Jim drove like a man possessed, emergency lights flashing, weaving in and out of traffic, barely pausing to listen for on coming traffic before blowing through stoplights at 60mph or better. Blair, who'd showed up shortly after Mai-ling Xiong had left in Corporal Husky's patrol unit, muttered protests about his driving. Jim ignored them, concentrating on traffic, worrying that he wouldn't find Li Xiong at the Temple, lost in meditation.

Jim pulled his Ford to a sudden stop in front of the Buddhist Temple, bailing out of the cab before Blair or anyone else could catch up to him, and sprinted towards the path he knew Li loved so much. He hadn't gone more than a few yards down the secluded path before the scent of spilled blood assailed him, causing his headache to spike and his stomach to roll in protest. Jim stopped, bending over a bush on the side of the path and tried to quell his rebellious stomach. He was barely aware when Blair stopped on the path beside him even as Simon, Terry and Sydoriak rushed by, continuing down the trace.

"Jim! What is it? What's wrong?" Sandburg's hand was cool on the back of his neck even as it helped him to center himself.

"Blood. Too much blood."

"What?" Blair sounded startled.

"Blood." Jim rose back to his full height, shut down his sense of smell and pushed off, doggedly determined to find the source of the sour-sweet, metallic odor. Rounding a bend on the gravel-strewn path, he found Terry, pale and sweating, heaving his stomach over a dwarf Japanese maple tree. "Terry?" He stopped to check on the sergeant.

"Oh, God!" Terry choked back a sob and Jim started to move further down the path. "Jim! No! Don't!" the man called out, trying to catch Jim by the sleeve of his coat, but missing as Jim hurried away.

He rounded a huge, gray-granite boulder and froze. His whole world came crashing down in a thunderous roar as he took in the sight. Li Xiong, nearly naked, was strapped down to a meditation bench, his chest unnaturally extended, blue symbols painted on tan flesh, blood pooled on the gravel under the bench -- spilled from the gaping hole in his friend's chest. Jim fell to his knees, roaring out in his pain and anguish.

"NOOOOOOOOO!"

The dark clouds filling the late morning sky matched the mood of the hundreds of uniformed officers and family members. A field of somber colors, silently they listened to the final notes of 'Amazing Grace' played on a lonely set of bagpipes. Jim stood sandwiched between Blair and Simon, with Sky snugged up close to her boyfriend. They stood next to the elderly woman Jim knew only as Li Xiong's mother-in-law, Ming.

Mai-Ling Xiong wasn't there. She'd been admitted to Cascade's Women's Hospital shortly after the private ceremony the night before which had, according to what Jim had been able to gather, freed Li's soul to fly into heaven. This morning, however, his widow was fighting to hang on the life she and Li had created. She'd begun having contractions after the family gathering, and the doctors were doing their best to prevent Mai-Ling from going into premature labor. She was only seven months along and Jim knew that a child born too early had less than a fifty percent chance of survival.

Four months into Mai-Ling's pregnancy, Li had approached Jim and asked him to be kind of an unofficial godfather to the unborn child, to mentor him or her as he had Li. Jim had agreed, and now he might lose that precious little life, as he'd lost Li. His heart ached for all those he had lost, Li, Danny, Jack, Lila....

The Commander of the Honor Guard accepted the flag, which had draped the coffin of Corporal Xiong, but was now neatly folded, and brought it over to Terry Anderson. As the commander of Li Xiong, Anderson had requested the honor of presenting the flag to Li's family -- in this case, Ming, who accepted it with great serenity as tears spilled down her cheeks.

The public rite over, most of the officers paraded by the coffin while the piper played Taps quietly in the background, dropping either clods of moist dirt or flowers into the gaping hole. Only a few hung back, waiting for a more private moment with their fallen comrade-in-arms. Jim waited patiently as the last of the stragglers concluded their business before he, too, approached the graveside.

Aware that Simon, Blair and most of the Task force members watched him from a distance, Jim knelt beside the open grave and finally let the tears of regret, despair and sorrow fall. "Li, I am so sorry." He stopped to clear his tightened throat. "If only we had worked faster, harder, without stopping--maybe you wouldn't be here and Mai-Ling in the hospital."

Sounds of soft footfalls on grass grabbed his attention, and looking over his shoulder, Jim saw Blair slowly approaching him. "Time for me to go, Li. Sandburg's watching me and looking at his watch, so I've probably been here longer than I thought." Jim rose to his feet. "I've got a killer to catch and a death to avenge. Bye, my friend. You will be sorely missed."

After brushing the worst of the wet dirt from his knees, Jim walked over to where the members of the task force waited for him.

"Captain, I know this really isn't the place to have this conversation, but..." Jim halted, not sure of his theory, until Blair spoke the words for him.

"You're thinking that Li was chosen because he was on the task force, as well as being a strong follower of Buddhist doctrine, aren't you, Jim?"

"Yeah. I just need to know if I'm the only one who's had that thought since we found Li's body?" Jim winced. The headache -- which had returned with Xiong's murder -- was pounding the back of his eyeballs into mush.

"Did you bring your meds with you?" The concerned voice, the gentle hand on his arm, placed there to get his attention, belonged to his best friend.

"Yeah, Blair, I've got them." Proving his point, Jim dug into his dress blues pocket and pulled out the brown plastic bottle.

"Sandburg, drive Ellison home, and make sure he gets some rest." Simon's voice was gruff with emotions he was holding back. "Jim, you've had a rough week, and don't tell me you haven't been spending time with Xiong's family, preparing for whatever it was that happened last night. I know you have."

Jim didn't bother to deny the allegation. How could he when it was true?

"Thought so. Let Blair take you home, and you just vegetate for about 24 hours. Get rid of that headache, make an appointment with that doctor you saw, do what ever you have to but I need you back on your feet and ready to run as soon as possible."

"I know, Simon. I've kinda dropped the ball the last few days..."

"Jim, you've been grieving over the loss of a friend. It's understandable." Blair, jumping to his defense. Not that he had to. "Let's do as Simon requested, before it becomes a command, and get you home, okay?"

"Sounds like a plan, Chief." He handed over the keys to his truck to the anthropologist and with a sad smile and a wave took his leave of the gathered personnel.

Sky approached them as they neared the pickup. "I just want you to know how sorry I am, Jim. If you ever need to talk, need someone to listen who knows what you're going through, call me."

