Blair Sandburg, telegram clutched securely in hand, smiled to himself as he crossed the Ritz’s opulent lobby scarcely aware of the marble floors, oak paneled walls, or the carpets imported from the Far East. Things were beginning to look up and he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. The scrap of paper he held was the equivalent of a Presidential pardon, it opened the future wide for him. Accused of plagiarism, betrayed by a colleague whom he had trusted, vindication had come from an unexpected quarter. Samuel Kensington had taken the younger professor’s work as his own, deceiving Oxford’s Board of Regents into granting him the prestigious position instead of Sandburg, but Kensington’s wife had come forward with the truth.

"Mr. Sandburg?" A woman stepped out in front of him, her curly red hair and wide green eyes luminous in the low lighting. "Mr. Sandburg, I’m Cassie Wells with the Times. I understand you and Mr. James Ellison are staying here at the hotel."

"We have nothing to say to the papers," Blair replied stiffly and pushed passed her. Since their docking in New York several days earlier he and every soul who had survived the sinking of the "unsinkable" Titanic had been hounded by the press for an interview. He had never witnessed such interest in any tragic event; the world seemed mesmerized by the scope and magnitude of the great steamship’s sinking. Every aspect had been investigated, long reports printed in every paper across the US and Europe detailing the heroic as well as the cowardice which had taken place as the ship plunged to her death. "Mr. Ellison is still recovering and I have no wish to relive the nightmare. Please, just leave us alone," Blair begged.

"But Mr. Sandburg," Cassie went on as if he hadn’t said a word, "our readers want to know what it was like to witness the death of Titanic."

Blair paused, turning back to face the young woman, his eyes as cold as the sea which had almost claimed his life, "here’s a quote - It was hell - pure, unimaginable hell. Now, leave me alone." His good mood gone, Blair took the elevator back to the room he and Jim were sharing. He entered silently, hoping his lover had slept most of the afternoon as Ellison was still suffering from the effects of exposure and the fever which had come up on him suddenly, sapping the hard earned strength he’d begun to regain. Sandburg found himself thinking his quote to the reporter han’t been entirely true, the sinking of the great ocean liner had been hell but there had been heaven as well. Jim Ellison had been traveling on the ship, returning from Europe and visits to several renowned doctors for a mysterious affliction which affected the man’s senses while Blair had been returning from his less than stellar stint at Oxford. Their meeting and the instant attraction between the two had seemed like some preordained event that even the sinking of the Titanic couldn’t prevent.

"Blair?" Ellison’s voice, still raspy from screaming out Blair’s name over and over after the Titanic went down, caught Sandburg by surprise.

"Jim," he rushed to the bed and found Ellison pulling himself into a sitting position, "you should be resting."

"I’ve done that for days," Ellison groused. "If I don’t get out of this bed right now, I may never."

"What’s wrong with that?" Blair asked as he swooped in for a lingering kiss. When he let himself think of what might have been, a shudder passed along Blair’s soul and made him clutch Jim just a bit tighter. "What would I ever do without you?" he whispered.

"If I have anything to say about it," Jim pulled him up, the vow obvious in his light blue eyes, "you will never find out."

Cassie Wells watched her exclusive walk away. Her editor would not be pleased that she hadn’t gotten an interview with either Sandburg or Ellison. James Ellison was a wealthy man and stories about the wealthy never failed to sell. Interviews with passengers who had witnessed millionaire J.J. Astor’s gentlemanly end were front page news, earning the reporter instant fame and respect. Getting an interview with Ellison would have pushed her a little closer to her own byline instead of the women’s fashions pages she’d been getting. Cassie sighed, her frown causing several nearby people to glance back at her. She’s gone to college to be an investigative reporter not to write about Paris fashions and how they were being bought by wealthy American women with little regard for what looked good on them.

"You there." Cassie glanced up as the gruff voice echoed around the lobby. A tall well dressed man stood glaring at the hotel clerk. "I’m William Ellison. I was informed that my son, James, is staying here."

"Oh yes, Sir," the man replied, "room 725." Ellison nodded sharply towards several men with him and set off towards the bank of elevators at the rear.

"It’s now or never," Cassie mumbled to herself and went after him. "Mr. Ellison! Mr. Ellison, could I have a moment, please?" She saw the older man pause, his eyes an icy blast which chilled her to the bone.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Cassie Wells. I’m with The New York Times," she flashed her hard earned credentials, expertly hiding any reference to fashion. "I just spoke with Mr. Sandburg......"

"And who is Mr. Sandburg?" Ellison snapped. Cassie couldn’t help but notice the hawk like gaze which traveled up her hourglass figure before meeting her eyes. She allowed herself a smile, striving to project a sultry sophistication the society ladies seemed born with.

"Why he’s the man who has been tending to your son," she explained. Cassie found her interest piqued by the sudden look of disgust which settled over Ellison’s features. Maybe she hadn’t lost her chance to prove her investigatory prowess after all. "From what I have discovered, Mr. Sandburg is a anthropology professor recently denied a position at Oxford University because of plagiarism. He arranged for your son to be brought here when the Carpathia docked Wednesday. You weren’t aware of Mr. Sandburg’s.....," she paused for effect, "...relationship with your son?" Cassie projected as much innocence as she could into the question and was rewarded with Ellison’s nervous fidgeting.

"Miss Wells," Ellison stabbed a finger at her, "you might be a real looker but I have no intention of granting you exclusive rights to my family’s dirty laundry." He stepped into the elevator, giving her one last look he added, "but if you’ll have dinner with me tonight I might make it worth your while." The doors closed leaving Cassie Wells staring at the ornate facade and wondering just what she had gotten herself into this time.

* * *

"Beautiful," Jim murmured, kissing along his lover’s jawline. He couldn’t believe that Blair was his, that this man he’d known for only a week had become the center of his life, his world, and that soon they would head west and begin a new life together. "I want this to last forever," he whispered, "forever."

"I plan on it," Blair whispered in return. He let his hands map the strong features, loving the way Jim’s eyes closed, his head falling back to expose the muscled column of his throat. Sandburg’s lips settled, soaking up the warmth, feeling the pulse of his beloved’s heart and thanking every god he’d ever heard of that he was able to do just that. Jim had decided to abandon his life in St. Louis and journey west to Cascade, Washington. In the few days they’d shared on board the steamer, Jim had confessed his desire to strike out on his own, to leave the shadow of his wealthy father and William Ellison’s mercenary business practices. He’d met a man, Simon Banks, the son of a former slave, and together the two men had planned to reap the benefits of Washington’s endless forests. They didn’t know yet if Banks had escaped the Titanic’s end but if he had, it wouldn’t be long before their new life was on course.

"Chief," Jim whispered as Blair’s mouth explored his the hollow of his throat, nibbling the smooth muscles in an almost unbearable caress. "Blair, when are we leaving for Cascade?" He shuddered helplessly as the moist breath of his lover played over his skin. "Sandburg!" Jim couldn’t prevent the strangled shout as Blair nipped a path around one nipple then began to suckle with strong, slow motions.

"Are....you....in...a hurry?" Blair panted. He lifted his head, gazing at the sweat streaked man beneath him. Ellison bore the stamp of good loving; his chest and neck were marked with red, lip-sized welts, his short hair stood on end, his skin glistened in the lamp light and his eyes were smoky with desire. He looked not so much like a man in a hurry but a man who never wanted to move from the spot where he now lay.

"Everything here," Ellison closed his eyes and Blair drew him closer, "reminds me of what’s happened...of all those people." A shudder raced through Jim, "I can still hear their screams. When I close my eyes I see the faces of people who have just realized their loved ones are going to die. I see the faces of the dead floating in the water and all I want to do - is live." He looked at Blair then, eyes shining with determination, "I want to live, Blair. I don’t know how much time I have....how much time any of us have. I want every minute to count."

