sure anymore.

He did know one thing; this night was quickly falling into the category of `extreme emergencies'. They needed to find shelter, quickly. No cars had passed them. No signs of a farm house or even a barn. Jim was ready to accept an animal den, if he thought they could find one big enough.

"Jim."

The snowy world had a way of demanding whispers. Neither had spoken in over an hour. Jim had been listening to Blair's breathing and the way his teeth chattered. Now Blair stood, wrapped in his musty blanket with just the tip of his nose and eyes visible. He released the blanket with one sock covered hand and pointed.

"This way." Blair's shivers were bad enough to knock off a few of the snowflakes from the top of his blanket.

"What?" Jim whispered back.

"Come on." Blair left the road and started into the adjacent field.

"Hey!" Jim hurried to catch up, stilling him with a hand on his shoulder. "Sandburg, what's wrong with you?" He looked into Blair's eyes. They seemed glazed over. Was it the cold, or the head injury?

"Listen, Jim. Just listen. What do you hear?" Blair pointed into the field.

To humor his friend, Jim extended his hearing like a man fishing the depth of a lake with a sinker and a lure. Sounds of murmuring met his ears.

"You're right. Someone's out there," Jim said in amazement. "How'd you know?"

But Blair was off again. Left with the choice of returning to the road and leaving Blair behind - which Jim would never do in a million years - Jim followed.

After half an hour of walking through deepening snow, distant lights of a house winked through the swirling whiteness. They picked up their pace. Two-storied and old, the house reminded Jim of the mid-eighteen hundred mansions built by rich gentile-farmers. Each story was high, with a pitched roof that looked like it had a full attic. The old farmhouse towered above them as they reached a covered porch and climbed the icy stairs to the door.

Unhampered by snow, Jim's legs felt like hinged two-by-fours. He wondered if his toes were still attached.

Jim stopped Blair's reach for the wooden screen door. "Don't think so, Chief. Good way to get a shotgun in the face," he warned, knocking on the door frame instead.

A pretty woman in her mid-twenties responded. She was dressed in green corduroy overalls over a thick sweater. Her reddish brown hair pulled back into a single ponytail, revealing a natural beauty that didn't require aisles of cosmetics.

"Ohmygoodness! Dad!" She shouted over her shoulder as she opened screen door wide. "Please, come inside. You're both freezing! Dad! Come quick!"

Jim followed Blair into a pleasant living room and groaned as the wood burning stove's radiating heat hit his face. The furniture was from the seventies, the braided carpet was worn in spots and needed stitching; but as far as Jim was concerned, the room looked like the lobby of a five-star hotel.

"Thanks. We went off the road a few miles back," Jim explained. Just talking made him realize how numb his face had become. An older man entered the living room - her Dad. "We couldn't get a cell signal and we don't have the right supplies to risk staying put. Can we use your phone?"

The man gave them both a once over. "Sure, it's back here. You want something warm to drink first? Pull up some chairs to the firebox and thaw out."

"Thanks." Jim gently lifted the blanket from Blair's head. "I think we should leave this outside on your porch, though. It smells."

The couple, who introduced themselves as Gordon and Melanie Walker, extended every courtesy Jim could hope for and more. They were ushered into chairs. Fuzzy, warm blankets provided for their shoulders. Hot cups of tea appeared, smelling of orange and spices. Blair's hands shook too hard to hold his, so Melanie set it on a side table. Gordon reappeared with two pairs of thick boot socks and handed them to Jim, along with a towel.

Blair sat huddled in his rocker, eyeing the room with a sad expression. His shivering had worsened. Instead of warming up, he seemed to be getting colder.

"Sandburg, take off your shoes," Jim instructed, quickly toeing off his own shoes and donning the borrowed socks. When he saw Blair wasn't moving, he leaned over. "Chief?"

Blue eyes turned away from the small glass window set in the stove's door. "Huh?"

"You okay?"

"S-sure."

"Tell me what day it is."

"Ummm..." Blair's eyes returned to watch the flames leap and play. "Fourth down."

"Okay, Frosty," Jim said, dropping to his knee and starting on the laces to Blair's wet shoe. "Let's get you warmed up."

"He okay?" Gordon asked from the room's arched doorway.

"He's just a little confused, I think," Jim explained.

"Listen." Gordon crossed strong arms over a wide chest. His face was weathered, as if from decades of working outside. His silver hair was full and cut short. "The radio says this storm's going to get worse before it gets better. I doubt you two are going anywhere tonight. You're both welcome to use our extra bedroom."

With Blair's first foot covered in a dry sock, Jim worked on freeing the other. Thankfully, Blair's feet didn't exhibit the white, waxy signs of frostbite. "We might have to take you up on that. I still need to call my boss. I'm a police detective with the city of Cascade. Technically, I'm on call if anything big happens. He should know I'm not getting home tonight."

"You're a cop?"

Jim looked up, expecting the worst. "Detective James Ellison. That a problem?"

Shaking his head slowly, the man casually shrugged. "Just didn't expect a cop to be hanging out with a hippie in a snow storm." A faint look of amusement removed the sting from the blunt statement. "So, he's your brother or something?"

"No, he's my partner, Blair Sandburg. He consults with the police department. It's unofficial. He's working on his thesis for a PhD."

"Ah, a college kid."

"Yeah." Finished with his task, Jim looked up into Blair's face. Except for the shivering, he had all the animation of a doorknob. "Sandburg? You still with us?"

Blair blinked a few times and met Jim's gaze. "Jim?"

"Still me. You warmer yet?"

Blair shook his head, damp hair swung gently. "C-cold, man."

Even after Gordon built up the fire, Blair continued to shiver. Jim used the phone in the kitchen and told Simon their predicament. Simon repeated Gordon's weather forecast; a major winter storm had hit. He recommended they stay put.

When Jim returned to the living room, he found Melanie offering Blair an armful of warm looking clothes. She turned to Jim with a shy smile.

"These belong to my brother. They're big, but they'll be warmer than the clothes you two have on. Dad says you guys will be staying the night. Would you like something to eat?"

Jim accepted the clothes. "No, thank you. We already had dinner. But thanks for the clothes. Maybe if you could show us which room we can use..."

She nodded to the stove. "We use this to heat the whole house. I should warn you, it does a poor job reaching upstairs." She laced her fingers together absentmindedly. When she frowned, two small vertical wrinkles appeared between her eyebrows. "But, I'll get you guys some extra blankets. This way."

A center hallway led them to a steep staircase. They climbed to the second level. She showed them a small bedroom. Heavy wood trim and high ceilings, the house looked over a hundred years old. Jim followed her into the room, noticing the temperature difference compared to the first floor. Blair shuffled along at his side, standing mutely as Melanie opened a low wall vent. Jim's enhanced sense of touch immediately felt the warmer air trickle in.

"Sorry it's so cold. Each room used to have a fireplace, but they all got covered over years ago. We vent heat in from the woodstove. This room hasn't been used for a while, my brother... he sort of took off a few months ago," she explained.

A twin-sized bed and battered student desk with a chair occupied the room. Pictures of professional football players and team banners decorated the wall. A few framed photos of high school and college teams hung between them. A heavy coat of dust covered everything and Jim sneezed three times in rapid succession.

"Yeah, it's been a while since I've cleaned," she apologized quickly. "The sheets are clean and I'll be back with more blankets. The bathroom's at the end of the hall." Melanie removed the dusty cotton spread from the bed as she talked. She seemed to realize for the first time that she had two guests and just one bed. "Oh... is this going to work?"

Jim waved her off. "We'll be fine, thanks."

After providing extra blankets, she left. Jim wasted no time changing into dry sweatpants and shirt, then turned to a still Blair, who was peering nearsightedly at a few wall photos.

"What are you looking at?" He zoomed in on the photo that held Blair's attention; a close-up of a guy in his early twenties. The kid in the picture was dressed in a college football jersey, complete with shoulder pads, grinning at the camera as if he'd just won some important game. "Must be Gordon's son."

Blair whipped his head around, as if catching a movement from behind them. Jim turned as well, seeing nothing. Blair's startled gasp filled in the small room, then he crumpled to the ground.

God, it was cold.

"Sandburg, come on. Wake up."

Maybe if Mr. Save-a-dime would turn up the heat, it would be worth waking up. A sharp slap startled him.

Since when did Jim use violence to start the day?

"Roommate abuse," Blair protested weakly as he blinked his eyes open. "Whoa, where..."

"You okay?" Jim hovered over him. "You fainted," he accused.

"Sorry." Blair felt like someone who had fainted. He also felt like he'd just spent a week in a deep freeze. "Damn, it's cold."

Jim helped him sit up. Blair's body ached. Muscles from all over reported in, telling his brain they were overtaxed and looking for revenge.

Wait a minute. They were inside, in someone's bedroom. The last thing he remembered was standing in the snow storm. Blair started to ask how they'd gotten here, "Jim, you look freaked. You okay?"

Jim nodded once. "I'm okay. You're the one that dropped like a lead balloon. You okay?"

"Just freezing... and totally confused, man. How'd we get here? And while I get to ask stupid questions, where's here?" He let Jim pull him to his feet. An exhaustion like he'd never felt before made him sway.