Jim managed a slight smile. "Thank you, Sky, that means a lot to me." He let the druidess hug him, then he climbed into the Ford as Sandburg and she said their good-byes. While he waited, he took one of his Fiorinal capsules, welcoming the medically induced haze as it took the edge off his grief.

Blair had dropped Jim off at the loft and made sure he was comfortable before heading to the station. Despite the pill he'd taken, Jim had no desire to rest. He pulled out his copies of the case files and went over them for what seemed like the thousandth time. Once again, Jim came up with nothing new, no insights as to who the killer could be except....The night Rowan MacLauryn had vanished stuck out in his mind. He had been right at the start of that fake Ecstasy case, and had gone to the rave with Brian.

What else had happened that night? Blair had been on a date with Sky, and when he'd brought her back to her store, they'd found Celtic Anam had been broken into and trashed. Jim had always assumed the vandalism had been the work of the drug importer, Thorvald, searching for his misplaced drugs. But what if it hadn't been? What if it was connected to these Aztec Axeman deaths? Rowan had been a frequent visitor to the new age store, and Sky stocked the items needed to create the vegetable dye used to paint the victims. Had the murderer been the thief as well? Nothing of any value had been missing, but who would miss small amounts of dried leaves and flowers?

Jim shook his head. Maybe it was the medications and the stress he'd been under lately, but his mind had started to revolve around remote possibilities. Like the nightmares, which seemed to coincide with the dates of the murders, or the fact that after Brian had dropped him at the PD that night, Jim had found himself driving aimlessly on a back road of Cascade County hours later. That thought brought up another coincidence, the hours of time missing from his memories. Nothing he'd normally worry about, but with the headaches and the 'anomalous' reading from his CAT scan...Jim forcibly shoved away from that line of thinking, going back to analyzing his behavior and his visions, or nightmares.

The night of Rabbi Rabinovich's murder, he'd been awakened by a horrible dream. It had been so real that Jim had felt the blood on his hands and even recalled smelling the vile, sweetish metallic odor of it all around him. The resulting headache had plagued him off and on for weeks, affecting his work and his duties, until the murder of Father Gibson. By then, Simon had had enough of the piss-poor detective work Jim had been doing that he'd ordered Sandburg to take him to see Dr. Abrams.

Jim ran his hands over his face, forcing himself to think harder. He'd had visions, dreams, or nightmares before that were related in some way to his sentinel abilities. But he'd always been able to remember them, always been able to puzzle out their meaning, even if it had been after the fact.

What if they aren't dreams? He shuddered. What if they're memories so horrible I'm repressing them? I've done it before. There are still things about Peru, about my past as a sentinel in the jungle, I can't remember.

Getting to his feet, Jim prowled the apartment, turning the confusing facts and vague impressions over and over in his mind. Finally he came to a decision. He had to know where he'd been the night Rowan had disappeared, and why his coat had been damp and smelled of the ocean before he'd gone to Father Gibson's. And he didn't need a warrant to search his own place.

The atmosphere of the bullpen was subdued when Blair walked in around 2 P.M. As he'd come upstairs, almost everyone he'd run into had been wearing a black armband in support of their fallen brother. Finally reaching his desk, Blair slid out of his winter coat and then his suit jacket, hanging them both on the coat tree. Loosening his tie, he pulled it off and threw it in his desk drawer, then sat down in his chair and leaned his head in his hands. For a moment he felt like crying.

Li's family had been torn apart by his murder. His wife was in the hospital; his unborn child, if he or she survived, would grow up without a father.

In approximately fifteen days, they would be going through this all again, if the killer held to his pattern. Someone else would die who had a family and friends that loved him or her. God, when was it going to end?

And what about Jim? His friend was dead, the investigation was going nowhere, and Jim's headaches were getting worse, not better, despite what the doctors said. What if there was something really wrong with Jim, something the doctors had never heard of? What if there was some unknown cost to having enhanced senses? What if the tradeoff was pain, or even death? God, Sandburg, just don't go there, okay? Just don't.

"Blair?"

He looked up to see a familiar face and eyes full of concern. "Corinna?" Pushing back his chair, Blair got to his feet and hugged the Cuban woman. "Man, I haven't seen you in like forever! How have you been? You still working for the mayor's office?"

Corinna Santiago stepped back as he released her, and Blair felt her quick, dark eyes running over him. "No, no, I took a leave of absence to go care for my mother in Miami. She had surgery in July. I stayed through Christmas, and just got back in town yesterday. May I?" She gestured at the chair next to his desk.

"Oh, of course. Please, sit down." Blair resumed his seat. "I hope your mother is doing well."

"Oh, yes, she's fine. But the reason I'm here is because of the murders that have been going on. I read about them in the paper yesterday. I knew Maria Alvarez," the Santerian priestess told him.

Blair ran a hand through his hair, pushing it behind his ears. "I'm not sure I know what to begin to ask you. How much do you know about what's been going on?"

"I dreamt last night of you, of someone you care about in danger. I prayed to Oshun after I awoke, and she directed me to come here, to warn you."

Blair felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. "Oshun communicated with you about this? Why? Because of Maria?"

The woman shrugged. "Oshun does not always make her motives clear, but the loa know that there's an ancient, powerful evil at work here."

Shaking his head, Sandburg replied, "I don't know, Corinna. I'm not sure I believe in the concept of a cosmic evil. The evil humans do, I see that every day. I think that's what's going on here, some sick, disturbed person is acting out their fantasies."

Corinna looked unconvinced. "You can't tell me you haven't felt it, the darkness, the sickness that destroys everything it touches. Why do you wear protection against it, if you don't believe in it?" She pointed at the bracelet on his wrist.

"I--"

"Listen to your heart, Blair. It knows the truth. It knows that the only way for evil to be defeated is for good to unite against it. And sometimes even a god wears a human mask to hide itself."

"A god? What do you mean, 'a god'? I know this guy is making sacrifices to Tezcatlipoca, but are you saying he thinks he is a god?"

Smiling at him, Corinna squeezed his hand, then got to her feet. "Your heart knows the answer to your questions, shaman. Listen to it." With a swirl of flower-scented air, she was gone.

Leaning back in his chair, Blair chewed his lip, pondering her words, as the fingers of his left hand unconsciously played with the bracelet on his wrist.