Blair nodded, knowing exactly what Jim was feeling. When he’d first surfaced in the icy black waters of the North Atlantic, he’d screamed Jim’s name. The thought that Ellison had been lost to him had beat him down, pulling him back towards the bottom of the murky ocean. Hands had plucked him from the frigid water but not halted his desperate desire for death and it hadn’t been until Jim was found, his half frozen body dumped into Blair’s arms, that an unwavering determination to live had entered his soul. Their time together had been like some flamboyant novel filled with unquenchable desire and a love too deep to be broken by death. Blair was too smart to think he and Jim would have had what they did if it hadn’t been for sheer coincidence of traveling on the same ill-fated ocean liner. But somehow they had found each other and never again would he take life or love for granted - together they would build a place and the world be damned.

"Every minute will count," Blair vowed. He sealed his pledge with a kiss, gently coaxing the mouth beneath his open so that he could plunder the sweetness within. He could feel his passion growing, the aching need in his groin and began to rub himself against Ellison’s body with vigor. Jim tightened his grip, pulling him nearer but his body hadn’t responded to the desire rippling along Sandburg like wildfire. "Jim?" Blair questioned.

"Sssh," Jim stroked one hand down his lover’s face, "go ahead. It’s okay." He raised his head for another kiss before sliding his hands down to rest against the swell of Sandburg’s ass, pressing their lower bodies together. He spread his thighs, cradling the younger man between them as he gently rocked their tight pressed bodies. "Love you, baby. Love you with all my soul."

Jim let his mind fly, remembering the emptiness which had long been a part of him before this creature in his arms had entered his life. Even before his senses had gone wild, he’d felt different from others - incomplete somehow. Carolyn and the sham of their marriage hadn’t driven away the desolation, neither had the brief liaisons he’d shared with like minded men. It had stayed lodged in his heart, spawning a growing frustration until the entrance of Blair Sandburg into his life had cut it away like a surgeon removing a growth. Nothing had ever affected him so profoundly as the man he now embraced and there was nothing which could ever make him let go.

"James!" The voice which thundered his name and the pounding upon the hotel door brought Sandburg out of his arms with a startled shout.

"What the hell.......?"

"It’s my father," Jim groaned. He covered his face with both hands, summoning the strength to confront the man and his demands. "Blair, he’s going to want me to return to St. Louis with him." He dropped his hands, pain showing clearly in his eyes, "I don’t know how he’ll try it, but my father will endeavor to undermine this," he lifted a hand to trace a finger over Blair’s swollen lips and smiled sadly. "Don’t let him," Jim begged, "fight with me for this.".

"I won’t let anyone stop us," Sandburg vowed. He rose, squared his shoulders and with a last glance at Ellison went to open the door. "Mr. Ellison," he greeted. William Ellison shoved passed him with barely a glance, his gaze intent upon the figure lying prone on the wide bed. "Come on in," Blair muttered and was surprised when several men did just that. "Now wait a minute! What’s going on here?" No one answered his question, Ellison, Sr. stood beside the bed, staring down at a weary Jim while the others arranged themselves near the foot of the bed.

"James, I see you’ve not yet recovered from your ordeal," William concluded. Blair couldn’t miss the withering glance aimed at him as he moved to Jim’s side and claimed a chair beside the bed. "This must be your new....companion," he said the word as if it were a curse, "you’ll be amply rewarded for your help in my son’s rescue."

"I don’t want your money," Blair informed him.

"You’d be the first," Ellison laughed. He signaled one of the men forward and proceeded to write out a bank draft. "Here." He held the paper before Sandburg’s face, waiting. Blair almost laughed at the expectant expression. He couldn’t resist casting a glance over at Jim, wanting to share the incredulity of the gesture, but when he met Jim’s eyes he saw fear - stark, cold fear. It hit him hard, piercing the core of his heart and making him love Jim even more. If he’d ever had any doubt about the depth of Jim’s love for him the undisguised terror in his blue eyes dispelled it.

"I’m sorry, Mr. Ellison," Blair allowed a bit of his distaste for the man to color his tone, "but I really can’t take your money. Saving James’ life was an honor, not a job."

"You won’t get more," William warned. "I know about Jim’s...unnatural habits and any attempt on your part to expose them will result in a nasty fate." His eyes seemed to burn with a cold fire, stoked by a cruel heart. "I’ve worked too hard to make the Ellison name stand for something to have his....peculiarities paraded before society!"

"If you ever touch him," came Jim’s steely voice, "I will kill you." The sheer strength in the words, the vow everyone in the room heard, sent a shiver down Blair’s spine. When he looked over at his lover, the gentle, loving man he knew had been replaced by an icy stranger. The lips which sought to stoke pleasure in Blair’s heart were twisted into a sneer, the eyes which shown with love were veiled with hate and the strong hands which so often caressed Blair’s flesh in tenderness were claws shredding the fine linen. Scared by the sight, Sandburg sucked in a breath and watched his lover.

"That’s very touching, James," William said, "but not very likely." He signaled the men ranged around the bed. Two burly types lunged for Jim, pinning him to the bed as a third stepped forward brandishing a black medical bag. Blair, an inarticulate protest ripped from his throat, made to come to his lover’s aid but William Ellison shoved him back. Blair’s small stature proved no match for the older man’s work hardened frame, he couldn’t do anything other than hurl abuse.

"You lousy thug, leave him alone! I’ll kill you if you hurt him!" Blair swore. Over William’s shoulder he watched helplessly as the doctor advanced on Jim, a hypodermic held in his hand. "No!" Blair’s shout echoed Jim’s but did no good. Whatever he’d been given began to work almost immediately. Jim’s eyes rolled back, head lulling as he collapsed back onto the bed and lay still.

"Take him," William ordered and Jim was lifted between the two thugs and dragged from the room.

"You bastard," Blair snarled. He was ready for the backhanded slap and only sneered at the older man. "You won’t get away with this," he promised.

"I already have." William’s icy eyes glittered, "you’ll find, Sandburg, that no one touches my property. I won’t have Jim’s...illness bringing disgrace to my family so I’ll make sure no one knows about him...or you."

"Just let him go," Blair asked, "we’ll go west. You won’t hear from us again, I swear."

"Oh, I know that," Ellison assured him. "No one will hear from you for some time, Mr. Sandburg," William snarled. This time the hand which connected with his face was curled into a fist. Ellison’s triumphant sneer burned itself across Blair’s mind and the realization that William really wanted to kill him spurred Sandburg to action. His grasping hand raked desperately over the nearby table, scrabbling for anything he could use. Newspapers, books, the notebook he’d purchased that morning, all fell beneath his frantic scratching. For what seemed an eternity Blair fought to save himself and at the last possible moment, when consciousness threatened to slip away his fingers closed on the cylindrical shape of his ink pen. Blair snatched it up, ramming it into Ellison’s hand where it had latched onto his throat. William roared in pain, his grip loosening, thick warm blood flowing freely from a gash in his skin. Blair, struggling against the blackness which threatened to close over him, raised his eyes to the older man’s. He just barely had time to wonder where they had taken Jim before a fist slammed into his head the darkness closed in on him and he was gone.

When he awoke the room was empty. He glanced over at the bed, the disarrayed state telling him this hadn’t been some horrible nightmare after all. Jim was gone, taken who-knew-where by his brutal father and Blair had no idea how to find his lover. He slowly climbed to his feet, swaying as the room spun wildly before righting itself. Sandburg staggered to the washstand, splashing his face with cold water until he thought he could walk without staggering. He had a bruise on his cheek and his upper lip was beginning to swell, but his long hair hid the worst of the damage. William Ellison was a powerful man, and not just with his fists, he owned two thirds of St. Louis and had contacts all over the world. He could, even now, be conspiring to spirit Jim away to some desolate location where it would take months to find him.

"Jim," Blair whispered to the empty room, "hang on, my love. I’ll find you, I swear." He gathered his coat and left the room, the forgotten telegram crumpled underfoot. Sandburg made it as far as the elevator before William Ellison’s justice hit him.

