Quasi_Pseudo 2/3
Part Two of Quasi-Pseudo
Blair rose slowly, tossing the tangled blankets to the floor. He had slept pretty soundly, but had woken up a few times with a start, feeling like he was falling.
He gingerly touched the back of his head, twisting from side to side, smiling. It was hard to explain what he was feeling. It was as if his head felt...lighter.
Rummaging through his dresser, he pulled out a fresh pair of jeans and his favorite blue shirt. The sun was already pouring in his window and he knew that Jim must have let him sleep in. He didn’t have any classes today, only office hours this afternoon.
A quick glance at the clock confirmed it. It was already 12:30. He would have to hustle to get to the University on time.
The phone rang just as he turned off the shower. Grabbing a towel, he made a dash, slipping on the throw rug in the hall and nearly slid all the way to the phone.
"Hello"
"You okay, Sandburg?"
"Yeah, Jim. Just getting out of the shower." Blair shifted the phone to his other ear, drying off as he padded back to the bathroom. "What's up, man?"
"Just wanted to make sure you got up on time, sorry, I got a little tied up. I meant to call a little earlier."
"S'kay. I woke up on my own." Blair managed to juggle the phone and pull his boxers and jeans on. The shirt was a little harder, but he managed. "Did you find anything on Hotchkiss?"
"No. It's weird, the lack of information. I'm going to try one more thing, though."
"Okay." The towel landed neatly in the hamper and Blair began to lather his face. "I have a few friends that work in the History Department. I'll see if they had Jennifer in any of their classes."
"Okay, I'll see you later."
"Later." Blair sat the phone on the counter and finished his morning routine. He poured the last of the coffee, decaf, filling his thermos and rinsed the pot, making sure to turn the burner off and rooted in the fidge for a left over muffin. Wrapping his breakfast in a napkin, he grabbed his backpack, coat and keys and headed out the door with ten minutes to spare.
The traffic was light for this time of the day and Blair made it to his office just as his first student was coming up the hall. "Have a seat, Jason," he smiled.
The tall, willowy boy sank into the wooden chair beside Blair's desk. His red hair was neatly combed and parted to the left and he crossed his legs, resting his ankle over his knee.
"Coffee?" Blair offered, scanning the area for a mug.
"No thanks, sir." The voice was small, quiet and Blair smiled. Jason was a freshman, young, and painfully shy. He was sixteen and unlike Blair, came from a pretty wealthy family. He had only been at Rainier for a semester and was doing great in all his courses, all except Anthropology.
Blair poured the steaming brew into the lid. "Hope you don't mind."
"No, sir." The boy smiled a little, digging into his briefcase for a folder. "Here is my assignment. I was hoping you might look it over? See if it's what you were looking for. I want to make sure it's right before I turn it in."
Blair took the paper and began to read. It was much better then his previous work. "This looks good, Jason." He handed the folder back and waited as Jason put his work away.
"Thanks, Mr. Sandburg. I've been seeing a tutor and she's been helping a lot." The younger man stood and picked up his briefcase. "I'll see you later, I'm late for my History class."
"Later, man." Blair watched as Jason pulled the door closed behind him. He waited a beat or two and then unwrapped his muffin, hoping that he didn’t have too many students stop by.
A few hours and several students later, his cell phone rang. "Sandburg."
"Hey, Chief."
"Jim. What's up?" Blair glanced at the clock; he still had two hours before he was suppose to meet Jim
"A little road trip...if you can get away."
"I guess." He started to pack up, shutting down his computer and stacking the papers he was working on. "Where are we going?"
"I'll tell you when I come to get you. Did you have a chance to talk to anyone?"
"Umm, nope." Thinking for a second, he tried to remember if Laura would be in class now. "I can stop by while I'm waiting for you, though."
"Okay, see you in twenty."
Blair locked his file cabinets and stuffed his papers into his pack. He straightened his desk as much as possible and then closed and locked his office door, heading for the History Department.
*~*~*
Jim scanned the area in front of Hargrove Hall for his partner. Blair was sitting on a bench, his head in his hands.
A bit concerned, Jim parked the truck and hurried over to his friend. "Hey, Chief? You okay?"
Blair jumped a little, but recovered quickly, grabbing up his backpack and started toward the truck. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Jim followed along behind, sliding in behind the steering wheel and waiting for Blair to buckle his seat belt. "Did you find out anything useful?"
"Laura said that Jennifer was a pretty good student," Blair said. "She got good grades, stayed out of trouble...didn't talk too much."
Jim pulled onto the highway, heading north. "That pretty much jives with what the room mates said about her."
"She seemed like a good kid, Jim. Laura said she was part of a study group that one of my students attends. I just talked to him today." Blair looked out the window, a far away look in his eye. "He's about her age...I wonder if he knew her..."
"Chief?"
Blair snapped his attention back to Jim. "Jason, my student. He was having trouble in my Anthro 101 class and I suggested a tutor. He joined a group and Laura was telling me that Jennifer was a part of the same group. Maybe I'll talk to him. So where are we going, man?"
"I ran Hotchkiss' prints again and nothing came back..."
Blair raised his eyebrows, waiting patiently, "and..."
"And why is that? I mean the guy is a corporate bigwig. I checked with the company, they fingerprint all employees, it's standard practice..."
Now Blair looked more intrigued. "So..."
"So the FBI database should have a standard file, but it doesn't, so I dug a little deeper and called in a few favors." A satisfied smile spread across Jim's face.
"Do I even want to know?" Blair asked.
Jim suddenly grew serious. "I could tell you, Sandburg," And then swatted his partner on the head, "but then I'd have to kill ya."
Blair shot him an indignant look and rubbed his head. "So what does this source of yours find out for you?"
"That Hotchkiss' records have been wiped. That he has a sealed juvenile file and that we can't get access." Jim reached across a pulled open the glove box, pulling out the Washington State map.
"And how is that helpful?" Blair asked, snatching the map away before Jim could open it.
"We might not be able to open the file without a court order, but we can question the people who knew him as a juvenile...now give me the map. I want to get there today."
But Blair didn't hand over the map. "You are so not funny. Now tell me where we are going so I can navigate.
*~*~*
The trip had turned out to take longer than expected. They had spent the better part of the afternoon looking up and questioning people who had known Hotchkiss as a teen. The lack of information was disappointing.
The public records were a dead end, it seemed as if no information was available prior to Hotchkiss' junior year at Sunny Brook High. There was only one teacher still on staff that taught during that time and he didn't have much to say. He recalled the young man as being new to the school, but what little info they had on Hotchkiss suggested that he had attended Sunny Brook since junior high school.
It just didn't make sense and was turning into a huge waste of time.
Now in the truck, on the way back to Cascade, Blair pondered the possibilities.
"I can almost see the smoke coming out of your ears." Jim's smooth voice actually caused Blair to jump.
He adjusted himself in the seat for the umpteenth time, glaring at his roommate. "Not funny, man. Beside, I'm just trying to make sense of your case here."
"And I appreciate it, Chief. But I don't think even that brilliant mind of yours is going to figure this one out."
Blair smiled a little at the offhanded compliment. Hey, he would take them where he could get them. "It just doesn't make sense, I mean I can see having a record sealed, but this is insane. There should be some kind of record that would leave a trail. It's almost as if he didn’t exist before his junior year. And I know you've seen his birth certificate and his school records. But, but..."
"Hey, breathe, okay? I can sympathize with ya here, but I can't explain it anymore than you can." Blair slide closer to the door as Jim made a quick u-turn.
The truck surged forward and then another quick left and they were parked in the parking lot of an all night diner. "Moody Tuesday's, Jim?"
"Hey, don’t knock it until you try it. I think I saw a sign saying they serve boiled tongue."