Jim started upstairs in his bedroom, not sure what he was looking for nor what he'd do if he did find evidence that might connect him to the murders. He'd settle for just knowing where he'd been on the nights in question.

Treating his possessions as if they belonged to a suspect, Jim continued his search in a widening circle and worked his way down the stairs. Using the micro-recorder he carried when casing a suspect's house or place of business, Jim kept strict tabs on his quest. But it didn't stop him from trying to recall where he'd been on the days the victims had died. The only thing he could clearly recall from those dates was suffering pretty severe, but not migraine level, headaches. You probably have an inoperable brain tumor, just too small to be picked up by modern medical advances, but your sentinel abilities know it's there, causing you to react strangely to the invasion of your body.

Switching mental gears to avoid obsessing over the idea of a brain malady, Jim asked himself another question. "So, where were you the night Li was murdered, eh, Jimmy?" He didn't have an answer and that bothered him. He ought to know where he'd been the night his friend was killed.

Two hours of careful, meticulous searching yielded nothing. Nothing was out of place, no wood shavings from carving handmade flutes, no obsidian knives, or the flowers, herbs and bark used in the paint. And apparently jaguar spirit guides didn't shed.

Frustrated, Jim sank into the depths of his couch and let his mind wander freely, allowing thoughts to flicker past his mind's-eye like darting koi in a Japanese garden pool, until one surfaced that drew his attention. It was the memory of one of his Academy instructors as he guided the cadets through investigation techniques. "Okay, you've searched your suspect's main residence, place of business and the usual haunts. Nothing turned up, but you're nearly positive you've got the right man. Now what do you do, Ellison?"

Even as he finished repeating the words of Captain Shrum, Jim found himself looking at the spiral staircase leading down to Sandburg's place. His answer to Shrum's question spilled from his mouth, validating itself by its simplicity. "What if your main suspect isn't who you think it is?"

But then, who could it be? Was it someone he knew or was already close to? "Not Blair; kid can't stand the sight of blood and death, usually." But he's been able to handle the crime scenes related to this case just fine. "Skylark? No, she adamantly denied any involvement of herself or her druid group in blood-letting." Maybe it's a ruse? She did get awfully chummy with Sandburg right about the time Rowan MacLauryn was killed. What if Sky killed Rowan, who'd been assisting her in the murders up to that point, and now is using Blair? "That's possible. Maybe. But I doubt it."

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the insidious voice that kept nagging him. But he couldn't shake the idea that it made more sense for there to be two killers involved in the Aztec Axeman Murders. One person would have a hard time dealing with the victim, but two....

Getting up from the couch, Jim walked over to the staircase and peered deep into the gloom of Blair's apartment. He was a quarter of the way down the spiral when his sensitive ears picked up the sound of Blair's Volvo on the street below. "Another time, perhaps."

Briefings had become a nearly daily ritual for the people involved with the task force. This morning was no different, except the whole team was still reeling from the loss of one of their own. Many of the officers present still wore black armbands, or had black silk strapped across their badges, honoring the memory of Li Xiong. All in all, it was a very subdued group of men and women that piled into the large conference room where Simon Banks awaited them. Looking up from the notes he'd been reading, Simon noticed that Brian Rafe hadn't joined the group.

"Where's your partner, Brown?"

"Last minute phone call, sir. He promised to hurry along as soon as he confirmed something."

"Okay. Let's get this show on the road then and you can update Rafe when we're through." Simon stood up and walked over to the white board, his back twitching as he felt the many eyes in the room turning their attention to him. "All right, we've had almost a full week since Xiong's murder, let's see what we've got. Brown, you're first up."

Brown gave his update on leads gleaned from interviews with family and friends of Rabbi Rabinovich. Nothing new had been discovered. Simon turned to the next officer. "Anderson?" The sergeant gave a brief report on finding a couple of local suppliers of the type of herbs needed to concoct the paint the perpetrator used on his victims, but was having trouble finding any records of purchases of said herbs in large quantities. He had copies of all receipts and was planning on going through them that afternoon, looking for connections. Simon didn't say anything, just pointed to Megan Connor who gave yet another sketchy report. She'd been given the assignment to track down members of McLauryn's wiccan group. The only thing she had to report was that McLauryn was to have met a group of friends on the night she vanished, but all of the friends had alibis that checked out. She was back to square one and frustrated as hell. Just as Simon was about to ask Sydoriak for his update on the investigation into Father Gibson, Rafe burst into the room.

"Sorry I'm late, but I found an supplier of unique knives on the Internet and discovered they had records of shipping a replica of an Aztec tecpatl to Cascade." Simon looked at the young detective expectantly, causing him to obviously squirm under the tight scrutiny. "I contacted the new owner of the knife, an art dealer, yesterday and found she still had the knife in her possession. She cooperated and let me have the knife for testing. The phone call I just hung up on was Serena in the lab. There was nothing on the knife blade. No cells, no traces of any DNA. Sorry."

Simon tried not to let his disappointment show. "It's all right. This case seems to be full of leads that go nowhere. Sydoriak, you're next."

The county detective's report was longer than the others, but his case was more recent. He spoke of how he had talked with a number of Gibson's friends and former congregation members and made a remark about the Father being one of the few Catholic Priests in the area that still preformed exorcisms. But the Father had no known enemies.

Joel had been assigned the wooden flutes. Forensics had come to the conclusion that they were hand-carved, and the wood was commonly found in Mexico and South America, common being the operative word. Many lumberyards and specialty wood shops carried it. The merchants were going through all their sales records, but there was no way to track the wood if the suspect had bought it with cash.

Simon noticed Blair and Jim, heads together, talking quietly to each other as Sandburg's hand flew across the notepad in front of him. "Ellison, Sandburg. You two have something to add here?" Both men had the grace to blush, like errant schoolboys caught by their instructor, before Blair nodded.

"I think so, Simon. I had a conversation earlier this week with Corinna Santiago, she knew our first victim, Maria Alvarez. Remember how I told you that our perp is killing on the day of the Aztec calendar that's sacred to Tezcatlipoca? Anyway, something Corinna said has been bugging me. She said even a god can wear a human face."

Simon looked at Blair, then over to Jim. "What is he saying?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know. He was trying to explain it to me just now."

