DISCLAIMER: The Sentinel and its characters are the property of Paramount Television and Pet Fly Productions. No money has been or will be made from this work of fiction. This story belongs to the author. Permission is given to archive.

RATING: R

THANKS TO: As always, the many friends, fans and writers in the Sentinel universe for friendship and inspiration. Special thanks to Barb, as always, for beta reading and all the rest.

This is an occasionally intense story, with violence, disturbing themes, and some language. Originally a March themefic for the Sentinelangst List. For LindaS.

Feedback is always welcome.

"Oh, man, I am so glad that we're gonna be wrapping this up soon. A few more long meetings like that and I am gonna be permanently attached to one of Simon's chairs."

Blair twisted and stretched in place for a moment as he griped about the three-hour task force meeting that had just concluded. The meetings had been going on once or twice a week for almost a month now, and the end was finally in sight.

The meetings themselves were bad enough, but the strain of keeping the task force plans confidential, even from other PD departments, was weighing all of them down. Previous attempts to bring down the McCleary syndicate had always failed, and the brass had come to the conclusion that there had to be an inside man in the Cascade PD. This time the operation was being planned with the utmost of security.

"Complain now, Chief, but don't forget what it's all about. When we shut down McCleary's drug and prostitution operations next week, it'll be the biggest bust in Cascade PD history," Jim replied with a swat at his partner's head. "The crime rate will drop so far that we may even get time to practice for our next charity basketball game against the Jags."

"Yeah, well, they say that the older you get, the more practice you need. You better hope that it wraps up soon, man." Blair grinned as he darted away.

"Funny, pal, but don't forget who went 10 for 10 at the foul line last time. I still haven't lost it."

"Yeah, and don't you forget who sank the only three-point shot for CPD in the whole game."

The friendly banter continued as they grabbed their jackets and made their way toward the elevator, the end of another long day at hand.

"So, Chief, what are we having for dinner tonight? The last time I looked, you hadn't gone to the grocery store and the pickings looked a little slim."

Blair frowned. "Jim, you know I'm not gonna be home for dinner tonight. We've talked about this a dozen times, man. I'm going to the monastery this weekend to help them put up the new barn. I promised Brother Jeremy months ago, you know that."

"Oh, right. I forgot. I guess that means I have the loft to myself all weekend."

"Yep, that's right. So go ahead and give Misty a call and invite her over for dinner." Blair grinned at the quick sideways glance that he got in return. "I've seen how you've been checking her out every time she runs some files into the bullpen. And I saw her slip you her phone number on Wednesday. Go for it, man. If you don't start getting out more often, you might as well move into the monastery yourself."

"That'll be the day."

---------------

Blair sang along with the car stereo as he cruised along a side street, making great time as he avoided the Friday night rush hour traffic. Everyone was in a hurry to get out of town. He had found this route by accident one day when he had gotten lost, looking for a small out-of-the-way ethnic foods store. There were few stop signs or traffic lights. It was definitely off the beaten path, and ran through parts of town that he usually avoided unless working on a case with Jim. He still preferred it to sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic.

He pulled up at a stop sign, looking both ways quickly as he readied to pull away. Before he could get the Volvo into motion, he heard a thump and a cracking sound. The car suddenly jerked forward, pushing him back against the seat and causing his neck to snap backwards and then forwards again as the motion stopped. He'd been rear-ended.

"Oh, man, not now," he muttered as he turned off the engine. Unsnapping the seat belt and climbing out, he rubbed his now-sore neck as he walked back to check out the damage.

The previously pristine rear bumper of the Volvo was now locked in an embrace with the front bumper of a full-size pickup truck. The truck's bumper was higher and had slid over the top of the Volvo's bumper after impact, locking the two cars together. Blair pursed his lips in disgust as he looked up to spot the driver.

Climbing out, or more accurately falling out of the driver's seat of the truck, was a Hollywood imitation of a cowboy. From the ten-gallon hat, to the fancy boots, to the mammoth golden belt buckle partly hidden by a memorable paunch, the big man looked like a stereotype gone horribly wrong. He walked an unsteady line toward Blair, stopping by his side and gazing blearily at the damage. Even before he opened his mouth Blair could smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Looks like our bumpers did a little two-step together, pardner. I'm really sorry. Here, let me make it up to you."

Wavering a bit on his feet, the man pulled a money clip out of his pocket and grabbed a wad of bills, thrusting it into Blair's chest. Taken by surprise, Blair grabbed the money with both hands and stared at it, wide-eyed.

"Look, mister," he began. "I really just need to get your insurance information…ow!" he cried as the erstwhile cowboy slapped him hard on the back, a stinging sensation lingering afterward just below his neck. He struggled to keep his feet after the unexpected blow.

"Come on buddy, we don't need to get those darn insurance suits involved," the man drawled. "You just take that, and if it's not enough, you just let Billy Bob know and I'll pay for the rest of the damage. You know how those insurance fellers are if they find out you had a drink or two."

Blair mentally counted the wad of bills, estimating it to be in the neighborhood of two thousand dollars. He stepped back involuntarily to get some fresh air as another booze-laden exhalation washed over him. More like a bottle or two, he thought. There was enough alcohol in the air that he wondered if he could get drunk just from breathing.

"Look mister, I just want your driver's license and insurance numbers…"

Looking up at the large man in front of him, Blair's vision blurred as a wave of dizziness swept over him. He raised a hand to his head and dropped the money, reaching his other hand to the trunk of the Volvo for support for his suddenly rubbery legs.

"Hey, little buddy, are you all right?" the big man boomed. "You don't look too good."

Blair suddenly felt weighted down and unable to move, his vision beginning to darken. "I don't …" He never finished the sentence as his eyes closed and he slumped onto the trunk of the car, unconscious.

---------------

The cowboy straightened up, any trace of intoxication suddenly gone, and tossed the small disposable syringe into the gutter. Leaning over Blair's limp body, he reached down and roughly shook one shoulder, then flipped him over onto his back. He lifted an eyelid briefly to assure himself that his victim was truly out. He reached into Blair's jeans pocket and pulled out his car keys, pocketing them quickly. Straightening again, he turned and called out toward his truck.

