Title: A Sentinel and a Crow

by Cindy

Fandom: The Sentinel/The Crow: Stairway to Heaven

Rating: R for now

Status: New

Archive: No

E-mail address for feedback: CLP2@united.net

Series/Sequel: No

Other websites: None

Disclaimers: Not mine. No money.

Notes: This is long story and incomplete at this time. I tend to write in a weird fashion. I start in the middle go back to the beginning and the end the story.

Summary: Death comes to Cascade

Warnings: death AU

If I have done this wrong, my apologies. I usually lurk. Any typos and inconsistancies are mine.

The sun shone brightly overhead in stark contrast to the occasion. A man was speaking and even with enhanced hearing he couldn't focus on the words. He gazed over the lawn where the tombstones were lined in neat little rows like dominos waiting to be toppled. Birds sang as if all was right with the world. The larks still bravely singing fly scare heard amidst the guns below. That was a fragment of a poem that had haunted him for a week--a poem that he had learned in school called Flander's Fields. Mentally, he recited the poem surprised that he could still remember it. In Flander's Fields the poppies blow beneath the crosses row on row that marks our place and in the sky the larks still bravely singing fly scarcely heard amid the guns below. We are the dead short days ago we lived. Felt the dawn saw sunset glow (Blair loved sunsets) Loved and were loved and now we lie in Flander's Field. Take up our quarrel with the foe to you from failing hands we throw the torch be yours to hold it high. If you break faith with those who die we shall not sleep though poppies blow in Flander's Field.

The poem was written during World War I but it seemed to fit here. Jim wanted to quit the force and leave this all behind but he knew that he couldn't. As the poem said, he had to continue to fight the foe and he had to continue to be the Sentinel so as not to break faith. A gentle breeze blew bring him out of his thoughts. He wished this would be over so he could leave. He gazed at the solemn faces, Simon, Rafe, Brown, Taggart, Rhonda, Sam, and some others from the station. He silently berated himself for not listening to the service and for wanting to leave. It was a sign of disrespect toward Blair and he felt guilty. He should feel guilty. As a Blessed Protector and friend, he had failed Blair and his mother. They had died under his roof and his protection. He shook his head. He had drifted off again. Forgive me, Chief for everything.

********

Standing on a small rise at the edge of a clump of trees, a lone figure watched the service below. He wore a designer suit. The wind gently blew his tie. He adjusted it and the knot, as was his habit. He checked his watch. He was impatient to leave yet he could not. He had to be here. He had pulled his hair back into a tail because of the wind. The wind acting as fingers pulled strands free. He pushed the sunglasses up on his nose. The service ended and he left as quietly as he had come.

********

The service had mercifully ended. Jim stood there for a moment in silent contemplation. He turned and his sight honed in on a curly strand of hair being whipped by the wind. In shock, his Sentinel sight had ceased. Jim wiped his eyes and looked where the hair had been. There was nothing now.

He chided himself for hallucinating. He had wanted to see Blair so badly that he had imagined him there. He walked to his truck where Simon waited.

"Jim, I know this has been hard on you. Concern was etched on Simon's face. "Why don't you come and stay with me for a while. Give yourself some more time before returning to the loft."

"I need to go back there. If I don't now, I never will." Jim thought about the hair. "Did you see someone standing on the rise in the shade of the trees?"

"No. Why? Did you think he's a suspect?"

"No. My sight focused on his long, curly hair. I just wondered if you saw him."

"Jim, Sandburg was not the only man with long, curly hair. It was probably someone coming to the graveyard to visit but respected our privacy. Are you sure it was a man? It could have been a woman."

"I didn't see anything but the hair. I wiped my eyes and checked again but the person was gone. I'll concede that it might have been a woman."

"Are you sure you're all right? Simon asked as he digested the new information. He wondered if Jim should see a counselor. Simon knew that he would never get Jim to go.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be better when we catch the bastard that did this." Jim said with a determined glare.

"So will I." Simon turned and walked toward his car.

Jim opened the door and slid in the driver's side of the truck. It was quiet on the way home so he turned on the radio. There was a time when he would have relished the quiet but now he missed Blair's endless enthusiasm and countless stories. He spared a glance at the passenger seat. He could picture Blair sitting there bouncing within the confines of the seatbelt.

His hands would be moving constantly, as he would relate some idea or observation coupled with some related story. A blaring horn jarred him back into reality. He had crossed the yellow line and swerved back into his own lane to miss on-coming traffic. Stay alert! It seemed like a lifetime since he had been here. Since the murder and the subsequent investigation, he had been forced to stay at a motel. Friends had offered to let him stay at their homes or apartments but he had refused. The constant sympathy would have drove him crazy. He got out of the truck and stared at the building. He did not want to go in. He automatically extended his hearing searching for the familiar heartbeat. He called himself every kind of stupid. Squaring his shoulders, he walked up the sidewalk and into the building. He climbed the steps and could not stop himself from vainly searching for that heartbeat. He reached the door, unlocked it with a key, took a deep breath, and entered. His eyes went to the floor where the bloodstain had been. It had been washed away. In fact, the whole loft had been cleaned. He stared at the floor as the
memories came flooding back.