"Hold it," a rough voice called from the parting doors. Three uniformed police officers surrounded him. Blair’s arms were pinned behind him, brutal hands searched through his pockets.

"W-what is this?" Blair asked. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because we don’t want your kind running loose in New York," the cop in charge informed him.

"My kind? What have I done?"

Pulled from his own pockets and held before his eyes, Blair could only stare at the watch, ring, and money clip stuffed with bills. The fancy initials, cut deep into the gold of the clip, accused him with a malicious gleam - WJE. "We put thieves in jail for a long time," the cop assured him. Blair could only stare in mute shock at the objects which sealed his fate.

* * *

William Ellison let his smug grin blossom into a full blown leer. His steely eyes raked the female form swaying ever nearer. His gaze lingered on the cinched waist, the way her frock emphasized the swell of her breasts then tapered to offer a tantalizing glimpse of ankle just below her skirt line. He relished the throb which launched itself throughout his body, the warmth which washed over him. He’d tried to share this with James, this wondrous urge which made men men. He’d driven the boy, wiping away the dreamer his wife Grace had given birth to, steadily replacing the softness with hard muscle and steel will. Jim often lapsed in his quest, William had been forced, on many occasions, to discipline his wayward son. In time the boy had learned not to show his emotions, not to give into his flights of fancy - he’d broken Jim’s habit of pretending he could see birds in flight on the other side of the river after a particularly brutal "lesson".

At 16 he’d taken his son to Madame Bishop’s and instructed the woman to introduce Jim to the pleasures she could provide. Only later, when he, himself, had been with one of the harlots had William discovered his son’s duplicity. Jim had dutifully spent the night at the brothel and entertained the chosen whore for the entire evening but that had been as far as it went, he had not performed any sexual act with the girl only a few years older than himself. Instead, William learned that his son and the girl had spent their time talking. For hours they had discussed the changing world and its problems and merely held each other in companionship, their kisses chaste and innocent. William had been furious. This was another thing he’d beat out of his son, even if it killed Jim. Death would be better for the boy than to disgrace his family with his unnatural urges.

Determined that his son would do his will, the older Ellison had then had the same whore brought to Chouteau House. He’s stood near the bed as Jim was brought into the room, and he’d warned his son what would happen if he didn’t take the girl this time. At first William had seen defiance in his eldest son’s eyes even when the leather belt had been applied to his broad back, but as soon as William turned his fury on the helpless girl Jim had broken, saying he would do as told if his father would just stop hitting the girl. The elder Ellison’s excitement at watching to make sure the deed was done turned to a white-hot passion. Sometimes, late at night, William would trot out the memory of that night - the sight of his son and the girl, the smell of her arousal, the pleas James had uttered, his cries of pain as the strap struck his back again and again until he took her. William had barely waited long enough for Jim to roll free before dropping on the girl himself. She had cried, her small fists beating his back as he roughly took her, but he hadn’t even paused. William had let the animal in him escape that night and the memory of the beast stayed with him set free on occasions like this, when he was far enough away from St. Louis to keep the Ellison name from being splattered with mud even his great wealth couldn’t wash off.

Cassie Wells smiled at him from beneath the brim of her wide hat and William secretly chuckled to himself - she had no idea what lay in store for her. She wanted a story and for a price he would provide one.

* * *

How long he lay under the sedative’s spell, Jim couldn’t begin to imagine. Time passed in a haze, the world moving slowly, voice muffled and distant, sensations only half felt. After the heightened state of his senses, this limbo world of cotton filled feelings ate at the very core of him making him wonder if he truly lived or had died some time without realizing it. There were times he thought people were speaking to him - ghosts? he couldn’t tell, others he was sure he was being lifted and moved about at these unseen individual’s will. At the back of it, the solitary thought that he had been parted from Blair, sent a silent scream echoing through what remained of his soul. At length the jostling stopped, replaced by the rhythmic rocking even his sluggish mind recognized as that of a train.

Hands tended him; feeding, bathing, soothing him. Jim could protest nothing done to him, demand no restoration of his dignity as absorbent pads of cloth were secured between his legs to catch the waste his body expelled neither could he rid himself of the nourishment compelled into his body by a tube. His mind drifted at will, the train’s rocking transforming to the gently cadence of his lover’s body against him to give him a slight measure of peace. Sometimes, the fog would roil in his brain and the faceless voice became Blair calling to him. His senses flared; sounds would pierce his ears, the brush of fingers send him into spasms of pain, the smell of his own waste make him retch for an hour. Jim would begin to thrash wildly, unable to understand what was happening, crying out for the soothing voice which could guide him and then the disembodied voices would grow excited, hands would hold him down until icy sheets could be wound around his body and bitter liquids forced down his throat. The strange limbo would descend then, not the frightening nothingness where only Blair could reach him, but a leaden state where nightmares tormented him with they knowledge they weren’t real and yet he was trapped with them.

At length his struggles grew less and less, exhaustion sapping his reserves, sedatives numbing his mind until only a spark remained burning deep inside. Jim could only lie helplessly as these strangers attended the shell he had become. His heart, the secret part they could not reach with their medicines, retreated, searching for the comfort of the guide who had rescued him once before. And there in the stillness of his mind, Jim found Blair waiting. With a joyful sigh, Ellison slipped deeper and lay back in Blair’s arms, clothed in the peaceful stillness.

And then it lifted. Jim opened his eyes to the familiar sight of his old room and it left him lightheaded with fear. He glanced upwards, finding the crack which raced from corner to corner in the room. Once it had been the Nile, sailed by a lonely boy’s imagination, now it was a prison bar condemning him to his father’s will. Chouteau House, the mansion his father owned in St. Louis, had been purchased when Henry Chouteau lost his fortune and it lay hundreds of miles from Blair. Jim let a moan escape his lips, eyes closing in despair at the thought of his lover so far away. He had no doubt Blair would fight to return to his side, but the certainty of his father’s ruthless nature made the threat to Sandburg’s welfare very grave.

"Mr. Ellison?" Jim rolled his head to the side, momentarily overcome by dizziness as he did, only to find a smartly dressed nurse standing beside his bed. She smiled down on him, but her eyes were hard and the smile did nothing to melt her coldness. She pulled thin hands from the deep pockets of her apron and settled the creases of her black dress back into perfection. Pillows had been placed beneath Ellison’s shoulders and back, even under his elbows and hands, so that Jim lay propped at an angle.

"W-where’s Blair?" he rasped. Ellison swallowed the cough which threatened to erupt and closed his eyes. The woman gave no indication he’d asked a question.

"Doctor Cameron was worried when you didn’t regain consciousness yesterday," she rearranged the pillows then folded the blankets back. "He’ll be in to see you later this evening. Until then," she again smiled her cold smile, "I’ll make you comfortable." Jim fought the listlessness which pressed him down, barely able to lift his head from the pillows. He tried to follow her quick movements, surprised to find her stripping away a sodden garment which had been placed over his groin and pinned on the sides like an infant’s. The nurse washed his skin with great attention - her lingering hands at odds with the remote eyes, before replacing the garment with a fresh one. She pulled the nightshirt down over Jim’s hips and thighs and the blanket up to his waist. "Now, let’s get some liquid into you." Jim endured the thick, bitter mixture she held to his lips, swallowing only because his throat ached from need. He could feel the darkness creeping back, pulling his leaden mind down until nothing remained but the blackness.

* * *

"Now, Mr.......uh, Banks," the cop managed to convey his distaste in only a few words. Simon Banks, smiled to himself, eager to knock this flatfoot down a peg or two.

"Listen, officer," he growled, pointing a smoldering cigar at the hapless man, "Chief of Police Kingston is an old friend of mine. Now, you will please inform him I am here and wish to speak with him." Simon gave the man one last contemptuous glare before seating himself comfortably. He saw the sweaty red features blanche and had to hide his smile. His father, Horace, had been a slave during the last days of the South’s struggle and when freedom had finally come he had taught his son never to let another person have power over him. Simon had lived his life assured of his own rights to happiness. He’d struck out on his own, heading to the rough towns of the Pacific Northwest and buying land with the money he earned working in a bar. It had taken him ten years to acquire enough land to make his logging company a viable business but once he’d started hauling logs down to the burgeoning towns his wealth had grown.

