The bullpen of Major Crime was its usual hectic arena. The ringing of phones and steady traffic of plain-clothed and uniformed police went virtually unnoticed by Ellison and Sandburg. Both men were focused on the strange disappearance of Nyajiru. It had been more than a week since the old man's abrupt leaving, making it as mysterious as his first appearance.

Through the dusty vertical blinds that shrouded his office, Simon Banks watched his two men. It didn't take a psychic to guess what they were discussing. While there was no official inquiry into Nya's whereabouts, he had allowed his two detectives to work on it unofficially between their caseloads. He had been willing to dismiss the whole affair as the eccentricities of an old man used to answering to no one. Simon hadn't been able to convince either of his friends of this possibility and had finally been swayed to their way of thinking. The captain had agreed that Ellison's vision had been disturbing, as much as he would allow himself to believe in visions. It made him uncomfortable when he was forced to consider the more ethereal world of a sentinel. But after the near tragic events that surrounded the arrival of Alex Barnes, he found himself less resistant to it all. With a shake of his head, and muttering to himself that he probably needed his head examined, he went back to his desk.

"I don't get it." Blair picked up the letter that sat on his desk and read it one more time. "This letter makes it sound like he's going back to Botswana. I mean, he checked out of the Y. His stuff is gone. Where'd he go? It was over a week ago!"

"You've got me, Chief." Jim leaned back in his chair and shrugged his shoulders. "Unless we're wrong and he did meet up with someone."

Rubbing his hand along his cheek, it occurred to Blair how long they had been working. His five o'clock shadow was developing into more than just a shadow. "No. I'm pretty sure he didn't know anyone else. He never mentioned it if he did and he wasn't here long enough to really meet anyone either."

Sighing, Ellison flipped open his notepad. "Nothing adds up. We know a taxi picked him up and brought him to the airport. So it looks like he was intending to leave. But if that was the case, why did he cancel his ticket back to Africa? That's the part that's got me stumped."

Getting up, Sandburg rolled his chair over to his partner's desk and studied the small notebook. "We've checked hospitals, the morgue, arrest reports, hotels. Airport security has looked in every nook and cranny. Nothing. How does someone just disappear?"

"People disappear all the time, Blair. Sometimes it's because they want to." The detective gave his partner a meaningful look. He hated bringing up the possibility, but he thought it was something for them to consider. His friend had interpreted the letter one way. It could be read another.

"No," Sandburg was adamant. "I know what you're getting at and you're wrong."

"The last part, about knowing how you were doing from the spirit world, was pretty cryptic, Chief. And..." Jim hesitated. He knew that his partner didn't want to hear the rest of his theory, but the look on Blair's face told him that he would have no choice but to finish his thought. "And in my dream there was no one else there. The haze lifted and the dog was dead. I didn't get any sense of someone or something else being there."

"That doesn't mean that's not what happened. He meant he was on his way home, Jim. I know he did." Sandburg turned away, his face twisted in a scowl. "It's the only thing that makes any sense. He didn't come all this way to just decide his life was over. He'd have too much respect for life for that. His own, included." Fighting down his frustration, and feeling that he was now standing alone in his belief that something had happened to Nya, he looked back at his partner. He was surprised to see a small smile on Jim's face. "What?"

Rising from his chair, Ellison gave his friend a firm pat on the back. "That's what I think too, Sandburg. He didn't strike me as the type either. I just thought we should get the other possibility out into the open and out of the way." His smile grew as he watched the tension and anger fade from his friend's face. "What say we go and get something to eat. It's way past dinnertime. I think better on a full stomach. You know that."

"You sleep better on a full stomach, you think better on a full stomach." Blair pushed himself up from his chair to follow his partner. "Is there anything you don't do better on a full stomach?" Busy doing up the buttons of his jacket, he yelped when he walked into the other man's back. Jim had stopped abruptly and turned to give him a smug grin. "Oh. Uh..." Sandburg cleared his throat and laughed, knowing that he had walked into that one with his eyes wide open. "So, Wonderburger okay with you?"

Jim stood at the edge of a small clearing that surrounded a lake. The soothing sound of the waves as they gently lapped against the shore drew him nearer. He could feel the light touch of moisture on the breeze and smell the musk-filled scent of the damp earth. Opening up his vision to take advantage of the distant light of stars and the full moon, he saw some activity on the far shore. Two figures, he guessed two men, stood silhouetted against the backdrop of trees and mountains. One was slight and seemed bent with age. The other was tall and lithe. From their stance alone, Ellison could sense that the taller of the two was dominating the encounter. His companion stood looking very fragile and cowed. Though the detective had the distinct impression that "companion" was probably not the best word to describe his relationship to the other man. The scene that spread before him held an element of threat or danger for the older figure. A sudden movement made the sentinel's entire body tense. He watched as the old man was violently forced to his knees and winced in sympathy as the man reached out to stop himself from falling forward and prone onto the sand. The other towered over him, holding out something that Jim couldn't discern. It suddenly dawned on him that there was something disturbingly familiar about the kneeling figure. Taking a step closer, Jim halted when he felt the cold touch of water on his bare feet.

Suddenly, the sentinel's thoughts took him to another time and a small sparse room where he had discovered his partner and another lying senseless on a threadbare rug. "Nyajiru?"

The detective squinted, trying to bring the two figures into focus. A mist from the lake had begun to swirl around the far shore, almost obscuring them. Ignoring the chill that was slowly creeping up his legs, he took another step into the shallow water of the lake. Ellison bit back a frustrated curse as the figures faded in and out of sight and tried to cut through the haze to see if it was indeed the old shaman. Barely conscious of doing it, he quietly called the man's name. "Nya?"

The word was hardly more than a whisper, but it drew the attention of both men. The old shaman looked at Ellison and the result was almost electric. The sentinel felt as if Nyajiru suddenly surrounded him. His sight told him that neither of the two men had moved from their spot on the other side of the lake, but he could sense the man almost as if he was being held in the old African's embrace.

The shaman's soft voice filled the sentinel's mind, dangerously pulling Ellison into a zone as he tried to understand the frantic jumble of words. "Stay away, Sentinel! I cannot protect you from Nyoka, the snake. I tried, but his strike is too fast and deadly. Beware and protect..." The last of the words were swallowed up by a tortured gasp.

Ellison's mind reeled as the rest of Nya's message was choked off and the shaman's presence was savagely ripped from him. The abruptness of it sent a brief, but searing, stab of pain through his head and he dropped to his knees in the frigid water, clutching at his temples. Fighting against the throbbing ache, he followed a deep-buried instinct that urged him to try to re-establish the link. He was desperate to maintain his contact with the old man. He looked once again across the water and silently begged for Nyajiru to look at him, but the African was being held firm around the neck by the other man. Slowly rising to his feet, the detective knew that he would never be able to cross the distance in time to save the elderly Botswanan. He watched in agony as Nya's head was bent backwards and his mouth forced open. It looked as if the man who held him wanted the old shaman to eat or drink whatever it was that he had in his hand.

The mist that had been swirling close to the ground in lazy waves became more agitated and dense. It circled the two men, crawling up their bodies in curled wisps until it blurred their shapes into undulating masses. Try as he might, the sentinel couldn't slice through the fog to see more clearly what was happening. The two forms seemed to be shifting, at times almost melting into each other. Up until this point, Jim had heard no noises from the other side of the lake other than Nya's voice in his head. It had seemed as if a large barrier had been erected between them, cutting off all sounds. But now he thought he could hear something and he strained his hearing to listen. The snarl of a dog and the snapping of its teeth reached his ears, reminding him of his dream of the wild dog and the wolf. He heard a low-pitched hiss and knew it was the snake that Nyajiru had warned him against. Frustration and anger at not being able to see what was happening or being able to go to the shaman's rescue had him clutching his fists until they ached from the strain. He felt his fingernails dig into his palms and the warm, sticky wetness of blood.

And then suddenly everything stopped.

The sounds of the snake and the dog were silenced. The swirling fog seemed to freeze. It was as if the world had stopped to take a breath and Jim Ellison felt himself hold his along with it. Fear for the old man had his muscles quivering as he waited for the world to breathe again. He didn't have long to wait. The high-pitched howl of the dog split the darkness and drove into his soul like a spike. The mist fell to the ground like shattered pieces of glass to reveal the other side of the lake. The detective couldn't restrain his moan. The wild dog lay at the edge of the water, its belly torn and oozing blood into the inky blackness. A large snake, its mottled skin marked with brown and black slithered across the dog's body and into the dense forest. But before it disappeared completely from sight, it turned to look at the detective. Its golden eyes blinked slowly at him as its pronged tongue darted out from a mouth that was open in an unnerving imitation of a smile.

Unable to bear the pain of the shaman's death and his helplessness at being unable to prevent that death, the sentinel screamed out his anger in a drawn out wail. "NO!"

Blair's eyes snapped open. "Jim?!" His friend's yell had made it through the many layers of sleep and set his heart pounding. Bolting out of bed, he jerked open the glass doors to his room and cringed as he heard them bang noisily against the walls.