"What I'm saying is that we all agree this killer has an obsession with the Aztec, with sacrifice, with Tezcatlipoca. But what if he thinks he is Tezcatlipoca, that he's a god?"

The meeting became lively after that revelation as officers went back over their notes to see what Sandburg had been talking about. Simon hated calling the briefing to an end, but they didn't have long to try to find the killer before he struck again, if he held to his twenty-day cycle. Handing out assignments, mostly for officers to start looking for suspects among former mental patients, figuring someone who thought he was a god would have had at least a couple brushes with social service, Simon dismissed the gathering.

The briefing was finally over and Jim used the confusion of people leaving the room to duck away from an overprotective guide, aiming to slip down the hall and into the stairwell before anyone could stop him. Well, almost anyone. Frank had caught up with him, noted the lines around his eyes and told him to go find a quiet place to rest for a few. Jim was grateful, knowing Sydoriak would cover for him with Blair or anyone else who asked after him. Sandburg always seemed to be home the same time Jim was, and the sentinel suspected Blair was keeping tabs on him. The flurry of activity and interviews surrounding Li's death had kept him busy at the station as well.

Finally Jim managed to slip into the Information Access office and found a free computer to work at. He quickly typed in his request for a criminal history and background check on Skylark Kullien. He knew Frank couldn't cover for him for long, so he didn't waste any time -- just pulled up the requested information on the screen and hit the print key without looking. He did notice that the only thing Sky had in the Washington State Information Center was her active driver's license, with a few minor traffic violations and a State Criminal ID Number. The FBI's response from the National Crimes Information Center was less than that. Shutting down the terminal, he grabbed the printouts off the tray and hurried back to the bullpen.

In the relative privacy of the elevator, Jim looked over the paperwork he'd generated on Sky. The State CID Number was from a charge of criminal trespass, dismissed, back in 1995. Nothing worth noting. NCIC's criminal history return showed only that she had a valid driver's license in Washington state and a fuzzy 'possible' return on a woman named Skyler Kunnan in Colorado, but the age was completely wrong. There was no way that Skylark Kullien and Skyler Kunnan were the same person, unless Blair's lady friend was much older than she appeared.

Crushing the papers into a tight wad, Jim leaned back against the wall of the elevator. What are you doing, Jimmy? Suspecting both Blair and Sky of being possible serial murderers? You're betraying their trust in you, not to mention Li's and the rest of the group's! Get a grip on yourself! The door opened and he pushed off, but instead of heading directly for his desk, he detoured past the men's room where he hand-shredded the WSIC/NCIC paperwork and flushed it down the commode.

Returning to his desk, he placed a phone call, trying to schedule himself an appointment with Doctor Wiesenhunt for the next day. With the way he'd been thinking, not to mention holding full conversations with a 'voice' in his head, Jim Ellison was positive that there was something seriously biologically wrong with him. Maybe Wiesenhunt would be able to find it; after all, if he did have a brain tumor or lesion, the damn thing would have had the opportunity to grow larger in the weeks since the original CAT scan. It was the only reasonable explanation he had at the moment for his actions and attitudes of late. Either that, or he was going insane.

It had been nearly another week, but finally Blair was gone from his apartment while Jim was at home. He was off tending to some kind of emergency at Sky's apartment, something to do with pipes freezing and the maintenance guy disappearing. Jim had offered to help, but Blair assured him he could handle it, which only raised the detective's suspicions. Why didn't Sky want Jim at her apartment?

To be honest, the sentinel was glad to be alone to put his plan in motion. He felt guilty about invading the younger man's privacy on a whim that the man he'd known for over four years was involved with a killer. But he had to do something! The case was going nowhere and the few kernels of possible leads had all played out to dead ends.

He was searching through Blair's closet when he was startled by the sound of a key turning in the lock of the main door. "Shit." Getting to his feet, Jim looked up to see a familiar green sweater hanging in the closet, HIS green sweater. "Found it!"

"Jim?" He turned to see Blair staring at him from the doorway of the bedroom. "What are you doing in here?"

Holding up the garment, Jim replied, "I wanted to wear this tomorrow, and, since I couldn't find it in my place, I thought I'd try yours. Lo and behold, look what I found."

Blair nodded as he brushed by Jim, closing the closet door.

What was Sandburg hiding?

"Yeah, well, I guess I must have gotten it mixed up with mine or something. Sorry about that." Denim blue eyes looked up at Jim from a face framed in dark hair. "Were you searching for something else while you were down here?"

"What makes you say that, Chief?"

Blair didn't answer, just lead the way back out towards the living area, where Jim saw the disorder he'd left behind in his searching.

"Oh, hell."

"Why, Jim? What were you hoping to find?"

Dropping the sweater across the back of a chair, Jim collapsed on the couch, scrubbed his face with his hands and tried to push the pain from yet another blasted headache back. "Everything is so screwed up, Blair." He felt the cushion beside him dip down as Sandburg sat next to him.

"What's going on with you? More headaches? I thought the doctor told you that it's all stress-related. You gotta relax, man. Or is it your senses? I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong, Jim."

The genuine concern in his friend's voice struck a chord in Jim's mind, causing his recent fears to come surging to the forefront. "It's not my senses. It's my head. The headaches are back, stronger than ever, and the drugs Doc Abrams gave me aren't working any more." Before the young man could respond, Jim looked him in the eyes and finally stated his real fear. "Despite what Dr. Wiesenhunt said, that I'm okay, I know there's something wrong with me and, well, there's no easy way to say this...."

"Jim, tell me, what is it?"

"I realized the other day, after Li's funeral, that I'm missing chunks of my memories, not large pieces, just a few hours here and there. I seem to have been functioning okay during that time, but I can't recall where I was or what I did." Jim dropped his head into hands. "And the days that I can't recall seem to coincide with the dates of the murders."

"No." Blair's voice was a bare whisper.

"It's true. I can't even recall what I was doing the night that Li was killed. I've been trying, but it's like there's nothing there to recall."

"Maybe it's a form of zone out. You've been under a great deal of pressure recently and Li's death only added to the load." Blair was perched on the edge of the sofa, his expression intense, when Jim finally looked up at him.

"I don't think it's a zone out, Blair."

"But you don't know." The anthropologist stood up, crossed to his desk in the corner, grabbed something from the CD rack then paused by the entertainment center to put the disc in the player. "Let's see if we can get you to regress back to one of the dates you can't seem to access."