He demanded respect from his employees and gave it in return and the thought that someone might look down upon him because of skin color was the most revolting idea he’d come across. His trip to Europe had brought him in contact with a variety of people, many ideas had been exchanged and business opportunities advanced. One of the most promising had been with James Ellison, the owner of a saw mill in St. Louis. Ellison had jumped at the chance to merge his operation with Banks’ and the two had sealed the deal with a handshake. Unfortunately at the time they had been traveling back from Europe on the ill-fated ship, Titanic. Simon had lost track of his new partner during the horror of the sinking but had learned Jim had survived. He’d tracked Ellison to the Ritz hotel but the man had disappeared and now, a new development had arisen. Chief Kingston, an old friend from back home would be the fastest way to find out just what the hell was going on with Ellison.

"Simon!" A burly man in a tweed suit, ambled out to embrace Banks. "It’s been years! What brings you to New York? Business?"

"This, Walt," Simon explained holding out a copy of the New York Times from two days earlier. Bold headlines announced that a thief had been preying on the Titanic tragedy, stealing from the survivors as they tried to put their lives back together. Simon had been appalled by the thought until he’d read the article and discovered that the thief was one Blair Sandburg and he’d been arrested red-handed in James Ellison’s room with personal possessions belonging to his father, William Ellison. Simon had never met Sandburg but he knew who the young man was, Jim Ellison had practically glowed when he’d spoken about the brilliant professor who’d partnered up with him. Simon had suspected Ellison’s fondness for the kid had more to do with his personal feelings than for the man’s knowledge of the logging business. "This—Cassie Wells is reporting Blair Sandburg as being a thief. It says he’s suspected in several other burglaries. It’s not true, Walt. This kid is Jim Ellison’s closest friend." Kingston’ shocked expression made him hurry on. "I was on that ship, Walt. I know the man and I know he couldn’t have done this."

"I’m sorry, Simon but we got a complaint from a very influential man - William Ellison. You know him, too?" Kingston asked.

"No, not personally," Simon didn’t mention the rampant rumors which swept the logging business about William Ellison and his cut-throat practices.

"Well," the Chief hedged, "we arrested Sandburg last week for stealing from William Ellison." He motioned to the duty officer and directed him to bring a file. "Ellison had a burr up his butt, wanted the book thrown at this kid. You know, if I had to put money on it, I’d say Ellison set the guy up."

"Why’s that?" Simon asked.

"Call it a cop’s intuition," Kingston said with a shrug. He took the file from his officer and flipped through it. "This Sandburg....he’d been beaten up pretty good and the ring, watch and money were just stuffed in his pockets. We got a call telling us that this kid was stealing from the rooms. Sandburg didn’t try to run when my men got there..."

"Can I talk to him?" Ellison’s fondness for Sandburg had reminded Simon of his own for his younger brother and it had kindled a common bond between them. In his heart, Simon knew that anything this kid had been found with had either been given to him by Jim or someone had set it up to make Sandburg look bad.

Kingston arranged for Banks to speak with Blair and Simon followed a uniformed officer down a dank hallway to the cells beneath the building. It was dim and smelled and men yelled lewd suggestions as he was lead to the far cell. Inside, seated cross legged on the hard bunk, a young man stared at the floor. His long hair fell over his shoulders and when the guard banged on the bars, his head shot up. Fear danced in his blue eyes but Simon also saw a glint of determination and anger.

"Company, sonny," the guard told him then stepped back to let Simon closer.

"Mr. Sandburg?" Simon asked "I’m Simon Banks...."

"Banks?" Frowning, Sandburg tried to place where he’d heard the name before. Suddenly he snapped his fingers, "Banks!" Blair grinned, one hand brushing at his hair as he rose to his feet and quickly moved to the bars. "Yeah, Jim told me you were going to be partners. When we get to Cascade I’ve got some plans for this saw mill he’s going...." The enthusiastic voice trailed off as reality overwhelmed him.

"Look...Blair," Simon said. "I’m going to help you."

"No one can," came Blair’s dejected reply. For several moments he stared at the metal bars he gripped, seeming to see no way to cross them. "Do you know where they’ve taken Jim?" A flash of pain creased the animated features, "his father grabbed him from the hotel. I tried to stop them but....they gave him something to knock him out then William roughed me up a bit." Simon didn’t dispute that claim though the bruises on Sandburg’s throat and the cuts on his forehead and cheek look like more than a little roughing up.

"We’ll find out, Sandburg," Simon promised. "Leave it to me." It took most of the day to spring Blair from the jail. Ellison’s leaving had delayed due process, trapping Blair in a limbo where he couldn’t be released but no charges could be filed. Simon cut through the red tape and by the end of the day the young professor found himself curled up on the couch in Simon’s hotel room. Banks fell asleep with the certainty that he had just changed the course of his life.

* * *

Megan Connor blew out a weary sigh and shifted her bundle from one arm to the other. It had been a long trip just from the train station to the house and when you added on the journey from Sydney, Australia to America it was just about unbearable. But she was here, she had made it on her own and was about to begin a new life. She looked at the crumpled package in her arms; everything she owned was right there. Oh well, she had a job and a chance to make something of herself which was more than she’d been offered in Sydney. Megan raised a fist and knocked on the door. It was opened by a small red-headed woman.

"I’m Megan Connor - the new maid," she explained. The woman smiled kindly and ushered her inside the kitchen. Megan sighed and followed. Her uncle had arranged for this position with the Ellison family and for that she was grateful. Before their letter had arrived Megan’d had no idea where St. Louis, Missouri was much less how she’d get there. Now, she was being shown to a tiny room under the eaves and given a decent meal before being allowed to sleep without the constant rocking motion of the ship or the train. It was pure heaven. Megan crawled under the covers and closed her eyes, saying a prayer that she’d find the life she’d always hoped for here in Chouteau House.

Sleep harbored strang dreams filled with disturbing images of seeing herself running through the night, chased by an animal who’s golden eyes she couldn’t escape. When morning came, the thin sunlight scratching runny lines over the floorboards, Megan was glad to arise. She threw on her clothes and hurried to the kitchen to learn her duties in the mansion from Mrs. Ashley the Ellison’s long time housekeeper. Cleaning and straightening were things she’d learned while running her father’s house, but to do it to another’s standards without showing her annoyance was another. It wasn’t until her fourth day that Megan decided her coming to Chouteau House had been destiny. She’d finished her duties downstairs and just started upstairs when a sound drew her towards the last room one the long side corridor. She could feel herself trembling inside but squared her shoulders and stepped forward.

Mary, a nice Catholic girl from County Kerry, had informed her in a whispered exchange over dinner about James Ellison. "Oh, it’s terrible Meg," she’d confided, "Master James is ever so popular with the staff and when they brought him back...," her words trailed off and her face held pity. "We weren’t to speak of his illness but that’s why he and his wife went to Europe, doctors and all that." Megan sat spellbound as Mary told of the rumors which had swept the Ellison household, how James’s illness hadn’t been curable and his return on the ill-fated Titanic had resulted in his current condition. "We’re not to go near his room, but I saw him when they brought him home," color leached from the animated face, leaving Mary pale, "he didn’t move a muscle when they carried him in. I was so frightened, he looked dead." She crossed herself, "and his wife....well, she wasn’t as kind as Master James." Megan had replayed everything she’d been told as she stepped closer to the dreaded door.

"Master James isn’t to be disturbed," Mrs. Ashley instructed, "but you will clean his room twice a week." Megan had paused in the corridor, intimidated by the thought of being around someone so ill. In her mind, she conjured hideous images of a twisted figure tied to the bedposts, writhing in agony. She squared her shoulders and timidly stepped towards the door. She reached out, hand trembling, and turned the knob. It exploded inward and every childhood nightmare rushed back with a vengeance. She uttered a little cry, dust cloth fluttering to the ground like a flag of surrender.