"Jim? Answer me, man! Are you okay?" Even going up the staircase two steps at a time couldn't carry Sandburg fast enough to his partner's side. Every horrible scenario that his overactive imagination could come up with flashed through his mind in seconds. When he reached the top landing, he stopped his mad dash. His friend's body wasn't lying on the floor in a pool of blood, the victim of a silent killer. He wasn't writhing in pain from some unknown illness or attack as Blair's panicked brain had tried to convince him. His friend was sitting in bed, his knees drawn up almost to his chest. He was breathing heavily and doing his best to crush the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Hey, Jim, what's going on?" Reaching out a tentative hand, not wanting to startle him, Blair laid it gently on the sentinel's shoulder. "Nightmare?"

Ellison lowered his hands from his eyes and took in a deep breath. "Worse." He watched as his partner slowly sat on the edge of the bed. Sandburg's blue eyes stared hard and unblinking into his. It wasn't hard to read the dread that haunted his features. He knew how the younger man's mind worked and was sure that Blair had already made the logical steps to his distress being centred on something sentinel-related. Or, more likely, the problem that had been consuming them for the past week: Nya.

"Worse," Blair's voice was quiet. "You had better tell me about it, Jim. Does it have something to do with Nya?" Seeing his friend nod, he sighed wearily. "I was afraid of that."

"We're too late, Chief." There was no doubt in his mind this time about what the vision had meant. "I think Nya was trying to reach out to us. He was trying to warn us."

"What did he say?"

The detective could hear the bleakness in his friend's voice and shared some of what he was feeling. They had known from the outset that the chances of discovering that Nya had just wandered off and would return were slim. Neither of them had wanted or had been willing to voice their thoughts out loud. "He told me that I had to beware and protect. He never had a chance to tell me what to protect, but he said something about..." Jim paused, trying to remember the old shaman's words. "He said, 'I cannot protect you from Nyoka, the snake,' but that he had tried to." Leaning back against the railing, he wished that he could have spared his guide the rest of it. "I saw the snake, Blair, you were right."

Sandburg's brows furrowed. "I was right? About what? What snake? I don't understand."

"You said that maybe I just didn't see that there was someone else at the lake when I turned back to look. It was different this time. A different place and lake. Nya was there with someone else. I was too far away and it was too dark and misty for me to be able to see who it was, but this other guy was trying to make Nya eat or drink something. Then the fog got too thick and I couldn't see anything." Jim's voice broke as he relived the feeling of frustration. "But I could hear them fighting, the dog and snake. When I could see again, it was like the first time. The dog was lying at the edge of the lake. Only this time there was a snake." He felt a quick shudder run through his body as he remembered the backward glance the snake had given him before it had disappeared. "It had killed the dog."

"Then what we thought from the beginning was true. Nya's dead... murdered." Blair's knuckles turned white as his fingers dug and twisted into the blankets on the bed. It was several seconds before he said anything and when he did his voice was low and angry. "It just doesn't seem fair. He came here to help us." Meeting his friend's eyes, he was certain of only one thing. "I wanna get this guy, Jim."

"We both do, Chief," Ellison whispered earnestly. "We both do."

The two hikers walked slowly through the woods, holding hands and occasionally gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. They were silent, enjoying the soothing forest sounds that surrounded them-- chirping birds, rustling leaves, the peaceful sound of the babbling brook they followed. Butter, their hyperactive golden retriever, bounded gleefully ahead of them, enthusiastically investigating every hollow and rooting through each pile of leaves as if evaluating its suitability for a good body roll. Periodically, she would cease her investigations and dash happily back to the trail to sit, tongue lolling and her snout covered with the fruits of her burrowing, waiting for her people to arrive. Whenever she found a particularly scintillating item, Butter would grasp it firmly in her mouth and proudly present it to her owners once they caught up with her. They would praise her with an enthusiastic "Good girl!" and a pat on the head and she would race back into the woods to seek her fortunes once again.

On one such excursion, Butter discovered a prize that she couldn't take to her owners. She darted back to the trail and pranced happily, wagging her tail and barking excitedly.

"What's got her so worked up this time?" Don Grant wondered aloud, turning a puzzled grin to his wife Barbara.

"I dunno, but it must be something good," Barb theorized, bending to stroke the dog's now tangled and dirty fur. "What did you find, Butter? Buried treasure?"

As she had done so many times before on the hike, Butter spun and ran back into the woods. But she reappeared almost immediately, barking insistently and continuing to prance.

"Why do I suddenly feel like I'm in a episode of Lassie?" Barb joked, shooting her husband an amused smile. She turned to address the excited dog, "What is it, girl? Has the bridge washed out? Is Timmy in danger?"

Butter barked again and turned as if to go into the forest. But she paused and looked back at her owners, clearly communicating her desire that they follow her to uncover her most wondrous prize.

Rolling her eyes, Barb took her husband by the hand and pulled him into the woods with her. "C'mon," she insisted, "If I'm going to have to save Timmy from a bear, you have to come, too." They disappeared into the trees after their dog.

Less than five minutes later, the forest rang with Barbara Grant's horrified scream.

Jim Ellison's hand was reaching for his coffee cup when his phone rang. He revised his motion to grasp the receiver and lift it to his ear. "Ellison," he said succinctly. He listened for a moment then sighed heavily, turning sad eyes to his partner. Propping his elbow on his desk and placing his forehead in his hand, he acknowledged the caller with a soft, "Yeah, thanks for letting us know. It'll take us an hour or so to get out there." He gently replaced the telephone handset and lifted his eyes to the desk next to his. Blair sat staring at him, as still as death, his blue eyes wide.

Knowing that words didn't need to be spoken, but needing to speak them all the same, Jim said softly, "They've found him, Blair."

Blair's eyes closed tightly in pain and his chin dropped to his chest. "I was hoping..." Blair's voice trailed off and Jim finished the thought for him.

"...that I was wrong," he concluded.

"Yeah," Blair said quietly.

Rising to stand closer to his partner, Jim grasped Blair's shoulder and asked in concern, "You okay, Chief?"

Blair's eyes blazed briefly and he snapped a retort. "No! I'm not okay, Jim!" Then the fire died and the deep sadness returned. "No," he repeated. "A nice old man is dead and it's most likely got something to do with us. Your vision proves that. You said he was trying to warn us."

"Yeah, he was warning us about this nyoka thing, whatever it is." Jim couldn't disagree with his partner's reasoning and felt a disturbing sense of guilt at the thought that they were indirectly responsible for the elderly Botswanan's death.

"Where did they find him?" Blair asked, taking a deep breath and trying to regain his composure.

"Cascade National Forest. Couple of hikers and their dog discovered the body on one of their nature walks," Jim explained. "That was one of the park rangers with the National Park Service on the phone. He'd seen the APB on Nya and called us when the body was discovered." Jim hated to deliver the next part of his bad news to his already distressed partner. "Because they found the body in a national park, the case belongs to the Feds."

Blair turned incredulous eyes to his partner. "What?"

"It's not our case, Chief." Jim's expression radiated compassion as he regarded Blair and his grip on the younger man's shoulder didn't ease.

"They can't do that!" Blair declared hotly, shrugging off Jim's hand and pushing himself to his feet.

"I'm afraid they can," Jim confirmed sympathetically. "But..."

"Well, I'm not going to let them!" Blair broke in angrily, "I didn't know him very long, but Nya was my friend, Jim!"

"I know that, Blair. And I'm grateful to him, too, for helping you find your way. That's why I told the ranger we'd be up to talk with him in about an hour. It may not be our case, Chief, but that doesn't mean we can't poke around a little," he added with a sly wink.

Blair released the deep breath he'd inhaled preparatory to delivering his next tirade and smiled slightly. "Thanks, Jim."

"C'mon, buddy. We've got a long drive ahead of us," Ellison grasped the back of his partner's neck and gently steered him toward the elevator.

Ellison surreptitiously observed Sandburg, keeping one eye trained on the road and casting an occasional glance toward the passenger side of the blue and white truck as it sped toward its depressing destination. The first thirty minutes of their journey had passed in total silence.

"You're staring," Blair finally commented, never shifting his gaze from the side window.

"Sorry."

"S'okay," Blair assured him, finally turning to face Jim. The young detective's face still reflected a deep sadness and his voice quavered slightly as he confessed, "I was just thinking about Nya."

"That's what I figured," Jim sighed, turning his attention to the road to navigate swiftly through a congested section of freeway. Once the truck cleared the traffic, Ellison regarded again. "Still feeling guilty?"

"Well yeah, Jim, I am. Aren't you?" Blair felt as if he and his emotions were strapped tightly into a roller coaster car, forced to helplessly ride the peaks and valleys at an outside operator's whim. Just when he thought he had himself centered, a rush of anger would send his temper racing out of control. Realizing that he had been abrupt with his partner, Blair waved a hand in a silent apology.

"Yeah," Jim admitted softly, accepting the unspoken apology. Truth be told, he was having as much trouble keeping his anger at bay as Blair was. "I guess I am."

"I mean, he left Botswana specifically to meet us, to offer his help. And now he's dead. If he hadn't come here, he'd still be alive." Blair's eyes misted over as he added mournfully, "It's my fault."

Ellison felt enormous guilt as well, but couldn't bear to let his partner shoulder the blame alone. "It's not your fault, Blair. How could it be your fault?"

"He came here to help me, Jim..."

"You said it yourself, Chief. He came here to help us," Jim corrected. "No one could have predicted any of what happened."