The music spilling forth from the speakers of the stereo system was soothing, relaxing and, most importantly, the same music that Blair used on occasion when helping Jim walk back through his memories. Jim felt his body automatically responding to the auditory stimulus, muscles slowly going slack as he leaned back into the couch cushions. He was fully aware of his surroundings, but at peace as he listened to the music. Blair's voice was low and calm as he slowly took Jim back through the halls of his memories. First stop, Wednesday the 22nd of December, one day before finding Li Xiong's body in the temple gardens.

"Where are you now, Jim?" The soft, coaxing voice intruded into the warm cocoon of his mind.

"Station. Talking with Frank. He's concerned that there may just be some logic behind Sandburg's calendar theory."

"What time is it?"

He moved as if to check his watch, never opening his eyes, before giving his answer. "Just before 1700 hours. Frank's wanting a copy of the Aztec calendar, to double check something. Li's there too."

"Good, Jim. Real good. Come forward just a bit. It's now close to seven in the evening. Where are you now?"

"Home. The headache just spiked. I'm breaking down and taking both meds Doc Abrams gave me." His jaw clenched, his brow creasing as he felt the pain of that headache again.

"What do you recall next?"

"Going up the stairs to my bed. Falling asleep. Waking up with another horrid dream plaguing me...no, the images are fading. Just like the others..." Panic! Frustration! Why did these damn dreams scare him so badly and why couldn't he recall them once he woke up?

"What time is it now?"

"Just after six. I needed to be up half an hour ago--"

"Okay. Jim, come on back."

He opened his eyes to see Blair sitting on the coffee table across from him. "Didn't remember much, did I?"

"No, you didn't. I've got a theory, but I'm more concerned about you right now. Do you mind if I make you an appointment with Dr. Wiesenhunt? Maybe even go with you?"

"Gonna hold my hand while the doc tells me I'm going to die, Chief?" Jim quirked a half-hearted smile at his friend, a smile that faded when he saw how Blair's color blanched. "I'm joking. And I tried to get through to Wiesenhunt's office earlier. Line was busy. But if you have better luck...I wouldn't mind a little moral support." The last words came out of his mouth so softly, Jim doubted he was heard.

"I'll be there, Jim. Now," Blair rose from the table and, extending a hand, assisted Jim to his feet, "let's get you back upstairs. I can tell just by looking at your eyes that you're busting another headache and the regression exercise probably didn't help, huh?" His friend was already halfway up the spiral staircase and couldn't see the grimace that Jim allowed to cross his face. "So, we get you all squared away for evening, maybe even try to get some food down you before you take your meds and in the morning I'll start calling the doctor's office."

Jim looked back at his friend, feeling relief wash over him. "Thanks, Sandburg."

"Look, Jim, why don't you lie down on the couch for a little bit, and I'll make you some soup or something." Blair headed for the kitchen.

Jim did as he was told, stretching out and kicking his shoes off. "Hey, Chief, did you ever get Sky's pipe problem fixed?"

There was a clatter as Blair dropped the saucepan on the counter. "Shit! That's why I came back, to borrow the truck! The pipes under her sink burst and flooded the whole place. She's going to stay with me until her building management gets the place cleaned up. We were going to try and salvage what we can." He picked up the phone.

"Blair, you don't have to baby-sit me. I'll be fine. Go, help her get things packed up. Or better yet, I'll go with you." Sitting up, he reached for his shoes.

"I thought you had a headache."

"If you think you're going to be hauling stuff around in my truck without me, think again. I'll take my pill and you and Sky can do the heavy lifting. I'll supervise." He gave his friend a grin. "Besides, wouldn't you rather have me where you can keep an eye on me?"

Blair harumphed but hung up the phone. "Fine, but you don't lift a finger, got it?"

Crossing to the door, Jim grabbed his jacket and tossed Sandburg the keys. It seemed he'd been doing that a lot lately. "What are we waiting for then?"

At 7 P.M. on January 12th, the night the Aztec Axeman was due to strike again, Blair walked into Celtic Anam. He'd made Sky promise that morning to wait for him after work before heading home. Home. That was a nice, warm, comfortable word, and Sky's constant presence at his place the past week had been the same. He hoped they took a long time fixing her apartment. He hoped they never finished. Another week or two of going to bed with her every night and waking next to her every morning, and he would probably be asking her to move in. He felt a silly, giddy grin spread across his face.

So caught up in his fantasy, Blair didn't notice until he was standing at the counter that Pepper was working the register. He glanced at his watch. For once, he was right on time. Just as he was about to ask where Sky was, Pepper said, "What are you doing here?"

Blair blinked. "I'm here to pick up Sky. Where is she?"

The dark haired student stated, "She left over an hour ago to meet you."

"What? I made her promise she'd wait for me." A ragged pit of dread began to form in his stomach. "Did she say where she was going to meet me?"

Pepper raised a pierced eyebrow at him. "You called and said you wanted to meet her at the druids' sacred grove. Something about the case you're working on."

The pit widened into a bottomless chasm. "Oh God. I need to use your phone."

Placing it on the counter, Pepper pushed it toward him. Blair stared at the last number displayed on the built in caller ID. 555-2327. His number. Fighting back panic, Blair called Sky's cell phone, then his apartment. Unanswered ringing was all he heard at either number. Hanging up, he dialed the PD. When Brown answered, Blair snapped, "Let me talk to Jim."

"No can do, Hairboy. He ain't here. Simon's having a fit because he blew off some meeting with that detective from Bellingham."

Swearing, Blair punched the disconnect button and called his partner's cell number. The exultant 'yes' on his lips became a curse as the ringing in his ear was replaced by 'the cell user you are trying to reach is out of the service area.' He hung up the phone.

"What's wrong? Is Sky in some kind of trouble?"

Blair bit his lip. "I don't know. I'm going to go to the druid grove. If Sky calls here, tell her to go some place public and call Inspector Connor at the PD. Have her wait there until Connor shows up." Exiting Celtic Anam, he climbed into the Volvo and peeled out of the parking lot.

Damn it! I can't believe this traffic! Blair slapped his palm against the steering wheel. How could I have been so stupid? I shouldn't have left her alone. I should have stuck to her like glue today; I shouldn't have let her out of my sight! He flipped on the windshield wipers as the mist that had been falling all day became a steady rain.