"Here, child," a shrill voice admonished, "keep your voice down!" Nurse Wellington stood before Megan, blue eyes icy chips staring out of her pale face and pinning Megan to the spot. "It’s about time you got up here," she said. "I’ll be back in one hour," and with that she turned on her heel and left. Megan waited until the soft thump of her shoes had died away before entering the room.

The room was dark, drapes pulled against the midwestern sun. Megan could smell the faint odor of sickness, the musty scent of someone confined to bed for a lengthy period. She edged further into the room, gaze intent only on the furnishing she’d been ordered to dust, the floor she was to sweep. After a while, her skin coated with a light sweat from her work, she eased closer to the bed to dust the table there. A glass, milky residue curdling in the bottom, sat among a collection of brown medicine bottles. Megan gingerly shifted the items, marveling at the sheer amount of drugs being given to Master James. It wasn’t until a soft sound emanated from the bed that she hazarded a look at it’s occupant.

From somewhere amid the mound of blankets she again heard what sounded like a groan. Eyes adjusted to the dim light she could make out the shape of a broad back, nightshirt stretched tight over the wide shoulders. In the middle of the mattress, trapped in the clutches of a nightmare, the man rolled restlessly. Megan hesitantly reached out, one hand coming to rest on his arm. As if drawn by human touch, Master James rolled over onto his back.

She half expected some monstrous figure, wasted by this mysterious disease he’d contracted, but the man she regarded was far from unsightly. James Ellison had the strong carved features she’d once seen on statues in the Melbourne museum and even strained with sickness he kindled desire. His short hair looked brown and soft in the low light and the muscles of his chest, glimpsed through the gaping front of the nightshirt, glistened invitingly.

"B-Blair?"

The name sounded well worn, as if he’d said it over and over without an answer for so long that he could only draw comfort from hearing the echo. Megan found herself strangely moved by the longing she could hear. Once she had witnessed a man so distraught by the loss of his wife that he had ended his life right before her eyes. The sight of his bloated body, retrieved days later from the water, had been the fodder for many nightmares as a child, but it had been his voice which had haunted her most vividly. He had smiled at her childish self and told her to love with all her heart because sometimes you only got one chance. She hadn’t really understood his words but she’d promised just the same. The man had smiled again and patted her dark head and then stepped off into the harbor’s deep waters and disappeared. His voice had held the same desperate quality this man’s did, the same longing barely contained by human abilities to express it. Megan let her hand stray to his brow and was rewarded with a sigh. "Blair," Ellison breathed out again. "I knew you’d find me." Pale eyes, down turned at the edges and giving him a look of profound sadness, opened, blinking in confusion. "Where’s Blair?" Master James asked quietly.

"There’s no Blair here, Mr. Ellison," Megan explained gently, "I’m the maid. I’m Megan." She watched the eyes fall shut again, the hand which had wrapped around hers drop back to the bed, defeated. "Where do I look for Blair?" Megan had no idea why the words had sprung from her lips, maybe the complete hopelessness she had glimpsed in his eyes, or maybe to atone for some long ago mistake. She took a deep breath not really sure what she was getting into, more than likely it would be the end of her job, but something drew her to this man, something she couldn’t ignore. "Tell me where to find Blair?" she asked softly and watched hope flare in his opening eyes only to die again.

Jim could only shake his head, "I don’t know." His eyes slid closed once again, leaving Megan to wonder where she could start.

* * *

Blair Sandburg stared out at the passing countryside, telling himself that each acre which passed brought him closer to Jim. He’d never felt so alone in all his life, even when he’d had no one. It had been the brief, intense pairing with the older man which had made him know at last what it was like to belong with someone. Before Jim had come along, he’d read books, popular novels, where the hero and heroine were soul mates, their love too strong to be denied. Blair had laughed, the very notion that you could feel so deeply for another person that you would willing throw away your friends, your career, your very life, had to be only the imaginings of demented writers. And then he had met James J. Ellison.

They had been traveling on the ship, Titanic, both facing a future so bleak and hopeless death held a greater appeal. Alone and betrayed, Blair’d had no idea what lay in store for him, certainly not to meet a man who’s senses were so heightened he could no longer stand the sensations which ripped through him. Never in Blair’s life had he imagined meeting the physical embodiment of a rare breed of man. Jim, with his heightened senses and his despairing heart had been his soul mate, the reason for his existence. Neither had expected what blossomed between them but when it had they’d both known the rightness of it, they had been destined for each other. Instinctively drawn together, Blair had discovered that his lover’s illness was in large part repressed abilities described by an explorer named Richard Burton. James Ellison was a Sentinel, a man who’s senses were so highly developed that he could see insects in the grass a hundred yards away, could hear people talking from the next house. Burton’s theories had made their way to Sandburg via a monograph given to him by a friend. Blair suspected part of his and Ellison’s mutual attraction had been his own abilities to help Jim focus, to pull him out of these temporary lapses he suffered from but not all of it, he loved Jim, had from the very first moment they met. Together they had worked on Jim’s abilities, helping him to manage them without being overwhelmed by them. And each moment that they spent together they had become more and more certain that they must never part. Jim claimed that their hearts beat in the same rhythm, as if they were really one soul but they had been trapped in two bodies and Blair believed it - he knew Jim was what had always been missing from his life and he would do anything to restore the warmth and completeness that being with Ellison brought.

He watched a farm shutter by and smiled. Soon he and Jim would be leading a normal life, if two men loving each other and wanting to be together could be called normal by society. He knew they would face people like William Ellison again, people who would like nothing better than to keep them apart, but they’d fail just as William would. Blair shifted his gaze to the reflection in the glass. Simon Banks sat smoking an expensive cigar, his dark eyes scanning the newspaper picked up from a small station in Ohio. Banks must have sensed his stare for he turned, meeting Blair’s reflected gaze and grinned with confidence.

"It’ll work out, Blair," he promised and Sandburg felt a bubble of hope spring up in his soul. This man made him believe he could do it, believe that soon he’d be with his sentinel again and that the life they were destined to lead would really come to pass.

"Thanks, Simon," Blair said with warmth. He looked up as the porter announced their impending arrival in St. Louis. Somehow it would work out all right, it had to.

* * *

Jim awoke to find a strange man standing over him. Gaslight caught the silver streaks in his dark hair and made his brown eyes glimmer with an unholy light. "James," the man intoned, "I’m Marcus Cameron." He gestured to the ever present nurse and she handed him what looked like a leather strap lined with sheep’s wool. He began attaching the strap to a complicated system of pulleys and ropes Jim fuzzily noted had been strung above his bed, speaking in a soft, soothing manner all the while, "William informs me that this illness of yours has caused you to be gripped by unnatural tendencies." Satisfied with his work, Cameron nodded to the silent nurse and Jim found a padded cuff buckled around his left ankle. "I’m here to help you with that, James," Cameron promised.

"Wait...I don’t...," Ellison began but the doctor halted him.

"It’s all right, Jim, I understand." The second cuff was buckled in place and before he knew it Jim found his legs hoisted upwards until his hips were several inches off the bed. Nurse Wellington stripped him, her hands icy in the warm room. He could actually feel the delay between what was happening and his brain reacting. The sluggish residue which had taken up residence inside his head, forced into him at every turn, made him slow to protest. He tried to sit up, pushing against the soft mattress with trembling arms.