"We walked, remember? Think `Donner' party, Chief," Jim said, looking relieved. "We found a farm house; we're guests for the night. Why aren't you remembering any of this? How's your head?"

"Thanks," Blair moaned. "I hadn't noticed. It hurts, too." He hugged his ribs. "Why's it so freak'n cold?"

"Here." Jim picked up some sweat clothes. "Change. I'm going to use the head down the hall."

A weird lethargy overcame Blair, like he'd just finished a week's worth of sleepless exam cramming. He started to undress, noting socks on his feet that he didn't own. It was hard to concentrate. Feeling a little better in dry sweats, Blair saw one bed. He couldn't stop a huge yawn from escaping. The door opened and Jim walked in. Blair pointed. "We're bunking together?"

"Yeah." Jim closed the door, tugging on the handle as if he expected it to spring open again. "No choice. You need to visit the bathroom?"

"No, mom, I'm good. Dibs on the pillow." Blair wearily climbed into the bed, scooting over to hug the wall. The sheets felt like shaved ice and his body shivered in spite of the sweats and socks he wore. Jim spread out extra blankets. Still, the additional weight of the bedding held no promise to keep him warm. As Jim turned off the light and climbed in, Blair rolled to his side, teeth chattering.

Jim shifted on the mattress as if he was counting the lumps under his back. "How's the head?"

Inches from each other, their conversation reduced to whispers in the darkness, Blair yawned. It was getting harder and harder to stay focused. "Sore."

"Roll over."

Blair turned to face the wall. He felt warmth along his backside. Another band of heat circled his chest and he relaxed with a sigh into darkness.

Blair fell asleep almost instantly and Jim felt a twinge of worry. How bad was that head injury?

He listened to the soft plopping sounds of snowflakes landing on the old house. He imagined hearing a million settling flakes. How deep would the drifts be in the morning? Western Washington just wasn't used to this type of snowfall. It was a good thing the local weather forecasters weren't docked in pay for screw ups. This unexpected storm would have set them back a few months.

Blair huffed in his sleep and shivered. His long hair was still damp. Taking a second to lift the strands away from the younger man's neck, Jim draped them up over the top of the pillow. He used the edge of a blanket to dry Blair's neck.

"Ummm... `z cold."

Jim pulled the blankets up higher and tucked them close over both their shoulders. His bed-mate burrowed down an inch, getting half his face under the blankets while one hand clutched Jim's arm closely.

Jim smiled. "Can't wait to tell the guys in the bullpen about this, Chief," he whispered. With his automatic safely tucked under their pillow, he let his body relax and his thoughts drift. Sleep pulled him down.

The crash shook the house.

Jim bolted up in bed, instantly awake. Quickly scanning the room and seeing nothing amiss, he grabbed his gun and jumped out of bed.

"What's happening?" Blair shouted as another crash sounded from above, proceeded by a sharp cracking sound.

Jim had a good idea what was going on. "I think the snow got too heavy for the tree limbs overhanging the house," he reported as he quickly pulled on his shoes.

Elsewhere in the house, Melanie called out to her father, who answered, shouting instructions back. Jim could hear movement, sounds of them dressing quickly. They all met in the hallway. Gordon managed a curt nod as he passed.

"Need help?" Jim followed down the stairs.

The house was colder now, the fire in the woodstove was out or just smoldering. Even though it seemed Jim had just closed his eyes, his watch told him it was nearly three in the morning.

"I need to check the roof," Gordon tossed back over his shoulder.

At the back door, Gordon flicked wall switches, simultaneously flooding the utility room off the kitchen and the back yard with yellow light. He lifted two heavy coats from a row of wall hooks and offered one to Jim. "There's a ladder in the barn, and some tools. We may need to replace some shingles."

Blair joined them, slightly out of breath, his hair sticking out in several directions at once.

"Jim?" He had his wet shoes on, the laces dragging on the floor.

"Stay inside, Chief," Jim ordered. "We're going to check the roof."

"I'll come." Blair looked determined.

Jim started to order him back, but Gordon stopped him with an outstretched hand. "I'd rather you help Mel. She's in the attic, seeing if anything needs to be moved. She could use a hand."

Not looking too happy with the division of labor, Blair reluctantly agreed. "Okay. Be careful up there, okay, Jim? No falling off."

"Sounds like a plan." Jim clapped his partner's shoulder before following the Gordon out into the night.

Three minutes later Jim was chilled to the bone. The cold cut through the coat like tissue paper. The snow drifts were above his knees and flakes continued to drift down without showing any signs of letting up. They had located the long, wooden ladder and carefully placed it against the back of the house. He held the base as Gordon climbed, two coils of heavy rope slung over one shoulder. Jim watched as he attached it to a sturdy set of bolts already secured under one eave, screwed into the heavy timber that made up the roof support. Then Gordon expertly tossed the ropes over the peak of the roof and climbed down.

"That will hold us," Gordon explained. "Let's move the ladder to the front."

On the front side of the roof, each wearing strong body harnesses secured to the ropes, Jim could see the tree that had caused the damage; an oak old enough to witness the passing of Lewis and Clark. Each branch supported a heavy load of snow. A few of its higher limbs had snapped off, landing on the house.

"Looks like three good-sized holes. You up for this?"

Jim nodded and they got to work. They worked as a team. Jim stayed below Gordon, supporting him, keeping him from sliding while the man pulled the broken shingles off and tossed them to the ground below. Underneath the shingles were long slats of wood which were spaced apart. Through the gaps, Jim could see light. He could hear movement and talking within.

Blair and Melanie.

Gordon reached back for a bundle of shakes tied to Jim's rope. Jim pulled the top one free, feeling awkward with the heavy gloves. He handed it up. The sooner they patched up the roof, the sooner they could get out of the cold.

"Let me help," Blair said, finding Melanie struggling with a heavy chest. He'd located a fold-down ladder and climbed into the overhead attic. It stretched the full length of the house, tall enough to be a third floor. "Jim's outside helping your dad. He sent me up."

"Thanks, I just need to move a few of these boxes back. So they don't get wet," Melanie said, her breath making small white clouds as she talked. She stood under a single bare bulb hanging from a rafter. The low wattage chased shadows from the dusty corners. Like Blair, she wore sweats and thick socks. The attic was cluttered with boxes, tarp covered shapes, and crates.

Blair picked a corner of the crate and shoved. They worked for a few minutes clearing the area as snow drifted down from the damaged roof. Sounds of hammering could be heard overhead.

"Man, I hope they're careful. The snow's going to make it slick." Blair gazed up at the rafters.

"Don't worry, Dad's probably got some harnesses fixed up," Melanie told him. "Help me with this?"

"Sure." Blair hurried over to assist. An old dresser with a large mirror was in danger of catching snow. As Blair moved to take an end, he happened to glance into the mirror.

A man stood in the back of the attic, near where the roof met the floor, half covered in shadows.

Blair spun around. "Jim?"

The end of the attic was empty, save a few large steamer trunks.

Melanie looked over her shoulder. "What is it?"

"Someone was standing there," Blair said, then paused as the back of his neck rippled with a new crop of goose bumps. God, was he seeing things again?

Shit.

Melanie peered intently into the shadows, fear flickering over her pretty face. "I don't see anyone."

Blair made himself look back into the mirror. Nothing. "Sorry, my mistake. Let's get this moved."

The dresser was heavy, as if filled with books. Working together, they slid it along the floor in short bursts until it was safe from getting wet.

"That should do it." Melanie dusted her hands on her jeans. "Wow, I guess we need to have a yard sale."

Blair had to agree, the attic was crammed. "I'd get an antique dealer up here first. You guys have some nice old stuff." He noticed a large collection of trophies piled in a box.

Melanie tracked his gaze. "Those belonged to my brother."

"He must have been a decent player. Those are a lot of trophies."

She shrugged. "Big fish, small pond. You know how it is. Dad thought he hung the stars in the sky, though." She crossed her arms, looking pensive.

Blair knocked the dust from his hands. "Jim and I are staying in his room, aren't we? Is he at college?"

She shrugged, hugging her thick sweatshirt tightly against her ribs. "We don't know. Trevor just up and left last July, we haven't heard from him." She looked up. "Sounds like Dad and your friend are finished. I'd better fix some coffee."

By the time the two men returned to the kitchen, an old-fashioned boxy radio gave the weather forecast; heavy snowfall was expected all morning. They shook the snow off their backs and returned the coats to the hooks by the back door.

"How bad is it, Dad?" Melanie asked. She stood at the counter, patting out biscuit dough. Turning a drinking glass upside down, she quickly cut out a dozen biscuits as easily as Blair could turn a page of a book. He'd been watching her toss together the ingredients, not even bothering to measure.

"It's not as bad as I feared," her father commented. He had brought in a plastic bucket half filled with chicken eggs and set it on a side table. "Thanks to Jim, the repair was quick."

"Blair and I got the attic squared away." She laid the round dough shapes into a glass pan and slid them into a preheated oven. "I figure we're up for the day, so I started breakfast. We'll eat in half an hour."