"Birch, he's ready. Come on out."

A second man sat up in the passenger seat of the truck and climbed out. He walked around the back of the truck as the cowboy easily jerked Blair up and over his shoulder, Blair's head and arms bouncing limply against his back as he walked to the back of the truck. Birch opened and lowered the tailgate, grabbing Blair's arms and helping to shove him inside under the thick vinyl cover. Once arms and legs were out of the way, they closed the tailgate again, completely hiding the body from view.

Both men quickly picked up the bills that had dropped to the pavement, stuffing them into their pockets. Cowboy tossed Blair's keys to his accomplice.

"Let's go. Be careful that you're not seen after dumping the car. Get out of sight before calling in."

"I know, I know, you don't have to tell me again. We've gone over it a million times."

"You know The Doctor, everything according to plan. I'll see you later, I've got to get our guest back before he starts waking up. Doc doesn't want to waste any time."

The two men rocked and pulled at the Volvo, finally separating the two bumpers. Birch glanced once toward the back of the truck before getting into the car and starting the engine, a look of pity briefly crossing his face.

"Poor bastard. He won't know what's hit him."

---------------

Cowboy watched the floors drift by as he rode up in the old freight elevator, the dead weight draped over his shoulder still motionless. Reaching the top floor and pulling the rope to open the gates, he walked out and up to the green metal door and pushed the button beside it. Glancing up at the video camera mounted over the door, he grimaced at it and waited for the door to open.

After a few moments, the door opened and swung wide.

"Very good, very good. Come in, come in."

The tall thin man in the white coat gestured him into the apartment and pulled the door closed behind them, locks slamming into place. He quickly led them deep into the shadowed space, quirking his finger for Cowboy to follow. They crossed over to a white room in the back, where the tall man pointed towards the small single bed.

"Lay him down there."

"Whatever you say, Doc."

He walked over and deposited Blair roughly on the bed, catching him as he slumped backwards so that his head wouldn't bang against the wall. Picking up Blair's legs and swinging them up onto the bed as well, he stepped back when finished.

"Let's proceed. Get his clothes off and put them in the closet outside."

Cowboy followed orders under the Doctor's watchful gaze. He pulled off Blair's shoes and socks, then proceeded with his jacket, shirt, and jeans, pulling and shoving the limp body around on the bed to accomplish his task. Down to just Blair's t-shirt and boxers, he glanced up to see if the Doc wanted him to strip their captive all the way to skin.

"That's good enough, get him into bed and get the clothes out of here."

He complied, roughly lifting Blair's legs with one arm under his knees and pulling the covers out from under him, unceremoniously dropping and shoving his legs flat onto the bed as he yanked the covers over the unconscious form. Picking up the pile of clothing and leaving the room, he tossed them into the closet in the hall just outside the door. Returning to the white room, he waited for instructions.

The Doctor looked at his watch, then walked over to the bed. He reached down and gave Blair a shake, then a hard pinch. A slight movement in response seemed to be what he was looking for, and he stood up with a smile. He walked over to a small table and rummaged around in a box for the materials he wanted.

"Sit him up."

Walking back over to the bed, Cowboy grabbed Blair's shoulders and pulled him up into a sitting position, sitting behind him on the bed to make it easier to hold him up. Blair's head lolled limply against his chest.

Grabbing a plastic tube and a small bottle filled with a cloudy liquid, The Doctor approached the bed.

"Hold his head up and tilt it back a little bit."

With Blair's head tilted back and his mouth falling slightly open, The Doctor grasped his chin and slid the tube between his lips and into his throat. Blair's head turned slightly, coming closer to consciousness and resisting the unfamiliar hardness of the tube against the soft tissue at the back of his throat, but The Doctor just held his chin more firmly. Shaking the bottle briefly, The Doctor uncapped it and poured it into the tube, tilting the tube up so that all of the liquid poured down and into Blair's stomach. Waiting a moment for the liquid to reach it's destination, The Doctor then removed the tube, walking back and putting the tube and empty bottle back on the table.

"That will get the medication into his system quickly. It shouldn't be too long after he wakes up before it begins to take effect. He's going to be one unhappy young man for a while."

He smiled as he pulled another small bottle out of the box and returned to the bed. This time he shook the bottle and then unscrewed the top, squeezing the attached eyedropper to fill it with liquid. He lifted first one eyelid and then the other, placing a couple of drops into each of Blair's eyes. Letting the eyelids drop and carefully wiping the excess off of Blair's cheeks, he motioned to Cowboy to let him back down onto the bed. Cowboy did so, turning as he eased his own bulk off of the bed and letting Blair's torso flop back.. He quickly shoved the pillow back into place as well.

"There we go," The Doctor purred, "phase one is underway. The laxative, emetic, and diuretic I gave him will make him pretty sick for a while, while the eyedrops will blur his vision and help keep him from being able to identify us later. All together, they should keep him off balance. With that and a little more pharmaceutical assistance, we'll break down his physical resistance quickly. We should be able to move into phase two in just a few hours."

Blair stirred slightly on the bed, and a soft moan escaped his lips.

"Good, here we go," The Doctor smiled. "Just as I timed it. Get out of here and put the lights on night setting. I want you to stay by that control panel and watch through the window, just be sure that you don't open the blinds far enough for him to see out."

Cowboy looked around to make sure that nothing was out of place, then left the room, closing the door behind him. He settled into a chair on the other side of the small window, turning the lights down as directed. Watching through the blinds, he saw The Doctor pull a stethoscope out of a pocket and put it around his neck, then smooth his hair carefully with both hands as he approached the awakening young man. If he didn't know better, he might believe that the man really was a physician, the way he knew how to handle drugs and medication.

He noted the feral gleam in The Doctor's eyes and the almost hungry expression on his face, and shuddered involuntarily. Yes, the man loved his work.

---------------

Blair came to consciousness slowly, gradually waking and opening leaden eyelids. He blinked slowly, trying to clear his vision as he looked around and realized that he had to be lying down. A white blur surrounded him as he tried to figure out where he was and what he was doing there. His last dim memory was of a fenderbender and talking with the drunk driver of the truck. His muddled thoughts were interrupted by a smooth, deep voice off to his left.