"Hardy, har, har, Jim. You shouldn't knock that until you've tried it." Blair opened his door and slid out of the cab. Jim was already holding the door to the diner by the time he made it around to the front of the truck "Hungry, man?"
"You could say that," Jim deadpanned, his face unreadable.
"Hungry, Jim." Blair laughed, ducking under Jim's arm and sliding up onto the stool at the counter.
"You’re a real comedian, Seinfield." Jim plopped next to him and ordered a coffee, black.
"And you, sir?" Blair looked wearily up at the waitress, in her tight fitting, low cut, pepto colored, ultra short uniform. She looked at him expectantly, her blond hair tucked behind a delicate ear, blue eyes sparkling in amusement.
"Sir?"
"Oh, oh right. I'll take a glass of orange juice. Uhh, thanks." He watched her all the way to the other end of the counter where she was chatting up a biker type.
"Smooth move, Romeo," Jim smirked, sipping his hot drink.
Blair ignored him, smiling as the waitress returned with his glass. "Can I get you guys something to eat?"
Jim ordered a cheeseburger with gravy fries. Blair was having more trouble deciding. He wasn't really hungry. He thought about a Greek Salad, but thought that something hot would be more satisfying. Finally he settled for poached eggs with a side of toast.
Sometime later, Blair was still pushing around his fork, making a mess with the yolk. Jim had finished stuffing soggy, slightly gooey fries into his mouth and turned to him, clearly questioning him with those sensitive yes.
"I'm just not too hungry and I've got to tell ya, I'm fading fast here."
"I'm sorry, Chief. You should be home taking it easy, not out chasing down red herrings with me." After slapping down some bills from his wallet, Jim stood. "Let's get outta here."
Blair dutiful followed, smiling one more time at their waitress. Man, something must be wrong with him. He didn't even try to get her number.
*~*~*
Jim watched Blair out of the corner of his eye. He was a bit worried at dinner, but now his spidey senses, or whatever the heck it was, seemed to be on full alert. Blair was sort of slumped in his seat, head tilted against the window.
He seemed to be soundly asleep and totally still, which just wasn't natural for Blair. Even when Jim had to slam on his brakes because of the idiot that cut him off, Blair only briefly stirred and then settled right back to sleep.
Finally he pulled into his usual parking spot outside their loft. Jim turned off the ignition and studied his friend. Blair's breathing was even and steady, his heat beat strong, but there was just something he couldn't put his finger on. Something sounded off, felt off.
"Blair?" Jim tapped him on the shoulder, catching the wince when Blair opened his eyes and shifted forward.
"Hey, man. Are we home?" Jim noted the slightly glazed eyes, as if Blair was unable to focus. Blair rubbed his neck and then reached for the door handle.
Jim scurried out and around the truck, ready for whatever might happen. Blair stood on wobbly knees for a brief moment and then moved forward toward the building, hardly noticing Jim.
Together they waited for the elevator. The ride up to the third floor was quiet. Jim waited for Blair to go ahead and then hurried around him to unlock the door.
Once inside, Blair dropped his backpack, kicking it slightly under the table by the door. Jim took his keys and tossed them into the basket. "You want a drink or something?"
Blair nodded his head and then winced again. "I think I need to lie down," and then he was gone, into his room, leaving the doors open.
Jim could hear his friend, undressing, the sounds reaching his sensitive ears. It seemed that Blair managed to kick off his shoes and discard his jeans before plopping onto his bed. A tiny groan came as Jim was pouring some apple juice into Blair's glass.
He wasn't sure how to help, he didn't want to ...intrude. He waited until Blair had gotten off his shirt before approaching the door. Blair was laid out on his back, arms resting over his forehead.
"I got your drink, buddy." Blair looked at him with hooded eyes. "Can I get you anything else?" He asked, setting the drink on a coaster on Blair's nightstand.
"No, man." Blair scooted up a little and reached for his drink. "I'm just going to hit the sack."
Jim watched as he took a few sips. "Well, then...I'll see you in the morning." He closed the doors as he exited, looking around the quiet living room.
"Might as well turn in early," he muttered, checking the locks and then climbing he steps. Before he slipped off to dreamland, he checked on Blair one more time, tuning into his breathing and gentle heartbeat. Everything sounded normal, but Jim just knew something still wasn't right.
*~*~*
The morning came much too fast for Blair. He had forgotten to pull the shade on the emergency door and the sun was spilling in the window, covering his bed. He squinted against the bright light, moving his head cautiously. He had slept fitfully, tossing and turning all night, but just too tired to actually get up and do something productive.
He sat up carefully, head pounding as soon as he was upright.
Man, I so do not need this today.
He was going to be spending his morning with Jim at the station and then he had to go to the university and get some paperwork done...plus he wanted to talk to Jason, see if he knew...what was her name?
"Oh man, I'm losing it," he muttered, using his dresser to pull himself up.
The trip to the bathroom was slow. He held onto the doorframe until a dizzy spell passed. Once in the door, he went right for the toilet, sitting heavily on the closed lid. His doctor had said that he might experience a mild headache after having the spinal tap, but he didn't remember anything about being dizzy.
Well, hopefully it would pass.
He managed to get upright, brushing his teeth and hair, doing a decent job of shaving, only nicking himself once. By the time he had finished up, he could hear Jim puttering around in the kitchen.
Once he had the door open and started toward the kitchen, he noticed Jim had already set the table. He sure wasn't going to complain, and instead just plopped into his usual chair, grateful for the steaming cup of coffee that was waiting for him.
After his first sip, he heard Jim snickering.
"What's so funny, man?"
Jim scooped some eggs onto his plate. "Oh, just that face you made. Don't like my coffee, Sandburg?"
Blair shoved in a forkful of breakfast, then answered. "Nah, that's not it. I just have to get used to the taste of decaf."
Jim settled in to eat. "So, what are your plans for today?"
"I'm going to meet you at the station before school and I want to talk to Jason about Hotchkiss' daughter." A few more sips of coffee and then, "Hey, Jim. What's her name again?"
Jim dropped his fork, a weird look on his face. "Jennifer," he finally replied.
"Oh, Jennifer, right." Blair scraped his plate and dumped his coffee. "Thanks. man."
Jim just shrugged, cleaning off his own plate.
"Well, then. I'm gonna go. I'll see ya there." Blair grabbed up his backpack and keys, hand already unlocking the deadbolt.
"I can give you a ride," Jim offered.
"Nah, but thanks." And then he was in the hall, hurrying to the elevator. He just didn't want to admit that he was going to run by the drug store. He figured that he could pick something up for the steady pounding in his head.
The traffic was light for that time of morning and it only took a few minutes to run in and pick out something for his headache. If he hurried, he should be able to get to the station about the same time as Jim.
A few blocks away from the station, a loud honk sounded and then there was a sudden flash. "Oh, man." Blair stomped on his brake, slowing down, searching his rearview mirror for the mad honker. A car swiftly sped up, the driver flipping him off, speaking angrily as he passed, although Blair couldn't hear him, as he had his windows up.
"I can not believe this. Jim is going to kill me."
Way to pay attention, Sandburg. Damn red light cameras. "Just great, like I need a ticket."
The parking garage was mostly empty, so Blair parked close to the elevator. The ride up was uneventful, going all the way to the seventh floor uninterrupted.
The ding on arrival startled him. He slipped past the officer entering and went right to the break room. Someone had already started the coffee pot, the smell tempting. He searched through the cabinet for his mug, finally finding it in the drainer.
After a quick rinse, he filled up his mug with water from the cooler that stood in the corner of the room. It took a few minutes to open the top of his pill bottle, irritating his already frazzled nerves.
