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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