"Well, it's good to see that you're awake. How are you feeling?"

He swung his eyes in the direction of the voice, the movement of his eyes starting a pounding in his head. Blinking harder, his vision cleared only a bit but he could make out a dark-haired, white-coated form standing over the bed. A doctor, maybe. Maybe he was in a hospital.

"What…" he croaked, his throat surprisingly dry and sore. "Where am I?"

"You don't remember? You're still in the West Side Free Clinic."

"Clinic?"

"Yes, you were dropped off here last night by some man who said that he had found you at the scene of an accident. He left before our receptionist could get any more information. We checked you out, we couldn't find any sign of serious injury but thought that you might have a concussion or a bit of whiplash. After you woke up we were planning to have you stay for a few hours for observation and then send you home, but you started feeling sick and you didn't look like you should be out running around on your own."

"…last night?"

"That was five or six hours ago. We had you lie down and you fell asleep right away. You've only been awake once to throw up. You must have caught that flu that's running through town, so we put you back here in our isolation room."

"I don't remember…and I don't remember being sick." Blair ran a hand over his eyes and tried again to focus on the doctor.

"How do you feel now?"

Blair tried to take stock, now that he was a little more awake. His body felt heavy and lethargic, and his head felt several sizes too large. He didn't think that he felt feverish, but now that he was paying attention, he did feel a bit queasy. No matter how hard he tried to focus, though, he couldn't seem to clear his vision and make out the details of the room or the doctor's face.

"Not too great, I guess. And my eyes are bothering me, I can't see right."

The doctor picked up something, perhaps a chart, from the foot of the bed, opened it and looked inside. He pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket and made a notation.

"I wouldn't worry too much about that. We gave you some medication to try to help settle your stomach and help you to rest, and sometimes it causes a little bit of blurred vision. It should pass in a while after the medication wears off."

Blair nodded, instantly regretting the action as it made the room spin and stirred the queasiness into full-blown nausea. He groaned and began to sit up as he began to feel a distinctly unpleasant cramping begin in his stomach and abdomen.

"Oh, man, I'm gonna be sick. Where's the bathroom?" he gasped.

The doctor solicitously took his arm and helped him rise from the bed, guiding him to the tiny bathroom just a few feet away as Blair wrapped his free arm around his midsection in misery. He let go as Blair practically dove towards the toilet, barely having time to lift the seat before the cramps overtook him and he heaved into the toilet bowl.

After several minutes that felt like his stomach was turning inside out, Blair sank back onto the vinyl floor and leaned back against the wall. He struggled to regain his breath as his tortured stomach muscles still trembled from the force of the cramps. The wall felt cool against his back and shoulders as he felt hot and shivery at the same time. Keeping his eyes closed seemed to help as he tried to force his aching body to relax.

"Here, take this. I'm sorry that the water to this sink doesn't work, but at least I can offer you something to wipe your mouth."

A towel dropped onto his knees and he used it to wipe his face and mouth, still holding his eyes closed as the heard the toilet flush. He had just decided that he was starting to feel a bit better when the cramps began again, this time deeper within his abdomen.

"Oh, no…" He opened his eyes and began to crawl back to the toilet, using the edge of the sink to pull himself up. Quickly pulling the toilet seat back down, he turned and yanked down his boxers as he sat just in time. Hunched over, both arms crossed over his stomach to try to hold on, he groaned as the spasms increased and his body proceeded to empty itself.

"I'll go and see if I can find something to make you feel better," he heard from the doorway of the room. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Blair barely heard him.

---------------

The Doctor hummed to himself as he made another note in the chart and readied a syringe of medication. Hearing the sound of the flushing toilet and the soft slapping of bare feet back into the room, he dropped it into his pocket and turned and walked toward the well-lighted end of the room.

The subject was just lowering himself onto the side of the small bed. His face was flushed and sweaty, and tendrils of hair were plastered against his forehead and sides of his face. He let himself down carefully, letting his body slide down toward the pillow and pulling his legs up onto the bed at the same time. Reaching behind him, he pulled the blanket up and over him carelessly as he pulled his legs up and curled up on his side with a moan.

Walking over, The Doctor gently felt at the damp forehead and brushed a few strands of hair away in the process. The subject didn't even open his eyes.

"I've got some medication for you. It should calm things down a bit." Watching a faint nod against the pillow, he pulled the syringe out of his pocket. Pushing up the sleeve of the subject's sweaty t-shirt, he injected the medication into his upper arm. He capped the syringe and dropped it back into his pocket. "This should ease your cramps. Just try to relax and let the medication work. Try to get a little rest."

Only a few minutes later, he could see the medication taking effect, the tight and trembling body on the bed gradually relaxing, the breathing slowing. He walked out of the room and joined the man observing on the other side of the window.

"He'll be out for about thirty minutes or so, then he'll start waking up again. We'll repeat the process, I'll give him just enough to make him sick once more, then another short sleep. Then we'll start the conditioning process, it should go fairly quickly given his weakened state. In a day or so, he'll tell us anything we want to know, and he won't have a clue as to what's happened afterwards." He watched the still figure through the window, licking his lips unconsciously as he watched his plan proceeding apace.

---------------

"Well, we were wondering when you were going to wake up. We thought you were going to sleep all day."

Blair rubbed his eyes with one hand, noticing that his vision seemed a bit better, things weren't quite as blurred as they were before. The bright glare from the window didn't help the heavy ache in his head.

"What time is it?" he asked, his throat still dry and rough.

"Almost noon. You've been sleeping for a few hours. How are you feeling?"

He struggled to sit up a bit, the ache in his stomach and abdominal muscles a painful reminder of his violent illness the night before. The doctor helped him sit up and propped the pillows up behind him.

"Sore. My throat hurts. And I feel really tired."

"No wonder. As sick as you've been for the last sixteen hours, your body's probably used all of it's reserves to try to fight off the virus. And as much vomiting and diarrhea as you've had, you're pretty dehydrated. We were thinking of starting an IV if you didn't wake up soon. I can still do that, or you can try taking some liquids orally if you feel up to it."