********
A week earlier:

Jim had been working on the Caldwell case when he had a feeling that something was wrong--as if a part of him had somehow just died. His mind screamed that something had to be wrong with Sandburg. He practically ran out the bullpen. What were Sandburg's plans today? He had a couple of classes and was going to work on his dissertation. Jim glanced at his watch. Classes would be over so he would be at the loft. He broke almost every traffic law getting there. He jumped put of the truck and ran toward the loft. He extended his hearing but there was no heartbeat. Just because you can't hear his heartbeat doesn't mean that he is dead! After all, his senses had failed him before. Still searching for the familiar sound, he opened the door and ascended the steps. The smell of blood assailed him. His mind screamed that Sandburg was dead but he refused to believe it. No, he is hurt. That's all. He reached the door and found it unlocked. Gun drawn, Jim pushed the door open. The smell of blood overwhelmed him. He mentally dialed that sense down. He saw Sandburg's lax body bound to a chair. His head hung forward and his hair curtained his face. "Sandburg." There was no response. He used his hearing to determine that no one else was in the loft and holstered his gun. He noticed the blood on the floor but refused to acknowledge its meaning.

"Come on, Sandburg. Talk to me." He walked to Blair and gently pushed his head back so that it rested on the chair back. The face was bruised and then Jim noticed the open slash at his throat. Blair's shirt was red with blood as was his pants. His hair was stuck to the wound.

Blood had dripped on the floor. "Oh, God! Please no!" Jim cried. There would be no last minute save this time. Sandburg was dead. Jim stood there in shock for a few moments. Numbly, he pulled his cell phone out and dialed Simon.

"BANKS!"

"Simon." It was a barely audible whisper.

"Jim, is that you? I can barely hear you."

"Sanburg . . ." He paused because he couldn't say the words. "Simon, Blair is dead."

"What? Jim what are you talking about?!"

"I had a feeling that something was wrong. I came to the loft and found him. Simon, his throat was slit." Jim choked back a sob. "You'll need to send forensics over here along with a coroner."

Simon noticed that Jim was calm--too calm. Hell, he was in shock and he could only imagine what Jim was feeling. When the realization hit, it would hit Jim hard. He needed to be there. "Jim . . ." No answer. "JIM!"

"Huh? . . . What?" Jim answered.

"Go outside and wait. I will be right there."

"No, Simon, I am gong to look around. I'll be careful not to disturb anything." There was silence. "Can I at least untie Sandburg. He looks uncomfortable in that chair."

Simon's heart ached for his friend. "You know that you can't."

"I'll see you when you get here." Jim ended the call. He walked past Sandburg's body willing himself not to look at it. There had been a slight struggle. Blair's laptop was lying its side on the floor. It was still on. Jim read what was there. It was Blair's dissertation. The dissertation that Blair would never finish. He tore his eyes from the computer screen. The smell of blood hit him again. He looked back in the direction of Blair's body but it wasn't that. It was coming from upstairs.

He went up the steps. The smell of blood becomes stronger with each step. He followed the smell to his room where Naomi lay nude and dead on his bed. She had been stabbed repeatedly and Jim surmised that she had probably been raped. When had she gotten here? Why didn't Sandburg tell him that she was coming? He scanned the room and nothing seemed to be missing. He took one more look and shook his head leaving the room.

Except what was moved during the struggle, nothing seemed to be touched or missing.

He heard the police cars as they approached and he heard their conversations as they ascended the steps. Simon banged on the door. Jim could smell his cigars. "Jim!"

Jim opened the door and stepped aside. In came Simon with a flurry of other people. Detached, Jim watched as pictures were taken and people dusted for prints. He watched as they cut the bonds holding Blair to the chair. He watched as they laid Blair not too gently on the floor. "Hey! Be careful with him!" Anger blazed in those blue eyes. They weren't going to hurt his friend. He started toward them.

Simon intercepted him. "Jim, They are just doing their job."

"They're hurting him!"

"Blair can't feel anything anymore. He is in a place where there is no pain or suffering. No one can hurt him anymore." God, Simon ached for his friend. Hell, he was having trouble with his own emotions. Brown and Rafe looked like they had been sucker-punched. Taggart had tears in his eyes.

Taggart came over. "Come on, Jim. Let's go get some fresh air."

Jim let himself be lead from the loft. Once, standing on the sidewalk, Taggart spoke. "Jim, we all share your pain--not as acutely as you but we all cared for him. It's hard to believe that he is dead. He was so full of energy--of life."

I should have been there to protect him."

