Okay, this one has nothing to do with my "Inevitable" series. This story
just kept rolling around in my head and wouldn't let me work on my next
installment so I had to shove it out of my brain to make room for other
things. Lucky you! It fell right on my computer! (Well, we'll see how
lucky you feel after you've read it!)
I'm done stalling. For better or worse, here's my story...
One of Our Own
by Beth Manz
Carl Henderson entered the loft silently. Blair Sandburg lay on the couch,
sleeping. His head was turned slightly to the left, his glasses still on
his face, an open book resting against his chest as if he had fallen asleep
reading. A smile spread across Henderson's lips. Perfect. He crossed
the room silently and stood over his prey. He'd imagined this moment so
many times in his mind. Imagined ...
Reaching out, Henderson removed the young man's glasses and set them
carefully on the coffee table. The kid shifted and the book that lay
across his chest slid sideways. Henderson grabbed it before it could fall
to the floor. The sound would wake him and he didn't want that. Not yet.
"Thanks, Jim," Sandburg muttered, shifting on to his side, his hands coming
up to curl under his chin. Henderson swallowed the laughter that bubbled
up within him. Not Ellison, kid. Not even close. He turned and
surveyed the room. So this was the mighty James Ellison's home. Wasn't
much.
He crossed to the book shelves and glanced at the titles. Many seemed to
be text books. He looked back at the young man on the couch. So he really
was an anthropologist. He'd always wondered if that was true.
He wandered to the small room off the kitchen, the French doors slightly
open, and looked inside. Books sat beside the bed, on the desk. A tribal
mask leaned up against the far wall, a spear beside it. Was this the kid's
room? His gaze fell to the bed. So small. Not nearly large enough for
what he had in mind. He stepped out of the room and his gaze shifted
upward, to the bedroom at the top of the stairs. He took the steps two at
a time. Much better up here. This would suit his needs.
He strolled down the steps and crouched in front of Sandburg. Reaching
out, he touched the kid's hair where it fell across his face, brushing it
back. Sandburg shifted slightly, a sleepy moan crossing his lips. "Jim?"
His eyes blinked open.
Henderson tilted his head to one side, studying the waking man, watching
his eyes, enjoying the sight of that sleeping gaze as it turned first to
confusion then fear. Sandburg pushed up, his eyes wide. "Who are you?"
His gaze swept the loft.
"Ellison's not here, if that's who you're looking for." He reached toward
Sandburg again but this time, the young man flinched back, dodging his
touch.
"Who are you?" he asked again. "What do you want?"
Slowly, deliberately, Henderson swept his gaze over Sandburg's body. "I
think you can guess," he said softly, his gaze returning to the young man's
worried eyes. "But that doesn't tell you who I am does it. I'm surprised
you don't recognize me." He could see the wheels turning in the kid's
head, knew exactly what was going through his mind. "Now you're going over
all of Ellison's busts. Trying to figure out if I'm some perp here for
revenge." He shifted forward, his hand coming to rest on Sandburg's knee.
"Am I right?"
Sandburg shoved the hand away and shifted further back on the couch. "Jim's
going to be home soon. He--"
"No, he's not. I know his schedule or I wouldn't be here. He won't be
home for hours." He snatched the kid by the hair and yanked him forward
until his lips were right against his ear. "I'm going to do whatever I
please and there's nothing you or anyone else can do to stop me."
Sandburg lashed out with his fist, hitting him hard in the throat.
Henderson gulped for air, releasing his hold. The instant he was free,
Sandburg vaulted over the back of the couch and launched himself toward the
door. Henderson stumbled after him, still trying to drag air down his
damaged throat. Just as the kid reached the door, Henderson grabbed a fist
full of his hair and yanked him back. Sandburg cried out in a combination
of pain and shock. Henderson slammed the kid's head into the wall then
pulling back, repeated the movement. He released the kid and Blair
Sandburg sank to the floor, unconscious.
-------------------------------------------------
"Detective Ellison?"
Jim turned toward the soft voice. A young female officer stood behind him.
Rookie if her age was any indication. He didn't know her. "Can I help
you with something?" He looked at her name tag. "Officer Dorcel?"
She licked her lips nervously. "Is your, ah, partner here today?" Her
gaze shifted behind Jim, sweeping the bullpen.
And in that moment, Jim understood why she was here. Sandburg had probably
made a date with her and now he'd stood her up. Damn. The kid would kick
himself. She was a real looker. Blair had been working so hard with
finals this week that more than likely it had just slipped his mind.