"My stomach feels pretty sore, but I don't feel nauseous any more. Why don't I just see what I can drink first, I'd just as soon pass on the needle."

"That's fine. I'll get something for you."

Blair watched the doctor walk back to the other side of the room, barely visible in the dimmer light there. After only a moment he was back, a plastic cup in his hand.

"OK, drink this. Just steady sips, no gulping. It may taste a little funny, it's not just water, it's an electrolyte replacement solution. It will get into your bloodstream faster than just water and help get your system back into balance quicker." He handed the cup to Blair.

He sipped at the liquid cautiously, not wanting to start up the nausea again. He made a face at the taste, but kept sipping slowly. Even with the slightly bitter taste, the cool liquid felt good on his sore throat.

After downing about half of the cup's contents, the doctor reached over for it.

"That should be good for now. Let's make sure that it stays down before you drink any more, all right?"

Blair nodded and slumped back against the pillows. He couldn't believe that he'd been here for almost a day. But then again, as sick as he'd been, he was just happy to be awake and not throwing up. He closed his eyes against the glare from the window, opening them again as he heard footsteps approaching. He still couldn't clearly make out his features, but the same dark-haired doctor was standing over him.

"I'd like to give you a quick examination. You look a bit better than last night, but I'd like to give you a once-over."

"Sure, go ahead."

"It looks like your eyes are still bothering you a bit from the medication. Why don't you just keep them closed for now, it's such a bright day outside."

Blair nodded his assent. He leaned back into the pillows as the doctor lifted his t-shirt, and felt the cold touch of the stethoscope on his chest. Following the doctor's instructions, he breathed in and out on cue. His forearm was lifted and a hand firmly encircled his wrist for a few moments as his pulse was measured, then his hand was returned to his side.

"Looks pretty good. Hopefully the worst of the virus has passed. Most of the patients that we've seen with this variety of flu are really sick for twenty-four hours or so, then start feeling better, even though they're pretty weak and tired for a few days after that.

I'd like to ask you a few questions about your medical history, since we've never seen you here before. OK?"

"OK."

Blair listened with his eyes closed against the brightness, answering the questions almost without thinking. He was asked about his health, his allergies, his recent illnesses, recent injuries. He answered easily, the doctor's soft tone almost mesmerizing. The soreness of his muscles faded somewhat as he could feel his body relaxing, his muscles becoming limp and heavy, a welcome relief after a seeming eternity of cramps and tension. It became harder to pay attention and answer the questions, and he gradually realized that he could speak only with effort, his own words sounding slurred to his ears. He forced his eyes open, not ready to succumb back into sleep yet.

The brightness of the room glowed with a myriad of colors that swirled around him. He gasped as he tried to keep his eyes open, the beauty and brilliance of the liquid air captivating. Trying to turn his head to follow a deep crimson flow, he found that his muscles didn't want to cooperate. Struggling for control for a brief moment, he forgot his concern as another wave of color burst over him, and he could feel it brush against his skin as an almost living thing. Smiling, he closed his eyes and let the color wash over him and through him.

---------------

The Doctor stopped his questions and set down the chart on the floor beside him as he watched the drugs take effect. The subject was lying completely motionless in the bed, a faint smile on his face. He reached over and lifted an eyelid, observing the dilated pupil and lack of response, then let it fall back into place. Picking up the chart, he looked at his watch and made a notation.

Standing, he walked back over to his work table and set the chart down. Pulling a couple of items out of the box, he returned to the bed and set them down on the bedside chair. He bent over the bed and pulled up the leather cuffs that were attached and hanging down on each side. It took just a well-practiced moment to fasten them firmly around the limp wrists, then to walk to the foot of the bed, pulling the covers off as he went. He repeated his actions with cuffs around the subject's bare ankles. He propped pillows behind his head and shoulders to keep them elevated slightly, then fastened a cervical collar around his neck to keep his head in place and his airway from getting inadvertently blocked.

Standing back and checking his preparations, he nodded in contentment. Reaching over to the chair, he picked up a thick pair of dark goggles and settled them on the slack face, securing a strap tightly around the back of his head. He next placed a large set of earphones in place, strapping them also firmly on the curly head. Finding the thick black wire at the side of the goggles, he plugged it and the plug for the earphones into the black box on the floor beside the bed, then plugged the box into the wall socket.

Flipping the switch to turn the device on, he depressed the first button on the left of a row of similar buttons. Immediately a red light below the button began blinking to indicate that the device was functioning. He began to turn a numbered dial, watching his subject as he slowly rotated it. Continuing to observe carefully, he kept turning the dial until he could see the subject respond.

Just a slight twitch of a hand at first, then more as he slowly continued to move the dial. As the numbers crept up, the subject became more active, now both hands and feet in motion. Just a bit farther, and he could see the subject's head begin to move and his muscles bunching.

The Doctor's mouth began to water as he continued to turn up the power, his breath coming a bit faster, the excitement of anticipation building. The taut body begin to jerk and arch up from the bed, bucking against the restraints, a choking, grunting sound escaping from the spasming throat as the subject fought to escape the painful sensory overload. At that high level, even The Doctor could hear the vibrating sound echoing in the earphones and see the colored lights that were flashing in rhythm on the inside of the goggles.

Against his own wishes, he turned the dial back down to a low level, the subject's muscles going limp as the young man collapsed back onto the bed. For now, his need for information from the subject was more important than his own personal desires. The program of weakening and disorienting the subject was right on schedule. He noted the position of the dial and the time in the medical chart, then set it down on the bedside chair. Standing to leave the room, he glanced down fondly, then rested a hand for a moment on the subject's cheek. This one could be more than just a subject, he thought. After the project is over…

He left the room with a spring in his step, thoughts of a bit of personal time with the subject brightening his mood immensely.

---------------

Floating.

Colors.

Sounds.

Colored sounds and noisy colors swam through his mind.