Jim was already at his desk when he entered the bull pin. He looked up at Blair, a small frown on his face.
"You okay, Chief?" Jim was picking at a donut, waiting for his computer to power up.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm good." Blair settled in, pulling some folders from his knapsack.
They worked in silence for most of the morning. Jim was back and forth and Blair just didn't feel like talking. He did manage to work on the computer for a while, but toward the end, he was having problems looking at the screen, the words seemed to waver, turning his stomach.
"Can you type this up?" Jim handed over a preliminary report for the Walker case. At least that one was pretty open and shut.
Blair scooted his chair over to the typing table, skillfully inserting the paper and started to type, but this too seemed to be more then he could handle. He kept messing up the spelling, inverting letters. It was completely frustrating. He was almost relieved when he heard Simon bellowing for Jim from his office.
"Be right back," Jim called over his shoulder.
Blair decided it was time for a break. He walked stiffly to the break room and headed for the snack machine. There wasn't much to choose from, so he settled for a bag of cheese popcorn. Pulling a chair from the table, he sat and opened his snack.
He didn't understand why he was having so many problems this morning, but just chalked it up to the steady pounding in his head. At least it was manageable; the drugs were finally taking the edge off.
Once his popcorn was gone, he sucked on his slightly orange fingers, thinking about what to work on next. He still had a few hours before he had to go to his other job.
Man, just thinking made his head hurt. This really sucks.
He leaned over the table, resting his head on his forearms. It just had to get better. The sounds of people working around him came into sharp focus; he covered his ears with his hands.
Before he knew it, Jim was crouched beside him, wiping tender fingers over Blair's face.
"What's going on, buddy? Why are you crying?"
God, was he crying?
"I'm good," Blair said, but as he raised his head, an excruciating pain enveloped him. Waves radiated from the top of his head, down his spine and into his legs.
He dropped his head back onto his arms, feeling the tears streaming down his face, but with his head down, the pain seemed to ease.
People moved around him, their words jumbled and frenzied. The next thing he knew, someone was patting his shoulder, reaching under his arm to get him to move. As he was pushed onto something soft, he was sure he was going to be sick.
He squinted open his eyes, the overhead lights burning. A stranger huddled over him, encouraging him to roll onto his side. Someone placed a basin haphazardly by his head and then he was rolling.
Sickness churned though him, and as the elevator doors opened, his popcorn came back up.
"It's okay, buddy." Jim was close by, holding his wrist.
The medic put an oxygen mask over his face, blocking some of his view. Someone was squeezing his arm, a sudden pinch making him flinch. The doors opened and he could smell the gasoline from the pumps in the garage. Gagging, he tried not to be sick again.
The gurney jerked to a sudden stop and then dropped down, the falling feeling from the night before returned, making his head spin, and his vision blur.
"We'll be there soon," Jim said as he was wheeled into the waiting ambulance. "I'll meet you there."
And then the doors banged closed, leaving his ears ringing.
Gonna be sick.
The sirens started as the truck pulled out, lurching to the left as it exited the garage.
So, gonna be sick.
The lights, the sounds, the smells, it was all too much. It was too much input, his brain refusing the stimuli, bile quickly rising in his throat.
And then he was sick again, and again, dry heaving until they rolled him into the emergency room and someone swabbed his hip, the injection stinging, but finally bringing blessed relief.
*~*~*
The chair was hard, making him sit up too straight. Jim squirmed; his rear a little numb. It had been two hours since the ambulance had brought in his friend. Even though Jim had inquired a few times as to Blair's status, the man at the counter could only tell him that the doctor was still with him.
Highly unlikely.
Especially since Jim had been listening in from time to time. When he first arrived, he could hear Blair being sick. In fact he could hear Blair being sick most of the way to the hospital. As soon as he was wheeled into the cubical, someone gave him something. Blair stopped moaning and fell asleep.
Since then people had come and gone, inserting tubes, checking pulse and blood pressure, shining lights into oversensitive eyes, and asking his friend questions that he didn't answer.
Well, he did groan when the intern was pressing around the site of the lumbar puncture.
Jim had given the paramedic a rundown of what was going on with his roommate and he did hear them page Dr. Moyer about thirty minutes ago, so...
So I'm giving them ten more minutes.
Jim leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.
The waiting room was crowded, row after row of hurting and miserable people, some dozing, some complaining, some cursing, and some crying.
And the noise...people talked, the TV played with the volume on low, the nurses moved to and fro, calling people's names, talking to waiting relatives, the constant buzz was giving him a headache.
A small girl reached up and touched his pants, pulling on his leg again. She was sitting on the floor near his feet, her mother telling her to keep her hands to herself and to play quietly. She had arrived with the lady in the next chair about an hour ago, clutching a blanket and a little book close to her chest. Soon after they were seated, Jim heard the woman crying, but she tried to hide it from the toddler, holding her magazine up close, pretending to read.
A small tug caught his attention and he looked down at her toothy grin.
"Samantha, leave that man alone. I'm so sorry."
"It's not a problem." Jim tried not to sound annoyed, almost smiling when he looked at the toddler, hiding behind her Winnie the Pooh book. She perched it on her lap, upside down, pointing to pictures, babbling to herself, sneaking glances at him, giving shy smiles.
"Pooh has boo-boo." She pointed to a page, looking back to her mother. "Dada has owie?"
"Yes, sweetie." Her mother scooped her up, cradling her close. "Daddy has a big boo- boo." They moved away, Samantha's little hand waving.
"Bye, bye." She tucked her tiny head against her mother's neck.
Sighing, Jim stood, walking briskly to the authorized personnel door. He glanced around, but no one was paying attention, so he pushed it open. The other side was even more hectic than the waiting room. People in scrubs walked the halls, trotting from room to room, talking, writing notes in charts, some even laughing and listening to a radio that sat on the counter.
Each cubicle was full, most curtains drawn to give the patient some measure of privacy. Looking from right to left, he found Sandburg hand written on a cubicle card near the hall. Listening in, he could tell that Blair was still asleep, so he slipped into the room.
His friend was curled on his side, back to the wall, legs tangled in the thin sheet. His head rested half off the pillow, hair fanned out like a halo.
"How ya feeling, buddy?" It was just a whisper.
He hooked a chair with his foot, scooting it closer and sitting.
Jim rested his hand on Blair's arm, feeling fine tremors under the soft skin.
He found an old magazine on one of the counters, he and flipped it open one handed, settling in for the long haul.
*~*~*
Noise, loud, and than fading. He lifted his hands to his ears, eyes closed tight against the overhead fluorescent lights.
"Blair?" The voice was familiar, but he didn't want to look, didn't want to feel pain that he was sure would come if he opened his eyes. "It's just best if he sleeps for now. I've ordered some tests, but he should rest while we're waiting."
"Okay." That was Jim. "I'm waiting with him."
More was said, but he tuned it out, only hearing the shriek of the sliding curtain as the doctor exited.
"It's going to be okay." Jim's breath was hitting his cheek; so he tried to open his eyes. This time it was better, the bright lights dimmed.
"What's wrong with me?" he asked, cuddling the blanket closer to his chin. "Why does my head still hurt?"
His friend sat, looking at him between the safety bars. "Dr. Moyer thinks it's still the same thing, but they are going to do some tests, just to make sure."
Blair closed his eyes, moving his head a little on the pillow. The pounding from earlier was mostly gone, but his head still hurt, achy really.
He was startled awake sometime later. His bed was moving, someone pulling the gurney down the hall.
"Hey." his voice was just above a whisper. The guy didn't hear him. At the end of the hall, he was pushed against the wall and the guy pulled out a security card, running it through the scanner. The door unlocked and he entered, leaving Blair alone in the hall.
