Who Guides the Guide

The Fugitive Sentinel #3

© August 1998

October

Late Monday/Early Tuesday

I swore I'd never cut my hair. Now, not only had I okay'd it...I'd let Jim do it. I couldn't get over how odd it felt...I kept reaching my hand up to touch my head as the cab drove off into the night. Very strange; I'd worn it long for a while now.

That was the hardest thing I'd done--leaving Jim like that. He *said* we'd meet up again; just four days, more-or-less, from now. Carson City, Nevada. Never been to Nevada...never had any particular desire to go. Now I was running from the law, headed toward who knew what...going to Nevada.

Jim said get there any way I wanted, via plane, wherever I wanted to go. Why in the hell didn't we just *fly* to his friends, wherever they were? Why were we meeting in some little dive in some small town in Nevada? How was Jim going to get there? He'd said something about a motorcycle...

I shivered at the thought of riding on a bike with him. I knew who'd be pressed against who, and wasn't sure I could handle that kind of intimacy. Not with my feelings scattered all over the emotion map like they were. I'd been pushing it down for a while, not wanting to mess with what we had, and totally uncertain how *he* felt about things...but I was starting to get the feeling that there was way more to Jim Ellison than Jim Ellison had let on.

God, the way he *looked* at me...touched me...when he was cutting my hair. I've never seen so much emotion reflected in his eyes--not directed at me, anyway. And not that tender. That was what it was: tender emotion. Did the man have the same kind of feelings for me that I was feeling for him? I could hardly stand the thought of leaving him for several days before getting the chance to find out. I didn't bother to answer the small voice in my brain that was screaming at me, "what if he doesn't", I had to take the chance.

Actually, I could hardly stand to leave, period. Jim needed me. I needed him. Who would help him if he zoned on something between now and Friday? Who would listen to him and try and bolster his flagging optimism...his belief in himself? This was killing him. Not only that Brackett was at large, and Simon in danger, but the personal cost of breaking his friends' trust in him. I tried not to think about that--because once broke with him, it would be for me as well...and I'd worked so hard to earn the trust of those people. It felt like a knife tearing into me. So, he was a lone man; a lone Sentinel. And I was alone as well--who would I turn to? Who would guide me on this journey into terror? It wasn't like Jim had ever gone on the lam before...but he at least had inside knowledge of how things worked. I had some...but not like he did. Who would guide the guide?

All my questions had to wait. I was on my way across town to empty our bank accounts and credit cards. I was going to get on a plane...where the hell was I going to go? Could I really do this? Leave behind everything...everyone? Turn my back on what was my *life*, essentially?

Yes.

I was starting to realize--a little--what this was going to mean, but I didn't regret my decision. I was Jim's friend. I believed in him. And when I told him last year that it was about friendship, I wasn't kidding. He's given me more than I've ever had in my life in terms of stability, friendship, and reliability. It was time to return some of that. Way past time.

God, I hated dropping those cards into the ATM slot; I felt like I could almost *hear* a signal going up announcing that it was me, and this was where I was. I half expected a police cruiser to be waiting for me when I turned around, rather than the cabby I'd left at the curb.

We were halfway to the airport when I realized what I was leaving behind. All my sentinel research was in a cabinet in my office, aside from the notebook I had in my backpack--the notebook I'd been working in over the weekend.

My research. My classes. My students. Fuck. I couldn't believe all the stuff that was going to be affected. I was breaking trust not only with the guys I'd worked with at the CPD; I was breaking trust with everyone depending on me for something at the university. I felt a very morose mood settling over me. I wanted to be with Jim...I needed to be with him. There was no question about that. And it wasn't like he was coercing me into going with him; if anyone had coerced anyone, I'd done him. I hadn't realized what all this was going to mean. All the things that would change; that were being left behind. I needed to call Jack Kelso again...but I didn't have my cell anymore--and wouldn't use it even if I did. I didn't need to be sending out tracers as to where I was.