Gordon took a cup of coffee from Blair, nodding his thanks. "All animals are good. We fed the horses."

Blair held out another cup to his friend. Jim's cheeks and nose were red. The legs of his sweatpants were wet from melted snow. Removing a pair of bulky gloves, he blew on his fingers before taking accepting the coffee. "Thanks, Chief."

"Jim, there's more warm clothes up in your room," Gordon said. "Help yourself, you too, Blair. From the sounds of this forecast, you're both stuck here till afternoon."

Melanie took eggs from the bucket and rinsed them off. "Go on up and change. Look in the bottom dresser drawer, you'll find sweaters. If you'd like, I'll wash your clothes this morning."

"Thanks, dry clothes sound real good about now." Jim said.

Blair followed Jim up the stairs, his stomach already looking forward to breakfast. Back in their room, Jim rummaged around in the closet. Blair found two sweaters as promised and laid them out on the bed. It was colder on the second floor and he was eager to get back to the warmer kitchen.

"How's the head? Here, put these on under your sweatpants." Jim handed him a white pair of thermal Long Johns

"Still tender, but okay. Trevor is sure taller than his dad," Blair noted holding up the undergarment. "Good thing sweats have elastic cuffs."

"Trevor?" Jim had already shucked his wet pants and was threading a leg into his own Long Johns.

"That's the guy's name, Gordon's son. Melanie told me he split last summer." Blair looked up from his dressing. "And, Jim? I thought I saw someone standing in the attic earlier. Kind of freaked me out."

Jim paused. "You did?"

"Yeah." Trying to hide his nervousness with a casual laugh, Blair sat on the edge of the bed and toed off his damp shoes. "Looked into a mirror and thought he was standing behind me. You don't suppose Trevor's here in the house? Hiding?"

Jim was a fast dresser, already layered in the thermal pants and a baggy pair of jeans with paint stains. He finished donning the sweater and paused to tilt his head. A distant look told Blair that Jim was listening. After a few seconds, the cop shook his head.

"Only four heartbeats in the house, Chief. No Stephen King plots for your imagination today."

"Ha, ha. Very funny." Blair finished with the long johns and sweatpants and picked up the sweater. "So, are we really stuck here?"

"Yeah, the way this snow is falling, not even four-wheel drive would make it out. Gordon said the plows hit the main roads first. It takes a while before they come this way." Jim went to the corner of the room where they'd dropped their clothes last night. "Let's get this stuff down for washing."

Jim hungrily eyed the shrinking bounty before him. Scrambled eggs, fried ham steaks and fresh baking powder biscuits waited for them in the kitchen. The food seemed simple and modest, but it was the best Jim had ever eaten.

And he had no intention of ever admitting that to his Dad's housekeeper.

Blair sat to his left, greedily shoveling eggs into his mouth, a large, butter-dripping biscuit in his free hand. Smiling happily, Melanie watched them eat.

"It's nice feeding a hungry crowd again," she admitted.

"Everything's tastes incredible," Blair said. He looked sheepish as he paused to swallow. "Sorry, normally I have table manners."

A low, oak bookcase filled with cookbooks had a place of honor under a framed picture of an old man in prayer. Jim zoomed in on the titles, wondering if he owned any of the books. Two cookbooks caught his eye; `Washington Farmhouse Cooking' and `Fabulous Cascade Foothill Desserts'. Both books had the same author.

"You're Melanie Walker," Jim blurted out. "I saw you on `Good Morning, America' last year. I was sick with the flu and watched the show. You gave me a real craving for potato salad.'

"God, no wonder my mouth is in heaven." Blair grinned happily. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

Gordon reached for a biscuit. "Her mom."

Melanie rolled her eyes. "Well, a college degree didn't hurt either, Dad." She turned back to Blair. "Mom was a great cook, though. I expanded on a few of her old country dishes and tried to find ways to cut out the saturated fat."

"Never hurt my family before," Gordon added glumly. "They all lived into their nineties."

"Anyway..." Melanie made a classic `don't mind him' look and continued. "I'm working on my third cookbook: breakfast foods. Someday I plan to turn this house into a restaurant. How do you like the biscuits?"

"I like." Jim buttered another one. "I can taste cheese and herbs."

"Very good, you have a distinguishing palette," she commented.

"If you only knew," Blair whispered with a grin before sipping his coffee.

"I'm playing with egg substitutes."

Gordon made a rude sound that seemed to knock some of his daughter's enthusiasm down a few pegs.

Blair's eyes flicked between them and he spoke up. "That is so cool. I'm trying to show Jim the healthier side of take-out. Maybe we can share some recipes?"

"Hey, Betty C," Jim cut in. "I eat healthy. I just enjoy many different cuisines. It's all about moderation."

"Whatever, man." Blair snickered behind a biscuit.

"Speaking of which." Jim moved the basket of bread out of his friend's reach. "I'm cutting you off. That's your third."

"Hey!"

Melanie laughed. They finished their meal with pleasant small talk.

Jim felt relaxed. Fond memories of life with his younger brother surfaced, before his mother had left them. His dad would already be gone for work, but his mother would sometimes treat them to pancakes with chocolate chips. He and Stephen would stuff themselves.

"After that meal, I need the work out," Blair said as he helped Melanie clean the kitchen.

Jim and Gordon were talking in the living room. Blair had stubbornly fought off any of Jim's plans to make him go back upstairs and rest. His head didn't hurt that much and he told Jim so. Besides, it was warmer down on the main floor, especially in the kitchen.

"Can you do me a favor?" Melanie turned and pointed to the dark utility room that led to the back door. "I need an empty jar from the shelves in there."

"Sure."

He'd been drying the dishes as Melanie washed. He draped the damp dishtowel over the stove handle and crossed the large kitchen. Spotting the wall switch, he flicked on the light, flooding the long utility room with brightness.

And saw a man standing against the back wall.

Blair's scream bounced off the walls. Stumbling backward, he tripped and fell backwards, hitting the back of his head soundly against a end of a cabinet. Either the rap to the head or the fall caused him to close his eyes. When he opened them again, the man was gone.

"Sandburg!" Jim appeared at his side.

"JIM! Shitohshit! He was HERE! I just saw him." Blair pointed and like a K9 with a fresh scent, Jim was off and running, through the small room and out the back door.

Blair rubbed his head, turning to see Melanie pressed against the far wall, eyes wide with fear. The back door opened and Jim reentered, bending down to help him up.

"Go!" Blair ordered, pushing him firmly even as Jim levered him to his feet. "I'm telling you, he was right here. You can catch - "

"Chief." Jim sounded patient, like Blair was mental or something. "There's half a foot of new snow out there. No tracks."

"Tracks?" Blair blinked, unable to remember the definition for a second. He raised a hand to the back of his head and winced when he felt a tender spot. Out of the corner of one eye, he saw Gordon standing in the arched passageway between the kitchen and the hallway.

Jim looked concerned. "Did you fall first, then see him?"

Blair glanced down, biting his lower lip, His face felt hot. "I didn't make this up, man. I saw him first, man. Then I fell. I swear."

"Here, sit down." Jim tugged him to the nearest chair.

It was humiliating. Blair could see Jim didn't believe him. And Melanie and her father both were looking at him as if he were mental. Blair never felt so alone. "He okay, Jim?" Gordon asked.

"Yeah, think so," Jim answered.

To Blair's relief, the father and daughter left them alone.

"Jim, I want to leave."

Jim didn't stop from his examination of Blair's eyes. "I think you're okay, pupils are still equal and reactive. You've got a nice lump growing back there."

Blair knocked the probing fingers away. He knew that already, his head was pounding. "Jim! Listen to me. Something weird is happening," he whispered angrily.

"Calm down. I think you should rest upstairs."

When Jim tried to draw him out of the chair, Blair resisted. "Nah uh, I'm not going. Let's call Simon. Ask him to send someone to get us."

"Blair, this storm has Cascade by the short hairs. We're stuck here." Jim argued. "I want you to lie down - "

"How about we borrow a car?" Blair said, rushing the words out. Jim muscled him up and they were heading for the stairs anyway. Blair's head throbbed, making it hard to walk. "We can drive out, right?"

Back in the room, Jim continuing to shoot down each escape plan that Blair could think up. The room was just as they'd left it before breakfast and just as cold.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"If I guess right, can we build snowshoes and walk out of here?"

"Sandburggg"

"Three, damn it! Jim, I'm serious. Aren't you picking up any `Twilight Zone' vibes here?" If Blair thought for a second that stamping his foot would help convince his friend and break him out of his `No-such-thing-as' denial, he would, in a heartbeat.

Jim gently pushed him back, forcing him to sit on the edge of the bed. He captured Blair's head in both hands and tilted his face down. Blair talked the entire time Jim's fingers parted his long hair and checked his new lump.

"Let's review the facts, okay? This guy keeps popping up - ouch! Watch it, that hurts - he doesn't leave tracks in the snow. Am I the only one that sees an x-file happening here?"

"Now you have a lump in the back of your head to match the one in the front," Jim said smoothly.