Time passed, Blair dozed, and then someone touched his arm. "Mr. Sandburg?"
The same guy from before was calling his name, patting his arm. The door was open and a woman in a lab coat smiled, moving to help pull the gurney through the entryway.
"I'll be back to get you when Joan is done." And then he was gone.
The woman introduced herself, asking if he thought he could get up.
It took a few minutes, but he finally made in to the chair she wanted him to sit in.
"I know you probably still have a headache, but Dr. Moyer wants to get this done today."
He was thinking in slow motion, his mind apparently stuck in a mud hole. Had someone already told him what was going on? The room was almost completely dark except for a large monitor flickering to the left and the chair he was occupying was low to the ground, in a reclining position.
"Now, rest your head back and I'm going to put some drops in." She sat on a stool beside his chair, rolling back a little to the counter to grab a tiny droplet bottle and some tissues. "It will feel a little cold."
The giant pearl of liquid clung to the end of the dropper; it seemed an eternity before it fell. Despite being ready, he jumped, his eye closing even as she held it open between her fingers. Swiftly the next eye was coated with the cool fluid and she was dabbing at his cheeks, moping up the extra solution.
"We have to give that a few minutes to work." She tossed the tissue in the trash, handing him another as she opened and rummaged through some drawers. "It will make your vision a little blurry, close your eyes if that bothers you."
So he rested with his eyes closed, wondering what the hell was going on.
A low-pitched whine signaled as her fingers moved over the keyboard. Latex moving over skin and a spurting sound had him opening his eyes to a blurry room.
She held up something, "This is the conductor. It works just like the wand on a full-scale sonogram machine. We put the gel in the curved eyepiece. It doesn’t hurt. You're only going to feel a little pressure."
Before he could even question her, she pried open his right eye and sat the thing on his eyeball. Panic surged, he stiffened, ready to pull away.
"Close your eye and try to be totally still."
Oh God, she was moving that thing around on his eye.
"You okay?" She was sitting close, her elbow almost resting on his chest, hand posed on the wand.
It didn't hurt really it was just weird. "Yeah...um what are you doing?"
She stilled suddenly. "Didn't Dr. Moyer tell you what was going to happen?"
"Well, probably. I've been a little out of it."
Man, this was weird. It was really hard to have a conversation with someone who was messing with your eyeball. A shiver raced up his spine, just thinking about it made him cringe.
"You're in the eye lab. This is a sonogram machine. I'm looking at your optic nerves and the space behind." She started to move the wand slowly, circling his eyeball.
Man, just don't think about it.
"I think you're going to have a MRI when you're done here, but don't worry. I looked at your CT scan and agree with Dr. Moyer. Your symptoms are atypical for Pseudotumor. He just wants to cover all his bases."
He was only half listening, too freaked out about the eye thing.
She asked him to move his eye, left, right, up and down. He could hear her pull another tissue from the box. "Okay, open your eye."
The thingy was taken away and she pressed the tissue over his eye, rubbing from corner to corner. "One down and one to go."
Yuck. Yuck. Yuck
Once she was finished, she pushed a call button on her phone. "Mr. Sandburg is ready."
The orderly that escorted him to the lab was wheeling him through the halls again. The trip was fairly short, just up in the elevator and right to the Imaging Department.
Another tech helped him onto the table and into the tube. This was familiar to him. She offered him earplugs and a sleeping mask. He took both, not really having a problem with confined places, but last time he was able to relax better with the mask.
The table was half way in when he felt her hand on his arm. "I'm just injecting some contrast dye into your IV port."
Once fully sheathed, the machine came to life, the rattling and whooshing sounds buffered by the earplugs.
"This part is the loudest, Mr. Sandburg." Her voice was piped in over an intercom. "It sort of sounds like a tommy gun. If you have any problem, just talk. I can see and hear you."
He tried to relax, talking to himself, concentrating on his voice instead of the racket swirling around his head, going over the facts from the Hotchkiss case...trying to think of something they just weren't seeing.
It just doesn't make sense. It's almost like the guy never...
Suddenly the noise died down, he was moved out and onto the waiting gurney. His favorite orderly helped him to lie down. They moved through the halls with purpose, the elevator open and waiting for them. Before long he was wheeled back into the ER.
Jim jumped up as he was parked back into his cubical. "You doing okay, Chief?"
Blair rolled onto his side, resting his head on his hand.
"I'm okay... am I on drugs?"
The look on Jim's face was priceless. "Well, I know they gave you something for nausea and for your head. Why?"
Sighing, he rolled to his back, fighting with the gown that twisted under him.
"Never mind." The ceiling looked the same; all hospital ceilings looked the same. You would think that since the patients spend a lot of time looking at them, they would try to make them a little different, more interesting.
Jim sat beside him, thumbing through a magazine. "The doctor should be back soon and then hopefully we can get you home. How's the head?"
Rolling said head from side to side, Blair frowned. "It's better. I mean it's still, I don’t know, weird. But better."
"Weird huh?"
He didn't even bother looking at Jim. He was happily spacing when he remembered something.
"Hey Jim?"
"Hmm."
"You know how Hotchkiss seems to have not existed until he was a teenager?"
"Mmm Hmm." Blair could hear the magazine closing.
"Well, what if he didn't?" Blair closed his eyes, the ceiling just not holding his interest.
"Come again?" His friend stood, the magazine placed on the chair.
"Well, what if he didn't? What if Hotchkiss was someone else?" Blair restlessly turned again, this time his blanket was giving him trouble. Jim helped untwist the sheet, patting Blair's shoulder once he settled. "I mean he could have had a different name...a different identity."
Jim seemed to think about it and then smiled. "You might just be on to something. I'll be back." And then he was gone, leaving Blair to stare at the ceiling by himself.
*~*~*
Jim hurried to the outside corridor, weaving through the crowd; people in wheelchairs were parked in the pavilion, waiting for their rides.
Once he hit the cobbled stone path leading to the gardens, he pulled his cell phone, pressing speed dial number two.
While the phone rang, he moved to a bench. The garden was mostly empty, only a few people lingering near the small fountain.
"Banks."
"Hello, sir." Jim leaned back, watching as an elderly couple shuffled slowly past him, hands intertwined, the woman wearing a robe.
"Jim, something wrong? How's the kid?"
"Umm...he's okay, we're still waiting. But that's not why I'm calling." A woman with a small child sat on the bench next to him, the little girl rested her head on the lady's shoulder. Jim stood, moving up the path a ways.
"What's going on?"
"I, uh...well, Blair thought of something. We've been going on the premise that Hotchkiss was born Hotchkiss. I know the birth certificate looks legit, but what if it's a planted trail? I don't know, Simon. Could be something else, but with the sealed files I'm thinking witness protection."
"Oh lovely."
"Tell me about it." Jim moved back down the trail, the woman still sat on the bench, rocking the little girl. "Can you put in a call to the State Attorney's Office? See if we can shake anything loose. I hope to be out of here within the hour. I'll drop Blair and come in to see what I can dig up."
"Yeah and Jim...I got some news. Someone found a body in a warehouse off of Lamont Street. Joel and Brown caught the case. It's Michelle Hotchkiss, the oldest daughter."
This just keeps getting better and better.
"What was the cause of death?"
"She was strangled. M.E. puts time of death approximately seventy two hours ago." He could hear Simon rubbing at his forehead. "I got his wife in protective custody, but we can find the son. Mrs. Hotchkiss told us he was in college in Seattle. We sent word to Seattle P.D. but they can't locate him."
Jim hurried through the garden, approaching the hospital from the east entrance. "I'll meet up with them later, just keep me informed." He snapped the phone shut, showing his ID as he passed through the security check and made for the elevator.
Hopefully Blair would be ready soon.