"I think Nya did," Blair said soberly. "There's another way to interpret his note, Jim. He didn't mean he was going to go off and die. He knew he was going to be killed. He probably saw it in a vision, maybe even the same one you saw."

It made sense Ellison had to admit. Perhaps he and Nya had shared a vision-- a very unpleasant one. He grimaced as he pondered how it would feel to "see" your own death. He'd been in many situations where he feared for his life, but he'd never had a vision or a premonition of his own death. He shuddered briefly as he recalled the dream that had shown him Blair's death, an image he would much rather have forgotten.

"I understand how you feel, Blair, and I feel responsible, too. But there's a part of me that wonders if we ever really had any control over the situation to start with." Jim shifted uncomfortably and focused his attention on the road ahead of them as Blair turned a confused look his way. "I mean, if I've learned anything over the last few years, it's that sometimes things happen and there's absolutely nothing we can do to alter them," he continued with a self- conscious shrug.

"Fate," Blair murmured in agreement, peering out the window once again and nodding. "Doesn't make me feel any better, though."

"No, it doesn't," Jim admitted sadly.

A little over an hour later, Ellison brought the truck to a stop in the gravel parking lot outside the Moss Creek National Park Ranger Station. The small station, nestled in a copse of pine trees and fronted by a gently fluttering American flag, certainly did not bustle with activity.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Blair asked, looking around curiously. "Doesn't look like any murder scene investigation I've ever seen."

Ellison had to agree. He'd expected to see the parking lot filled with the ubiquitous four-door sedans that screamed "federal agent" and dark-suited minions hustling to and fro, speaking softly into their walkie-talkies and cell phones. Side-stepping a mud puddle left as a reminder of recent rains, he confirmed their location. "Yeah, this is the right place."

"Weird," Blair muttered as they reached the entrance to the station. "By the look of things, you'd never know a man was murdered, would you?"

It was a rhetorical question, so Jim didn't bother to answer. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, his eyes quickly sweeping the small office. The building consisted of a large room with a long counter at the back; a small office was tucked off to the right side and public restrooms off the left. The office end of the room sported a large relief map of the Cascade National Forest, with the area surrounding the Moss Creek Ranger Station highlighted. The restroom end held several literature racks displaying campsite and trail information and a broad selection of postcards. A large, slightly faded poster of Smokey the Bear adorned the wall behind the racks, admonishing all who regarded it to remember that only they could prevent forest fires.

Behind the counter, a female ranger regarded the disparate duo in momentary appreciation before asking politely, "May I help you?"

Pulling his identification from a pocket, Ellison approached the counter. "Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade PD. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg. We got a call from," Jim consulted his notes, "a Ranger Jack Donato telling us that the body of a missing person we've been looking for has been found."

Before the clerk could respond, a rather portly man in a national park ranger's uniform stepped from the small office adjoining the information counter. "I'm Jack Donato," he identified himself in a booming voice, extending his hand to each man in greeting. "You made good time."

"Traffic was light," Jim replied neutrally, not willing to admit that they had broken more than one speed limit in an effort to arrive before the scene could be totally corrupted by the Feds. "So, where is everybody?" he questioned, gesturing to the mostly empty parking lot. "I expected to see hoards of federal agents swarming the place."

Donato looked perplexed. "Why?" he asked, furrowing his brow and regarding the two Cascade detectives in confusion.

"Why?" Blair burst out, unable to contain his surprise. "Doesn't finding a murder victim register on federal radar anymore?"

"Murder?" Donato was obviously not following Blair's reasoning. "Who said anything about murder? If this is the old man you're looking for, he wasn't murdered. Looks to me like the old fella just wandered off into the woods, got lost and died of natural causes or something. There weren't any signs of foul play."

Blair snorted derisively, but heeded his partner's subtle shift of position and held his tongue. "Have the Feds even been here?" Ellison asked.

"Oh yeah, they were here and took the body down to the local morgue. It's in a small town not far from here called Moss Creek, just like my park."

Blair rolled his eyes and shifted impatiently, but Ellison gamely pressed on. "So, did they say anything to you?"

"About what?"

Ellison silently counted to five before calmly answering, "About the body or the location, Ranger Donato. Did they offer any theories of their own?"

Donato pressed his lips together in thought and then shook his head. "Nope. Pretty much came to the same conclusion I did. The old guy got lost in the woods and died."

"What about the autopsy?" Jim prodded.

Donato frowned. "Look, Detective Ellison. I only called you as a courtesy. The body was found in a national park and, as a result, it becomes a federal case. I just remembered seeing your APB and thought you'd appreciate knowing he'd been found. Any other information you want will have to come from the Feds." Donato crossed his arms across his barrel chest and assumed a defiant stance, which had little to no effect on ex-Army Ranger Captain James Ellison.

"I'd like for you to show me where the body was found," Jim plowed on, ignoring the ranger's bravado, "and are the witnesses still available?"

Realizing that he was overmatched, Donato deflated a bit. "Well, yeah, I guess I can show you where they found the body, but the couple that found it have long since left. The wife was pretty upset, you know?"

"They register for a campsite?" Jim asked, moving to regard the map on the wall.

"Yeah," Donato confirmed, uncertain what Ellison was driving at.

"It'll have their names and address on it," Jim said, turning to face the ranger, "I'll need a copy of that before we leave."

Donato opened his mouth to protest once again that the Cascade police department had no jurisdiction in the case and was, therefore, not privy to the information, but decided against it when confronted with Ellison's steely glare. "Glad to," was the best he could manage. He turned to the clerk behind the counter. "Susan, would you please make a note of the name and address of the couple who found that body this morning and give it to Detective Ellison when we return?" He did his best to make it sound as if it had been his idea all along.

"Sure," Susan smiled, openly admiring the man who could best her boss in the intimidation arena.

Donato grabbed his radio and shoved it into the holster he wore low on his left hip. "You know how to reach me if you need me," he snapped, glaring at his amused employee.

Gesturing toward the door, Donato indicated that the two detectives should precede him. While Donato's back was turned, Blair flashed a grin at Susan and winked. She smiled in return and gave the longhaired detective a small wave.

Donato wiped his brow with his handkerchief and tried not to look winded in front of the big city detectives. He knew the senior detective, Ellison, wasn't impressed with his handling of the case and he didn't want to exacerbate the situation by showing that he had gotten out of shape during his service with the National Parks Service. It had only been a three-mile hike, but damn it was warm, especially for this high up in the mountains! A dip in the cool, peaceful lake that bordered the crime scene looked pretty inviting to the overheated ranger.

Staring pointedly at the man's red face, Ellison none too subtly suggested, "We can take it from here, Ranger Donato."

"But, I shouldn't," Donato began to protest lamely. "I mean..."

"You said yourself that the federal agents didn't consider this a crime scene, so I see no reason why you should have to remain with us while we poke around," Ellison insisted. "We'll be able to find our own way back. The trail is clearly marked, after all."

Recognizing that he was once again out of his league, Donato grunted and turned to leave. "Don't forget to stop by the station so Susan can give you the witness information," he said gruffly. He began to walk back down the trail toward the ranger station. A few moments after he cleared the scene, Jim smiled and chuckled softly.

"What's so funny?" Blair demanded irritably. Reaching the scene of Nya's death had resurrected his earlier melancholy.

"Donato is muttering under his breath about overbearing city detectives," Jim informed him. "And he's certain I'm more brawn than brains."

Despite the situation, Blair smiled. "He does seem a little full of himself, doesn't he?"

"That's the impression I get." Jim shrugged. "Guess I just wanted to take him down a notch. I didn't like the way he talked to his clerk," he added off-handedly, pulling a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and stretching them over his hands. He didn't know what he expected to find out in the middle of the forest, but whatever it was he had no intention of contaminating it with his own fingerprints.

"Besides, we didn't need him hanging around while you used your senses, either," Blair added, following his partner's lead.

"That, too," Jim agreed, and then bent to his task of investigating the crime scene. He shook his head, faintly unsettled by his surroundings. "This feels so weird, Blair. I mean, this is exactly the spot I saw in my dream! Only, I was on the other side of the lake and the dog and the snake were on this side."

Blair's expression was disturbed as he regarded the area that Jim had apparently seen so clearly in his dream. When Jim had described the events that had taken place, Blair had assumed that the setting had been symbolic rather than actual. "When the snake disappeared into the bushes, which way did it go, Jim?"

Jim took a moment to gain his bearings, trying to banish the horrible images of Nyajiru's painful death as well as the feelings of helplessness that once again assaulted him. Turning slightly, Jim pointed to an area thick with underbrush, "It slithered over that way. I remember seeing the bushes there when the snake turned and, well, looked at me." Despite having experienced several visions since his senses had re-emerged, Jim was clearly still uncomfortable at the method of communication chosen by those on the spiritual plane. He was obviously discomfited by the image of the snake as well.

For several minutes the pair searched in silence, hoping to find some blatant clue to the physical circumstances of Nya's disappearance and death. But whatever clues might have existed did not announce themselves with neon lights or waving banners and Blair slapped his hand against a tree trunk in frustration. "Nothing!" he declared hotly then struck the tree trunk again.

"Easy there, Chief," Jim cautioned gently. "We've got to keep it together, here."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Sorry, Jim." Blair took a deep breath and studied the surrounding terrain. "I don't think Nya was killed here, Jim, even though it's the area you saw in your dream."