I rubbed my hand over my shorn head and felt tears prickle my eyes, then got angry for those tears. It was *just* hair, for Crissakes. Hair, notes, people who'd managed before I came into their lives. They'd manage again. It felt like I was betraying all I'd held true for years...but if I didn't do this, didn't support Jim when he needed it most, it'd be like betraying myself. I couldn't do that. I could turn my back on anyone but him.

*****

By the time I got to the airport it was nearly five a.m. Briefly, I wondered where Jim was right now; what he was doing. I still hadn't decided on where I wanted to go, but was leaning in the direction of Texas. I'd met Robert and Michael often enough there that I felt comfortable going to the Houston airport; maybe my cousins would have a minute to meet me for lunch. Was it safe to do that? What if someone decided to call them, check on them. On the other hand, if someone did, they'd think I was in Texas...and I could deliberately plant some misinformation with them, too. Passing through Texas on my way to...where? South America? Central America? I had seven hours to decide...it was a long flight from Cascade to Houston.

Robert was surprised to hear from me, especially so early in the day, but readily agreed to come find me for lunch. I gave him my flight information and told him I'd see him soon. I hung up the phone feeling shaky...what if I got off the plane to a police escort? What was I going to do here? Call Rob back and say 'by the way, I'm on the run from the authorities with my best friend who's being accused of murder, so don't tell anyone I'm coming in, if anyone asks'. Yeah, right. I almost called Rob back to say I wasn't coming; at the last minute I changed my plane reservation to take me to Dallas instead. I hoped someday he'd understand. At least this way, if he was contacted, he could honestly say that no, I never did show up, and he didn't know where I was going.

It was a long, lonely flight to Dallas, and I kept my lip between my teeth for most of it, because I was afraid if I relaxed my guard the emotions that were hovering so close to the surface would burst out. I needed to keep a tight lid on things until I could get them under control.

When I wasn't busy being paranoid, I found myself reviewing my relationship with Jim, and all the things that had transpired between us since I'd known him. It had been a rocky beginning for us; Jim Ellison wasn't inclined to trust people just because they told him to, but on the other hand, he was a fair judge of character. I'm not sure why--but grateful--that he judged me not lacking in whatever it was he deemed important. I've never done real well with the whole commitment thing; sticking with him as his partner for the last two years was an all-time record for me.

I think I slept a little, eventually. I dozed, at least, because there was that strange sense of missing time when I became aware of my surroundings again. For a brief, pleasant time, I'd dreamt of Jim, and home--remembering the former with longing and the latter only slightly less so--and of making love with Jim in front of the fire, and woke with an ache in my groin and a huge grin. The flight attendant who paused to make sure I was buckled in for landing must have thought I was smiling at her, because she gave me a dazzling display of teeth. I toned down the wattage of the smile and nodded pleasantly, but didn't pursue it. How did you pursue something you didn't want, when what you wanted had your heart to start with?

Dallas-Ft. Worth Airport was as huge as I remembered from my one previous trip. I don't know why I'd thought it would look smaller now that I was older; maybe it would have if I wasn't feeling so uncertain and alone right now. I shrugged and headed out of the terminal, trying to decide what to do now. I was still a good distance from where I needed to be--several states worth, not including Texas, which was nearly several all on its own. I needed clothes, and a shower, and a place to crash for a while. It was Tuesday, early afternoon. I had nearly three days left to get where I had to be, so I headed toward the terminal exits, planning to catch a cab into town for all of the above.

TV shows don't warn you about the absolute terror that can grip your heart when you're doing something you shouldn't be doing, and you see someone who could make you do the right thing. When the police car pulled casually up against the curb near where the taxis were waiting, I nearly had a heart attack. Nearly pissed my pants. It was just airport security, doing what they were paid to do, secure the airport, but it was enough to send me into fits of paranoia. I tried not to look conspicuous--and to not look like I was trying not to look... You know what I mean.