"Funny, Jim. Real riot-ville. Can we get back to this nightmare we're living? See where I'm going, here?"

Jim released Blair's head, pulled over the desk chair and sat facing his partner. "Listen to me," Jim said firmly, resting a hand on each of Blair's knees. "Shut up for a second and breathe."

When had he started gasping? Blair took a deep breath and forced himself to hold it for a second, his hands automatically covering both of Jim's.

Jim smiled. "Good. That's better. Now you and I both know that panicking - while fun - won't solve anything. We have to keep our wits together, agreed?"

Blair nodded. "Right, right. Panic bad. Rational thought better." Blair couldn't help himself. "Running best."

Jim's chest and shoulders shook with an unexpected amused snort. If nothing else, Blair Sandburg would be remembered for comic relief. Blair pushed his point one more time. "I don't want to panic. I just want to get out of here."

"I know. But that would be a really, really stupid move right now," Jim said; all trace of humor gone. "You haven't been outside. As cold as this room is, it's ten times worse out there. We don't have the equipment to even try it."

"Come on, Jim; please tell me you think something freaky is happening here."

One hand slipped out from Blair's. Jim rested it on Blair's shoulder. "I even have a vague sort of theory."

"You do? What?"

"You've had a hard knock to the head, Sandburg. Now I'm not saying -""

The room went black.

"NO!" Blair cried. He reached out in the darkness, grabbed Jim's arms and squeezing hard.

"Stay calm, Chief," Jim ordered.

"I'm not letting you go, man." There was no way he was letting this Sentinel out of his reach.

There were times when Jim's sentinel abilities truly acted like the gifts Blair was always yammering about. This was one of those times.

Blair should be resting, not following him around a dark house. Jim knew, as he navigated the dark staircase easily, he'd never get Blair to stay behind in that bedroom. Part of him wanted Blair as his side anyway, the part that wondered if perhaps there was something happening here. Jim called out to Gordon to let him know they were coming. A faint light flickered from the living room.

"Breakers?" Jim asked as they entered the room, Blair still clutching his hand like Jim was the last lifeboat on the Titanic. "Chief? Can you let just a little circulation in to my fingers?"

"Sorry."

Gordon stood over a hurricane lantern, getting ready to light it. "No point in checking the breakers. No power in any of the outbuildings. Wind's starting to pick up. Some tree must have knocked over a power line."

"We'll check anyway, where are they?"

The older man nodded in the direction of the kitchen. "Off the utility room, left of the back door. Look under the calendar."

"Be right back." Jim glanced at Blair's face, wondering how he felt about returning to the kitchen.

But Blair followed without protest. It was funny, Jim realized. The guy had his moments, but when it came to backing him up, Blair rarely failed him. He still hung on like a leech, but walked without dragging his feet or protesting as Jim guided them through the kitchen. Jim stopped and checked the wall phone. No dial tone. He located the breaker box and confirmed Gordon's assumption. No power in the line feeding the house. It must be a power line down, and whatever caused it took out the phone line as well.

"Jim, you should at least look like you need a flashlight," Blair whispered. Sometime during the trek to the kitchen, he had released Jim's hand and latched onto the back of his sweater.

"Good point." Jim scanned a row of shelves filled with old canning jars, cakes of wax, houseplant fertilizer, a package of unused mouse traps and a small box of old rat poison. He found what he was looking for. "Here. One for each of us." He handed Blair a flashlight and they both tested the batteries.

"When's sunrise?" Blair asked, his voice steady.

"Less than an hour." Jim slipped the flashlight into a back pocket. He'd use it as a prop for later. "Listen, we stay together, okay? I'm not taking any chances."

"Like I even want to go off alone right now," Blair whispered to himself.

The sun rose without any other strange incidents. Thankfully, the kitchen stove was powered with gas and the house was heated from the woodstove. Water was still a concern. An old-fashioned water pump was still attached to the well, but it needed a prime. Gordon worked on it most of the morning. Freezing temperatures proved the task difficult. Just in case, he showed them where he'd stored two large fifty gallon drums of drinking water in the basement.

"My first concern is the animals. Their water troughs are ice over," Gordon said as he walked back into the kitchen. "But I need to get that pump working, too."

Jim looked out the window. The landscape was devoid of all color but shades of white. It was still snowing hard. The sun bathed everything with diffused light, like a picture taken with a camera, its lens smeared with Vaseline.

"I'll do it for you."

"Me too," Blair added. He looked up at Jim's raised eye brow. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Gordon asked.

"How many water troughs we talking about?" Jim asked.

Gordon happily took them both up on their offer. After getting instructions on which troughs would need attention, Blair and Jim bundled up as best as they could. Gordon came up with extra rubber boots for them that allowed them to tuck in their pant legs. They dressed in matching rubberized rain pants with bib. Heavy canvas coats went over the top of their sweaters with knitted hats for each man's head.

"I can barely move," Blair muttered.

"I think you're as wide as you are tall," Jim told him.

"Great, now I get short jokes," Blair muttered unhappily.

The snow between the house and the barn barely showed signs of previous traffic. His legs sank into deep coldness causing each step to require a high knee kick. He checked on Blair.

"Not another word about the length of my legs, Jim." Blair had to swing his hips to fight the snow.

"It's a good thing we don't have to go too far," Jim admitted. "This is snowshoe depth."

They made it to the barn, both men breathing hard. Jim took a second to eye the roof from inside. The added weight of the snow put serious load on the structure. Jim wondered if the building was up to the challenge.

"Where are the axes?" Blair asked.

"I saw some tools over here." Jim walked to a side wall where several nails had been driven into the wood. Rakes, hoes, shovels and other assorted devices were organized and ready for use. Some had holes drilled in the handles, some hung by leather straps. Jim found the ax leaning against the wall, head down in the dirt.

"That the only one?" Blair started searching around.

A faint smell that reminded Jim of an old crime scene gave the cop cause to examine his ax blade. He sniffed it again. "Chief, I've got blood on this blade."

Blair spun. "What? Don't mess with me, man. Are you serious?"

"Yeah," Jim said with a nod. He set the ax carefully aside and began rooting though the rest of the tools. "It's only on that ax."

"Oh man," Blair groaned. "I am so hating this!"

Spotting two double headed pickaxes, Jim picked them up. "We'll use these. They're better on the ice anyway. Come on."

Even inside the roomy barn, temperatures were freezing. They took turns breaking the ice and scooping out thick chunks. The horses watched with reservation, but moved in as soon as they left. Finally the task was done and each animal had water to drink. They returned the picks.

"I'm going to tuck the ax out of sight," Jim said picking it up and heading for the back. He found a spot behind a stack of hay and slipped it in while Blair watched solemnly.

They followed their earlier trail back toward the house. It was nearly noon and if Jim was hungry, then Blair had to be starving.

"Is it me, or is the snow starting to slack off?" Blair asked.

Jim had noticed it. "Air feels different. I think the worst of the storm might be over. Maybe we're getting some warmer air off the coast and things can start thawing out."

"It is so cool that you can feel the difference, like a barometer, Jim. We need to run some tests." Blair whispered as he stomped his feet to knock the caked snow off his legs and boots.

"I'm more interested in my sense of smell right now," Jim whispered back with a half grin. "Guess what's for lunch?"

Blair looked instantly alert to the idea of food.

Blair dried the last plate and handed it back to Melanie to put away. He glanced over at Jim and Gordon. Both men sat at the kitchen table discussing the Jags. Blair almost blurted out that he knew one of the players, but held back. Even though the setting appeared homey and warm, he couldn't shake the fact something seriously freaky was going down. Jim hadn't mentioned the ax and Blair wasn't surprised. It was better to act like everything was normal.

Was Jim starting to believe him? Or was there a perfectly normal reason for those traces of blood on the ax blade and Blair was imagining everything.

"So, was that potato and sausage dish we had for lunch in your cookbook?" Blair asked, eager for conversation, anything to stay distracted.

She nodded. "Page one hundred and forty-seven." She flashed a grin. I edited that first cookbook so many times, I have it memorized."

"I hear you. I've had a few articles published, nothing important, just in some boring anthro journals. No matter how many times I proofed it, I still missed stuff," Blair said.

"Oh, absolutely! I have a whooper of a screw up in this one." She pointed to the dog-eared copy of her cookbook. "Check page two-sixteen. I nearly got laughed out of the cooking world."

Blair opened the book, a grin stretching his face. He fanned the well worn pages with his thumb, watching the number fly by. "So that happened? Did the - Shit!" He flung the book away. It landed face up on the floor. He held up his hands, staring at them in horror. They literally dripped with bright red, thick liquid. Blair fell backwards.

He wanted the blood off. He had to get it off, now.

Jim's chair fell as he leaped to his partner's side. "What's wrong?" he demanded, grabbing Blair by the shoulder.

"Jim! Can't you see it?" Blair demanded, holding both hands out. The cookbook still oozed with blood. He shuddered as his shoulder was shaken gently.

"No, tell me what you're seeing, Chief," Jim answered, calm to Blair's panic.

Blair snatched the dishtowel from the counter and wiped both hands.

"Talk to me," Jim demanded.