Jim paused in his intent perusal of the ground surrounding the marked location of the body. Judging by the haphazard markings, Donato was right. The Feds had truly considered this a tragic case of a senile dementia. A confused old man had simply wandered off, gotten lost and had died a natural death. No foul play, no need for a long, involved investigation. Get in, document the scene and then get out. Case closed. As the meaning of his partner's words sank in, Jim regarded Blair intently, "Why do you say that?"

"Just checking the area," Blair shrugged. "No signs of a struggle. It looks kind of rough back that way." He motioned to his left, toward a steep bluff that rose several feet into the air. "But there's no indication that Nya's... body... was thrown or carried from up there."

"Good eye, Sandburg," Jim approved. He recognized the mountainous backdrop from his dream. "You're probably right. Nya was thin and frail, but had the murderer carried or thrown him from the bluff, the surrounding area would be much more disturbed than it is. Of course, the Feds haven't helped our cause any by trampling the scene to death, either. I guess I can't blame them..." he began then raised his palm to forestall Blair's response. "We're too close to the case not to see it for what it is, Sandburg. The Feds don't have the same inside knowledge we have. Unfortunately, the situation they've described happens all too frequently, so they've got quite a bit of precedent for their determination."

"I know," Blair admitted. "I just can't stand the thought that this guy is going to get away with this!"

"He's not, Blair," Ellison promised. "We'll find him somehow. Now let's see if I can't dig a little deeper and find us something useful to go on." Sandburg took his familiar position off Ellison's left shoulder in case he was needed to deter a zone out and the sentinel and guide spent the next several minutes in silence as the watchman delved deep into the minutiae that comprised the surrounding forest. Finally, the sentinel relaxed his vigilance and, indicating that his guide follow, began to move cautiously into the forest, away from the hikers' path Donato had shown them.

"Whoever he is, he's good," Jim commented as he picked his way through the trees and undergrowth to follow a trail only he could see.

"Is he still around?" Blair questioned, keeping close on Jim's heels, ready to assume a defensive posture if necessary.

"No sign of him, Chief. And he's done a good job of covering his trail. For all I know, right now I could be following a renegade groundhog." Blair's bark of laughter was a welcome change to the serious expression he had worn since they arrived. Jim knew the reprieve would be short- lived. The situation was far too serious to be taken lightly, but he wanted to divert Blair's thoughts from the intense guilt that he felt.

Less than ten minutes later, the sentinel stopped and straightened his posture, a sigh of frustration and a mild expletive escaping his lips as he stared morosely at the scene before them. "Damn."

"What's the matter, Jim?" Blair asked, coming from behind his partner where his vision had been obscured.

Ellison gestured sullenly at the wide expanse of rocky terrain that fronted a public campground packed with families enjoying the great outdoors. "I told you he was good. The trail ends here. Any semblance there might have been of a path will have been totally obliterated." As a precaution, he scanned the surrounding area in an attempt to prove himself wrong, but he could find no discernible path.

Turning back the way they had come, Ellison growled, "Come on, Chief. Let's get back to the ranger station and get the names of those hikers. Based on the lack of evidence at the scene, I don't think they're going to be able to tell us anything, but I don't want to take the chance. And I want to see Nya's body."

An hour later, after hiking back to the ranger station and retrieving the necessary information from Donato's clerk, Susan (Donato was conspicuous by his absence), the two detectives entered the Moss Creek Funeral Home and Mortuary, which also served as the small town's morgue. "I hate these places," Blair muttered. "They give me the creeps!"

Ellison started to agree, but refrained when he detected approaching footsteps. From an anteroom off the large entry stepped a skeletal man dressed in an old fashioned, ill-fitting black suit, charcoal shirt and black string tie. In stark contrast to the drab loose clothing, the face that topped the shirt was almost startlingly white, long and angular with a sharp nose. "May I help you?" he asked obsequiously, clasping his hands together at waist level.

"I'm Detective Ellison from Cascade PD. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg," Jim pulled his identification from his pocket and held it out for the cadaverous man to see. Blair followed suit and waited patiently while the mortician closely examined their credentials.

Having satisfied himself as to the authenticity of the credentials, the man raised his eyes to meet the tall detective's. "Bartholomew Abercrombie," he introduced himself, "What can I do for you?"

"You're holding the body of an elderly African man brought in this morning?" Jim asked as he tucked his identification back into his pocket.

"Yes, I am."

"We'd like to see the body, please."

"Of course. This way, gentlemen." Abercrombie led the way from the reception area back through a series of long, dark hallways and Ellison couldn't help but feel as if he was playing a supporting role in a B class horror film. Any moment, he expected a zombie to leap from the many darkened rooms they passed and drag one of them screaming into the night. Only it wasn't night. And this wasn't a horror film. It was real.

"Do you know if the deceased had any family?" Abercrombie inquired as he stopped in front of a large, gleaming metal door and fished in his pocket.

As Abercrombie pulled a set of keys from his pocket and concentrated on inserting the correct key into the lock, Blair turned startled eyes toward his partner. Neither of them actually knew if Nya had had any family or not.

"Uh, no we don't." Blair confirmed. "He may have had some family in Africa, but we don't know. He didn't mention anyone," he finished sadly.

"Oh dear." Abercrombie fretted, swinging the door wide and stepping into the chilly room. Ellison and Sandburg followed him into the room, pausing as he reached a long arm out to flick on a light switch. "That brings up the question of a funeral." Abercrombie turned a serious face to his visitors. "Don't think me a mercenary, Detectives, but I must make a living, after all." Moving to a wall of refrigerated storage units, he grasped the handle on one of the doors and tugged. The drawer slid out smoothly and quietly to reveal a sheet-draped figure. Jim heard Blair's breath catch.

"Chief," he began only to be stopped by Blair's soft response.

"I can do this, Jim. I owe it to him."

Jim nodded; understanding that the guilt his partner felt drove him to make amends any way he could. Identifying the gentle old man's body was but one way Blair could acknowledge his gratitude to Nya and his remorse that the shaman's death was almost certainly a direct result of his visit to Cascade's sentinel and guide.

Blair moved closer to the body and, with a small nod, indicated his readiness to the mortician. Abercrombie, with a reverence that belied the stern expression he wore, eased the sheet away from the corpse's face and stepped aside to give Blair a few moments of privacy.

The young detective remained rigid for several seconds after the victim was revealed, then reached out to hesitantly touch the cold, lifeless hand of Nyajiru. "I'm sorry," he whispered so softly that even Jim could barely hear him. "I can only hope that you have joined Kuguri, and that you and your sentinel will be together for all eternity." He held the hand a moment longer then turned away with a heavy sigh.

Ellison gripped his partner's shoulder firmly in silent support and then turned his full attention to examining the body. It was never a pleasant task, but it was particularly disturbing when you knew the body when it breathed and pulsed blood through its veins. As communicated by Ranger Donato, there appeared to be no visible signs of trauma. After a moment, Jim felt Blair's presence at his side and he looked up to acknowledge his partner with a sympathetic smile.

As he resumed his examination, careful to mask his more detailed inspection with generalized motions that could be interpreted as "routine," Ellison said conversationally, "Mr. Abercrombie, as my partner mentioned, we are not aware that the victim has any family to notify of his death." He carefully turned Nya's head to the side as he examined his neck and continued, "In fact, I believe Detective Sandburg and I are probably the closest thing to family or friends he had in the United States."

Blair wondered where his partner was headed with his casual conversation and tried to maintain a detached air as he watched Jim meticulously examine the body.

"So," Jim continued, transferring his attention to Nya's upper torso, "Perhaps you'd be willing to release the body into our custody?" He heard Blair's startled breath and knew he had made the right decision when Blair's hand briefly touched his shoulder then slid away.

"Well, I don't know..." Abercrombie mused uneasily, his face reflecting his indecision.

Jim pressed his point. "The FBI didn't indicate they intended to do anything with the body, did they?"

"Well, no," the thin mortician admitted, "but..."

"Then I see no problem with the Cascade Coroner's office sending someone to pick up the body while we try to find out if he had any family. Do you?" Jim paused to grace Abercrombie with an ingratiating smile and Blair's expression was openly pleading.

"No, I suppose not," Abercrombie agreed. "And seeing as how you're the closest thing to family that he has, I suppose it's only proper that he be given over to your care."

Blair released a pent up breath and reached to shake the mortician's hand. "Thank you," he said simply, letting his expression communicate the rest.

Later, in the truck, Blair repeated the phrase; only this time he said it to his partner. "Thank you, Jim," he said solemnly, knowing he did not need to elaborate.

"No thanks necessary, Chief. I meant what I said. And if we can't determine that he had any family to notify, then we'll be his family. He deserves a proper burial, according to his beliefs if we can. We're going to make sure he gets that burial."

Gratitude shone from Blair's eyes and he could think of nothing more expressive to say than another heartfelt "Thank you."

Despite the relative lateness of the hour, the Major Crime bullpen still quietly buzzed with activity when Ellison and Sandburg returned. Rafe and Henri were each on the telephone. Henri sat facing his computer, the telephone receiver tucked precariously between his ear and his shoulder while he worked to produce a document using the tried and true "hunt and peck" method of typing. Rafe was scribbling rapidly as he took down the pertinent information regarding another Major Crimes case, occasionally interjecting an "uh huh" or a question. Simon, as usual, was still in his office, unlit cigar firmly clamped between his teeth and a scowl directed steadfastly at the available manpower information he held in his hand.