In some ways, I mused, as I rode into Dallas, this was far, far worse than when Jim had been kidnapped by Col. Oliver. Although I'd been scared to death for me and terrified for him, I at least had the *good guys* to turn to for help, and support. Eventually, I'd have Jim again--I didn't dare let myself think otherwise!--and I knew then I wouldn't feel quite so like I had a huge, hollow spot inside me. Until then, until we found his friends and had some help and support, I knew I was going to feel like someone was watching me at all times.

*****

Wednesday

It's amazing how much clearer the world looks after you've had some sleep. I found the cheapest motel I could locate in the phone book, and just died for about 14 hours. I had vague memories when I woke of unsettling, disjointed dreams, but I felt a lot better. Not quite as panicked. No less fearful, but at least I wasn't operating so much on pure adrenaline-fueled paranoia.

I'd had one really nice dream about Jim. Like the one in the airplane it left me feeling a warm glow all through me; unlike the one on the plane, this one had a completion. My hand and belly, and the sheets under me were damp and sticky when I woke up. I shivered, remembering the erotic images that had danced through my mind of Jim bending over me, kissing and licking and sucking until I'd wanted to howl with need; of Jim laying me out on the bed and settling himself over me, moving into me... I shook my head to clear it, because these thoughts were just going to cause trouble for me. I wanted him, yes. I wanted to feel him inside me, yes. But it was counterproductive at this point to dwell on it, because nothing was going to happen if I didn't meet up with him, and laying in a wet, sticky spot on the bed with another raging hard-on wasn't going to actively make that happen.

With an incredible amount of effort I hauled myself out of bed and into the shower, hoping that eventually I'd wake up for real, and this would all have been a dream.

*****

Goodwill was open when I walked down the street, and I ducked inside, trying to decide what "look" I was going to go for. I was half-way reasonably disguised with my hair cut short and nearly three days worth of whiskers; for once in my life I was thankful that I had the beard growth I did. Something kind of 'yuppie' would be good -- professional and business-like. Anyone who'd be looking for me would be looking for someone with long hair, earrings, and the grunge look they all knew I favored. I raised my hand casually to my ear, not used to not feeling the slight weight there. I'd taken them out, before I ever even got on the plane that had brought me here to Dallas.

I picked out a dark, charcoal-colored suit. Yeah, suit. It surprised me, too. But it was a decent-looking one, if a little on the cheap side. I didn't wear them, but I knew what quality was...and this one wasn't, even when it was brand-new. It was something very *not* Blair Sandburg, though, so I bought it, and a shirt and tie, and a cheap pair of shoes. I don't think you can get what I got for $80 just anywhere. Briefly I considered one last time trying to get in touch with Jack, but that was going to have to wait until Jim and I were back together. I couldn't take the chance of the CPD--or worse, Brackett--having bugged Jack's phone. Not until my partner and I were working together again.

I grabbed a quick bite to eat, trying not to notice the greasy food and the dive-environment of the neighborhood I was in. It was creepy, to be here like this, by myself. I finished my food quickly and headed back to the motel, a strange feeling knotting my stomach up.

*****

Early Thursday

There was very little chance of anyone who might have known me before today recognizing me. Not like this. I stared, dismayed, into the mirror. What was I doing? Who was I, anymore? The man who stared back at me looked just as confused as I felt...but that wasn't me, was it? Without the length to pull it out some, my hair was curly now. I slicked it back a little bit with some gel stuff, but I wasn't into the wet look, and that's what it would have taken to control it. Short hair. A beard--or the beginning of one, anyway. Dark, somber business suit with shoes to match, and a tie that looked a little weird, but totally appropriate to the "disguise".

This wasn't me. This wasn't the Blair Sandburg I was. I didn't know this cool person staring back at me from the mirror; blue eyes totally weird. I know that's not a good description, but there wasn't a better one. Not good, not bad. Just--weird. Different.