Picking up his cell phone, he hit the redial button. Still no answer on Sky's end. Please God, let her be okay. Let me get there in time. Time...Blair felt tears stinging his eyes. We should have had more time.

A cold shudder ran through him. Sky had said those very words to him a few months ago, the night he'd been shot while helping protect an FBI witness.

The Volvo slid sideways on the loose, wet gravel of the parking lot, its headlights picking out the dark form of a solitary car, Sky's Chevy Cavalier. Skidding to a stop next to it, Blair didn't even bother to turn the engine off, simply grabbing the flashlight from under the seat and jumping out into the rain. The sensation of darkness, of evil, rocked him like a physical blow. He staggered over to her car, a quick look inside confirming it was empty.

"SKY!" He started up the path to the druid grove at a dead run, screaming her name. The rain was blinding, coming down in cold sheets that turned the dirt trail into mud. He slipped once, twice, but somehow kept his feet each time.

Almost missing the fork that led to the grove, Blair quickly discovered his mistake. As he turned off the main path, the heavy cover cut the downpour to steady drips, but the sound multiplied until it became angry hissing. Flashlight beam bobbing in front of him, Blair burst into the sacred clearing.

Her beautiful green eyes stared at him sightlessly, her nude body stretched taut over the natural rock altar in the center of the grove. Blood ran down the sides of the stone, glistening and black in the dim light.

"Sky...oh god...oh god...Sky..." Blair collapsed to his knees on the wet ground, his sobs drowned out by the roar of the storm.

ACT 3

Lights flashing, siren blaring, Jim fishtailed the Ford into the national forest parking area, jerking the wheel sharply to the left to avoid hitting one of the dozen emergency vehicles scattered across the gravel lot. Parking as close to the trailhead as he could, the sentinel leapt from his truck, senses on full alert, scanning for any sign of his guide.

His ears picked up the sound of low voices from a nearby ambulance, and he headed in that direction. The back door was open, and Joel stood next to Connor, who was seated on the low bench inside the van, her arm around Blair. A blanket lay across his friend's shoulders, his head bowed, rivulets of water dripping from his soaked curls onto the floor.

"Blair?" Rain-and-tear washed blue eyes peered at him from a haunted face. "Chief, I'm so sorry...." His words ended as his throat closed up.

"Where were you?" The anger in Sandburg's voice made Jim take a step backwards. "I tried calling you! When I found someone pretending to be me had lured her away, using my phone, I knew she was in danger! I needed you, and you weren't there!" Blair lurched out of Connor's arms, launching his body off the tailgate and rushing Jim as if to tackle him.

"Blair!" Joel Taggart moved to intercept the distraught anthropologist, wrapping the smaller man in a fierce but gentle bear hug. "It was too late. Even if you had gotten hold of Jim, it was too late. Let this anger go, son, before it eats you alive."

"Come on, Sandy. Let me take you home. You already gave your statement to Frank. He knows where to reach you, and you don't need to see Sky like this. Not anymore." Megan approached the two men and carefully pulled Blair away from Joel's supporting comfort. Jim watched as his friend turned toward the Australian, a low cry of agony escaping him. Leaning heavily against her, he let Connor escort him to her car. She only looked back toward Jim once, but he heard the words she softly uttered, "I'll take care of him, Jimbo. He'll be safe until you can get home."

Silence reigned in the old growth forest as the two detectives watched their friends slowly walk away. Joel broke the moment, pulling Jim's attention back to the crime at hand. "Frank's working this case as lead, Jim, county jurisdiction. But the Sheriff's office has already turned the whole thing over to the task force."

Jim started walking toward the direction of the grove. "Tell me what happened, Joel."

The setting for this killing, like others before it, brought a strange sense of déjà vu. Of course, Jim had been here once before, when he and Blair had brought Skylark to her druid services back during the Ecstasy case, but what he felt was much more than memories could explain. It seemed more recent, which was ridiculous, because he knew he hadn't returned to the grove since that day with Sky.

Jim approached Frank, who was taking notes while Brian Rafe worked a camera, and nodded a greeting towards Anderson and Brown, who were slowly moving over the grounds near one of the small monoliths, using their flashlights to look for clues.

"Ellison." Sydoriak's greeting was terse. "Hell of a mess. Have you seen Sandburg? He was really out of it when one of our deputies found him."

"Yeah, I saw him. Connor's taking him home. I appreciate you waiting until tomorrow to question him in depth." He moved away from the county officer, intent on looking over the crime scene in detail.

The rain, which had been pouring heavily earlier, had slowed to an annoying mist as the temperature started to drop. The downpour had done plenty of damage to the scene. The marks were faint, but Jim could make out the blue, painted symbols on Sky's white flesh.

His shoes squelched loudly through the mud as he moved around the natural altar, trying to disassociate the cold body before him from the warm, caring person he knew in life. The toe of his right shoe tapped against something half-buried in the bloody muck. Squatting down on his haunches, Jim turned his small flashlight on the object he'd kicked free: a broken, wooden flute. "Damn it."

Rising back to his feet, Jim made the mistake of looking at Sky's face. Her green eyes, open in death, stared at him accusingly. Wincing against a sudden spike of pain lancing through his skull, Jim turned away from the scene and bolted towards the nearest bush outside the taped off area. He gagged and choked, but barely managed not to vomit. He could hear Sky's voice inside his head, chanting "Why?" over and over until he thought he would have to scream to drown it out. A touch on his arm shut it off like the flick of a switch.

"I thought I told you to go home, Sandburg--" Jim looked over his shoulder, surprised to see Daryl Banks staring at him.

"Jim? Are you all right? Man, you sure don't look it."

"Daryl!" Simon's voice cut through the darkness, the volume of his roar sending a fresh stab of torment through Jim's head. The captain appeared from the shadows. "There you are. I thought I told you to stay away from the tape line, son."

"I did, but I saw Jim and, well, he looked like he needed help." Daryl's hand left its place on Jim's arm.

"That's all right, son." Simon threw an arm over the tall teen's shoulder and looked at Ellison. "Jim, did you find anything?" He caught sight of the evidence bag with the muddy flute. "Oh hell. Another one, Ellison?"

"Yeah, I found something. North side of the stone, by the base." A clap of thunder rolled overhead, just before the rain started coming back down in a torrent. "Damn it, just what we don't need."