Part Three: Found Here
Blair rose slowly, tossing the tangled blankets to the floor. He had slept pretty soundly, but had woken up a few times with a start, feeling like he was falling.
He gingerly touched the back of his head, twisting from side to side, smiling. It was hard to explain what he was feeling. It was as if his head felt...lighter.
Rummaging through his dresser, he pulled out a fresh pair of jeans and his favorite blue shirt. The sun was already pouring in his window and he knew that Jim must have let him sleep in. He didn’t have any classes today, only office hours this afternoon.
A quick glance at the clock confirmed it. It was already 12:30. He would have to hustle to get to the University on time.
The phone rang just as he turned off the shower. Grabbing a towel, he made a dash, slipping on the throw rug in the hall and nearly slid all the way to the phone.
"Hello"
"You okay, Sandburg?"
"Yeah, Jim. Just getting out of the shower." Blair shifted the phone to his other ear, drying off as he padded back to the bathroom. "What's up, man?"
"Just wanted to make sure you got up on time, sorry, I got a little tied up. I meant to call a little earlier."
"S'kay. I woke up on my own." Blair managed to juggle the phone and pull his boxers and jeans on. The shirt was a little harder, but he managed. "Did you find anything on Hotchkiss?"
"No. It's weird, the lack of information. I'm going to try one more thing, though."
"Okay." The towel landed neatly in the hamper and Blair began to lather his face. "I have a few friends that work in the History Department. I'll see if they had Jennifer in any of their classes."
"Okay, I'll see you later."
"Later." Blair sat the phone on the counter and finished his morning routine. He poured the last of the coffee, decaf, filling his thermos and rinsed the pot, making sure to turn the burner off and rooted in the fidge for a left over muffin. Wrapping his breakfast in a napkin, he grabbed his backpack, coat and keys and headed out the door with ten minutes to spare.
The traffic was light for this time of the day and Blair made it to his office just as his first student was coming up the hall. "Have a seat, Jason," he smiled.
The tall, willowy boy sank into the wooden chair beside Blair's desk. His red hair was neatly combed and parted to the left and he crossed his legs, resting his ankle over his knee.
"Coffee?" Blair offered, scanning the area for a mug.
"No thanks, sir." The voice was small, quiet and Blair smiled. Jason was a freshman, young, and painfully shy. He was sixteen and unlike Blair, came from a pretty wealthy family. He had only been at Rainier for a semester and was doing great in all his courses, all except Anthropology.
Blair poured the steaming brew into the lid. "Hope you don't mind."
"No, sir." The boy smiled a little, digging into his briefcase for a folder. "Here is my assignment. I was hoping you might look it over? See if it's what you were looking for. I want to make sure it's right before I turn it in."
Blair took the paper and began to read. It was much better then his previous work. "This looks good, Jason." He handed the folder back and waited as Jason put his work away.
"Thanks, Mr. Sandburg. I've been seeing a tutor and she's been helping a lot." The younger man stood and picked up his briefcase. "I'll see you later, I'm late for my History class."
"Later, man." Blair watched as Jason pulled the door closed behind him. He waited a beat or two and then unwrapped his muffin, hoping that he didn’t have too many students stop by.
A few hours and several students later, his cell phone rang. "Sandburg."
"Hey, Chief."
"Jim. What's up?" Blair glanced at the clock; he still had two hours before he was suppose to meet Jim
"A little road trip...if you can get away."
"I guess." He started to pack up, shutting down his computer and stacking the papers he was working on. "Where are we going?"
"I'll tell you when I come to get you. Did you have a chance to talk to anyone?"
"Umm, nope." Thinking for a second, he tried to remember if Laura would be in class now. "I can stop by while I'm waiting for you, though."
"Okay, see you in twenty."
Blair locked his file cabinets and stuffed his papers into his pack. He straightened his desk as much as possible and then closed and locked his office door, heading for the History Department.
*~*~*
Jim scanned the area in front of Hargrove Hall for his partner. Blair was sitting on a bench, his head in his hands.
A bit concerned, Jim parked the truck and hurried over to his friend. "Hey, Chief? You okay?"
Blair jumped a little, but recovered quickly, grabbing up his backpack and started toward the truck. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Jim followed along behind, sliding in behind the steering wheel and waiting for Blair to buckle his seat belt. "Did you find out anything useful?"
"Laura said that Jennifer was a pretty good student," Blair said. "She got good grades, stayed out of trouble...didn't talk too much."
Jim pulled onto the highway, heading north. "That pretty much jives with what the room mates said about her."
"She seemed like a good kid, Jim. Laura said she was part of a study group that one of my students attends. I just talked to him today." Blair looked out the window, a far away look in his eye. "He's about her age...I wonder if he knew her..."
"Chief?"
Blair snapped his attention back to Jim. "Jason, my student. He was having trouble in my Anthro 101 class and I suggested a tutor. He joined a group and Laura was telling me that Jennifer was a part of the same group. Maybe I'll talk to him. So where are we going, man?"
"I ran Hotchkiss' prints again and nothing came back..."
Blair raised his eyebrows, waiting patiently, "and..."
"And why is that? I mean the guy is a corporate bigwig. I checked with the company, they fingerprint all employees, it's standard practice..."
Now Blair looked more intrigued. "So..."
"So the FBI database should have a standard file, but it doesn't, so I dug a little deeper and called in a few favors." A satisfied smile spread across Jim's face.
"Do I even want to know?" Blair asked.
Jim suddenly grew serious. "I could tell you, Sandburg," And then swatted his partner on the head, "but then I'd have to kill ya."
Blair shot him an indignant look and rubbed his head. "So what does this source of yours find out for you?"
"That Hotchkiss' records have been wiped. That he has a sealed juvenile file and that we can't get access." Jim reached across a pulled open the glove box, pulling out the Washington State map.
"And how is that helpful?" Blair asked, snatching the map away before Jim could open it.
"We might not be able to open the file without a court order, but we can question the people who knew him as a juvenile...now give me the map. I want to get there today."
But Blair didn't hand over the map. "You are so not funny. Now tell me where we are going so I can navigate.
*~*~*
The trip had turned out to take longer than expected. They had spent the better part of the afternoon looking up and questioning people who had known Hotchkiss as a teen. The lack of information was disappointing.
The public records were a dead end, it seemed as if no information was available prior to Hotchkiss' junior year at Sunny Brook High. There was only one teacher still on staff that taught during that time and he didn't have much to say. He recalled the young man as being new to the school, but what little info they had on Hotchkiss suggested that he had attended Sunny Brook since junior high school.
It just didn't make sense and was turning into a huge waste of time.
Now in the truck, on the way back to Cascade, Blair pondered the possibilities.
"I can almost see the smoke coming out of your ears." Jim's smooth voice actually caused Blair to jump.
He adjusted himself in the seat for the umpteenth time, glaring at his roommate. "Not funny, man. Beside, I'm just trying to make sense of your case here."
"And I appreciate it, Chief. But I don't think even that brilliant mind of yours is going to figure this one out."
Blair smiled a little at the offhanded compliment. Hey, he would take them where he could get them. "It just doesn't make sense, I mean I can see having a record sealed, but this is insane. There should be some kind of record that would leave a trail. It's almost as if he didn’t exist before his junior year. And I know you've seen his birth certificate and his school records. But, but..."
"Hey, breathe, okay? I can sympathize with ya here, but I can't explain it anymore than you can." Blair slide closer to the door as Jim made a quick u-turn.
The truck surged forward and then another quick left and they were parked in the parking lot of an all night diner. "Moody Tuesday's, Jim?"
"Hey, don’t knock it until you try it. I think I saw a sign saying they serve boiled tongue."