Jim and Blair had made arrangements with Abercrombie and the Cascade Coroner's Office to have someone pick up Nya's body that evening and deliver it to the morgue for an autopsy. Dan Wolf had begrudgingly agreed to place a priority on the autopsy and had scheduled it for 8:00 the following morning, promising that Ellison and Sandburg would "owe him big" for his assistance.

Having taken care of claiming Nya's body, the detectives had turned their attention to locating and interviewing Donald and Barbara Grant, the hapless hikers whose dog had found the elderly Botswanan's lifeless corpse. As Ellison had suspected, while admirably composed following the ghastly discovery, the couple was unable to produce any information helpful to the case. Unless the autopsy produced at least a definitive cause of death, the investigation was going nowhere and that was unacceptable to Jim Ellison.

A restless night found the detectives up earlier than usual the next morning. Blair was quiet and withdrawn and the dark circles under his eyes attested to the sleepless night he had spent trying to avoid the specter of Nya's corpse now lying in the Cascade morgue. Jim, too, had had difficulty sleeping and was hoping the caffeine in the extra strong coffee he had brewed would boost his energy level to something at least above sloth.

Precisely at 8:00, the partners entered the chilly realm of the Cascade morgue and solemnly greeted Wolf. He returned the greetings with equal solemnity and continued to prepare his work area. Nya's naked body already lay on the hard, steel table, his lifeless expression serene and seemingly at odds with his cold, hard surroundings. Blair swallowed his sorrow as he and Jim pulled surgical masks over their faces and moved to stand by the body. Jim had given Nya's body a cursory (for a sentinel) examination at the Moss Creek Funeral Home, but wanted a chance to do a more detailed inspection before Dan began his more invasive procedures.

He caught Blair's eye and, with an almost imperceptible nod, indicated that he should distract Wolf while the sentinel worked. Wracking his brain for a diversion, Blair finally launched into a detailed description of Bartholomew Abercrombie that soon had Dan chortling with laughter, despite the seriousness of his impending task. Blair assured himself that, were Nya in a condition to care, he would not have been offended at the levity that assured that the sentinel would be able to conduct his examination without benefit of an audience or an explanation.

"Dan," Jim finally called the coroner back to the task at hand. "What do you make of this?" He made a show of squinting through a large magnifying glass at a small bruise on the inside of Nya's left bicep.

Pulling his own mask up to cover his nose and mouth, Wolf bent to examine the area Jim indicated. "There appears to be some bruising here," he murmured, shifting the glass closer and angling the overhead light to better illuminate the area. "And perhaps a tiny puncture wound, although I can't be certain about that yet." He raised his eyes to meet Ellison's. "How did you see this tiny spot without knowing what you were looking for?"

Ellison shrugged. "Hunch," he replied succinctly. "There were no outward signs of trauma and I just had a hunch the old fella didn't just wander out into the woods and die. So, I started looking for convenient areas to administer a drug of some sort. I was actually expecting to find a mark on the inside of his elbow..." he trailed off and shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't nearly as good as Blair at this obfuscation thing and he hadn't had to engage in it much since the majority of Major Crime's detectives either already knew or already suspected that Blair's dissertation wasn't falsified.

Wolf waved a hand and protested, "Never mind, never mind. Let's just call it a lucky guess, shall we?" He had heard the rumors around the station following Blair's press conference and had put his own Ellison experiences together and come up with his own conclusions. Whatever Ellison chose to share was his business. All he knew was that he and Sandburg solved cases and they were good men. That was good enough for him. "Have you finished your examination?"

At Ellison's nod, Dan pulled on his latex gloves with a snap, picked up a scalpel and reached to activate the voice recorder that would document his comments during the autopsy. Blair blanched and backed slowly towards the door, his hands waving nervously in the air. "I'll... uh... just... uh." He motioned vaguely toward the door and reached behind him to blindly search for the knob. Finding it, he gave it a quick twist and slipped through the open doorway to the hallway beyond. When Jim emerged a minute later, he found Blair leaned against the wall, arms crossed on his chest, his eyes distant and troubled.

"You okay, Chief?"

"Yeah, I'm okay, Jim. It's just the indignity of it all, you know? He was a proud man who only wanted to help. Now he's dead and some stranger is getting ready to cut him open and spread his insides all over some table," Blair said bitterly. "I don't think Nya would have been all that happy about it."

"Probably not," Jim agreed. "But it's the only way we have of hopefully finding out what killed him. And until we know what, we won't know who."

"I know," Blair sighed, "but I don't have to like it."

"C'mon," Jim urged his young partner. "Let's get upstairs and see what else we can dig up. Dan's promised to push the results through the lab as fast as he can and hopes to have some answers for us by late this afternoon. He promises we're going to owe him forever for this one."

"Just add him to the list of folks we owe, Jim," Blair smiled slightly. "It's getting to be a rather long one."

Six very unproductive, frustrating hours later the anticipated report was hand-delivered by the coroner. Ellison and Sandburg had been forced to devote a large portion of the day following up on the other cases they were working and had not been able to make any progress on finding out whether Nya had any family to contact about his death. They had checked with the desk clerk at the Y to see if Nya had provided any emergency contact information when he had checked in, but the clerk said the old man had simply indicated "none" on the registration form. Simon was going to have some hefty international phone charges to explain when the next bill arrived, but he had become quite adept at "tap dancing" as he called it.

Catching Wolf's approach from the corner of his eye, Blair practically leapt from his chair to stand next to his partner while Dan succinctly delivered the results of the autopsy. "Based on lividity tests, I'd estimate the time of death to be between 24 to 36 hours ago. As you saw, there were no outward signs of trauma, no blunt force appears to have been used. In fact, were he alive, I'd say he was an extremely healthy specimen for a man his age." Wolf shook his head. "Anyway. The only sign of trauma I could find was the bruise you found on his arm. As I suspected, it was a puncture wound, but it was so tiny, I can only assume it was made by a needle." He forestalled Blair's question by saying, "No, I don't believe that's what killed him, Blair. As far as I can determine, based on the depth of some necrotic tissue around the site, the puncture was no deeper than his biceps muscle. A poison injected into the muscle would most likely not be fatal. We did find traces of a chemical substance in the tissue, but we're still working to identify it. I can say it appears to be a natural substance, rather than artificial. I don't have a lot for you there, yet."

Jim took the folder from Wolf's hands and scanned it as he continued his narrative. "He did have some odd sores in his mouth, but he could have eaten some mildly caustic wild berries or leaves to cause that." He frowned as he noted an oddity in the report. "The initial report from the Moss Creek Funeral Home is that they were told by the FBI that the victim had wandered into the forest, gotten confused and died of natural causes."

"That's what they said," Ellison agreed at the same time that Blair growled "he wasn't lost!"

Wolf raised his hands in a placating gesture to Blair and returned to his report. "Well, his stomach contents certainly don't support the lost in the woods theory. While I can't be totally certain, it appears that shortly before his death, he ingested a fairly hearty meal of fish and some sort of cornmeal-based bread. Not the sort of fare I'd expect one to find while wandering helplessly in the Cascade forest."

"Hardly," Ellison agreed thoughtfully, looking to his partner and raising his eyebrows in surprise.

"Even odder is a mass of fibrous material I found. Chemical composition places it in a group containing cyanophoric glucosides." At Ellison's obvious impatience with the scientific information, Dan converted to layman's terms. "He appears to have eaten some sort of wild herb. Wish I could tell you more about it, but we haven't been able to identify it yet."

"What about his blood work? Anything unusual there?"

"Still working on that one too, Jim. I promise I'll get back with you when I have more."

"Thanks, Dan, this is a lot more than we had a while ago. We owe you one."

"You owe me more than one!" Wolf swore with a smile as he turned and left the bullpen.

Jim felt a small smile come to his lips as he watched Blair. He had noticed early on in their friendship that Sandburg could maneuver around assorted obstacles with his head buried deep in a book or file. He decided that his partner must have been born with some sort of internal radar system or that his thick curly hair was hiding an extra set of eyes. Blair had gone to the fax machine to retrieve some information and was now returning to his desk as he read it. He dodged around Rhonda's desk without looking up. Stepped over a stack of files on the floor by Henri's desk. He edged by a hurrying Megan Connor and then came to a stop by his chair. Glancing up, he looked almost surprised to find himself at his desk as he pulled his chair out with a foot and then sat. Ellison's smile grew when his partner got up again, almost immediately, and headed towards him. His eyes were still glued to the fax.

"I think this is the guy we need to see, Jim." Sandburg covered the few feet to Ellison's desk and put the fax down. "Graham Brooks. Simon told me that he was used as a forensic expert on a case a couple of years ago. It was the Mehler case. Ring any bells with you?" At his partner's quick shake of his head in the negative, he continued. "Didn't with me either, but Simon said that it was a domestic homicide where the wife used some kind of herbal concoction to save herself the cost of a divorce."

Jim's eyebrows rose. "Oh waitaminute, I do remember that one. Someone nicknamed it the "grass-is-greener" case. Ann-Marie Mehler had found this herb that she ground up and added to her husband's joints. He slowly toked himself to death," the sentinel smirked. "It was a tough one to prove. And, yeah, I think I remember this Brooks. He's fairly young to be an expert witness, but the guy knew his stuff and could identify what it was the woman used. Even helped the boys in Homicide track down her source."