"Listen, Blair's home right now. You could call him--"
"He's home? Alone?" Her heart suddenly began to hammer in her chest.
Jim felt his own heart begin to beat a little faster. "Did he have a date
with you? Is that--"
"No, no, nothing like that." She shifted from one foot to the other, her
gaze once more sweeping the room. "I think you should go home," she said
softly, her eyes imploring him to understand.
Simon came out of his office and stood beside Jim. "Is there a problem
here?"
"I don't know. I'm trying to find out." A queasy feeling began to churn
in the pit of his stomach. "Why should I go home?"
"It's just...my partner...your partner..." She shook her head. "I'm
sorry. I probably shouldn't be here." She turned to leave.
Jim grabbed her arm, drawing her back around to face him. "What's going on?
Why did you ask about Blair?"
"My partner is Carl Henderson," she said, her voice low with shame.
Henderson? The named rolled through Jim's mind. Why is that familiar?
But then he knew. The uniformed cop who'd just been suspended for
sexually molesting a young man in his custody. A young man that Jim had
thought looked too much like Blair for his comfort. And suddenly,
everything this woman said came slamming into him at once. "What the hell
is going on? Why are you here?"
She flinched at Jim's harsh tone. "Henderson has said things...about
Sandburg," she blurted out, her voice rushed, nervous. "I've only been
partnered with him for about six months but just three days after we
started working together, he pointed out your partner and said he was going
to 'get a piece of that someday'. I thought he was kidding at the time but
then he said it again, several times. And today..." She bit her lip, her
eyes unsure.
"What, dammit!"
"I think he may have gone after him," she finally admitted.
Jim picked up the phone and punched in the number to the loft.
"Why didn't you come to us sooner about this?" Simon demanded.
"A lot of the uniforms don't like Detective Ellison's partner," she said,
her voice taking on a defensive tone. "I hear things said all the time.
They don't like him working in Major Crimes when he's not a cop. We bust
out butts to try and get up here and from what everyone says, he just
waltzed in one day and was set."
Jim listened to the phone ring and prayed Blair would answer.
-------------------------------------------------
A ringing brought him back to awareness. Blair moaned. The noise sounded
strange to his ears, muffled somehow. He blinked his eyes open as the
realized that he was in Jim's room, laying on Jim's bed. He shifted,
trying to sit up but his wrists were bound together behind his back,
limiting his movements. He struggled against the bindings, grunting with
the effort, the sound muffled, he now knew, by the tape covering his mouth.
"Good. You're awake."
Blair let out a stifled cry, twisting around toward the voice. The man who
had attacked him downstairs stood at the end of the bed watching his futile
struggles, his mouth pulled up in a satisfied grin. He was Jim's height
but more muscular, his arms massive. But it was his eyes that frightened
Blair. The eagerness he saw in them sent a stab of terror through him.
"I would have used my cuffs," the man explained, his voice calm, "but they
took those when they took my badge and my weapon. But I think the duct
tape I found worked just fine."
The explanation finally brought a name to this man: Henderson. He was the
uniformed cop who had looked at him a little too long on more than one
occasion. The cop who had just been suspended for--
"No!" The word was muffled, unrecognizable. The ringing sounded again and
Blair realized it was the phone. His panicked gaze shot to the extension
beside Jim's bed.
"I think we'll just let the machine take that," Henderson said then laughed
lightly.
A moment later, the answering machine kicked on and Blair's own voice
filled the loft, telling whoever was on the other end of the line to leave
a message and they'd get back to them. Then a beep sounded and, "Sandburg,
if you're there pick up." Jim's voice spilled out, worry clear in his
tone. "Okay listen, I'm on my way home. If anyone comes to the door
before I get there, don't open it. I don't care who it is, don't open the
door. Just wait for me to get there." The line disconnected.
Blair turned his attention back to the man who was now looming over him.
"Gee, you think he knows I'm here?" He laughed again, a cold, hard sound.
"Then we better get started." He pushed Blair down on the bed, onto his
back, one beefy hand pressing against his chest while the other trailed
downward, stopping at the top of his jeans.