Blinking in dumbfounded amazement, Blair shook his head. "I-I don't know. She - we- the book..." Blair looked up. "Shit, man."

"That book?"

Blair looked back down. The book hadn't moved. It was still spine down, pages open, but this time...

Blair blinked. He looked again.

The pages were blood free. He opened the towel. His hands were clean. Knees suddenly weak, Blair let Jim pull him toward another chair. He wanted to laugh. He was losing it. His brain had crossed over into the land of fruit loops. There was no returning.

"What did you see?" Jim asked, kneeling down beside Blair's chair.

Gordon and Melanie both looked on in quiet wonder.

"I... I think..." Blair inhaled deeply, closing his eyes.

"Just tell me," Jim insisted gently.

"Blood, man." Blair opened his eyes. "A-all over the pages, all over my hands."

A startled gasp and Gordon moved close to his daughter, circling an arm around her shoulders. He shot them both a sour look. "What's going on? What kind of drugs are you taking?"

"Blair doesn't take any drugs." Jim looked up at them. "I'm taking him upstairs. He needs to lie down. He probably shouldn't have worked with me this morning. It's the head injury."

The man and is daughter looked unhappy, but seemed to accept the reasoning. Blair let Jim steer him back up the stairs. He felt like an idiot. First he's seeing a man in the snow, in attic shadows, now he's seeing blood. They entered the room and Blair sat on the edge of the bed, still looking at his clean hands in disbelief. "I'm going crazy."

Jim stood over him. "Keep it together, partner," Jim said quietly. "We're going to get through this, okay? I don't think you're going crazy."

"You don't?"

Sitting beside Blair, Jim ran a hand down his face. "I have a theory."

"I know," Blair interrupted him. "The one about me getting one too many knocks on the head. Remember? You were telling me when we lost power."

Jim smiled indulgently at him. "That was only part of it. I didn't get a chance to finish. Remember Molly? The apparition I saw when you found the body in that old apartment building?"

Blair swallowed, the skin around his chest doing its own version of `shrink-wrapping'. "Oh, god. You do think I'm seeing ghosts."

"You're having some type of visions," Jim said gently. "Even I have to admit you're not this spacey."

Blair couldn't decide whether to feel relief or outrage. Relief won. "So, how come it's me? How come you're not seeing this stuff?"

Jim shrugged. "Maybe it has something to do with Incacha passing the way of the shaman on to you. I don't know."

Blair shivered. The cold seemed to seem through the walls of the old house. He looked at the vent to see if it was still open. Maybe this house was haunted. Maybe that's why this room seemed so damn cold.

"We gotta get out of here."

"Sandburg," Jim said. "We've already had this discussion. Look the snow has stopped. We'll leave as soon as it's safe."

"This sucks!" Blair glanced around the room, half expecting to see Jack Nicholson with an ax. "Okay, I'll stay. But - so help me - if you start whispering `red rum', I'm so out of here!"

Jim grinned and Blair felt a little better. He wasn't going crazy. Jim did belief him. "Okay, then. What do we do now?"

"You're going to rest a little. Then we'll find Gordon and Melanie. I want to ask them a few questions."

Blair recognized that tone. Jim was in full cop mode. Somehow, he found that comforting. The idea of a rest sounded good. He didn't complain when Jim pulled the top blanket off the bed and draped it around Blair's shoulders. Blair's eyelids felt heavy.

"I'll wake you in a few hours," Jim whispered as he nudged Blair sideways.

Blair took a second to toe off his shoes as he lay down. It no longer felt like his ribs were playing birdcage to his frantic heart. He sighed. "Just a short rest. I can do that." Blair opened his eyes. "Don't leave?"

Jim's answer was all over his face. "I promise."

But Melanie was asleep when they left the room nearly two hours later. They found Gordon in the living room. He looked up at them, his face still showing his wariness, as if Jim and Blair had turned into unwanted house guests. Hell, maybe they had, Blair could appreciate what it must look like from his point of view. Before they showed up on his doorstep, the most the guy had to deal with was the storm.

"Gordon, can we talk?" Jim said, crossing his arms. He stood near the wood stove, his stance that of an interrogator.

Blair wanted to smile. The guy just gave off those `cop vibes' like the sun radiated heat. Half the time he probably wasn't even aware, the other half... Well, Blair was sure Jim knew how to use his size to his advantage.

"What about?" the man asked.

"Tell us about your son," Jim encouraged.

Gordon ran the side of his thick forefinger up and down the bridge of his nose. He suddenly appeared older than his years, sadness and disappointment pressing down on his shoulders.

"He left."

"We know that already," Jim answered. "Why did he leave?"

Some rebellion surfaced in the older man's eyes. He looked up in challenge. "What has this got to do with you two?"

Jim's posture relaxed, like a boxer, confident he could take his opponent. "Okay, Sandburg and I are going to share a little story with you."

And he did. To Blair's surprise, Jim seemed to leave nothing out. Starting with seeing a man on the road, he even added the part about seeing blood. Gordon sat like a statue; all he needed were a few pigeons pecking the ground at his feet. Blair felt a stirring of pity for him. Jim wasn't coming right out as saying Trevor was a ghost, so Gordon made his own conclusions.

"You think my son is here? In this house?"

Jim looked at Blair, seeming to weight some mental choice. "I'm not saying anything. I'm telling you what Blair saw."

"He sees blood that isn't there, too." Gordon pointed out. "What am I supposed to think? Your partner is physic?"

Jim ignored the last question. "If your son is behind these incidents, there must be a motive. Is it possible he's angry with you and your daughter?"

With a heavy sigh, the fight seemed to leach out of Gordon. "No, everything was fine. Trevor was home from college, his second year. He's on a full football scholarship." The father leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and studied the rug as he answered, "He told me he didn't want to go back, didn't like his classes."

"What is he taking?" Blair couldn't help but ask.

"Computer science," Gordon answered. "He met some people at school that wanted to start a football camp. Trevor was offered in on the ground floor but needed capital up front."

"He asked you for money?" Jim guessed.

Gordon nodded. "The farm - this land - it's all I have to pass on to my kids. I was considering just selling out and giving Trevor his share now, but I'm really not interested in retiring yet."

"So, Trevor wanted his cut and you weren't ready to give it." Jim rubbed his chin. "Did you guys argue?"

"No!" Gordon lowered his voice. "No, we didn't. I had business in town. I was gone all day. Trevor was gone when I got back."

"What about Melanie? Did she see him leave?" Blair asked.

"She was in Seattle, talking to her publisher," Gordon told them. "Trevor sometimes took off when it suited him. I half expected him to show up at college in the fall, only he didn't." He stood and went to the window. The heavy drapes were opened to let in the faint sunlight. The farmer stared glumly at the melting snow. "You guys aren't going to make it out today. If the rain keeps up, enough snow should be melted by morning. I'll drive you into Rockport or Concrete tomorrow. You should be able to get a tow truck there."

Apparently Gordon wasn't buying today. Blair and Jim exchanged a look. He knew what the cop was thinking. Technically there was no crime, only an assortment of weird occurrences. But, God, if Jim was right, a crime had occurred. It wouldn't be the first time the victim reached from beyond the grave to ask the two for help.

Gordon squared his shoulder. "I'll be in the barn. I've got chores. I want to thank both of you for all your help. There's cards and a few puzzles in the hall closet. Dinner's whatever you want to fix." That said, he walked out.

"Can you say `denial'?" Blair whispered.

Jim dragged a hand down his face and scratched his neck in irritation. "Yeah, I'm afraid I didn't get through to him."

"You tried, Jim. He's just not willing to go there." Blair stood. "He hasn't seen Trevor's... whatever. He just has my word and I don't look too reliable right now." Blair fingered his sore head. "I still can't get over the fact you believe me."

"Well, I'm the one that sees wild animals on cars in city streets. I'm not one to judge a man for his weird visions," Jim pointed out with a wry smile. "Anyway, Gordon should realize we've no reason to lie about what you saw. He's making a mistake."

"He isn't ready to accept the possibility his son dead," Blair countered. "Until he sees Trevor for himself, I doubt there's anything you can say to convince him."

With nothing else to occupy them, Jim ended up retrieving the cards from the closet. They played a few games of rummy, with Blair losing miserably, neither had their minds on the game. He could tell Jim was carefully monitoring all activity in the house. The hours passed, marked by one of them going to fill the firebox with wood. After a while, they bundled into coats and went outside. Gordon gave them a few odd jobs to do in the barn to keep busy. If the farmer missed his ax, he never said anything.

When time for supper arrived, Gordon led the way back into the house. Clouds hung low, obscuring the mountains that bordered both ends of the valley. Rain fell constantly now, so cold when it touched Blair's cheeks, he couldn't believe it wasn't snow. The rain built a hard crust on the snow under their feet, scrapping their knees as they walked. Back inside the kitchen, they fixed sandwiches for dinner. Melanie was still in her room. The house was getting dark and they ate by the light of a lantern. By now Blair was tired again, the effects of the earlier nap forgotten. All three men looked exhausted. None of them had gotten much sleep the night before and it was catching up.