"Daryl, go back to the car. Your mother will kill me if you catch cold the week before you go back to college." Simon waited until his son was out of earshot before turning his attention back to Ellison. "We've already got enough men out here risking illness, and I can tell by your expression you're getting another headache. Why don't you head home?"

"No, Simon, I need to be here."

"You need to be home taking care of yourself and your partner. Let Frank run this one. Brown, Rafe and Taggart will assist. I've already got Anderson and a few others working on a phone trace based on what Blair managed to tell us." Simon slipped his hands into the pockets of his long trench coat. "And frankly, Jim, you look like hell. Did you ever get back to see Dr. Wiesenhunt?"

Avoiding Simon's question, Jim prowled back towards the crime scene, just in time to see the paramedics loading Sky's corpse into a black body bag. Sydoriak was already coordinating a grid search; directing several deputies as well as the few Cascade PD members present to use the altar as a center point and widen the grid to a diameter of 30 feet. To Jim's experienced eyes, the county detective had things well in hand. While he skirted the scene, he was fully aware of Simon's presence by his side. "I can handle this, Captain. Why don't you take Daryl home before he gets hypothermic?"

"You didn't answer my question, Jim. And Daryl's not the only one we need to worry about getting hypothermic, or have you forgotten Blair?"

"I'm sure Megan's taking good care of him." He moved back towards the altar, now free of the body that had been draped across it. "Someone needs to tell Sky's Grove that this site's been desecrated." He was jerked to a stop by a hard hand on his upper arm and spun around to face a pissed off Simon Banks.

"Damn it, Jim! Answer the goddamn question! Did you or did you not see that doctor again?"

"I saw him." Sensing that wasn't going to be enough for Simon, Jim dropped his head towards his chest and updated his superior. "According to Wiesenhunt, I'm fine. Absolutely nothing to worry about. He's probably right, but there IS something wrong with me. Something that maybe my sentinel abilities are reacting to. I don't know, and despite analyzing everything I eat, drink and come in contact with on a daily basis, Sandburg seems to be as much in the dark as I am. All I *do* know is that I'm sick of all these headaches and I'm sick of this damn case."

"That's it. You're off this part of the investigation -- starting now. Go home, Jim. Do what you can for Sandburg and get some rest." Simon gave him a gentle push toward the parking area and then escorted him the entire way there. "I'll explain to Sydoriak and the others that you've gone home to help your partner. There isn't a man or woman here that would think any less of you for that."

Jim climbed behind the wheel of his truck. "All right, I'll go home, but call me the minute you get anything on Sky's death. I need something to tell Sandburg besides 'I don't know'."

"In the morning, Jim. I'll call you in the morning. Now get out of here."

Turning the truck around as best he could in the crowded parking area, Jim noticed Sydoriak and a uniformed deputy taking inventory of Sky's Cavalier. Knowing how long it would take to fully process the crime scene, Jim didn't hold out much hope for more than a sketchy report in the morning. There were just too many possible leads to track down, not to mention the ones lost to the darkness and the rain. Slowly he drove away from the scene, passing the impound wrecker as he pulled back out onto the highway. Going home wasn't something he was looking forward to.

Blair leaned against the wall of the corridor outside his doorway, watching Megan fumble for the right key. He knew which one it was, and thought he ought to tell her, but it was too much effort to form the words.

Finally, the door sprang open and, putting a hand on his arm, she guided him inside. "Come on, Sandy, let's get you in the shower and warmed up." She turned on the lights and steered him down the hallway to the bathroom, flipping the switch there, watching him as he peeled off his soaked jacket.

"I can get undressed without an audience, Connor," he said sharply. It was an effort not to think about what he'd seen, about what he'd lost, and picking a fight with her was a welcome distraction.

She stiffened a bit, then replied, "I need your clothes, Blair. All of them."

His temper flared. "So you can use them as evidence against me? I know what Frank was thinking, what you all were thinking! I didn't kill her!"

Megan flinched and looked at her feet, then back up at him a moment later. "I need them so we can rule you out as a suspect."

"That's a double-edged sword and you know it." He shut the bathroom door in her face and quickly stripped, then tossed the wet things into the hallway. He heard her picking them up as he turned on the shower.

Stepping under the stream of nearly scalding water, Blair reached blindly for the soap, and encountered the tupperware container of sea salt, rosemary, and thyme Sky had made up for him after Father Gibson's murder. He nearly lost control then, but blinked back the tears, pouring the mixture over a washcloth and scrubbing until his skin stung.

Finished with his shower, Blair pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of sweats he found in the hamper, then walked out into the living area to find Connor letting Serena Chang into his apartment. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"You said someone called Sky from your phone here. Serena's just going to do a quick sweep--"

Blair felt overwhelmed. He couldn't deal with this right now, he couldn't. His gaze fell on the boxes of belongings he and Sky had salvaged from her apartment a little over a week ago. He forced the words past the emotions choking him. "No. Not tonight, not without a warrant."

"Sandy, you know this is necessary--"

"I said no! Get out, both of you, just get out!" Striding over to the front door, he flung it open.

Serena wisely left without a word, but Megan stopped just inside the entrance. "Jim asked me to stay with you. I can't--"

"I don't care. I need to be alone right now. Please, just go!"

Shaking her head, the Australian left, clutching a trash bag holding the anthropologist's clothes. Blair shut the door behind her and locked it. He leaned against it for a few moments, taking in all the bits of Sky scattered throughout his home: the cartons to the left of the door; the framed photos on the book shelves; the Tweety apron hanging on a hook in the kitchen, next to the Sylvester one he'd given her for solstice. God, had it only been a few weeks ago they'd heralded the start of a new millennium with a bottle of champagne and a private party for two?

Pushing off from the door, Blair wandered into the kitchen, pulling open the door to the tea cupboard. The colors of the boxes ran together in his blurred vision, and he swallowed a whimper, remembering the magic moment they'd come together, when they'd both felt the spark between them.

Shutting the cabinet, he turned around, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. His gaze landed on the answering machine, its red message light frantically flashing. Crossing the few steps to it, Blair pushed play, listening to the squeal of the tape rewinding, clinging to the slim thread of hope that maybe it was all a mistake, that he'd just woken from a very bad dream and Jim was calling to tell him it wasn't Sky lying in the morgue, it was someone else, a doppleganger.