A strangled sound escaped Blair's throat. He tried to scoot away from the
man's touch. Tried to escape what this man had planned for him. The hand
on his chest moved to his throat. "Just relax, kid." He tightened his
hold, cutting off his air supply. Blair twisted his head, trying to free
himself but the hand only gripped harder. Blair's body went slack as dark
spots began to dance in front of his eyes. Just before he thought he might
pass out, the man released him. Blair sucked in air through his nostrils,
struggling to remain conscious. He felt the hand once more on his jeans
but he could not find the strength to stop what was happening. "That's
better," Henderson cooed as he pulled his jeans off. "I knew you'd like
this."
Anger burned through Blair as the man's words settled over him. He would
not let this happen. Summoning all his remaining strength, Blair kicked
out. His left heel connected with Henderson's nose. The man screamed,
stumbling backward as blood splashed down the front of his face. Blair
rolled to his side and scrambled off the bed.
"You little, shit!" Henderson roared behind him. "You broke my nose!"
Blair rushed to the steps and started down. Fear raced his heart. Stole
his breath. Halfway down, he glanced over his shoulder, needing to know
where Henderson was, how close, and lost his footing. He tumbled the
rest of the way down and slammed into the floor. He heard a loud pop as he
hit and seconds later, white-hot pain lanced through his left shoulder. He
cried out against the nearly overwhelming agony. The room spun dizzyingly
around him. He squeezed his eyes shut against it.
Get up! He's coming! Get up!
The words screamed through his mind but he couldn't obey them. Couldn't
move. Could do nothing but lay there and pray that Jim would get home
"I was going to be nice to you."
Blair's eyes snapped open. Henderson towered over him, his face contorted
in rage.
"Gonna make you feel real good. But not anymore." Reaching down, he
grabbed the front of Blair's shirt, lifted him off the floor and slammed
him down on the coffee table.
Blair grunted as a whole new set of pain rocketed through him. His vision
blurred. The room spun above him. He blinked, trying to refocus.
Something flashed in the dim light. Something in Henderson's hand.
"I took this off a punk just last week," the man explained, his voice
deathly cold. "Couldn't take it when they took my badge and gun." He made
a slicing gesture in the air and the knife came into slow focus.
Panic twisted through Blair. He threw himself sideways but Henderson's
free hand caught him and slammed him back against the solid table.
Pressing down hard, sending currents of pain through his aching shoulder,
Henderson held him in place. Blair cried out, the sound muffled against
the tape still covering his mouth.
"Time for some fun," Henderson promised darkly.
-------------------------------------------------
Jim rushed through the doors and pounded up the stairs toward the loft.
Simon followed close on his heels.
"You know how deep this blade's going to cut? How cold this steel's going
to feel in your gut?"
Henderson's voice reached Jim's ears. "God, Simon, he's up there.
Henderson's up there right now!"
"Should I start with your face? Cut you so you're not quite so pretty?
Or just get right down to business?"
Jim tensed as he listened to Henderson's threats against his partner. He
could hear Blair's useless struggles. His racing heart. Almost smell his
overwhelming fear.
Jim reached the door to the loft and slammed his shoulder into it, his gun
drawn and ready. But he was not ready for the sight that greeted him.
Blair lay sprawled across the coffee table, his bare legs hanging over the
side. His wide eyes staring up at the blade readied to plunge into his
chest.
Jim raised his gun and fired. The knife flew from Henderson's hand. A
wail escap
ed the man's lips as he pulled his now injured hand against his
chest. Jim re-adjusted his aim to the man's head and pulled the trigger
again. Simon pushed his arm upward at the last second and the bullet
lodged harmlessly in the ceiling of the loft. "Dammit, Simon!"
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, clearly understanding where
Jim's second bullet would have gone.
Jim ignored him and crossed to Blair. Grabbing Henderson by the shirt, he
flung him backward. The man sprawled on the floor, still holding his
ruined hand. Jim leaned over his Guide. "Blair?"
Frightened eyes changed to relief as Blair registered his presence.
"You okay?"
Blair nodded vigorously.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jim could see Simon with Henderson, wrapping
a towel around his bleeding hand while he read the man his rights. Jim
turned his full attention back to his partner. Kneeling down beside him,
Jim grabbed the corner of the tape covering his mouth. "I'm going to take
this off, Chief but it's going to hurt. You ready?"
Blair nodded again. Jim yanked hard, wincing himself as the tape pulled
against his Guide's skin.
"Dammit!" Blair ground out.
"That's the worst of it, Chief. Your hands won't--"
"No, Jim, don't move me!" he blurted out as Jim tried to sit him up. "I