After Blair's fourth jaw-cracking yawn, all agreed to turn in for the evening. Gordon went upstairs to take a sandwich to Melanie while Jim and Blair cleaned the kitchen. He returned with disposable razors. A large bucket of water warmed on the stove. Blair washed at the sink, tied his hair back and shaved. It felt great to be clean. He waited for Jim to wash and shave before they climbed the stairs and took turns in the bathroom.

"You think we'll be able to drive out in the morning?" Blair asked as he rummaged around in the dresser for clean clothes to sleep in. They had their own lantern in the room, throwing eerie shadows that danced in the corners.

"If we're lucky and this rain keeps up," Jim answered, already dressed in clean sweatpants, his chest bare. He had his gun out, eyeing it as if checking for dust. Working the slide with ease, two bullets arched sideways and landed on the bed. Jim scooped them up and thumbed the release that dropped the clip. He slipped the bullets back into place and returned the clip with a slap from his palm.

Blair rolled his eyes; if he was right, no gun was going to protect them. He found a pair of heavy flannel pajama bottoms and slipped them on, bending down to fold back the hems. For a top, he could choose a long sleeved T-shirt with a `Big Dog' logo. He shivered as he pulled it over his head.

"Get under the covers, Chief," Jim ordered, standing to check the door.

Blankets sounded good about now and Blair wasted no time getting into the bed. It was unbelievably narrow. How in the world had they managed to get any rest last night? He barely remembered going to sleep, just their rude awakening.

"Jim? Can you tell how Melanie's doing?" Blair asked.

"She's awake and talking to her dad."

Having a sentinel as a roommate came in handy sometimes. "I hope she's okay. I must of freaked her out with that cookbook vision." Blair punctuated that statement with a full body shudder as he huddled into a ball. "Damn, I don't remember it being this cold last night."

"The wind's picking up," Jim told him. "This old house's insulation leaves a lot to the imagination. Slide over, Chief."

Blair straightened and moved over, his shoulder touching the wall.

The dark shadows overtook them as Jim turned the wick down, reducing the glow to that of a nightlight. Blair felt the blankets lift and the mattress dip; releasing any of the heat he had managed to build up. Blair groaned. "I'm m-moving to the Sahara."

Jim's quiet chuckles tickled the side of his face.

"You are such a wimp."

"And your point? Hey! Keep those icicle toes away from me. Where's your socks?"

"I don't sleep in them. I get too hot."

And damn if Jim wasn't a human furnace. The sheets were already starting to heat up; it felt like heaven. Faint, sketchy memories of last night surfaced in Blair's mind as he was crowded against the wall. He rolled onto his side, facing the wall to give Jim more room.

"Jim? Did we... er, snuggle last night?"

"Yep."

"Huh." Blair let that sink in for a second, weighing his craving to be warm against his reluctance to crowd his friend.

He felt Jim roll over. A familiar warm arm snaked around Blair's waist and pulled him back against the delicious warmth.

"Come here. I'll never get any sleep if you shake the bed all night with your shivering."

Blair sighed with pleasure. "Don't care if you respect me in the morning, man. Just make with the heat."

Jim laughed. "Behave yourself, Chief. Go to sleep."

It seemed Blair had just closed his eyes when the entire house shook with such vigor he was certain some misguided pilot had confused the roof for a runway.

Blair bolted up in bed, instantly aware Jim was missing. The room still held a smidgen of light from the lantern, just enough to illuminate the desk top that held it. Dust seeped into his nose and mouth. It tasted like old sheetrock, adding to Blair's fear. The old house was falling apart.

"Jim!"

"Right here, Sandburg." Jim's voice came from somewhere close by. The light grew, showing in fact that Jim was standing half dressed, shirt in hand.

"What WAS that?"

"I'd guess another limb - or maybe the entire tree this time - just hit the roof."

"Shit! Again?" Flipping back the blankets just as Jim pulled the shirt over his head, Blair searched the back of the chair for his sweater.

Jim tossed him more clothes. "Put these on over what you're already wearing."

Just like the previous night, Gordon and his daughter met them in the hallway. They each carried a flashlight.

"I've had it with this place, I am going to sell," Gordon declared angrily.

"Dad - " Melanie was cut off.

"No, I've made up my mind!" he told her, slashing his hand through the air.

Jim finished buttoning the flannel over-shirt. "That sounded pretty bad. We can put up a temporary patch with those tarps in the barn."

"Yeah." Gordon seemed pacified with Jim's plan. "It'll take all of us to handle it in this wind. You guys willing?"

Blair nodded, even though the last thing he wanted to do was climb around on an icy roof in the middle of the night. "Sure, we'll help."

And it was icy.

It seemed no matter how many layers of clothes Blair could have donned the cold cut through to numb his skin. By the time Gordon and Jim had rigged two extra ropes on the far side of the building and he climbed to the roof, Blair was sure icicles hung off his nose and chin. Jim had gone ahead and secured himself to an anchor rope. Now he was busy looping one rope around Blair's upper body with a series of knots that ended up producing an amazing harness-like outfit.

"W-where'd you learn that?" Blair asked, the cold causing a slight stutter.

"Boy scouts." Jim scooted to one side when he finished and pointed up. "Climb to the top. Keep near the ridgeline, it's the strongest point. Be careful to stay on this side."

Gordon was already on the roof, near the damaged part of the house. Blair used his rope to keep from slipping off as he scaled the icy roof. Falling from this height was not an option. The old house was taller than currently built homes. The distance would break a leg or even his back, if not kill him outright.

Once Blair reached the ridge, the full force of the wind hit, sucking the air from his lungs. The artic had arrived in Western Washington. Blair was certain a new ice age was upon them. The clouds were gone. A trillion and one stars looked down upon them. The moon was near full and it gave a spectral glow that bounced off the snow blanketed land and provided enough light to see by.

Blair blinked in amazement. Everywhere he looked it was the same.

Ice.

Ice entombed the buildings, trees, dead power lines, and fence lines; literally everything. It was breathtakingly beautiful... and deadly at the same time. The weight of the ice must have caused the massive oak next to the house to split in two. Half the tree had crashed into the house and embedded itself in the attic.

"Sandburg!" Jim was finished with Melanie's harness and was hauling up the rope they'd secured to the old tarp, lifting it up to the roof deck. "Work your way toward Gordon."

"Right!" Blair called out. It was time to work, he could admire the scenery later, from inside a warm room, preferably.

He appreciated the stiff work gloves Gordon had loaned him. Even though his hands were far from warm, he knew without them on he wouldn't even feel his fingers by now, let alone be able to hold the hammer currently tucked into his waistband. A handful of nails resided in his coat pocket.

"Careful, Blair," Gordon told him as the younger man got close. "Move along the top, keep back from the hole or you'll fall in."

"Kay." Blair could see the dark hole into the attic from this vantage point. He wondered about Trevor. Where was he? If he was truly flesh and blood, like Jim thought, he was probably using the attic to hide in. Then again, if Blair was right, it didn't matter if the tree hit his hidey-hole or not.

Jim was working his way toward them now, dragging the long tarp behind him as he followed Melanie. She, too, stayed near the top of the roof ridge.

"Okay, people," Gordon started. "Jim, play out the tarp to Mel. Let's see if we can get it over the hole and the tree in one try. Blair, you take it once we get it across."

At first, Jim's strength would do most of the work. The tarp was heavy and enormous. He gathered close, sorted it out and tried to hand one end off to Melanie. The trick was keeping the wind from snatching it out of their hands.

It turned out to be harder than it looked. Each time someone fumbled, the wind turned the tarp into a kite. The third time Melanie lost it, Jim was nearly dragged off the roof. Blair watched helplessly as he dangled near the edge for a minute, one hand on his rope, the other on the tarp until Gordon could move over to help.

"It's not going to work," Blair called out from the far side of the damaged roof. He'd yet to get his chance to hold on to the tarp. "Maybe I should move up top?"

"Let me try again," Jim said, panting a little from the last struggle with the wind. "Melanie? Can you move closer?"

Bundled to the point that she was hardly recognizable, the hooded shape scooted toward Jim. Blair bit his lip, or thought he did, his face had lost all feeling about ten minutes ago. They needed to get this done before someone froze. Jim's arm was bound to be hurting him by now. He watched Jim hand Mel the corner of the tarp. He waited a minute, seeing she had a firm hold then scooted down toward Gordon.

Suddenly, Blair heard thuds and Jim froze.

"No!" Jim shouted, looking over his shoulder at the ridgeline.

The rope that tethered Gordon coiled and slid downward. Gordon made a lunge for the tarp and Jim's leg, latching on. Blair looked up in disbelief. Melanie had her hammer high over her head, only hers was a sheetrock hammer, the type with a small ax blade on the back instead of a claw-style nail puller. Now she was busy hacking at Jim's rope.

"Melanie! NO!" Blair shouted. He scrambled forward, hands reaching for the edge of the hole. He leapt out to land on a thick, icy limb of the halved oak tree. Blair knew he'd never get back up and around in time to help Gordon and Jim, but he stood a decent chance if he crossed over the tree. He grabbed his own rope and swung it like a giant game of jump-rope. It flipped over the tree in one swing. Now it wouldn't impede him from getting to the other side.