"Hardy, har, har, Jim. You shouldn't knock that until you've tried it." Blair opened his door and slid out of the cab. Jim was already holding the door to the diner by the time he made it around to the front of the truck "Hungry, man?"
"You could say that," Jim deadpanned, his face unreadable.
"Hungry, Jim." Blair laughed, ducking under Jim's arm and sliding up onto the stool at the counter.
"You’re a real comedian, Seinfield." Jim plopped next to him and ordered a coffee, black.
"And you, sir?" Blair looked wearily up at the waitress, in her tight fitting, low cut, pepto colored, ultra short uniform. She looked at him expectantly, her blond hair tucked behind a delicate ear, blue eyes sparkling in amusement.
"Sir?"
"Oh, oh right. I'll take a glass of orange juice. Uhh, thanks." He watched her all the way to the other end of the counter where she was chatting up a biker type.
"Smooth move, Romeo," Jim smirked, sipping his hot drink.
Blair ignored him, smiling as the waitress returned with his glass. "Can I get you guys something to eat?"
Jim ordered a cheeseburger with gravy fries. Blair was having more trouble deciding. He wasn't really hungry. He thought about a Greek Salad, but thought that something hot would be more satisfying. Finally he settled for poached eggs with a side of toast.
Sometime later, Blair was still pushing around his fork, making a mess with the yolk. Jim had finished stuffing soggy, slightly gooey fries into his mouth and turned to him, clearly questioning him with those sensitive yes.
"I'm just not too hungry and I've got to tell ya, I'm fading fast here."
"I'm sorry, Chief. You should be home taking it easy, not out chasing down red herrings with me." After slapping down some bills from his wallet, Jim stood. "Let's get outta here."
Blair dutiful followed, smiling one more time at their waitress. Man, something must be wrong with him. He didn't even try to get her number.
*~*~*
Jim watched Blair out of the corner of his eye. He was a bit worried at dinner, but now his spidey senses, or whatever the heck it was, seemed to be on full alert. Blair was sort of slumped in his seat, head tilted against the window.
He seemed to be soundly asleep and totally still, which just wasn't natural for Blair. Even when Jim had to slam on his brakes because of the idiot that cut him off, Blair only briefly stirred and then settled right back to sleep.
Finally he pulled into his usual parking spot outside their loft. Jim turned off the ignition and studied his friend. Blair's breathing was even and steady, his heat beat strong, but there was just something he couldn't put his finger on. Something sounded off, felt off.
"Blair?" Jim tapped him on the shoulder, catching the wince when Blair opened his eyes and shifted forward.
"Hey, man. Are we home?" Jim noted the slightly glazed eyes, as if Blair was unable to focus. Blair rubbed his neck and then reached for the door handle.
Jim scurried out and around the truck, ready for whatever might happen. Blair stood on wobbly knees for a brief moment and then moved forward toward the building, hardly noticing Jim.
Together they waited for the elevator. The ride up to the third floor was quiet. Jim waited for Blair to go ahead and then hurried around him to unlock the door.
Once inside, Blair dropped his backpack, kicking it slightly under the table by the door. Jim took his keys and tossed them into the basket. "You want a drink or something?"
Blair nodded his head and then winced again. "I think I need to lie down," and then he was gone, into his room, leaving the doors open.
Jim could hear his friend, undressing, the sounds reaching his sensitive ears. It seemed that Blair managed to kick off his shoes and discard his jeans before plopping onto his bed. A tiny groan came as Jim was pouring some apple juice into Blair's glass.
He wasn't sure how to help, he didn't want to ...intrude. He waited until Blair had gotten off his shirt before approaching the door. Blair was laid out on his back, arms resting over his forehead.
"I got your drink, buddy." Blair looked at him with hooded eyes. "Can I get you anything else?" He asked, setting the drink on a coaster on Blair's nightstand.
"No, man." Blair scooted up a little and reached for his drink. "I'm just going to hit the sack."
Jim watched as he took a few sips. "Well, then...I'll see you in the morning." He closed the doors as he exited, looking around the quiet living room.
"Might as well turn in early," he muttered, checking the locks and then climbing he steps. Before he slipped off to dreamland, he checked on Blair one more time, tuning into his breathing and gentle heartbeat. Everything sounded normal, but Jim just knew something still wasn't right.
*~*~*
The morning came much too fast for Blair. He had forgotten to pull the shade on the emergency door and the sun was spilling in the window, covering his bed. He squinted against the bright light, moving his head cautiously. He had slept fitfully, tossing and turning all night, but just too tired to actually get up and do something productive.
He sat up carefully, head pounding as soon as he was upright.
Man, I so do not need this today.
He was going to be spending his morning with Jim at the station and then he had to go to the university and get some paperwork done...plus he wanted to talk to Jason, see if he knew...what was her name?
"Oh man, I'm losing it," he muttered, using his dresser to pull himself up.
The trip to the bathroom was slow. He held onto the doorframe until a dizzy spell passed. Once in the door, he went right for the toilet, sitting heavily on the closed lid. His doctor had said that he might experience a mild headache after having the spinal tap, but he didn't remember anything about being dizzy.
Well, hopefully it would pass.
He managed to get upright, brushing his teeth and hair, doing a decent job of shaving, only nicking himself once. By the time he had finished up, he could hear Jim puttering around in the kitchen.
Once he had the door open and started toward the kitchen, he noticed Jim had already set the table. He sure wasn't going to complain, and instead just plopped into his usual chair, grateful for the steaming cup of coffee that was waiting for him.
After his first sip, he heard Jim snickering.
"What's so funny, man?"
Jim scooped some eggs onto his plate. "Oh, just that face you made. Don't like my coffee, Sandburg?"
Blair shoved in a forkful of breakfast, then answered. "Nah, that's not it. I just have to get used to the taste of decaf."
Jim settled in to eat. "So, what are your plans for today?"
"I'm going to meet you at the station before school and I want to talk to Jason about Hotchkiss' daughter." A few more sips of coffee and then, "Hey, Jim. What's her name again?"
Jim dropped his fork, a weird look on his face. "Jennifer," he finally replied.
"Oh, Jennifer, right." Blair scraped his plate and dumped his coffee. "Thanks. man."
Jim just shrugged, cleaning off his own plate.
"Well, then. I'm gonna go. I'll see ya there." Blair grabbed up his backpack and keys, hand already unlocking the deadbolt.
"I can give you a ride," Jim offered.
"Nah, but thanks." And then he was in the hall, hurrying to the elevator. He just didn't want to admit that he was going to run by the drug store. He figured that he could pick something up for the steady pounding in his head.
The traffic was light for that time of morning and it only took a few minutes to run in and pick out something for his headache. If he hurried, he should be able to get to the station about the same time as Jim.
A few blocks away from the station, a loud honk sounded and then there was a sudden flash. "Oh, man." Blair stomped on his brake, slowing down, searching his rearview mirror for the mad honker. A car swiftly sped up, the driver flipping him off, speaking angrily as he passed, although Blair couldn't hear him, as he had his windows up.
"I can not believe this. Jim is going to kill me."
Way to pay attention, Sandburg. Damn red light cameras. "Just great, like I need a ticket."
The parking garage was mostly empty, so Blair parked close to the elevator. The ride up was uneventful, going all the way to the seventh floor uninterrupted.
The ding on arrival startled him. He slipped past the officer entering and went right to the break room. Someone had already started the coffee pot, the smell tempting. He searched through the cabinet for his mug, finally finding it in the drainer.
After a quick rinse, he filled up his mug with water from the cooler that stood in the corner of the room. It took a few minutes to open the top of his pill bottle, irritating his already frazzled nerves.
Jim was already at his desk when he entered the bull pin. He looked up at Blair, a small frown on his face.