"And that's just the kind of expert help we're going to need to pinpoint what was used to kill Nya. The labs still aren't having any luck with it." Perching himself on the corner of Jim's desk, he pointed to a phone number sent in the fax. "You want me to give Graham Brooks a call and make an appointment to see him or do you want to do it?"

"I can call him, Chief." Ellison handed his partner a scrap of paper with a name and phone number scribbled on it. "I took this call while you were waiting for that fax to come in. He said you'd know why he was calling and that he'd be at that number for the next hour."

Quickly glancing at the name, Blair's face broke into a smile. "This is the linguistics professor I was telling you about. He's been trying to find out if nyoka is a name or a name of something. He thought he recognized it as being African so he was going to start there. Maybe he's found it." Sliding down from Jim's desk, he headed for his own. "I'll give him a call now."

"And I'll try Brooks." Jim picked up the receiver and resisted the urge to sigh. The discovery of Nya's body had shaken them both badly. To the majority of Major Crime it seemed like a random and senseless act. Just another elderly traveller being victimized for the money he might have been carrying. Nya's involvement in the drug related death at the airport had others guessing that the old shaman's death was probably the result of a drug overdose. That forensics and the coroner were not having any luck in identifying the foreign substance found in the African's bloodstream wasn't helping. If Graham Brooks was as good as his publicity they might have a chance at tracking down the killer. So far, clues had been non-existent and leads just as bad.

Hello. The woman's voice on the other end of the receiver startled the detective. "Ah, I'd like to speak with Graham Brooks, please." Jim was asked to wait while the man was called to the phone. Either Brooks' phones were not equipped with a hold feature or whoever had answered the phone was unfamiliar with it. With little trouble he could hear the soft strains of music coming from within the house. It didn't suit his taste, but he found it strangely relaxing and almost hypnotic. The quiet beat of a drum flowed into the rising and falling lilt of some sort of pipe. Underneath this he could hear the hushed whisper of waves. Closing his eyes, he let himself absorb the calm the music created. It stirred up memories of Peru and the warmth and luxuriance of its jungles.

"Yes, may I help you?" Brooks' voice jolted the sentinel from his daydream. It sounded rushed and faintly annoyed.

Clearing his throat, Jim introduced himself. "Mr. Brooks, I'm sorry to have disturbed you. My name is James Ellison. I'm a detective with the Cascade Police. I'm working on a homicide right now that seems to fall into your area of expertise."

"And what area of expertise would that be, detective?" The man's tone had changed, becoming more conversational. "I have helped the police in other cases and would be happy to do so again. What is it that you need?"

"We think we're dealing with an organic poison, possibly an herb or other plant source. My partner and I would like to bring what we have and see if you can make any more headway than our labs."

There was a brief pause before Brooks gave his answer. "I could not see you before this evening. Detective Ellison, was it?"

"Right, Jim Ellison. This evening would be fine. Detective Sandburg and I could be there around 8:00 if that's convenient."

"That would be fine, detective. I shall see you and your partner at 8:00. I am curious to discover what it is that could have eluded your fine laboratories. Now if you would excuse me, I am with a client." A soft click immediately followed, surprising the detective at its abruptness.

"What did Brooks say?" Blair still sat at his desk, wearing a bemused smile. "You looked like you were off in dreamland for a little while before he came to the phone."

"Yeah, he was playing this music. It was... I dunno, soothing I guess. Sounded like something you'd listen to. Jungle drums, the ocean. That sort of stuff. Anyway, he said we could go see him tonight. I told him 8:00. How'd your call go?"

"Dr. Holden said he'd probably have it pinned down by tomorrow. He said it's definitely one of the African dialects. He thinks it might be Chichewa or maybe Yoruba, but he hasn't found nyoka yet." Sandburg shrugged his shoulders. "So, who knows? Maybe by tomorrow we'll have something we can work with."

"It may take a day or two to come up with something solid, but we will, Chief. Uh, Blair," Jim's face broke into a grin. "How do you know this Dr. Holden?"

Sandburg looked definitely wary as he watched his partner's grin grow into a smile. "He's an old friend of my mom's. Why?"

"Nothing, really. But when he called he did ask me how 'little' Blair was and if he was enjoying his new career." He watched his friend's eyes widen.

"Aw man, he didn't really say that, did he?" The young man hung his head down and chuckled when Ellison nodded yes. "He would. Paul Holden and my mom have been friends forever. In fact we lived with Paul and his wife, Summer, for a year. Mom was the maid of honour at their wedding. I got to carry the bracelets. I think I was about four."

"Bracelets?"

"Oh yeah, Jim. It was one of those traditionally non-traditional hippie weddings. Under the trees, everyone in tie-dye." Blair laughed when his partner silently mouthed the word "oh". "They're great people. Next time they're in town you'll have to meet them. But, I just wish Paul would get out of the habit of calling me 'little Blair'."

Ravenscliffe Drive wound through the centre of the wealthy community that sat overlooking the Pacific. White brick mansions and rustic "log cabin" dwellings that rivalled the homes of some of the rich and famous lined the street. Graham Brooks' home sat on a bend of the winding road. Its gleaming white exterior caught the rose and violet rays of the sun's setting, giving it a warm and welcoming aura.

A low whistle broke the silence of the tree-lined street. Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg stood at the end of the long driveway assessing the home of their hopefully expert witness. The old Ford truck behind them looked conspicuous among the BMWs and Mercedes that were parked in front of their double garages. "Wow, maybe I should be taking this shaman thing in some new directions." Blair's voice was awed.

Jim looked at his partner. "What do you mean, Chief?"

"Brooks." Sandburg frowned at his friend. "You didn't read the rest of that fax, did you? Brooks is a practitioner of natural healing and energy healing. He's a shamanic practitioner. I guess it pays pretty well."

Snorting and giving his partner a gentle shove towards the mansion, Ellison shook his head in mock dismay. "Try not to drool once we get into the house, Sandburg," the sentinel said dryly. "Let's go."

The two men strode up the long walk bordered by fragrant flowers and shrubs. "Ah, you're just worried that I'll forget about you when I'm rich. But I won't, Jim, don't worry. I won't forget that you took me in when I needed a place to live. I'll need a chief of security for protection and to protect my pile of money. You'd be a natural with your senses."

Giving his friend a lopsided grimace, Ellison rolled his eyes and pressed the doorbell. The door was opened almost immediately by a young man who looked to be in his early thirties and introduced himself as Graham Brooks. "Detectives, please come in." He ushered them into the house and led them through the main foyer. "I've set us up in the study. It's just through those double doors. Please, go ahead and make yourselves comfortable. I've made some coffee and I think the housekeeper left cookies or something equally as delicious for us. I'll join you in a few minutes."

The two detectives crossed the hallway and stepped through the double doors. The view that greeted them stopped them in their tracks. The study was a spacious glassed in room that stood two or three stories high. Large palm-leafed trees grew out from the tiled floor and brushed against the clear ceiling. Ellison was sure he had spotted a parrot sitting in one of them. Exotic plants, some easily identified as orchids and some completely foreign to both men, sprouted from beds that circled the room. The air that flowed from the vents felt warm-- almost moist-- was heavily scented with the flowers' natural perfumes. Hidden among the trees and plants and completely camouflaged was a long glass terrarium that spanned one wall.

A soft hiss drew Jim's attention to the container and he walked over to it to study it more closely. "Blair?" Ellison called over his shoulder. "Come and take a look at this." A large and thick-bodied snake slithered through the artificial jungle that had been created for its home. Its scales were brightly marked in triangles and squares of purple, tan and brown. Its broad head sported two horns on its snout. "Mean looking..."

The quiet rattle of cutlery and the clinking of cups announced their host's return. "I see you've discovered my pet. Impressive, isn't he?" Brooks joined them at the terrarium. "It's a gaboon viper. I've had him since moving to Washington."

"I'm surprised that you'd be allowed to get it through customs." Jim followed his host to the small table and chairs in the centre of the room.

"I didn't bring him into the country. I suppose you could say that I rescued him. I had heard about the snake from one of my clients. Someone had smuggled it into the country and it was going to be destroyed. I didn't want to see that happen so, I'm almost ashamed to admit this, I made two or three phone calls, spoke to the right people and the snake was delivered to me." The shaman smiled at Ellison. "It was all very legal, detective. I have a document signed by a congressman."

"I'm sure it was, Mr. Brooks." Blair took the seat to his partner's right and gave him a pointed look. Intimidating or annoying the one person who might be able to help them was not on their agenda. He turned back to his host. "I'd like to thank you for taking the time to talk to us."

"Not at all, Detective Sandburg. I'm happy to be of service. But before we start, tell me, how do you like your coffee?" The man's smile was disarming and Blair found himself responding to it.

"Both Jim and I take it black."

"Black it is then." The man poured coffee into the two mugs and handed one to each of the detectives. "I hope you'll try a cookie as well. I'm very fond of them. Mrs. Webster, my housekeeper, is a wonderful baker. I think these are her milk chocolate and macadamia, one of her specialties." He turned his smile on Ellison. "Detective? Can I tempt you?"