Jim hugged the tarp to his chest. Gordon was inches from the edge and trying to work his way up. The ice offered no handholds.

Blair acted half monkey as he scrambled over the tree, shaking it so badly he wondered if he would succeed in dropping it further into the house. Branches pulled at his clothes and hair. He reached the other side just as Melanie cut through Jim's rope.

Jim and Gordon started sliding as one. Melanie tossed her end of the tarp up into the wind. Blair jumped for Jim's rope and caught it. Frantically, he started hauling it hand over fist to take up the slack. Gordon slipped over the edge with a strangled cry; Jim was mere feet away from the same fate.

"Jim!" Blair shouted. "NO!"

Jim disappeared just as the rope became taut and Blair's arms were yanked hard, feeling ready to pull loose from his shoulders. The sheer weight of both men lifted the younger man clear from the damaged roof and swung them several feet out. Now Blair could add the bite of the harness he wore to the pain in his shoulders and arms.

"Jim..." Blair muttered softly, knowing the sentinel could hear him. "I... can't pull... c-climb."

"Blair!" Jim's voice drifted back from over the edge. "Watch her!"

Oh shit! Blair twisted to try and spot Melanie. He found her inching along the ridgeline on her butt, heading directly for his rope and the only thing preventing all of them from plunging to the frozen ground below.

"Melanie! Please don't! Don't do it!" Blair begged.

"MY HOUSE!" she screeched brokenly.

She neared his rope. Blair could only watch. If he even tried to free a hand to throw his hammer at her, he'd drop his best friend. He needed both hands just to hold them. If he did nothing, they'd all go over. Maybe they'd survive, but they'd be too hurt to defend themselves. Melanie would just climb down the ladder and finish them off.

Blair groaned. His arms felt six inches longer.

Did Jim have his gun? He could shoot her, if he was still conscious when he landed. God, he didn't know what to do.

"Melanie! Listen to me! We can talk about it. You don't..." Blair's plea died in his throat as he watched a luminous form seem to rise up from the roof, right where Blair's safety line lay.

Melanie reared back as if burned. "Nnoooooo!" she screamed.

The form solidified into the shape of Trevor. Blair couldn't help but blink and shake his head in stunned disbelief. Trevor wore a pair of filthy jeans, mud caked into his knees and butt. His shirt was the same one found with Jim and Blair's dirty clothes. It was still covered with blood, almost obscuring the numbers on his chest.

But it was the face of the man that caused Blair's own heart to pound.

Trevor was pissed.

"Get AWAY!" Melanie screamed. "YOU'RE DEAD!" She scrambled back, rising to her feet.

"Sandburg! What's happening?" Jim called fearfully from below.

Blair didn't answer, unable to find the words to describe the drama unfolding before him. Trevor advanced on his sister, walking on the ridge line as if strolling down a park trail in August. Melanie made it to her feet, took one step back and slipped. Both feet flew out from under her. She disappeared from Blair's view to the other side of the roof with a screech that seemed to freeze the blood in Blair's veins. The sound ended abruptly with a strangled silence.

Blair had to force himself to take a breath again, he'd forgotten how. Then Trevor turned and pinned Blair with a steely gaze and Blair wanted to chew his own rope with his bare teeth and jump.

"P-please..." Blair stuttered from terror and cold. He had no idea what he was asking for. Please go away? Please don't kill me? Please help?

Yeah, why not?

Blair cleared his throat. "Please, man. If you can? H-help me get your dad and Jim up?"

Blair didn't know whether to cheer or wet his pants as Trevor walked toward him with a stride that no person should have managed. At least the ghost no longer looked like the lead actor in a Friday the Thirteenth movie, so Blair chose to believe the best.

Trevor neared and... disappeared.

A deep freeze penetrated Blair, like a frost forming over his heart. Blair knew for a fact he was no longer the only spirit occupying his body.

Oh... God...

~Pull, Blair~

It wasn't really a voice, more like a signboard lit up behind his eyes.

"Oh, yeah. Right." Blair took a firm grip and started to flex his muscles. Wonders of wonders, his arms were doing it. He watched his own fingers relax and his left hand reach out, take another fistful of rough rope. His arm hauled the rope towards his chest. It was as easy as riding a bike. And he didn't even care that his overtaxed muscles burned with pain.

Jim's face appeared over the top of the ice, looking shocked and amazed to be moving upwards. Then his upper body followed. Words of stunned encouragement were floating around Blair's head, he thought Jim spoke them, but it didn't matter. His body was no longer his. Gordon appeared next, white faced. Soon all three men were back on the roof, holding onto Blair's rope and looking grim.

~It's over.~

Blair wanted to stop him. He couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Trevor, how Melanie had killed him, why had she done it? So many questions and Blair didn't even know how to ask.

Jim's voice was like an angry hornet buzzing in Blair's ears. Blair ignored him, concentrating instead on communicating with Trevor. Then, suddenly, he knew the answers.

A heavy sadness pressed down hard on his soul and he wanted to cry.

The freeze-dried feeling left. Blair fell over onto his side feeling hot and achy. Jim's voice became crystal clear. The cop was cussing like a sailor. Vaguely, Blair wondered what he'd done to get his friend so upset.

A fiery hot hand touched his forehead and Blair groaned in pain.

"Shit, he's freezing!" Jim exclaimed.

Jim had seen some weirdness in his life. From inner-city back alleys to the jungles of Peru, but this took the cake. He dismissed the vision of the ghost rising from the slumped over partner and concentrated instead on more serious matters.

"We've got to get him off the roof." He worked numb fingers under Blair's rope-harness to use as a handle. He kept his other hand on Blair's anchor rope.

"Trevor." Gordon still gazed up stupidly at the spot where the image of his only son silently disappeared.

Jim leaned over and nudged the man's shoulder with an elbow. "Gordon, listen to me. We've got to get off this roof. Help me with Sandburg."

Working as a team, they made it over to the ladder, dragging Blair along behind them. Jim knew Melanie was dead. He'd heard her neck snap and figured she'd become entangled in her rope during the fall. He'd heard her land with a thud in the snow, her final breath, her last heartbeat; all while dangling off his own rope.

Jim climbed onto the ladder and waited while Gordon helped Blair. They placed Blair between Jim's arms, sandwiched between Jim's body and the bed of the ladder. Blair was shivering so hard, he couldn't keep his feet on the rungs. He tried to climb, clutching the rungs and swinging his feet. But his movements were uncoordinated and hindered more than helped. At last, Jim's foot reached the ground. He carefully pried Blair's fingers off the ladder and pulled him back out of Gordon's way.

"I'm checking on Mel," Gordon said as his foot touched the snow. He disappeared around the corner of the house.

Jim was torn. Get Blair inside? Or follow the distraught father?

Concern for his partner won. Blair's shaking was less pronounced, a strong indication that hypothermia along with shock was setting in. Jim hustled his friend into the house through the kitchen, stopping when they reached the living room. He dumped Blair onto the couch and quickly shoved a few pieces of the driest wood he could find into the stove. When the smoldering fire burned with new life, Jim turned back to Blair.

"Sandburg? Open your eyes."

Like an old-fashioned Marquette Puppet that had lost its strings, Blair sat listlessly. Blair's face was chalky and cool to the touch; his clothes were soaked from lying on the icy roof and his own perspiration. Years of Army training kicked in. Jim worked the gloves off his friend's hands first, then knelt to attack his shoes.

"Don't make me get tough, kid. Open your eyes," Jim snapped.

Blair responded. Dull blue eyes peered at him from half opened lids. "Tired... l'me sleep."

"After we get these wet clothes off." Shoes and socks off, Jim worked the buttons on Blair's jacket and pulled it off, dumping it on the floor by the doorway.

Blair shivered and tried to block Jim's attempts to remove the layers underneath. But Blair's coordination was pathetic. Jim hurried, knowing the reason. He shifted Blair without asking, pulling and lifting arms that flopped like a human rag doll. Sentinel fingers felt the dampness in the layers, all the way to bare skin. All of it had to go. He started on the sweatpants, pushing Blair sideways onto the sofa and lifting his legs.

"H-h-hey!" Blair muttered thickly, protesting like a drunk.

An old quilt made from odd bits of wool lay over the back of the sofa. Jim flipped it down to drape over Blair's cold torso and head before yanking off his sweatpants, pajama bottoms and boxers. A muffled protest of outrage floated up from the quilt. Jim ignored him and arranged the quilt, tucking it completely around Blair's body before uncovering his friend's head again.

Blair glared up with an expression of sleepy annoyance.

"Warmer?" Jim asked still seeing fine shivers shake the quilt.

"I c-could've done it myself," Blair muttered, then sank into the warmth with a sigh.

Jim still wasn't satisfied. He didn't like Blair's wet hair. He needed a towel and more blankets. "Stay put. I'll be right back."

When Jim returned seconds later with more bedding in hand, he met Gordon walking in from the kitchen. One look at the man confirmed Melanie's death.

"I'm so sorry, Gordon."