Blair drifted in a timeless place, a placeless time. His mind was filled and numbed with the gently flashing colored lights that entered his brain, even through closed eyelids, and the vibrating tones that soothingly filled his skull.

An occasional stray thought tried to form, but was quickly lost in the tide of light and sound. His entire body, his entire being, seemed to shift and vibrate gently in time to the electronic rhythms, sensations blending together in ways he had never experienced before.

He drifted on the edge of consciousness.

---------------

Jim rolled over with a groan, finally awakening just enough to realize that the ringing sound he was hearing wasn't part of his dream. He groped around on the nightstand until his hand contacted the obnoxiously vibrating device, then lifted the handset to his ear.

"Ellison," he growled.

"Detective James Ellison?" a cautious female voice on the other end asked.

"Yes. Who is this?" He forced one tired eyelid to open as he glanced at the glowing numbers on his alarm clock. Two-thirteen AM.

"This is Officer Briese. Do you know a Blair Sandburg?"

Suddenly wide awake, Jim sat up quickly.

"He's my partner. Why? What's happened?"

"Well, uh…a vehicle registered to Blair Sandburg has been found in the Cascade River. We're in the process of pulling it out…"

"How's Blair? Was he badly hurt?" Jim blurted out.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence on the other end.

"We don't know, Detective. There's no sign of a bod…of Mr. Sandburg. We were hoping that you might know where he is, if his car might have been stolen."

Jim began climbing out of bed. "He was headed out of town for the weekend. Where are you on the river? I'll be right out."

He began grabbing clothes with one hand as the caller described her location. Hanging up the phone, he quickly dressed and ran down the steps to the living room, grabbing his cell phone on his way out of the door and speed dialing a familiar number. A gravelly voice answered as he took the stairs two at a time and jogged out to the truck.

"Simon? Ellison. Sorry to wake you, sir, but there's been an accident. Sandburg's car was just found in the river. I need you to authorize divers…"

Twenty minutes later he pulled the truck up just behind the crime scene tape and jumped out. Two patrol cars sat nearby, light bars flashing as they blocked off the road, and a rumbling tow truck sat sideways on the pavement. A heavy cable snaked down to the edge of the river, where he could see a cluster of officers and others. A portable light had been set up and it cast a harsh glow over the river bank and out into the rushing waters. Even without extending his senses he could just see an edge of a dark green hood just breaching the waves as they lapped against a piling of the Osmon Road Bridge.

He jogged down to the bank, approaching the group of onlookers as a tall figure detached itself from the crowd and waved to get his attention as he approached.

"Jim!" Simon took his arm as he neared the water's edge. He barely noticed, all of his attention narrowed to that small glimpse of green metal under the water. "Jim, hold on. There's no sign of Sandburg, we don't know that he was in the car. They're just getting ready to pull it out of the water now. Come on, let's get out of their way and let them do their job."

Jim stood unhearing, frozen in place, as the light mist that had been falling off and on all evening became a steady drizzle. Ignoring the pressure on his arm and the reassuring voice in his ear, he desperately extended his senses to sweep the area for any sign of Blair. He could have been thrown from the car on it's way down the bank into the river. He could have been washed out of the car by the current. He could be hurt out there, unable to call out for help. Any sound, any familiar smell, anything that might give him a clue as to whether Blair…

He was torn abruptly from a threatening zone-out, the flash of the patrol car's lights painfully bright to his eyes as the car moved out of the way of the tow truck. He ducked his head and covered his eyes with one hand, staggering a bit in shock as the light seemed to cut straight through to his brain. Simon quickly steadied him with a supportive arm around his shoulders.

"Jim, come on. Let's go and sit in my car and get out of the rain. I brought a thermos of coffee with me, you look like you could use some. There's nothing we can do until they pull the car out. They've already searched up and down the bank twice, and they haven't found anything. The search is being extended farther downstream, more searchers have been called in and should be here any minute." Simon pulled and turned him away from the river. "Come on, man, they're doing everything humanly possible. Let's get in out of the rain for a few minutes while they pull the car out, then you can take a look at it and see if you can get anything with your senses. Come on."

Jim complied on wooden legs as Simon guided him back to his car, opening the door for him and all but shoving him in. He barely noticed the rain dripping down the back of his neck, the shivers that began all over his body, or the warmth of the coffee mug that Simon pressed into his icy hand. His mind was filled with the sight of the familiar green metal of his partner's car awash in the river, even as his heart was filled with dread at what the searchers might find. Simon climbed in next to him, and they silently watched the recovery team working to attach the cable that would pull the Volvo from the murky water.

---------------

The Doctor walked back into the white room, visually examining the subject as he approached the small white bed. The silent young man lay still upon the bed as he had for the last four hours, the hint of a smile still on his face almost all that could be seen beneath the goggles and headphones. He had moved only a few times, and only a slight shift of an arm or leg, a slight turn of the head. An occasional gasp or laugh had slipped out, undoubtedly in response to the hallucinations caused by the interactions of the drugs and the electronic stimulation.

He checked the subject's pulse and breathing, pleased to find both steady and strong. The program was going just as planned, the subject responding as required. He picked up the medical chart and, glancing at his watch, made a notation. Reaching down and turning off the black box on the floor by the bed, he left the room and walked to the observation desk on the other side of the windowed wall. Pleased with himself, he picked up the phone and dialed.

"Thomas, any news?"

A few moments later, disappointed, he slammed down the receiver. He quickly placed another call, with only the same unhappy results. He had hoped to hear something more specific from his contacts in the Cascade PD, but nothing new had been forthcoming.

He knew that an operation was being planned against the McCleary syndicate, his main rival in the drug and prostitution trades in Cascade. He had been unable to make a significant dent for himself, McCleary was too well-connected and too powerful. But once he had gotten wind of some kind of major operation being planned by the police to take McCleary down, he knew that it was his golden opportunity.

If he could get details of the operation in advance, he could carefully drop enough information to both the police and McCleary's men to make the operation a disaster. The police would kill off or arrest and imprison most of McCleary's troops, and hopefully put McCleary away for a long time. In the process, though, McCleary's well-armed men could get rid of a significant number of Cascade's finest. Hopefully there would be enough casualties on both sides to leave the field wide open for him to move in and take over quickly. If he was lucky, he could even get his hands on some of McCleary's merchandise in the process and get away with it before the cops came in to clean up afterwards.