"You couldn't have known that he was in trouble." Taggart put his arm around Jim. "I just wanted you to know that we are all here for you."

"He really thought a lot of you." Jim said.

"I thought a lot of him." Taggart said. "He was always there when I needed him."

"No matter the situation or the circumstances."

"Yeah." Taggart said. "I'm going to miss him." He wiped another tear from his eye.

"Me, too." Jim admitted. How was he going to live without Blair, the tenacious anthropologist who had firmly asconded himself into every aspect of Jim's life? It would be Hell. The line of the poem came back. If you break faith with those who die . . .Where had that come from? He would continue on. He had no choice. Blair expected no less.

They watched as a body bag strapped to a stretcher accompanied by the coroner emerged. Jim tensed but showed no other emotion.

Simon followed. "Jim, take the rest of the day off and stay at my place.

You can answer the questions tomorrow when some of the shock has worn off."

"I'd rather keep working." Jim didn't relish the thought of being alone with his emotions right now.

"That's an order, Jim." Simon knew that Jim did not want to deal with Sandburg's death right now but he needed to.

"Yes sir."

*

Jim entered Simon's apartment with the key that Simon had given him. The place was spartan but comfortable. The pictures beckoned him. Some were of Simon and Darryl but most were of Darryl. He knew how close that the father and son were even after the divorce. Sort of like Blair and himself. That thought brought pain. He had to get out of there. He drove around the city for a while not really thinking about anything. Finally Jim decided that he would get a hotel room where there would be nothing to remind him of Blair for awhile. After he got a room, he phoned Simon and prepared for an argument.

*

Much to everyone's surprise, Jim was at work the next day. The bullpen grew silent when he came in. Jim took it in stride by not saying anything and going to his desk. He really didn't want to talk anyway. He just wanted to find Blair's killer and he couldn't do that if he wasn't at work.

Brown approached Jim. "Hey man, Sorry about Hairboy--uh, Blair. I know that I gave him a hard time but we both (motioning to Rafe) liked him."

"Yeah, we did." Rafe said. "If you need anything, just ask."

"What I need is to find the person or persons who did this to Blair."

Despite their good intentions, Jim wished that they would leave him alone.

"If there is anything we can do to help . . ." Brown offered.

"I'll ask." Jim stated while looking through a folder.

Taggart came in and stared at Jim as if he had two heads. "What are you doing here? You should be at . . . you should be off." He had almost said home.

Jim lost it. "And do what?!! Drive myself crazy with the fact that Blair is dead and the knowledge that I should have been there to save him! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE AND LET ME WORK!"

At Jim's outburst, Simon opened his office door. "Jim, could I see you in my office for a minute?"

Jim stood and walked into Simon's office shutting the door behind him. He sat in one of the chairs.

"What was that outburst for?" Simon asked.

"Simon, I just want everyone to leave me alone so I can find the person who killed Blair."

"They mean well. We all liked Sandburg. You should take some time off to get your head on straight. Allow yourself time to grieve."

With all due respect, I will grieve once this bastard is dead or behind bars!"

"You are too close to this case, Jim. Let someone else have it."

Take up our quarrel with the foe "Damn right, I am close to this case. That was my friend--my partner that was murdered! I am going to investigate his murder. Official or unofficial, it doesn't matter to me. "

"And if you don't do it by the book, whoever did it will walk! Is that what you want?!"

"I will do it by the book." Jim said calmly as he walked out of the office.

*

When the report hadn't arrived fast enough to suit Jim, he visited the morgue. Before going in, he hesitated what if Blair was on the table. He told himself to get a grip. He went in.

"Hey Jim." The ME had a stiff on the table but thankfully it wasn't Blair or Naomi. "What brings you here? You had question about the reports? I was so sorry to see Blair here. He was a good person if a tad squeamish."

"I came looking for the reports. I didn't know if you would have it done yet but I wanted to check."

Considering it was Blair, I figured that you would want it rushed. I did the report and it was supposed to be delivered to you." The ME went to the out box. He rummaged through the folders there. "Here they are." He thumbed through the folder. "Pretty straight forward. The woman was bound to the bed. She was sexually assaulted repeatedly before she was stabbed to death. We found some skin cells under her fingernails. No match with anyone." He gave that folder to Jim. "Let's see. Bruises indicate that Blair was beaten before he was killed. He had abrasions on his wrists from the rope. Death was caused by a cut to the throat. He suffocated on his own blood. No skin cells under the fingernails which indicates that he was probably unconscious when the attacker tied him to the chair." He gave that folder to Jim. "Wish it could have been more. I really hope you get this one."

"Oh, I will." Jim assured.

*

He took the folders back to the station and looked at them at his desk. He tried to remain objective--to tell himself that this was not Sandburg. He forced himself to look at the pictures. In fact, he enhanced his sight to see if something was missed. Nothing was there. After the autopsies, the two were buried. It had taken a week.

END