The farmer acknowledged the comment with a barely perceivable nod of his head. "S-she's in the barn... for now. How's...?"

"I'm trying to warm him up." Jim continued his course for the living room. Blair was just as he'd left him, but asleep. He tucked him in with the extra blanket and used a towel on his hair while Gordon watched. Blair never woke.

"Why?" Gordon asked. "Why would she do that?"

Jim didn't have the words to console the man. He shrugged, the desire to keep busy still coursing through his veins. He wanted to know Blair's core body temperature and wondered if the farmer had a rectal thermometer. It didn't matter, Jim realized. Blair would probably fight him tooth and nail if he even tried to use it. He made do with checking Blair's forehead with the back of his hand.

"Where is my son?" Gordon asked, his voice breaking with emotion. "Are both of my children dead?"

Jim sank to the edge of the sofa, one hand still in contact with Blair's shoulder as if he too would disappear. "I don't know, Gordon. I'm not the one with the answers this time."

They ended up camping in the living room until dawn. Jim fetched more blankets. He tossed one more on top of Blair before rolling up to sleep on the carpet in front of the couch. Gordon slept curled uncomfortably in a chair. Blair's groans woke Jim just as the faint blush of morning streaked across the sky.

Jim's hand immediately returned to Blair's forehead. He was warm again. Judging from the look of the pain lines on the younger man's face, he hurt.

"Ow, ow, ow." Blair murmured quietly, eyes still closed.

"I need to check the animals." Gordon uncurled stiffly and left.

"Jim?"

"How you feeling?"

"Like Gumby, damn it," Blair said with a groan. "God, my arms hurt."

"Yeah, I'll bet." He helped Blair sit up then tucked his own blanket around his friend's bare shoulders.

Looking down, a faint blush appeared on Blair's cheeks. "I'm naked."

"You were hypothermic," Jim told him without a hint of teasing. "Everything had to come off, your clothes were wet."

"Oh." Blair seemed to accept that. "Thanks. I don't remember... much after pulling you back up."

"Yeah, well. It was a hell of a night, Chief."

"Where's everyone?" Blair looked around the room.

"Gordon's outside, looking after his animals," Jim explained, dreading telling his friend the rest. "And Melanie's ... dead."

Eyes widened briefly before he sank back onto the sofa, dropping his chin. "Oh, man."

Jim took a seat at Blair's side. "Tell me what happened."

A shaky hand emerged from the folds of the blankets and quilt and Blair scrubbed his face wearily, grimacing at the pain the movement cost him. "God, Jim. Trevor stopped her. She could see him, just like I could. He was mad, I mean seriously upset. She tried to stand and slipped. Oh shit, the wrong way, huh? She fell off the side her rope was tied off to. It let her hit the ground?"

Jim nodded. Blair didn't need to know about the broken neck yet. "Then what happened?"

Blushing a little, where only a sentinel could see in the faint morning light, Blair pulled on one earlobe absentmindedly as he continued. "I... ah, I asked it... him to help me." Blair turned to face his friend. "You're not going to believe this, but he did. He sort of climbed inside my body and then I was able to pull you both up."

Jim thought as much. "I think that's why you were so cold afterwards. You didn't respond."

Blair sat up with a start and weakly grabbed Jim's forearm. "Oh! There's more. I just remembered! Trevor told me everything. He sort of told me. I think he had the ability to implant the basic - "

"Sandburg, skip to the end, okay? Save the `how for's."

"Oh, right, right, sorry." Blair shivered and tucked his arm back into the blankets, his face becoming somber. "It's so sad, Jim. Melanie killed him, she didn't go into Seattle that day. She came back right after Gordon left. She fixed him a cobbler, his favorite. Only he got really sick and started throwing up blood." Blair shuddered as he clutched the blanket tightly around his shoulders.

Jim nodded. "She might have used one of the horses to drag his body away to get rid of it."

"But, why?" Blair asked. "That's the part I didn't get. I don't think he knew."

Jim had an idea. He'd puzzled over the mystery most of the night. "Gordon told us he was considering selling this place so his son could invest his part of the inheritance. But, Melanie wanted to turn this house into a restaurant. Maybe she got tired of playing second fiddle."

"Second fiddle?"

"Sure," Jim answered knowingly, remembering the way his own father would sometimes make him and his brother compete against each other. "She probably had to work and scrimp for enough money to go to college; her brother gets a free ride because he's a `jock'."

A light of awareness came on in Blair's eyes. "And all her dad could say was `she's a good cook'. Ouch, she got no credit for her talent, that's harsh."

"Right, plus Trevor comes back after only two years of college and wants to sell this place and spend his half, which blows Melanie's plans out of the water," Jim finished.

Blair gnawed on his lower lip as he stared at the rug. "I gotta tell you. I figured Trevor was a ghost and all, but I thought Gordon killed him. Remember the ax?"

"Chickens, Chief."

"What?"

Jim shrugged; embarrassed he hadn't figured it out sooner. "I think we found the ax that Gordon uses to kill the chickens. This is a farm."

"Oh." Blair seemed to let that sink in. "Oh, yeah. I should have thought of that. My mom and I used to live on farms. We always went into town on that day."

Blair hurt.

He was sure someone had pulled off his arms and replaced them with an inferior pair, because they had never hurt like this before in his life. Still, when he considered the alternative, he gladly swallowed the pain pills Jim gave him and waited patiently in the cab of Gordon's old truck.

Jim had gathered up a few items before helping Blair into the truck. First he'd retrieved the ax. Gordon had raised an eyebrow, but didn't say a word. Jim had retrieved an old box from the utility room. Blair hadn't even notice it before. It was a box of rat poison, the type that couldn't be purchased anymore because is was too dangerous to use.

Now it was almost noon. The sun was making short work of the ice. Long ribbons of it fell from the overhead power lines and from the trees around them. It would take longer to melt all the snow, though. Blair wondered how bad the flooding would be.

Jim seemed confident they would make it out today. He and Gordon had chained the tires. The truck had four-wheel drive, plus Jim had added extra weight to the bed; several bags of sand. Blair tried not to think about the small, human shape wrapped in blankets that rested in the back. Melanie was leaving her farm.

The driver door opened. Gordon climbed behind the wheel. Jim got in and closed the passenger door. The bench seat was crowded. Blair made a point of keeping out of Gordon's space.

"Ready, Sandburg?" Jim asked, lifting one arm and laying it on the back of the bench seat.

Blair moved, giving Gordon more room with Jim's arm out of the way. "I'm ready."

The truck started with gentle coaxing from the driver. Jim used the noise from the motor to mask his next question. "You okay? Warm enough?"

Blair smiled, knowing if he said the word, Jim would order Gordon to wait while he went back inside to bring out another half dozen blankets. "I'm fine, Jim. I just want to get back to Cascade," he whispered.

As they drove toward the nearest town they reached a spot in the road that looked familiar. Blair's skin tingled. His vision darkened and it was uncomfortable to breathe.

But it was Jim that spoke. "Gordon, stop."

The man complied. He slowed the truck to a stop, keeping the tires on the asphalt. There had been no other traffic the entire drive so far, it was unlikely they'd be causing a traffic jam. "What is it?"

"This is where our car went off." Jim's hand was on the handle. "I want to check something out. Stay put, Chief."

When both Jim and Gordon stepped out and the cold air filled the cab, Blair ignored the order and followed. Jim didn't even act annoyed as Blair stood near his side. Blair could see Jim's head slightly tilted back. The long aristocratic nose flared in the cold air.

They stood on the edge of the road. The large chrome bumper of the Volvo was visible below them, encased in ice. His whole car was a classic-cycle. Blair shivered. "What do you smell?" Blair whispered.

"Death." Jim answered in a whisper.

"Maybe I did hit that deer."

"I need to check it out." Jim reached into the truck bed for a shovel. He looked down at Blair, his eyes commanding. "You stay up on the road, hear me?"

Blair nodded. "Okay."

Gordon followed as Jim went over the edge. Both men slipped as they dropped to the bush-line a few feet down the way from the Volvo. Jim bent down, parting the bushes carefully, Gordon at his side.

The father's scream of anguish filled the snowy landscape.

Simon Banks poured two cups of coffee and carried them carefully to his desk. He passed one off to Jim before taking his own seat. The last few days had been hell. The city was still not back to normal. The roads were a mess. The schools had been closed for two days. Half the force had been unable to show up for work. They simply were not prepared for winter storms of this magnitude. He eyed his detective as he savored his first sip. Jim looked tired and with good reason, from the sounds of it. Simon pondered the brief story he'd just been told.

"So, basically, you're telling me that you and Sandburg found a body on the side of the road."

"Right."

"And it happened that he was killed by his sister last summer."

"Right."

"But, before you could charge her with murder, she died by falling off the roof."

"That's right."

Simon took another sip of hot coffee and tilted his head. "Why do I get the feeling there's something here you're not telling me?"

Jim raised and dropped his shoulders smoothly. "Well, we did get caught in a hell of a snow storm. Turns out, Sandburg's a decent driver in the snow, although he has a hard time spotting black ice."

End

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