The machine beeped. "Blair, this is Sky. I'm here, where are you? Why did you want me to meet you here in the first place? There's nothing here, it's cold, and it's starting to rain. Just once, could you be on time? It's not like the world's gonna end if you are, ya know. Anyway, it's like 6:30 now, and I'm freezing. If you don't show up in the next 15 minutes, you'd better be dead." The tape clicked off.

Blair slid slowly down the cabinets to the floor, arms wrapped around his waist, wanting desperately for it to be her arms holding him. Huge sobs wracked him, and the tears he'd held back in front of his friends finally spilled down his cheeks. Pain. Everything was pain. Blair's world would never be right again.

The drive home was long and, thanks to the headache and the oncoming traffic's headlights, torturous for Jim. Both Connor and Chang had called him on the cell phone, letting him know that Blair had adamantly refused to let Serena do what she needed to do, invoking his right to have a search warrant presented before the Forensic Lieutenant did a damned thing. And, worst of all, Sandburg had kicked both women out and locked the door behind them. He was home alone, grieving and despondent. That had been an hour ago; now Jim was pulling up to the building where he and Sandburg made their more-or-less separate homes. He was not surprised to see Megan Connor, sitting in her car, as if she were watching out for Blair as best she could from a distance.

Getting out of his truck, Jim approached her. "Connor, how's it going?" He cast a worried glance towards the windows of Sandburg's apartment, concerned that there were no obvious signs of habitation. The lights were out.

"Been better. Serena took what she could, Sandy's clothing, and last I heard was going to talk with Simon and Frank about possibly obtaining a search warrant."

"I really don't think it'll be necessary, Connor. I'll talk with Sandburg, try to make him see reason, that we don't think he had anything to do with her death, but we need to clear him of any possible motive or connection."

"Luck to you, Jim. I don't envy you this night's duty or the days to follow." Megan turned over the engine of her car and, as soon as Jim stepped back, pulled away. One last glance towards Blair's place, then the sentinel crossed the street, splashing through mini-rivers of run-off, and made his way to his own apartment.

After the short amount of time it took to slip out of his wet clothing, dry off, and change into a pair of cozy sweats, Jim moved towards the spiral staircase and called down, "Chief? You still awake?" No answer.

Wanting, no -- needing-- to check on his friend, Jim slipped silently down the staircase into the darkened apartment. Thinking he knew where Sandburg had to be, he crept down the small hallway towards the single bedroom, carefully avoiding all possible obstacles by upping the 'gain' on his sentinel vision. The door was slightly ajar, and a steady but soundless push opened it and he peeked in. Blair wasn't in bed. Connor hadn't mentioned seeing him leave, so where could Sandburg be?

He hadn't been in the living area (Jim would've noticed him), but there weren't many places the upset man could've gone. Risking a possible zone-out, Jim extended his senses, concentrating on locating the one person he knew he could track by sight, sound and smell. There -- in the kitchen.

Blair was sitting on the floor, tucked into as small a space as he could fold his body, arms wrapped around his bent knees as if his very survival depended on him keeping a hold of himself. The young anthropologist didn't even flinch when Jim flipped on the hood light above the stove. "Chief? What are you doing on the kitchen floor?"

He didn't answer for a long time, and then when he did, Jim had to strain to hear him. "I was going to ask her to move in with me."

Dropping to his knees beside Blair, Jim reached out to clasp him on the shoulder. "I wondered if you were going to do that. I liked Sky, a lot, and I'm going to miss her, too."

One hand came off a knee and waved, weakly, at the items gathered in the apartment; boxes which Jim had helped move from Sky's place to Blair's; the Looney Tune aprons, hung close together in the kitchen, and a few photos of Sky and Blair taken before the holidays. "All I have left of her, a few mementos and my memories." Blair's voice cracked and soon he was crying shamelessly as the weight of his loss pulled him back down into despair.

Not knowing what else to do, Jim pulled the grieving man close, holding his friend while he cried. He soon found himself fighting back tears of his own as he mourned right alongside Blair over the brutal loss of Skylark Kullien.

Long after Jim's legs started to cramp from the position he'd been sitting in, Blair pulled away from Jim's embrace, muttering something like "Sorry, I soaked your shirt." The sentinel couldn't quite stretch his legs out across the kitchen floor, so once Blair had extracted himself, Jim stood up, trying to ignore the pins and needles sensation that tingled up his legs into his buttocks. "Don't worry about my shirt, Chief. It'll dry quick enough."

Jim watched as Blair made a slow tour around his apartment, touching everything that was Sky's as if imprinting their texture, their essence on his brain. Knowing that there was a good chance that Blair had neither eaten nor drunk anything warm and nourishing since getting home, Jim filled up the teakettle and started heating up some water. Recalling where Blair had stashed his collection of teas, Jim opened up the cabinet and came face to face with a ton of different cartons. Searching his memories for the flavor Blair seemed to enjoy the most, he reached up and pulled down the chamomile. Before he could open the box, a hand reached out and grabbed it from him.

"Not that one. It's Sky's." Blair placed the carton back in its place and pulled down another unopened but identical package and placed it in Jim's still open palm. "That one. Use that." Blair gathered up a couple of large mugs, ones the sentinel hadn't recalled seeing before, and placed them on the counter near the stove. "I can make my own tea, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know that, Chief." Jim sent a sad smile towards his friend. "But just once, let me take care of you like you've taken care of me in the past." He twitched his head towards the living area. "Go sit down, Blair. I'll bring it out when it's ready."

Silence followed, but he noticed that Sandburg moved out towards the couch, and soon, Jim joined him there. They drank their tea in quiet solitude, each wrapped up in their own grieving process; Blair fresh in his grief, while Jim added yet another person to the long list of those he'd cared about and lost to violent ends.

"When do you think Frank will want to talk to me at the station?" Blair broke the silence as he placed his empty mug on the low table in front of the couch.

"As soon as you feel ready, and not a moment before." Jim shrugged when Blair turned to stare at him. "I asked and Frank said that he'd be in whenever you're ready. But it really needs to be tomorrow, Blair. While the memories, painful as they are, are still fresh in your mind." Jim finished off the lukewarm liquid in his mug, stood up, gathered Blair's cup from the table and headed out to the kitchen. "Want another?"

"No."

Listening to Blair move about, Jim wasn't surprised to see the younger man head