But he hadn't been able to get nearly enough information to set his plan in motion. Cascade PD was being especially cautious in planning their operation, and he had only gotten bits and pieces from his sources. The operation was being planned and organized by Major Crimes, and he'd never been able to infiltrate that unit. He'd been able to piece enough together to tell him that the operation was likely to happen in the next week. He needed more specific details, though, and his usual sources were practically useless. So he had decided to abduct a member of the Major Crimes unit and get the information in his own special way.

When a source in CPD overheard that one of the members of Major Crimes was going away by himself for the weekend, it was almost too good to be true. He had quickly arranged the accident and abduction, and it had been pulled off smoothly and efficiently. Immediately afterward, the subject's car had been disposed of in the bay. Since the subject wasn't expected back for two days, he had plenty of time to extract the information that he needed before he was even missed. That way, when the subject was "recovered" after an apparent auto accident, with practically no memory for the events of the weekend, nothing would make the task force suspicious. They would continue the operation as planned, and with his knowledge, The Doctor would make sure that he took full advantage of the results.

Sipping from the cup of cold coffee on the desk, he set it down and stretched luxuriously. Now on to the next phase. He returned to the white room, picking materials off of his supply table, then walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed next to the subject. Wrapping a rubber strip around the subject's arm, he slapped at the inside of his elbow until a vein stood out. Pulling a syringe and a small bottle of medication out of his pocket, he carefully filled the syringe to the indicated mark and then injected it slowly into the subject's vein, quickly removing the rubber strip with the other hand.

He stood up and returned his materials to the table, then picked up the medical chart as he returned to the bedside, again checking his watch as he made a notation. Closely observing, he noticed that the subject's breathing began to increase and his face flush slightly. Grasping a newly active arm, he checked the pulse to find it increasing from it's previously restful state. Releasing the arm, he reached down and turned on the stimulation device, pushing the second button and turning up the power several settings.

Immediately the subject began moving restlessly in the bed, arms and legs gently straining against the restraints. His head shifted back and forth on the pillow, hampered somewhat by the collar around his neck, as his hands grasped at and clenched in the sheet. A low moan escaped dry lips.

The Doctor watched, fascinated by his work, as the previously quiescent young man now shifted and twisted in the bed. His body was almost continuously in motion as the new combination of stimulant and hallucinogen raced throughout his body, magnifying the effects of the increased electronic stimulation, a different pattern of stimulation for this phase of the program. He watched sweat break out on the subject's forehead and spread over his body, glistening slightly on the skin of exposed arms and legs.

Forcing himself up and off of the bed, he checked the security of the restraints once again before leaving the room. As much as he enjoyed observing his subjects, right now he had a take-over to plan and he couldn't afford to be distracted. He didn't really have to observe so closely, years of experimentation having honed his unique skills to the point that it was practically routine.

This subject was responding perfectly so far, the program of breaking down both his body and mind smoothly proceeding. But this was not a "routine" subject. He found himself peeking through the window, again running his eyes over the young man's body, wishing that he had a better look at his face behind the oversized goggles. Once he had obtained his information and set his plan into action, perhaps he could take the time to truly enjoy the handsome young man lying in the other room. Perhaps a little change of plans might be in order, perhaps he might be "lost" a while longer than had been originally planned.

He smiled as he set about perfecting his plans.

---------------

Jim trudged ahead, placing one foot automatically in front of the other, eyes scanning back and forth along the river bank in front of him. Dawn had begun to break and he heard the sound of other searchers arriving ahead of him, but he never wavered from his focus. Each bush, each stretch of mud, each foot of riverbank was carefully scrutinized with all of his senses. He kept on wearily, refusing to give up the hope of finding Blair alive, slogging along in the rain and the mud.

It had been a long night. The recovery team had difficulty pulling the Volvo out of the river, underwater debris and an unseen rocky shelf blocking the car's progress. Several times the divers had gone in to attempt to clear the tow cable, and eventually they had called in another tow truck to attach a second cable. Even as he walked the river's banks he had followed the progress of the recovery with his extended hearing, both hoping and fearing what they might find.

The search teams had given up for the night a couple of hours ago, the team leader saying that they had done all that they could do until daylight. Search dogs and handlers were expected to arrive about dawn as well. He had refused to give up, unable to merely sit and wait for dawn or for the car to get up onto solid ground. Despite the concerned efforts of his friends and colleagues to get him to wait in a car, he knew that the rain and cold could be deadly to an injured man. Minutes or hours could mean the difference between life and death. He couldn't sit still with the possibility that Blair was out here somewhere, trying to hold on, waiting for help to arrive.

He didn't know how far he had walked, but he turned around when he heard that the recovery team was finally getting the Volvo out of the water. Breaking into a jog, he struggled back through the mud and brush towards the accident scene. He could see that the small crowd of onlookers had thinned, only a few remained, herded back behind the crime scene tape at the edge of the road. Most of the remaining watchers were members of the Major Crimes unit and other Cascade PD officers and staff who had also refused to leave the scene, waiting for any news of their missing friend.

Approaching the scene, he slowed to a walk, winded, as the car was winched up onto the bank in front of him. It didn't look badly damaged, at this point difficult to tell which dents and scrapes had happened on it's way into the water and which had been caused by the recovery effort. He slowed further as he watched the car being pulled up onto a flat area, and barely noticed as a blanket was draped over his heaving shoulders, a friendly hand pulling it up around his neck.

"Jim, you need to wait for them to secure it and let the water out. Look, why don't you wait and catch your breath? Let me have a look first."

He looked up at Simon's concerned face, and at the faces of the other men and women of Major Crimes that surrounded him.

"Thanks Simon, but I…I need to see it…"

He held up a hand as Simon began to protest, then brushed past him and up to the muddy vehicle. Water was still draining from the open passenger-side door as he approached, slowing to a trickle as it emptied out. Holding his breath, he forced himself to keep moving and look in through the windows and the open door.