"No," he said, brow wrinkled with confusion. "No, don’t...," but Nurse Wellington managed to hold him down. Cameron disappeared from Jim’s line of sight, moving towards the foot of the bed. Jim knew what was coming but the slick finger which invaded his rectum made his breath explode in a gasp. More in shock than pain, he writhed upon the mattress too weak to escape. He had no idea how long it went on, hot fingers were replaced by instruments - long silver tools with cool surfaces which seemed to freeze his very heart. Jim tried not to struggle, tried to distance himself from what was happening and succeeded only when he focused his hearing on the sounds outside the big mansion on Maple Street. The distant huff of a Tin Lizzie let him endure the examination, lost to the intimate attentions. Cameron couldn’t touch the deepest recesses inside him, the things being done to his body could not touch his heart or his mind, both of which rested safely in Blair’s embrace.

"....double the dosage," Cameron’s soft murmur roused Jim from the comforting nothingness. "I’m afraid I’ll have to examine him again and he was a bit too lucid..."

"No," Ellison protested. "If you touch me again....." Jim raised his head, eyes finding the doctor across the room. His head pounded, Cameron’s voice booming against his ears though the doctor spoke softly. Jim focused on the man, his eyesight fading in and out, and knew he had lost the fragile control Blair had given him. Without Sandburg to guide him, he was at the mercy of senses he couldn’t command.

Cameron frowned, eyes speculating how it was possible for his patient to hear him across the room when he had whispered. "Jim," he said moving closer, "this is for your own good. A man should not have these urges. It’s wrong, but I can help you." His eyes never left Jim, his voice never rose above a breathy whisper and when Jim swept a hand out, smashing bottles to the floor, Cameron smiled. "Most interesting.....," the doctor nodded once then turned and left.

Twice more Jim bore the man’s attentions, drifting away as the cuffs were strapped around his ankles. Later, Ellison would come back to himself only to find Nurse Wellington deftly adjusting his undergarments her frozen gaze at odds with her flushed cheeks. The faint memory of meeting Cameron’s feverish eyes, of seeing the pleasure which still clung to the doctor after one of his "examinations", made Jim sick inside. An impatient hand settled over his lax groin, gauging Jim’s responses and Ellison closed his eyes again. Jim let his mind float on the senses he could no longer control, it was not him suffering the violation, but some carcass being pried apart and peered into. Afterwards Cameron would smile, gently lowering Jim’s legs to the bed, his sweaty hands massaging the bruised ankles as he exclaimed, "you’re getting better, Jim. Much better," he assured his patient.

* * *

"....better be good.....I told you my business....what?"

Jim fought the sway of his hearing, forcing it back to his father’s voice. Without Blair he found each attempt to home in on a distant sound dangerously unpredictable. There had been times, lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling he’d heard the household staff talking amongst themselves and he’d try to follow their words only to come back to reality hours later. Sandburg had somehow enabled him to pick out a individual speakers and listen to each and every word, but now he could only wrestle for a measure of control. Finally, he called the beloved face to his mind’s eye, picturing the serious eyes and ripe lips forming words of encouragement.

"I’m sorry, William," a woman’s voice responded, "it’s not my fault the charges didn’t stick. I kept my end of the bargain."

"For a price, I might add," William taunted.

"This Banks," the woman continued, "he got Sandburg released three days ago."

"Goddamnit!" William swore. Jim winced as the sound of drawers slamming open and shut assailed him, "what’s wrong with those idiots in New York? He’s on his way here and now he’s had three days head start!"

"You don’t know he’s coming here," the woman contended, "he could be running as far away as possible."

"Sandburg will stop at nothing to ruin me - to ruin Jim."

"But he seemed so....protective of your son when I spoke with him in New York."

"He would. My son is ill and has been for a long time," William insisted. Jim felt his fingers curling into fists, the blood began to throb in his temples, "this Sandburg has grand plans and intends for my son to finance them."

Sighing, the woman seemed to tire of the conversation’s direction, instead her voice changed, becoming wheedling, "I’ve done my part, William. What about your promise? When will you get me a real job with The Dispatch?"

"Soon, Cassie," William promised, "be patient."

There was silence for a moment then the sound of the telephone’s crank before William spoke again, "Sam? It’s Ellison. I’ve got a little job for you."

"I found him! I found Blair!"

The words were whispered into his ear but louder than a gunshot to Ellison. Jim moaned in pain, arms coming up to cover his ears. It took him a moment to regain his composure and when he did he opened his eyes to find Megan’s horrified face leaning over him. She had become a familiar sight in the past week, sneaking into his room during the night, helping dispose of the bitter medicine Nurse Wellington kept in the bedside table and administered with alarming frequency, replacing it with a concoction of her own. With Megan’s help the fog had begun to lift, Jim could put his thoughts together, he could shrug off the heaviness and plot an escape. She was an unlikely ally, an Australian maid in the employment of his father, but she had proved a valuable comrade. She fetched food mercifully untainted by the drugs Cameron insisted would "cure" Jim’s illness, she provided a strong shoulder as Jim forced himself to his feet and struggled to regain his strength, she sent out feelers in the vast network of servants throughout the city....and she found Blair.

"W-here?" Ellison demanded, hoarsely. "Where’s Blair?" William must have schemed to have Blair permanently out of the picture there in New York, but the young man was resourceful. Jim had counted on that, holding his lover’s intelligence and determination in his mind even when he could no longer remember his own name.

"He’s at the Hotel St. Nicholas," Megan said. "I heard from Molly who works for the Shaw family. Her aunt cleans rooms there and she just got word to Molly," Jim nodded, impatient for her to continue, "a man answering Blair’s description arrived late last night!".

"Blair’s here," Jim whispered to himself. "He made it here." Rising stiffly, one hand on Megan’s shoulder, Jim steadied himself as the room swayed. He shut out the pain, telling himself the soreness which raced up his spine resulted from being in bed for so long. The face of Marcus Cameron swam into his mind, his fervid gaze pinning Jim to the bed, but he ruthlessly smashed it back. There was no time for this, for what had been done - he had to get to Blair. Blair would make everything okay again. "My clothes, Meg," he insisted. Megan grinned and hurried to the wardrobe, she tossed out trousers, shirt, vest and jacket before darting to the dresser for underwear - drawers, merino shirt, and socks. She hid her smile when Jim pointedly stared at her, turning with an exaggerated sigh.

"I’ve got brothers, you know," she said.

"But I don’t have a sister," Jim pointed out. She giggled softly before sobering.

"Jim," it still felt strange to call the master of the house’s son by his Christian name, but Ellison had insisted. After several tense seconds, Jim’s complete silence began to worry her and she risked a quick glance over her shoulder. He stood beside the bed, dressed only in the dark trousers, his chest bare and heaving as if he’d run a race. "Jim!" Megan rushed to his side, hands gripping his upper arms. Ellison did not respond, he stood with eyes closed, features - empty of any emotion. Never in her life had Megan witnessed anything like it. To her it seemed as if Jim had passed out and only sheer will kept him upright. She shook him, horrified by the limp way his head snapped back, rolling to the side before he shuddered and drew a deep breath. "Jim? Can you hear me?"

The clear blue eyes which opened stared directly into hers and a smile - brilliant and completely awed- lit his face. "He’s outside," Jim said.

"Who? What....," Megan began, but Jim waved her questions away.

"Look, go down the back stairs," Jim instructed. "There’s a horseless carriage with," he cocked his head to the side, listening, a grin spread across his lips, "with a black man driving it. Tell him to wait there and not let Blair out of his sight. I’m on my way." Megan turned to do as asked but Jim stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Megan, thanks. I can’t tell you how much this," he gestured at the space between them, "means to me."

"It’s okay," she said with an answering smile, "I know how much....the Chief means to you." Jim was left staring at empty space as she rushed from the room. He knew if the situation had been different, if he had not found the other half of his soul in the arms of Blair Sandburg, he could have loved her. Jim shook himself free of the indulgent thoughts and finished dressing. He could hear Simon outside, above the rattle of the automobile but more wonderful than that - he could hear Blair.

Jim?

Ellison allowed a silent pray to cross his lips. Sandburg was outside, standing....about twenty feet from the north edge of the house. Damn! He was heading around to the front of the house and he was speaking directly to Jim as he did.