I wanted my scruffy jeans and T-shirt and button-up plaid shirt. My Nikes. I wanted *Jim*, dammit! Needed to hear his voice saying, "Easy, Chief, its okay." Because I didn't have a clue who I was anymore, nor if things would be okay or not.

It bothered me, a little bit, that I wanted Jim as bad as I wanted the rest of the things that I felt made me, *me*. Did I see him as part of what made me myself? Was he an integral part of my self-image? I looked in the mirror again, and saw an alone, lonely man. Why was that? I'd never felt that way B.E., Before Ellison. What made it so different now? Was it knowing--or not knowing, as was actually the case--if I'd ever see him again? So much can happen in four short little days; so many things could go wrong. I sighed and raised my eyes to the mirror again to look at that unassuming figure; the man I'd become. Where was I? Who was I? I stared at myself, looking for answers I didn't expect to find.

The eyes. It was in the eyes, whatever I was looking for. *My* eyes. Dead eyes. That's what made them weird. They were dead. Soulless.

That's what made this me different from who I'd been a few days ago. It wasn't the hair, or the clothes, or the fact even that I was on the run. It was Jim. I was without Jim.

It's very troubling to learn that you need someone that much. I wasn't ready for it. I could see *that* in my --in those -- eyes.

If this was the case, I was going to be this other person until I found him again. I didn't like this other person staring back at me from the mirror. He was kind of scary in how *nothing* he appeared to be. No life, no luster, nothing to make him stand out. I wanted to hide, but I didn't want to disappear. And I was in serious danger of doing just that. I could see me slipping away, leaving this -- person. I cried out then, something almost akin to pain ripping through me. I didn't want to need anyone else; it was dangerous, hurtful, a thousand other things.

But it was right. I needed him. He needed me. We completed each other. We could heal each other.

This other self and I stared at each other through the mirror for a long time, then I turned away, unable to look any more. I wished I could leave this one here, but I knew he'd follow me. I had a long way to go still, and it was time to get going. I didn't need to look behind or within me to know he was there. He wouldn't leave until Jim was with me again.

*****

Thursday Afternoon

Everyone always says you have a better chance of dying in a car than on an airplane. When we hit turbulence just inside the Arizona state line, I figured my time was up, this was that one-in-a-googolplex chance of biting it in the air. I hunched down in my seat and said a few prayers in Hebrew and Arabic that I hadn't remembered I remembered. The guy sitting in the seat next to me gave me an odd look at returned to his magazine, occasionally glancing over at me while I mumbled.

This wasn't the way it was supposed to go down. I was supposed to see Jim again. Look at him, hug him, hold him. Tell him I love him. The plane bucked again and I felt sweat moving down my sides, under the heat of the suit. Usually I'm cold; hot was a switch, but I don't think it was really *hot*I was just sick with nerves and tension. I was sick of just myself to talk to, of having just myself to rely on, of being lonely.

I hadn't really been lonely in a long, long time. Nearly three years. I'd forgotten what it was like. I sure as hell didn't want to die by myself, lonely, on an airplane, when Jim wouldn't even know where to look for me to bury me. Shit, I wasn't even *me* on this flight. I was that other person -- the shadow figure in the mirror. I'd named him, at the ticket counter, just for this trip, for this ticket. Aaron Sands. I didn't want to be himbut I was stuck with him for now.

But Jim wouldn't know him. Wouldn't know that I was on this planewouldn't know I'd become someone else. Fuck.

By the time I'd run through three sets of the prayers, and thrown in a few 'Our Fathers' and 'Hail Mary's' just to be on the safe side, the turbulence had mellowed. The plane coasted into Phoenix like it was gliding on rollers. I didn't give a fuck. I went in the bathroom and threw up, then cashed in the remainder of my ticket to Reno and rented a car.