Not missing the message in his partner's look when he had joined them at the table, Jim thought it would be prudent to accept the offer. Even if he didn't particularly like cookies or want one. "Yes, thank you."

Taking a pair of silver tongs, Brooks placed one of the cookies on a small plate and handed it to Ellison. "Now, this case you're working on..." He placed another cookie on a plate for Blair. "You think that there is a poisonous herb involved?"

"Yes," Blair answered. "A body was found. There were no obvious wounds to indicate the cause of death. The autopsy could identify the presence of one or two foreign substances but couldn't identify what they were."

"I see. Do you have the lab reports with you? Could I see them?"

Jim placed his mug on the table and reached down for the file folder he had placed at his feet. "I hope you understand that most of the pertinent information about the victim has been removed for security reasons."

The shaman waved his hand. "Of course, of course. I understand completely, but it would help me to know the age, weight and general health of the victim."

"Adult male, age approximately early eighties, weight 140 pounds. His health was good. Some weakening of bones and deterioration of some functions that's to be expected with a person his age." Ellison handed Brooks the folder.

"I see." Graham Brooks accepted the file and sat back in his chair to read. Within seconds he seemed to be completely absorbed in what he was reading and appeared to have forgotten about his guests.

Jim and Blair looked and shrugged at each other, sitting in silence as they watched each page of the report being slowly scanned and turned over. Finally tiring of the silence and inactivity, Blair drained his coffee cup and grabbed a second cookie before he went to inspect the books neatly shelved in the numerous bookcases. The rich aroma of the coffee wafted up and reminded Jim that his mug was sitting untouched. Picking it up, he took a long sip. The brew tasted as good as it smelled and he took another sip, savouring it. Feeling himself start to fidget, he decided to taste the cookie as well. If it was as good as the coffee it would be worth the try. Smiling as the lingering taste of the coffee mixed with the nuts and chocolate, he took another hearty bite.

"Good, aren't they, Detective Ellison?" Brooks had looked up from his reading and saw the look of enjoyment on the other man's face. "Help yourself to more. I'm almost done reading the report and I do agree. It does seem that a poison of some sort was introduced into the victim's system. But let me finish this before I start asking my questions."

Taking another cookie from the plate, Jim decided to follow his partner's lead and investigate the massive study. Blair had his nose buried deep in a book so he knew he would find no distraction there. Meandering along the paths that wound through the flowering beds and around the palms, he tried to estimate how much something as lavish as the room would cost. Deciding that an indoor jungle would be beyond his means, he searched for something else to occupy his thoughts. A flutter of wings drew his gaze up into the trees. A flash of blue and red broke through the deep green and disappeared into the foliage that lined the outside windows. As the sentinel followed the bird's flight past the terrarium he saw and heard the viper move through the glass receptacle and went over to watch it. Its long body was slithering across a large rock as he approached, but stopped when the detective was almost up to the glass. Attracted by the movement, it swung its horned head around, prepared to attack if it thought it was threatened. The snake's eyes met his, making Jim swallow hard. The action was too much like his dream of the snake and the wild dog and he felt his heart skip a beat as the viper's mouth opened to hiss at him. Staggering a few steps away from the terrarium when the world seemed to tilt, he put a hand out to lean against a palm tree.

"Jim, you okay?" Blair was at his side within seconds. He had been returning a book to the shelf when he noticed that his partner was no longer sitting with Brooks. Scanning the room, he had seen the sentinel reach unsteadily for the tree.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay." Ellison tried to centre on his friend's face but it kept drifting in and out of focus. "Just got a little dizzy." He reached out to hold onto his partner's shoulder. "I'm okay."

"Like hell you are. I've never seen you get 'a little dizzy'." Blair's concern grew as he watched. His partner's face was wet with perspiration, but his skin looked pale underneath. The sentinel seemed to be having a hard time keeping his eyes focused on him. "Jim, can you see me?"

Swallowing, Ellison blinked hard and willed his guide's face to stop dancing in front of him. "You're a little blurry, but I can see you. Stop worrying. It's just the glare from the lights. I'm all right."

"You are definitely not all right," Blair insisted. "Come over..." The sudden flapping of wings and the squawk of a macaw interrupted him as he tried to lead his friend back to a chair.

Yanking his arm out of Blair's grasp, Ellison covered his ears. The sound of the bird had sliced through his brain with such intensity that he thought he would pass out. "God! Sandburg!" He forced his friend's name out through gritted teeth, sending more spikes of pain through his skull. His senses had gone wild and he couldn't find the dials. "Blair, please." He sagged against his friend, sinking slowly to the ground.

"I've got you, Jim," Blair whispered. Sandburg recognized the sentinel's sensory overload for what it was and lowered his voice to a level barely audible to even his ears. Sitting on the cold tiles he propped his friend up against him. He knew that any noise would probably cause the sentinel more pain, but there was no way that Blair could ignore his partner's pain-filled plea for help. "Talk to me, Jim. Tell me what's happening."

Afraid that the sound of his own voice would start the waves of agony in his head again, the sentinel could only clutch his ears more tightly and squeeze his eyes shut against the blinding and dizzying lights. His stomach was threatening to rebel and he felt himself slipping into the sensory void of a zone out. Only the gentle coaxing of his guide's voice kept him from giving in to it.

"I'm sorry if my voice is hurting you, but Jim, you have to listen." Blair fought back his fear. It had been so long since his friend had been the victim of such a severe attack on his senses. "Find the dials, buddy. I know it's been a long time since you've had to look for them, but find them." He felt the sentinel's body tense in his arms and instinctively held on tighter. "C'mon, Jim. You can do this. Picture it, turn it down."

The pain in his head was relentless and his blurred vision had him almost blind, but Jim desperately hung on to the sound of Blair's voice. He would find those dials. His friend had guided him to them so many times before.

"Detective Sandburg. Please, let me help."

Blair felt a hand on his shoulder and gazed up into the concerned face of Graham Brooks. "I don't know if you can. Jim sometimes..." He stopped, not knowing how to explain what was happening without revealing too much.

"I know." It was a simple statement, but delivered in earnest. "Please, let me try."

Not certain what to do, Blair looked down at his friend who was still curled up against him in pain. He had taken his hands away from his ears and now had them digging firmly into Blair's arms. Each quiet moan Sandburg heard as Jim tried to burrow his head into his shoulder went straight to heart. He had never seen his partner this bad before and it scared him. Maybe Brooks could help. Part of him prayed that he could while another part of him dreaded it. If Jim responded to this other shaman what did that mean for him? What did it say about him? Nya had made him think that he was on the right path. He, himself, had believed it. But his sentinel was in agony and he hadn't been able to reach him or do anything to ease his pain. Did it really matter who did? Jim needed help. His best friend needed help he couldn't give him. "Okay," he whispered. "Please try."

Nodding, Brooks squatted down beside Ellison and took both of his hands in his. He turned them palm up and with his thumbs he began to massage the pulse points on both wrists. He felt Sandburg's eyes on him and glanced up briefly to explain. "This should help to relax him and to create some positive energy." He moved his hands further up the detective's arms stopping at the crooks of his elbows. "That's it," he soothed.

Blair continued to watch the shaman's hands as they alternately glided over and massaged his partner's arms. The man kept up a soft stream of encouragement while he did this. "It's not working, maybe we should..." He had started to fear that Jim might need medical attention, that perhaps it wasn't his senses that were causing him pain.

Brooks looked up sharply. "Patience, my friend. Belief. Trust. Without these you will never understand."

Still holding on tightly to Jim, Sandburg began to dig for his cellphone. Brooks and his healing techniques be damned. He couldn't bear to listen to the moans being forced from his friend any longer. He had just managed to flip the lid open on the phone when he felt Jim jerk against him. "What..." he looked at Brooks in shock. "What happened?" His friend had slumped against him, his face relaxed in relief.

The other man sat back on his heels and smiled down at the sentinel. Taking a handkerchief from a pocket he began to wipe at the perspiration that streaked down Ellison's face. "I think your friend will be all right now."

Grabbing the man's wrist before he could do any more, Blair wanted some answers. "Tell me what you did. You couldn't just turn the pain off like that." He knew he should be thanking the shaman for what he had done for his partner, but the words stuck in his throat. The whole situation made him uneasy. He felt that something had happened with him right there and that he had missed it. Or maybe it's just your feelings of inadequacy that want you to see something twisted. The thought flitted through his mind before he could stop it and he could feel the flush of embarrassment and anger colour his cheeks. Was he so shallow that he couldn't express his gratitude? He opened his mouth to try once more but was distracted by his friend stirring against him.

"Blair?" Jim sounded tired and was looking around him in bewilderment. "Chief?"

"I'm right here," he said gently. "You're okay." Shifting his hold on his partner, Sandburg helped him to sit straighter and moved around to face him. The signs of the stress Ellison's system had been under had left their marks. The tight lines around his eyes and across his forehead hadn't faded and his face still glistened with a sheen of sweat. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been hit by a Mack truck," Jim laughed softly and ran a hand through his hair. "That was some ride, Chief. Thanks for the rescue." He saw a flash of pain in his friend's eyes and his still sensitive hearing picked up the loud thudding of his heart. "Blair?"

"I didn't... It wasn't..."

Confused by what his friend wasn't saying, Ellison looked to Brooks, who was kneeling beside him.