"You okay, Chief?" Jim was picking at a donut, waiting for his computer to power up.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm good." Blair settled in, pulling some folders from his knapsack.
They worked in silence for most of the morning. Jim was back and forth and Blair just didn't feel like talking. He did manage to work on the computer for a while, but toward the end, he was having problems looking at the screen, the words seemed to waver, turning his stomach.
"Can you type this up?" Jim handed over a preliminary report for the Walker case. At least that one was pretty open and shut.
Blair scooted his chair over to the typing table, skillfully inserting the paper and started to type, but this too seemed to be more then he could handle. He kept messing up the spelling, inverting letters. It was completely frustrating. He was almost relieved when he heard Simon bellowing for Jim from his office.
"Be right back," Jim called over his shoulder.
Blair decided it was time for a break. He walked stiffly to the break room and headed for the snack machine. There wasn't much to choose from, so he settled for a bag of cheese popcorn. Pulling a chair from the table, he sat and opened his snack.
He didn't understand why he was having so many problems this morning, but just chalked it up to the steady pounding in his head. At least it was manageable; the drugs were finally taking the edge off.
Once his popcorn was gone, he sucked on his slightly orange fingers, thinking about what to work on next. He still had a few hours before he had to go to his other job.
Man, just thinking made his head hurt. This really sucks.
He leaned over the table, resting his head on his forearms. It just had to get better. The sounds of people working around him came into sharp focus; he covered his ears with his hands.
Before he knew it, Jim was crouched beside him, wiping tender fingers over Blair's face.
"What's going on, buddy? Why are you crying?"
God, was he crying?
"I'm good," Blair said, but as he raised his head, an excruciating pain enveloped him. Waves radiated from the top of his head, down his spine and into his legs.
He dropped his head back onto his arms, feeling the tears streaming down his face, but with his head down, the pain seemed to ease.
People moved around him, their words jumbled and frenzied. The next thing he knew, someone was patting his shoulder, reaching under his arm to get him to move. As he was pushed onto something soft, he was sure he was going to be sick.
He squinted open his eyes, the overhead lights burning. A stranger huddled over him, encouraging him to roll onto his side. Someone placed a basin haphazardly by his head and then he was rolling.
Sickness churned though him, and as the elevator doors opened, his popcorn came back up.
"It's okay, buddy." Jim was close by, holding his wrist.
The medic put an oxygen mask over his face, blocking some of his view. Someone was squeezing his arm, a sudden pinch making him flinch. The doors opened and he could smell the gasoline from the pumps in the garage. Gagging, he tried not to be sick again.
The gurney jerked to a sudden stop and then dropped down, the falling feeling from the night before returned, making his head spin, and his vision blur.
"We'll be there soon," Jim said as he was wheeled into the waiting ambulance. "I'll meet you there."
And then the doors banged closed, leaving his ears ringing.
Gonna be sick.
The sirens started as the truck pulled out, lurching to the left as it exited the garage.
So, gonna be sick.
The lights, the sounds, the smells, it was all too much. It was too much input, his brain refusing the stimuli, bile quickly rising in his throat.
And then he was sick again, and again, dry heaving until they rolled him into the emergency room and someone swabbed his hip, the injection stinging, but finally bringing blessed relief.
*~*~*
The chair was hard, making him sit up too straight. Jim squirmed; his rear a little numb. It had been two hours since the ambulance had brought in his friend. Even though Jim had inquired a few times as to Blair's status, the man at the counter could only tell him that the doctor was still with him.
Highly unlikely.
Especially since Jim had been listening in from time to time. When he first arrived, he could hear Blair being sick. In fact he could hear Blair being sick most of the way to the hospital. As soon as he was wheeled into the cubical, someone gave him something. Blair stopped moaning and fell asleep.
Since then people had come and gone, inserting tubes, checking pulse and blood pressure, shining lights into oversensitive eyes, and asking his friend questions that he didn't answer.
Well, he did groan when the intern was pressing around the site of the lumbar puncture.
Jim had given the paramedic a rundown of what was going on with his roommate and he did hear them page Dr. Moyer about thirty minutes ago, so...
So I'm giving them ten more minutes.
Jim leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.
The waiting room was crowded, row after row of hurting and miserable people, some dozing, some complaining, some cursing, and some crying.
And the noise...people talked, the TV played with the volume on low, the nurses moved to and fro, calling people's names, talking to waiting relatives, the constant buzz was giving him a headache.
A small girl reached up and touched his pants, pulling on his leg again. She was sitting on the floor near his feet, her mother telling her to keep her hands to herself and to play quietly. She had arrived with the lady in the next chair about an hour ago, clutching a blanket and a little book close to her chest. Soon after they were seated, Jim heard the woman crying, but she tried to hide it from the toddler, holding her magazine up close, pretending to read.
A small tug caught his attention and he looked down at her toothy grin.
"Samantha, leave that man alone. I'm so sorry."
"It's not a problem." Jim tried not to sound annoyed, almost smiling when he looked at the toddler, hiding behind her Winnie the Pooh book. She perched it on her lap, upside down, pointing to pictures, babbling to herself, sneaking glances at him, giving shy smiles.
"Pooh has boo-boo." She pointed to a page, looking back to her mother. "Dada has owie?"
"Yes, sweetie." Her mother scooped her up, cradling her close. "Daddy has a big boo- boo." They moved away, Samantha's little hand waving.
"Bye, bye." She tucked her tiny head against her mother's neck.
Sighing, Jim stood, walking briskly to the authorized personnel door. He glanced around, but no one was paying attention, so he pushed it open. The other side was even more hectic than the waiting room. People in scrubs walked the halls, trotting from room to room, talking, writing notes in charts, some even laughing and listening to a radio that sat on the counter.
Each cubicle was full, most curtains drawn to give the patient some measure of privacy. Looking from right to left, he found Sandburg hand written on a cubicle card near the hall. Listening in, he could tell that Blair was still asleep, so he slipped into the room.
His friend was curled on his side, back to the wall, legs tangled in the thin sheet. His head rested half off the pillow, hair fanned out like a halo.
"How ya feeling, buddy?" It was just a whisper.
He hooked a chair with his foot, scooting it closer and sitting.
Jim rested his hand on Blair's arm, feeling fine tremors under the soft skin.
He found an old magazine on one of the counters, he and flipped it open one handed, settling in for the long haul.
*~*~*
Noise, loud, and than fading. He lifted his hands to his ears, eyes closed tight against the overhead fluorescent lights.
"Blair?" The voice was familiar, but he didn't want to look, didn't want to feel pain that he was sure would come if he opened his eyes. "It's just best if he sleeps for now. I've ordered some tests, but he should rest while we're waiting."
"Okay." That was Jim. "I'm waiting with him."
More was said, but he tuned it out, only hearing the shriek of the sliding curtain as the doctor exited.
"It's going to be okay." Jim's breath was hitting his cheek; so he tried to open his eyes. This time it was better, the bright lights dimmed.
"What's wrong with me?" he asked, cuddling the blanket closer to his chin. "Why does my head still hurt?"
His friend sat, looking at him between the safety bars. "Dr. Moyer thinks it's still the same thing, but they are going to do some tests, just to make sure."
Blair closed his eyes, moving his head a little on the pillow. The pounding from earlier was mostly gone, but his head still hurt, achy really.
He was startled awake sometime later. His bed was moving, someone pulling the gurney down the hall.
"Hey." his voice was just above a whisper. The guy didn't hear him. At the end of the hall, he was pushed against the wall and the guy pulled out a security card, running it through the scanner. The door unlocked and he entered, leaving Blair alone in the hall.
Time passed, Blair dozed, and then someone touched his arm. "Mr. Sandburg?"