That was tricky, without using a credit card. Everybody wants plastic these days, to fall back on. I ended up taking a taxi into South Phoenix and renting this beat up old thing at a really nifty place called "Wrent-A-Wreck". No wonder kids in America can't spell for shit, when businesses make a point out of misspelling things on purpose.

The girl behind the desk gave me a lazy, casual once-over, but didn't say a word other than what was necessary to complete our transaction. I stopped for a map and a sandwich before leaving town. I had roughly 700 miles to go, and about 24 hours to do it in. No problem, right? Right. It seemed very odd to know I was going to be traveling in the direction I'd just more-or-less come frommy stomach tightened a little, almost apprehensively. I couldn't wait to see Jim. I needed to see Jim. I needed Jim, period.

I kept my foot on the gas at an even, steady rate because the absolute last thing in the world I needed was to get pulled over for speeding. Surface roads blended into Interstate, and then I was on my way. The next time I decided where I was going, it wouldn't be alone. I turned the radio on and headed west, away from Phoenix; toward Jim.

*****

Friday Evening

It was nearly sunset, nearly the end of the appointed time to meet Jim. I knew he'd go on without me if I didn't get there--that was the deal. I found myself scanning the street anxiously, looking for the Blue Moon Cafe, hoping I'd see Jim before he could leave. I knew what the possibilities were, but I didn't want to get left behind. I found myself hoping that he'd wait just a bit longer.

Motorcycle. He said to look for a motorcycle. What kind? Dammit, I couldn't remember that now. I saw a flashing, neon-blue half moon and headed toward it, a strange prickling excitement moving through me. My heart sank when I saw a half dozen bikes parked in the lot. He must be inside. I didn't really want to go looking for him in a crowded bar near sunset. Fuck. There was one lone biker perched on his cycle, watching me, and I shivered reflexively. I couldn't see his eyes; he had a pair of shades on, in spite of the encroaching darkness. There was something, though, about the way that long, rangy body was relaxing against the bike...

"Took you long enough, Chief." He pulled the shades off and waited for my reaction. It wasn't long in coming.

Ohmygod! "Jim!" I gave a startled shout and kind of threw myself toward him, practically flying the last few steps. I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life. He laughed and pulled me into a bear hug, choking the air out of my lungs briefly. I hugged him back with all that was in me, then pulled away to take a long look at him, noting the changes carefully. His hair was shorter than I think I've ever seen him wear it--except maybe in the early days when I first knew him. Definitely a military buzz-cut. A tattoo. Oh, my sweet Jesus. A fucking tattoo! Mustache...the beginnings of one, anyway, and rough-looking whiskers. He looked almost predatory. Dangerous. I shook my head. "You--look different."

He grinned at me. "That's the idea, right, partner? You look different too." He gestured to the nearly full beard I was sporting right now, along with the business clothes I'd bought in Dallas. I reached up and stroked my chin and watched his eyes follow the movement. There was definitely something resembling heat and interest lurking behind the ice-blue watching me.

This wasn't the time, or the place though, and I pushed my wayward libido back down, sternly reminding it there would be other times, other chances.

Jim gestured to me, jerking his head slightly. "C'mon, Sandburg. Let's get a move on, it's getting late." I swallowed, then climbed on the bike behind him, making sure my backpack was secure. The heat from his body blasted me and I gave a quick shiver before hesitantly wrapping my arms around his waist. I don't know if I imagined it or not, but he seemed to give a quiet sigh and relax backward just a fraction.

I leaned forward a fraction and turned so I could speak right into his ear over the noise of the engine. "First thing we do tomorrow is find me some other clothes. No way am I going cross country on a motorcycle dressed like Joe Businessman."

"Got it." He said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. Then the engine roared to life, and our reality became skewed again.

We didn't ride into the sunset. If that were the case, we'd be on our way home. But we did set off, together, toward what was undoubtedly going to be one of the most terrifying, exciting, memorable adventures we'd have.

Finis

To Be Continued in Ch. 4, "Innocence Lost"

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