Jim, I hope you can hear me. I’m coming in there and we’re leaving together.

He could feel his senses, so recently flaring wildly, snap back under his control. Just the presence of the man he cared for above all others made them respond. He focused on Sandburg, following Blair’s path around the house and up towards the front door. Megan burst back into the room, her breathless pant loud in his ears.

"Mr. Banks says they’ve got tickets and you’ll be in St. Joseph by morning. But," she gasped for breath, "Blair’s on his way in. Can we get to him first?"

"Only if we hurry," Jim said. Urgency spurred him to action, he gathered the few things he needed; wallet, extra clothing, and a small bundle of papers. "We need to slip through the parlor, my father is in his den." He had to get down to Blair before the other man attempted to come into the house. William had something planned, that was a given.

"Yes, sir," Megan whispered obediently, opening the door and peering both ways before they stepped out into the hall. The thick carpet underfoot muffled their progress through the house. Jim tracked his father’s and the woman’s, Cassie’s, movements for a moment then switched back to finding Blair. His lover had mounted the front steps and was just about to jimmy the lock, he quickened the pace. Reaching the stairs which lead down to the entrance hall, Jim staggered. "What’s wrong?" Megan caught his arm just as Jim swayed, "Jim!" Dizzy, Ellison closed his eyes before nodding slowly.

"It’s okay," he assured her, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, "we have to hurry...." A sound, the creak of the study doors opening drew him up short. Jim focused on the room. And heard two sets of feet heading towards the hall just as the door clicked open. "Blair," he said in a hollow voice but it was too late, his lover uttered a surprised yelp and then William Ellison’s voice cracked the air like a whip.

"Sandburg, we meet again!"

Jim didn’t wait for anything else his father might say, he hurdled himself down the steep staircase, stumbling halfway down as stiff muscles protested their abuse, but managed to stay on his feet through sheer force of will. His heart hammered his ribs, threatening to shatter the bone and careen down the steps before him. He had to get to Blair, he had to stop his father from whatever evil strategy he’d come up with. Jim crashed into the railing, coming to a stop at the first landing and looking down on the three people playing out their drama below him. Two faces glared up at him with irritation, his father’s and the young red-headed woman with him, while Sandburg’s gaze held relief...and adoration.

"I warned you," Jim said quietly, "I said if you touched him I would kill you."

"James," William growled, "the time for theatrics is long passed." Blair began to move, slowly mounting the five stairs which separated them, coming to his lover’s side as if drawn by some unseen hand. Jim allowed his eyes to gentle, the allayment of his greatest fear - that he would never be with Blair again - doing much to calm him. "Stay where you are, Sandburg." Jim looked passed his lover and saw the gun which had appeared in his father’s hand.

"Wait a minute, William," Cassie said in a trembling voice, "this is more than....." Turning the pistol on her, William gestured Cassie to join Jim and Blair.

"This is all about your precious name, isn’t it?" Jim demanded. "If people find out your son is some kind of a - a pervert you’d die of shame." Jim stepped closer to his father, face twisted into a sneer, "well I’ve got news for you, Father, I’ve wanted to die of shame for being William Ellison’s son."

"Shut up, James," William warned, the gun swung around to point directly at Jim’s chest. "I’ve arranged with Doctor Cameron for you to go to his clinic. He promises me that you’ll be a real man...."

"Like him?" Jim laughed, a harsh sound which ripped from his throat and had Blair pressing closer. "Do you know what he does? How much pleasure he gets from trying to "cure" me?" Jim saw the startled look Blair gave him, the anger which flowed through his lover’s body in defense of him. "I don’t think his cure is what I need."

"I asked you before," Blair said, his voice deep with authority, eyes glued to the gun aimed at Jim, "let us go and you’ll never see either of us again."

William snorted, gun dipping for just a split second and life changed forever. Jim realized, a fraction of a second too late, what Blair intended. Sandburg kicked at the heavy elephant foot stand William had brought back from a trip to Africa, sending it tumbling even as he launched himself at William Ellison, sailing off the bottom stair like a spear. Jim heard the gunshot like the two halves of his heart breaking. The sight of Blair, seeming to pause in midair, his body jerking and twisting to the side, seared Ellison’s brain. A red rage swept over Jim, he felt it surge along his body until it covered his vision. He wanted to scream, wanted to shout with fury at his father, at his lover, at a world which would give him something so beautiful only to take it away again. Ellison felt his mind floating, drifting as the red rage which had been only inside his mind, leaked from Blair’s cheat and splattered on the floor. He screamed, the sound unearthly and drawn from somewhere deep within him - half fury - half grief, and hurled himself towards his lover. "Blair!" It was no longer a name, but a roar which shook the house on its foundation, deifying the universe to stop him. Jim threw himself on his knees beside Sandburg’s prone body, ignoring the man still standing above him, smoking gun pointed at his head.

At the same instant the front door burst open and Simon Banks stood framed by the inky blackness like a warrior. Banks moved like a dark fall of water, streaming over William Ellison and swallowing him in his grip. The pistol waved, held high above the torrent, dipped and appeared again. Jim, tearing his gaze away from Blair’s still body, shouted a warning but the sound was lost amid the explosion of gunpowder propelling the bullet. His extraordinary eyesight tracked the flattening lead pellet. There was barely a split second between the report and the quiet tinkle of glass shattering before the horrific whoosh from the gas jet set in the wall.

A fireball shot out, streaking overhead like some vengeful dragon, it’s flame tongue licking the fringed draperies which ringed the hall, kissing them with fire. The wool hangings went up like kindling, flames racing from one end of the room to the other, igniting flocked paper, feeding on imported carpets and paneling. Jim barely had time to draw a breath before smoke filled the room and breathing became a labored task. He gathered Blair close, crushing the smaller man to his chest, protecting the heart of his soul with the only shield he had. A wave of strength crested through him, called from deep inside and banishing the weakness his torturous confinement had left. He lifted Blair to his feet, supporting the slender weight, urging Sandburg to cling to him. Hot blood flowed over his fingers and Blair whimpered with pain as his grip tightened on the wound.

"I’ve got you, Chief," he assured his friend, "we’re gonna make it." Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Cassie Wells, cringing in the corner, suddenly rush forwards, dashing through the flames for the door to the street. Fire danced along the ceiling, roiling black clouds fanning out to cover the sight of her race for safety. Jim heard an ominous crack, his eyes automatically adjusted to show him the the ceiling beam being consumed by fire, giving way as the woman passed beneath. Smoke filled his lungs as his lips formed a warning but he could not stop the inevitable. He turned away, burying his face in Blair’s curls as Cassie’s scream was cut off by a sickening thud.

"Jim," Simon called. "We have to go - now!" Jim looked up, the absolute despair shining from his eyes, making Banks flinch. "Is he...?"

"J-Jim?" Ellison shuddered, his heart began to beat again as realization flooded him. Blair had called to him, his lover had spoken his name. Sandburg began to cough, the smoke swirling heavily in the air, burning their lungs.

"Chief? Blair, can you hear me?" He pressed his hand to Blair’s side, the heat of thick blood almost scalding his flesh.

"Jim," Banks shouted again. Jim saw that the big man had Megan by the wrist, tugging her towards the parlor door. Flames were eating along the woodwork but they had to try and escape that way. The parlor had wide French doors which opened onto a stone courtyard from there they could slip away. Banks kicked the door open, ducking just in time as a stream of fire surged up. Megan bent to scoop up the bundle Jim had dropped, flung her apron over her face and leapt through the fire. Simon reached back and gripped Ellison’s shoulder. "Now, Jim," he urged. Jim cast a look over his shoulder, barely able to see his father’s still form on the floor. "I’ll get him," Simon yelled and disappeared in the smoke.