"What Blair means is that I helped him. You were in great distress, Detective. I was able to help relieve some of it so you could find the control you needed." The shaman bowed his head slightly. "It was what I was born to do. What I have trained to do. I am glad that I was able to help."

Jim's gaze drifted from Brooks' serene smile to his friend's troubled face. He didn't have to ask to know how this had affected him. The hurt and confusion were clearly etched there. Blair was looking at him as if his world has just crumbled around him. Whatever peace his guide had found with Nya had been wiped away. Clearing his throat, he turned back to Brooks. "I was wondering if I could have a glass of water."

"Of course, Detective. I will be right back." Getting up, the shaman gave him a light pat on the back and directed a thoughtful gaze at his partner.

When Jim heard the soft swoosh of the doors close behind Brooks, he sighed. His partner's eyes were fixed on something just over his shoulder, avoiding eye contact. "You okay, Sandburg? You're awfully quiet." Reaching up, he gently turned his friend's face to look at him when he didn't get a response. "Blair?"

Blinking once, Blair met his partner's eyes and smiled sadly. "I'm okay. It just shook me a little, ya know? I don't think I've ever seen it hit you like this." Pulling in a deep breath, he let the academic in him take over. He could collect the data now and deal with the fallout later. "Do you know what triggered it? It was pretty sudden."

"I couldn't tell you right now, Chief. My brain's like jello." Digging into a pocket, Jim dug out his keys and tossed them to his partner with a smirk. "I think I need to crash. But you better drive, just so we don't."

Blair slowly rose to his feet and reached down to give his friend a hand up. "I actually get to drive," he joked. "You must be feeling pretty bad. Think you're going to be able to make it out on your own steam or are we going to have to carry you?"

"I can walk, smart guy," Jim answered as he finally made it to his feet. He swayed ever so slightly and closed his eyes waiting for the room to right itself again. "But I wouldn't say no to a shoulder to lean on."

Sandburg gave him a ready smile and a "sure", but the sentinel heard the quiet "I can at least do that" that he muttered under his breath. Frowning, Jim gave his friend's shoulders a quick hug before resting his arm across them. The kid was definitely hurting. Soft footfalls across the tiled floor drew both men's attention. Brooks was returning with the water.

"I take this to mean that you are leaving?" The shaman handed Ellison the glass. "Detective, if you feel any lingering effects from your attack this evening, please don't hesitate to call. I think it might be helpful if you came back to see me. Perhaps there is something we can do to prevent this from happening again."

The water was ice cold and crisp and the sentinel could almost trace its path down as he swallowed. Draining the glass, he smiled gratefully and handed it back to their host. "Thank you for the water and the offer. I'm sure I'll be okay now. I'm sorry about all this." He gave the man an embarrassed grin.

"No, no. There is no need for an apology. But I can see that you are tired. You should rest." He began to lead them to the door. "If I may keep your file a little while longer I would like to study it and do some research before I offer you my opinion."

"Sure, that'll be fine." Ellison turned his attention to his all too quiet partner. "Whaddya say, Chief? I'm ready."

The walk to the front door had Brooks hovering over them, offering advice and possible remedies for the detective should he have any more trouble that evening. Blair remained stone- faced through all of it, leaving Jim the role of the gracious guest. At first he feared the young man was going to follow them to the truck. He had had enough of the shaman for one evening. Much to the sentinel's relief, Brooks stopped midway down the path and watched as he got into the Ford.

"Detective Sandburg!" Brooks' call stopped Blair before he could get to the driver's side. "A minute please?"

Graham Brooks remained where he was standing, making Sandburg go to him. Jim saw the ever-present serene smile change to something else as Blair got nearer. When his partner had reached him, Brooks took him by the arm and turned them both slightly. Now his face was blocked from Jim's sight denying him the chance to read the man's lips. He couldn't rely on his hearing. Everything still sounded like it was coming through water if he tried to extend it too far. He sat back, completely frustrated. He wanted to hear what the two men were talking about.

"Yes, Mr. Brooks?"

"Graham, please call me Graham, Blair. I thought that I had better warn you."

Blair could feel his stomach roll. "Warn me about what?"

Brooks leaned in closer and his eyes narrowed. "It is a dangerous game you are playing at. There are many things that you do not understand."

Swallowing, Sandburg looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not playing at anything."

"I am offering my help, Blair. You need direction. You need someone to guide you." The shaman paused and looked past Sandburg's shoulder to the truck and Ellison. "Before your ignorance destroys you or those you think you are helping."

Following Brooks' gaze, Blair looked at his partner sitting in the truck. Jim trusted him with so much. Too much. Giving his partner a salute and a smile, he turned back to Brooks. "I'll think about what you said." With that he jogged down to the road and the truck. Climbing into the driver's side, he reached for the seatbelt and started the engine, all the while working on keeping the fear he was feeling out of his voice.

"What did Brooks want to talk to you about, Chief?"

Jim had leaned forward a little to get a better look at his face. With a shrug, Blair gave him a mirthless grin. "Nothing much, just more advice on what to do if you have another sensory spike. He promised to call in tomorrow with some information about the herbs or poison used on Nya." His smile faded as he thought about what Brooks had said. Just looking at the strain on his friend's face proved that the shaman might be right with his warning. "Jim...?"

Ellison lifted both eyebrows, waiting for his friend's question. But rather than finishing it, Blair just shook his head. "Never mind. It can wait." Jim's frown deepened. He was sure that what was bothering his partner couldn't wait.

"You heading up?" Blair took his partner's jacket and hung it up on the rack by the door. It felt so good to be back in the loft. It felt like they had been gone for days when it had been barely two hours. He slowly took off his own jacket and put it on the hook next to Jim's. His friend's jacket hung just slightly askew and he reached up to straighten it and then his own, slowly running his hands down the sleeves when he was done. Looking at the two jackets hanging there, the knot that had formed in his chest tightened. Why did he feel like some little kid who had spent the day being lost and afraid that he would never find his way home?

"Sandburg!" Jim's voice came from behind him and was an unlikely mix of concern and exasperation.

Spinning around on his heel, Blair saw that his partner's face matched his voice. "What? I'm sorry, were you talking to me?"

"Yeah I was talking to you," Ellison gave his friend's head a gentle swat. "Where'd ya go? You asked me if I was going up and I said not yet. That special on the Jags just started a few minutes ago. I thought I'd stay up and watch it. You going to join me or spend the rest of the night guarding our coats?"

Sandburg's smile was gradual and just a little crooked. "I guess I can watch it with you. The jackets look like they're going to be okay. I'm just going to put on a sweater. It's freezing in here." He walked four steps toward his room and stopped. "Jim? Are you really okay?"

"I'm okay, partner." Jim stretched and lowered his tired body to the couch. "I still have a little bit of a buzz, but it's fading. It's just good to be home." Grabbing the remote, he turned the television on. "Better hurry up and grab that sweater, Sandburg, you're going to miss all the commercials."

It took his friend more than five minutes to find a sweater and Ellison had started to suspect that he would be watching the special alone. But finally the glass doors opened and Sandburg flopped down on the other couch. "Well, you missed all the good commercials, Chief." Jim gave his partner a wink. "I thought maybe you had changed your mind."

Stretching out the length of the sofa, Blair propped his feet up on the armrest and tucked a pillow under his head. "I made the mistake of lying down on my bed. I think I nodded off for a couple of minutes."

"So," Jim started out conversationally. "What do you think of this Brooks?"

"I don't know. Maybe he'll come through for us, maybe not." Blair shrugged against the pillow. "Hopefully we'll find out tomorrow."

"Aside from that, what did you think?" The sentinel heard his partner force air through his nose and then swing his feet to the ground to sit up and glare at him.

"You know, Ellison, subtlety is not your strong suit. What is it you want to know?"

"I, ah," Jim started, not sure that what he thought was a clever attempt at a fact finding mission was still a good idea. Sandburg was right; he had never mastered subtle. Giving up all attempts to pussyfoot around the topic, he asked what had been bothering him. "What's going on, Chief? I know you said you were shaken up by what happened, but there's more to it. Just the fact that you haven't been hovering and bugging me about it tells me that there's something up." He watched his friend's face carefully hoping for a clue. "No obfuscation, Sandburg, no lies. Just the facts."

In spite of the way his stomach was churning, Blair couldn't help but chuckle. "Still doing the Joe Friday imitations, Jim?" Leaning his head on the back of the couch, he ran his fingers through his hair and watched the lights from the television dance on the ceiling. "You wanna know what happened... just the facts. There's not much to tell. You had some kind of episode with your senses going wild, you just about begged me to help you and there wasn't a damn thing I could do." Straightening, he gave his partner a weary sigh. "So there you have it. The facts. Except for one very important fact. Graham Brooks knew exactly what to do." He looked down at his hands and absently rubbed at a knuckle. "What is it he told you? That it was what he was born to do. What he's trained to do."

"Blair," Ellison began.

"It's okay, Jim. I think I know what you're going to say and I appreciate the confidence, but..." Blair's voice drifted and he went back to staring at his hands. After a few seconds of contemplation he stood and started for his room. "I'm gonna turn in. I'll catch you in the morning."

Watching his friend exit, Jim called out a soft goodnight. When the doors to the small room closed he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and cradle his still throbbing head in his hands. Picking up the remote that lay by his side, he turned off the television, plunging the room into quiet darkness. "Whooo boy."