No one was inside.

Blair wasn't inside.

He took a deep breath, suddenly light-headed with relief. Blair could have escaped. He could still be alive. A big hand grasped his shoulder and steadied him as he wavered momentarily on his feet. He briefly smiled a quick thanks to Joel, acknowledging their shared relief, then turned back to examine the car.

Running his senses over the car and it's interior, he strained to sense anything through the water and mud. He was unable to sense any blood or any other sign of an injured Blair. After several minutes he had to step back for some fresh air, then tried it again.

In his second pass over the car, he spotted something that grabbed his attention. He called out excitedly.

"Simon! Come here and look at this." He stood aside as Simon approached, then pointed into the car as he leaned in to look.

"What, Jim? I don't see anything."

"The stereo! The car stereo is missing. All that's left is the original radio, he had a car stereo with a CD player installed not long after he got it. It looks like it's been ripped out."

"And…"

"Simon, it means that he could have been carjacked and that he wasn't in the car when it went into the river!"

"That's great, Jim, but where is he, then?"

Jim sobered at that thought. "I don't know, Simon. We'll have to put out an APB for him, check the hospitals, the whole nine yards. He could have been hurt and just hasn't been able to reach help yet. I don't know, but it means there's a good chance he's not in the river. And I'll take that chance right now."

"I hope you're right, Jim. I hope you're right. Let's get that APB on the air and get some men started on canvassing the hospitals."

He headed back to his truck to call it in, holding on to a small glimmer of hope. Neither man had voiced their fear that carjackers could easily have killed Blair in the process, both were well aware of the little value that human life held for some. But he had to believe that Blair was somewhere in the city, perhaps injured or just unable to make a call wherever he was. He knew that he was grasping at straws, but he didn't care. He climbed into the truck, then stopped momentarily to lean forward and rest his head on the steering wheel, eyes closed. Hold on buddy, he silently thought to his missing partner, hold on. We won't give up on you.

---------------

Cowboy and Birch rode up in the elevator together, both yawning at the early morning hour. The Doctor had been very specific that he wanted them back early to assist with the conditioning and to work on his takeover plans. Birch complained as he stretched, his back popping with the movement.

"What difference would a couple of hours have made? Getting us up at dawn is nuts."

"Hey, I wouldn't complain so much. He takes good care of us, doesn't he? And if this becomes the big score that he thinks it will, we'll be on easy street, man."

"Yeah, we'll see. Oh, well, even if it doesn't all work out, I've already gotten at least something out of it," Birch grinned.

The elevator slowed to a stop and they raised the gate and stepped out.

"What do you mean? What did you do?"

"Nothing important. I decided that since I was going to trash the kid's car anyway, I'd help myself to his car stereo before it went into the drink."

"Are you nuts?" Cowboy asked in amazement. "You know that The Doc said to leave it just the way it was."

"What difference does it make? The car's still in the river, he's got the kid and he's doing what he wants to him. Who's going to notice or find out?"

Cowboy looked up at the video camera over the door to The Doctor's apartments as they walked up.

"You'd better hope that he doesn't. You know how picky he is about following his instructions to the letter."

"Yeah, well, what he don't know won't hurt him." Birch pressed the doorbell and opened the door when the buzzer sounded.

They walked in and crossed the apartment to the observation desk, where The Doctor was standing and sipping at a cup of coffee as he watched through the window into the white room. He spoke without turning.

"Good morning, gentlemen. Just in time. The program is continuing right on schedule." He pointed to a pile of neatly folded white clothing on the corner of the desk. "Cowboy, please put these on. You get to play the role of orderly in our little plan. After you get dressed, I'll give you your directions."

Cowboy picked up the clothing and walked across the apartment to the master bathroom to undress. He was tucking the white shirt into the waistband of his slacks when he stopped to listen to the conversation in the other room.

"Mr. Birch, thank you for disposing of the car for me. I'm glad to see that you weren't injured in the process."

"No, Doc, it went just fine."

"Well, I wanted to give you a little something for your troubles."

"That's not necessary…" Birch mumbled.

"Oh, but I insist," The Doctor said.

Turning to leave the bathroom, Cowboy walked out just in time to see The Doctor open a drawer in the desk, pull out a gun and fire two rounds point-blank into Birch's chest. He stopped in his tracks, mouth falling open in shock as he watched Birch fall to the floor, a look of disbelief frozen on his dying face.

The Doctor casually replaced the gun in the drawer and turned to face him.

"He never was very good at following orders. Unlike you, Cowboy, you have always been dependable. And I won't forget it when I've taken over. I'll need a lieutenant that I can trust." He reached across the desk and turned the video monitor off, then strolled back over to the window and calmly picked his cup of coffee up from the desk. "Call Spinks and have him bring a couple of boys over to dispose of that, please."

Cowboy hurried to carry out The Doctor's orders.

---------------

Major Crimes was abuzz with activity, unusually active for a Saturday morning. Every desk was occupied, every phone in use as the word went out: Find Blair Sandburg.

Jim stood in Simon's office, staring out of the window, unseeing. He looked up only as a steaming mug of coffee appeared in front of him.

"Here, Jim. You need to get warmed up."

Simon stood in front of his silent detective, pressing the mug into his hand. He had tried to get Jim to go home and get some clean and dry clothing on, but Jim had insisted on coming straight to the precinct. He had said little other than to describe the clothing that Blair was wearing when he left the night before for the APB, and had automatically followed Simon into his office when asked.

Now he just stood, staring at the mug in his hand, as if he couldn't remember what to do with it. Simon grasped his arm and directed him towards one of the chairs at the conference table, pressing him down into the seat, then taking a chair beside him. Finally Jim raised the mug and took a deep swallow, closing his eyes at the blissful sensation of warmth that began to spread from the inside out.

"Thanks, Simon."

"Any time, Jim."

They sipped at their coffee for a moment before a knock sounded and the door opened. Rafe and Brown entered, a partially unfolded map in Rafe's hands.