Jim hugged his lover tighter, feeling the heat from the flames licking his back. Overhead the plaster ceiling was cracking, large chunks pelted the marble floor like mortars. All around them it felt as if a war was being waged; fire, and destruction rained down with amazing swiftness. The house no longer looked like a house, it had become a battlefield where life hung in the balance. Jim stretched his hearing, filtering out the crackling blaze until he could hear the servants. They were scurrying about, gathering belongings and rushing for the back doors. Ellison allowed a split second of relief to touch him then bundled Blair into his arms and hurled them into the parlor, knowing exactly where the window lay which would grant them blessed air. Thick, black smoke hung in the air, draped around the walls like funereal bunting. Chouteau House had begun to mourn its own death. Spots danced before his eyes, complicated patterns of fire and smoke made his vision swirl and Sandburg’s dead weight dragged at him. Jim refused to give in, nothing could break the hold he kept on Sandburg. It won’t end like this, he thought savagely, we survived water, now we survive fire. The floor bucked beneath his feet, furniture sprang up in his path, but Jim kept moving, inching them closer and just as he thought they would perish, the faintest touch of fresh air caressed his cheek. Blair hung limply in his arms, his hair a tangled curtain around his soot streaked face. Jim pulled him closer, praying they would make it to safety before he passed out. And then, only feet from the window, Ellison realized he could no longer hear the shuddering breaths which had been coming from the body he cradled close, Blair’s breathing had ceased.

"No, baby," he commanded. "No, this can’t...."

"Jim!" Megan appeared like a singed angel, pulling him from the smoke, her strong arms encircling his waist and guiding him to a patch of soft green lawn in the far corner of the courtyard. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jim registered the fire eating his boyhood home, destroying everything he had ever known and he didn’t care. Blair lay eerily still, the mobile features lax, lips slightly parted.

"He’s not breathing," Jim whispered numbly. His mind reeled, he had no idea what to do, no thought as to how and make it right, how to return his lover to him. He looked up at Megan, eyes black pits where no hope shown. The young Australian shook her head.

"Blow air into his mouth," she cried. "I saw it once. Do it!" She pushed Jim’s head down, forcing his lips to Blair’s in a parody of a kiss. Jim touched his mouth to Blair’s his mind replaying every kiss they had shared, the sultry taste of his lover’s lips in passion, the playful quirk of his tongue, the gentle sharing of comfort. As if he could impart his soul with this act, Jim forced air into Blair’s mouth, hand covering his nose to prevent the escape of this most precious of gifts. Three times he tried, each time more desperate as nothing happened. Blair could not die. He knew it as certainly as he knew the world was round. Each second of his life revolved around Sandburg and if Blair was not in that life....there was no point in going on.

"Jim, look," Megan gripped his arm, pointing towards Blair’s chest. Jim waited, saw what Megan had seen - the slow rise and shuddering fall. He focused on the heartbeat he knew better than his own and sighed in relief. Blair was alive - the world would go on.

"Chief? Blair, can you hear me?" Sandburg began to cough, chest heaving as his abused lungs demanded more air. Jim slid an arm under him, propping Blair against his own chest to ease the harsh spasms raking his body. "Easy, babe," he soothed, oblivious to the startled look Simon Banks cast at him as he lowered William to the ground.

"We need to go, Jim," Simon explained. "The fire brigade is on its way, the police can’t be far behind." The sound of sirens filled the night air, spurring the four into action. Megan and Simon ran ahead to the automobile parked in the alley, clearing a place for Jim to settle Blair. Despite Sandburg’s feeble protests, Jim lifted Blair into his arms and maneuvered them into the small rear seat so that the younger man lay with his head pillowed on Ellison’s thigh.

"Sssh, Blair," Jim soothed. His large hand amazingly tender as it combed through the tangled locks, "rest a bit." His sensitive fingers had discovered that the bullet crease in Blair’s side, though deep, was not life threatening. Keeping pressure on the wound, he gauged the ever slowing trickle of blood. As Simon pulled the auto to a halt near the train station, the flow had stopped and Jim could feel only the regular breathing of the man held in his arms. "Chief, can you sit up?" Blair roused slightly, dazedly squinting at his surroundings. "We’re catching a train, Chief. We’re heading.....home." The smile which graced Blair’s pale face was the most beautiful thing Jim could ever remember seeing. "You can never know how much I love you," Ellison said, voice reverent and eyes worshipping.

* * *

".....and then I was running, running through jungle so thick I couldn’t see the path until it opened before me," Jim murmured. Sandburg was stretched out on the narrow bunk, his shoulders resting in Jim’s lap, head pillowed on one powerful forearm. The gentle rocking of the train played counter point to the steady beating of Blair’s heart. Jim found he couldn’t not focus on that sound - it had been ingrained so deeply on his subconscious that it was almost as if his lover’s heart beat in his chest beside his own. Ellison looked across to where Megan was curled on the opposite bench, eyes tracking the motion of his hand as Jim idly caressed Blair’s hair. Her smile, when their eyes met, was open and accepting and filled him with a warmth that spread itself to his eyes. He gazed down into Blair’s face, and felt the breath leave his body. Blair returned his gaze with blazing eyes, the love he saw there made Jim ill inside. God, he loved him. Just looking at Sandburg made Jim want to stay like that forever. He wanted the light to shine in Blair’s eyes like that every time their gazes locked. Blair was his heart, the blood which flowed in his veins, the breath which stirred in his lungs and when he gazed into those deep blue eyes he wanted never to look away. But the memory of Sandburg flinging himself at William, ready to throw his life away, haunted Jim. Someday Blair would leave him, someday he would be alone again. No one ever stayed, no one. Jim leaned over, smoothing the hair back from the high forehead , and pressed a kiss to the warm skin. He would take what Blair gave him, make each second count and someday when he had only his memories to keep him company, he would remember the love which shown in Sandburg’s face at this moment.

. "Jim?" Ellison blinked, tearing his thoughts away from the destiny he’d discovered to the living, breathing embodiment of his future. "Jim, did you see a temple? Anyplace that might have given you a clue as to the location?"

The earnest look which greeted him, made Jim smile softly. "Yeah," he admitted, "the jaguar leapt up onto an....altar, I guess. I could see," Jim closed his eyes, recalling the details of the dream for Blair. They were heading west, fleeing the reach of William Ellison’s money and about to begin an adventure all their own. "It looked like....like an eye!" Jim blinked again, a frown creasing his brow as the odd image burned itself into his mind. He could still see the stylized eye with its radiating lines. It had riveted him, stranding him in the dreamscape until the jaguar had risen up into human form. "The jaguar turned into an Indian, Blair. He looked right into my soul and said these senses were a gift I’d been given."

"That’s amazing, Jim!" Blair struggled to rise, but Jim held him down until Sandburg sighed. "I’m fine, really." Seeing the determination in his lover’s eyes, Blair only shook his head and continued from his prone position, "Burton’s papers spoke of a Temple of the Sentinel’s. He mentioned the All Seeing Eye that they worshipped. I can’t wait to study this!"

Every instinct in his soul screamed out that Sandburg’s life was the only thing which mattered. "All in due time, Chief," Jim said, planting a kiss on the younger man’s temple. "First we get to St. Joseph then we head west. Simon’s putting us up in Cascade until we can get our lives in order." As if the utterance of his name held magic, Simon Banks came through the door his arms laden with newspapers.

"I think you should see this, Jim," he told Ellison. Jim shot Blair an apprehensive look then took one of the papers. FIRE KILLS ONE, INJURES PROMINENT CITIZEN The story went on to say how William Ellison had been found dazed in front of his burning mansion. A reporter named Cassie Wells, a friend of the family, had been discovered dead in the ruined house. No cause for the blaze had been determined and according to Ellison no other members of the family had been present.

"He’s letting us go," Blair said.

"No," Jim shook his head, the sure and certain knowledge that William Ellison would never let go that easily filled him. He forced a smile and tapped the curls beneath his hand. "We just outwitted him." Blair gazed up at him, understanding pouring from his blue eyes but he too smiled. For now, they were safe. For now that was enough - that and the heartbeat echoing in his ears.

The End….. to be continued in Part 3: Reach the Shore

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