The same guy from before was calling his name, patting his arm. The door was open and a woman in a lab coat smiled, moving to help pull the gurney through the entryway.
"I'll be back to get you when Joan is done." And then he was gone.
The woman introduced herself, asking if he thought he could get up.
It took a few minutes, but he finally made in to the chair she wanted him to sit in.
"I know you probably still have a headache, but Dr. Moyer wants to get this done today."
He was thinking in slow motion, his mind apparently stuck in a mud hole. Had someone already told him what was going on? The room was almost completely dark except for a large monitor flickering to the left and the chair he was occupying was low to the ground, in a reclining position.
"Now, rest your head back and I'm going to put some drops in." She sat on a stool beside his chair, rolling back a little to the counter to grab a tiny droplet bottle and some tissues. "It will feel a little cold."
The giant pearl of liquid clung to the end of the dropper; it seemed an eternity before it fell. Despite being ready, he jumped, his eye closing even as she held it open between her fingers. Swiftly the next eye was coated with the cool fluid and she was dabbing at his cheeks, moping up the extra solution.
"We have to give that a few minutes to work." She tossed the tissue in the trash, handing him another as she opened and rummaged through some drawers. "It will make your vision a little blurry, close your eyes if that bothers you."
So he rested with his eyes closed, wondering what the hell was going on.
A low-pitched whine signaled as her fingers moved over the keyboard. Latex moving over skin and a spurting sound had him opening his eyes to a blurry room.
She held up something, "This is the conductor. It works just like the wand on a full-scale sonogram machine. We put the gel in the curved eyepiece. It doesn’t hurt. You're only going to feel a little pressure."
Before he could even question her, she pried open his right eye and sat the thing on his eyeball. Panic surged, he stiffened, ready to pull away.
"Close your eye and try to be totally still."
Oh God, she was moving that thing around on his eye.
"You okay?" She was sitting close, her elbow almost resting on his chest, hand posed on the wand.
It didn't hurt really it was just weird. "Yeah...um what are you doing?"
She stilled suddenly. "Didn't Dr. Moyer tell you what was going to happen?"
"Well, probably. I've been a little out of it."
Man, this was weird. It was really hard to have a conversation with someone who was messing with your eyeball. A shiver raced up his spine, just thinking about it made him cringe.
"You're in the eye lab. This is a sonogram machine. I'm looking at your optic nerves and the space behind." She started to move the wand slowly, circling his eyeball.
Man, just don't think about it.
"I think you're going to have a MRI when you're done here, but don't worry. I looked at your CT scan and agree with Dr. Moyer. Your symptoms are atypical for Pseudotumor. He just wants to cover all his bases."
He was only half listening, too freaked out about the eye thing.
She asked him to move his eye, left, right, up and down. He could hear her pull another tissue from the box. "Okay, open your eye."
The thingy was taken away and she pressed the tissue over his eye, rubbing from corner to corner. "One down and one to go."
Yuck. Yuck. Yuck
Once she was finished, she pushed a call button on her phone. "Mr. Sandburg is ready."
The orderly that escorted him to the lab was wheeling him through the halls again. The trip was fairly short, just up in the elevator and right to the Imaging Department.
Another tech helped him onto the table and into the tube. This was familiar to him. She offered him earplugs and a sleeping mask. He took both, not really having a problem with confined places, but last time he was able to relax better with the mask.
The table was half way in when he felt her hand on his arm. "I'm just injecting some contrast dye into your IV port."
Once fully sheathed, the machine came to life, the rattling and whooshing sounds buffered by the earplugs.
"This part is the loudest, Mr. Sandburg." Her voice was piped in over an intercom. "It sort of sounds like a tommy gun. If you have any problem, just talk. I can see and hear you."
He tried to relax, talking to himself, concentrating on his voice instead of the racket swirling around his head, going over the facts from the Hotchkiss case...trying to think of something they just weren't seeing.
It just doesn't make sense. It's almost like the guy never...
Suddenly the noise died down, he was moved out and onto the waiting gurney. His favorite orderly helped him to lie down. They moved through the halls with purpose, the elevator open and waiting for them. Before long he was wheeled back into the ER.
Jim jumped up as he was parked back into his cubical. "You doing okay, Chief?"
Blair rolled onto his side, resting his head on his hand.
"I'm okay... am I on drugs?"
The look on Jim's face was priceless. "Well, I know they gave you something for nausea and for your head. Why?"
Sighing, he rolled to his back, fighting with the gown that twisted under him.
"Never mind." The ceiling looked the same; all hospital ceilings looked the same. You would think that since the patients spend a lot of time looking at them, they would try to make them a little different, more interesting.
Jim sat beside him, thumbing through a magazine. "The doctor should be back soon and then hopefully we can get you home. How's the head?"
Rolling said head from side to side, Blair frowned. "It's better. I mean it's still, I don’t know, weird. But better."
"Weird huh?"
He didn't even bother looking at Jim. He was happily spacing when he remembered something.
"Hey Jim?"
"Hmm."
"You know how Hotchkiss seems to have not existed until he was a teenager?"
"Mmm Hmm." Blair could hear the magazine closing.
"Well, what if he didn't?" Blair closed his eyes, the ceiling just not holding his interest.
"Come again?" His friend stood, the magazine placed on the chair.
"Well, what if he didn't? What if Hotchkiss was someone else?" Blair restlessly turned again, this time his blanket was giving him trouble. Jim helped untwist the sheet, patting Blair's shoulder once he settled. "I mean he could have had a different name...a different identity."
Jim seemed to think about it and then smiled. "You might just be on to something. I'll be back." And then he was gone, leaving Blair to stare at the ceiling by himself.
*~*~*
Jim hurried to the outside corridor, weaving through the crowd; people in wheelchairs were parked in the pavilion, waiting for their rides.
Once he hit the cobbled stone path leading to the gardens, he pulled his cell phone, pressing speed dial number two.
While the phone rang, he moved to a bench. The garden was mostly empty, only a few people lingering near the small fountain.
"Banks."
"Hello, sir." Jim leaned back, watching as an elderly couple shuffled slowly past him, hands intertwined, the woman wearing a robe.
"Jim, something wrong? How's the kid?"
"Umm...he's okay, we're still waiting. But that's not why I'm calling." A woman with a small child sat on the bench next to him, the little girl rested her head on the lady's shoulder. Jim stood, moving up the path a ways.
"What's going on?"
"I, uh...well, Blair thought of something. We've been going on the premise that Hotchkiss was born Hotchkiss. I know the birth certificate looks legit, but what if it's a planted trail? I don't know, Simon. Could be something else, but with the sealed files I'm thinking witness protection."
"Oh lovely."
"Tell me about it." Jim moved back down the trail, the woman still sat on the bench, rocking the little girl. "Can you put in a call to the State Attorney's Office? See if we can shake anything loose. I hope to be out of here within the hour. I'll drop Blair and come in to see what I can dig up."
"Yeah and Jim...I got some news. Someone found a body in a warehouse off of Lamont Street. Joel and Brown caught the case. It's Michelle Hotchkiss, the oldest daughter."
This just keeps getting better and better.
"What was the cause of death?"
"She was strangled. M.E. puts time of death approximately seventy two hours ago." He could hear Simon rubbing at his forehead. "I got his wife in protective custody, but we can find the son. Mrs. Hotchkiss told us he was in college in Seattle. We sent word to Seattle P.D. but they can't locate him."
Jim hurried through the garden, approaching the hospital from the east entrance. "I'll meet up with them later, just keep me informed." He snapped the phone shut, showing his ID as he passed through the security check and made for the elevator.
Hopefully Blair would be ready soon.
Part Three: Found Here