"Hey, Captain. Jim, do you think that you could show us the way Blair usually takes out of the city to get to the monastery? We thought we might cruise the streets and see if we can find anything."

Jim stood quickly, pulling the map out of Rafe's hands and spreading it out on the conference table.

"Great idea, guys. Here's the way he usually takes out of town. Along Granville, to Roper, out Wider Road. The bus from the monastery picks you up here." The four men studied the map. "Of course, he could have taken any number of parallel streets if the traffic was heavy or there was an accident or something."

Brown slapped him on the shoulder.

"We'll head out right now, Jim. If there's anything to find, we'll find it and we'll let you know."

Setting down his coffee, Jim headed for the door. "I'm on my way. I'll take Wider and Smythe, you two take Granville and Roper."

Simon attempted to intervene. "Jim, you're exhausted. Why don't you stay and coordinate the units from here?"

Jim shook his head. "Simon, I can't just sit here and do nothing. No matter what we find, I've got to be out there looking." He looked at each of his friends and colleagues, unspoken emotion shading his features, then left without another word.

Rafe and Brown followed him out, and Simon picked up the phone as he studied the map in front of him. He called the Patrol Division and requested additional units to join the search, then picked up his coffee and walked over to stare out of the window. And wait.

---------------

Blair struggled against the darkness, fighting to surface and open tired eyes. He thought that he could sense a lightness, and hear a distant voice.

"I think he's coming around. Mr. Sandburg, are you awake?"

He tried again to unseal his eyes. Eventually succeeding in opening them a crack, he blinked at the uncomfortable brightness and tried to keep them from sinking closed again. He turned toward the sound of the voice, his head unbelievably heavy and uncooperative, and tried to respond.

"…uhh…" barely scratched out of his dry throat. He swallowed and tried to lick dry lips, his mouth dry and cottony.

"Don't try to talk. I'll get the doctor." The blurry and wavering figure beside the bed disappeared from view. Blair tried unsuccessfully to clear his vision, blinking repeatedly but unable to get the world to come into focus or stop moving around him.

A moment later he heard a semi-familiar voice and saw a dark-haired figure looming over him.

"Mr. Sandburg. Thank goodness. You've had us quite worried about you. How are you feeling?"

Blair tried, but was unable to make more than a croaking sound in reply.

"Let me get you a bit of water, you must be pretty dry." A plastic cup suddenly appeared in front of him, and a firm hand behind his neck raised his head up from the pillow so he could take a few sips. Even swallowing seemed to take a great deal of energy, and he could only manage a few sips before his head was let back down onto the pillow.

"What…tired…" he whispered out.

"I can imagine. Do you know where you are?"

Blair struggled to remember, his mind incredibly foggy. He dredged up a vague memory of being sick, feeling sweaty and uncomfortable.

"Sick…clinic?"

"That's right. After your accident, you came down with a virus. We thought that you were getting better, when suddenly you had a relapse. You've been very sick, delirious with fever. You still have a high fever but this is the first time you've been conscious for a day and a half."

Blair fought to get his mind around the doctor's words. "How long…?"

"You've been here a few days. We were worried that someone might be missing you. Is there anyone you want us to contact and let you know that you're here?"

It took a minute or two for Blair to make sense of what he heard. "A few days…not Wednesday?"

"No, it's Monday morning. Do you need to be somewhere Wednesday?" the doctor asked helpfully.

"Gotta back Jim up…team one…" Blair mumbled. His thoughts cleared a bit. "Jim…contact Detective Jim Ellison…"

The doctor wrote the name down. "Detective Ellison. Is he a friend of yours?"

"Partner…roommate…call Jim."

"Is he with the Cascade Police Department?"

"Mmm-hmmm…" Blair struggled to stay awake, his eyelids sagging as his eyes ached and sought a return to darkness.

"All right, we'll give him a call and let him know you're here. In the meantime, do you think you could drink a little more? You've gotten awfully dehydrated."

"…try…"

His eyes slid closed, even as his head was gently raised again and he obediently sipped some more water when the cup was placed to his lips. He kept drinking until the cup was taken away and his aching head was lowered to the pillow.

"…eyes bothering me…"

"Don't worry about it. It's not uncommon with a high fever, that your eyes might be unusually sensitive to light. Tell me how you're feeling, in general."

"Tired…heavy…brain feels like mush…" Blair couldn't believe how hard it was to focus, to form words. It seemed that the harder he tried, the more his thoughts slipped away.

"That's okay, don't try to push yourself. Is there anything you'd like us to tell Detective Ellison when we call him?"

"Tell him…be careful…needs backup…"

"What does he need backup for? When does he need backup?"

"…be there Wednesday…"

"What's happening Wednesday?"

"…mmm…be better then…"

Despite his concentrated efforts, Blair was unable to keep focused on the voice that seemed to waver in and out of his hearing. The words lost their meaning, becoming merely sounds that drifted into and out of his mind. He floated again on the edge of consciousness.

---------------

The Doctor motioned to Cowboy, waiting nearby, and together they replaced the restraints on the subject's arms and legs. Resettling the goggles and headphones, he checked the subject's pulse and breathing before switching on the black box again. He quickly selected a vial of medication and injected another dose into the limp arm, then turned the dial up slightly. Moments later, the subject resumed his restless motion in the bed, reacting to the drugs and the stimulation, although more weakly than before.

He stood back and checked his work, then made his usual notation in the chart before leaving the room, gesturing to Cowboy to follow him out.

"We've got to find out if Wednesday is the day of the operation. Get in touch with Thomas and Weston and have them nose around for any signs of anything unusual going on with Cascade PD around that day. Personnel shifts, temporary transfer orders, cancellations of days off…anything that might give us a clue.

Then I want you to watch the subject and listen closely for anything he might let slip out. In another few hours we'll bring him up again, and see if we can get anything more specific. It shouldn't take too much longer. And let me know if he stops moving. We can't let him fall asleep. If I need to, I'll give him an extra dose.

Get on it."

Cowboy went to the phone and placed the calls as The Doctor watched the subject through the window. Detective Ellison was not just his partner, but his roommate as well. Now that could be a useful piece of information. A very useful piece of information.