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The Hazy Blue Line by DawnC
Ellison studied the young man, holding the fake smile as the cadet took his seat. Thompson's heartbeat had been racing when he'd first entered the room, but it had slowed since then. Ellison's smile broadened. Thompson was nice and relaxed, just like Jim needed him to be.
He'd gotten the list from Sandburg late last night. Seven names. Not too many, fortunately. Thompson was number two on that list as someone who normally showed up at the locker room as early as Sandburg, but who had not been there that day. Jackson was the other name on that particular list, but Jim decided to interview Thompson first. He already knew Jackson's type. That guy wouldn't be intimidated into confessing and, if he was put on guard about an investigation, he'd have an opportunity to "talk" with his accomplices.
Jim hoped he could pry a confession out of Thompson. It would make his job so much easier -- and any confession he got here should be perfectly admissible. No Miranda problem. After all, this was just a friendly chat. Thompson wasn't in custody yet and this was therefore not a custodial interrogation.
"How are your classes going?" Jim asked, leaning forward, looking like he was genuinely interested in the answer.
"Oh fine. Not too bad."
Jim nodded. "Good. Glad to hear it. I remember my Academy days. I couldn't get out of this place fast enough." He chuckled. So did Thompson.
"I hope this isn't too terribly inconvenient for you?" Jim leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed and taking on the air of someone chatting with a friend over coffee. "We don't have to do this now. If you want to go back to class, that's fine with me. We can reschedule."
"No, no. This is fine. Is this about the attack on Sandburg?"
Jim heard a slight jump in the young man's heartbeat. "Yes it is. Just some routine questions. You understand, right? In a few years, you'll be doing what I'm doing. So just look at this as a learning experience."
"Sure, okay." Thompson smiled, looking relieved. "Shoot."
Jim pulled out a small notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped through the first few pages. "Okay, let me see here... Uh-huh. Oh right. Two cadets, Rick Carney and Stephen May, found Mr. Sandburg at about 7:00 yesterday morning. Do you know those two men?" He glanced up briefly at Thompson.
"Uh, well I've seen them around. I know who they are, but I don't know them personally."
"Do they harbor any kind of grudge against Sandburg that you know of?" Of course, he already knew the two cadets were relatively good friends with Blair, but he wanted to keep Thompson off his guard -- make the young man think the suspicion lay elsewhere.
"I don't really know. Sorry."
"Okay, next question. I have to ask this of everyone, of course. Where were you yesterday morning between six and six-thirty?"
"I was asleep. I stay in one of the dorms here."
"I see. What time do you usually wake up?"
Thompson shrugged. "It varies. My first class yesterday was at 8 a.m. and breakfast is always served from 6 a.m. to eight-thirty. So, I usually set my alarm for six, but sometimes I hit the snooze button a few times before getting out of bed."
Jim grinned. "Don't we all." Nice cover, kid. Thompson had no doubt anticipated the reason behind the question and come up with a logical cover. But that's not an alibi, and you're not out of the woods yet. "So, uh..." Jim flipped through his notepad some more. "The investigative team found a fresh footprint just inside the locker room door. It doesn't match Sandburg's shoes. It also doesn't match either of the two cadets who found Sandburg, nor the duty sergeant they called. So we're guessing it matches one of the attackers. Would you be willing to let us take a print of the bottoms of all the rubber-bottomed shoes you own?"
Thompson's heartbeat jumped and Jim leaned forward, studying the man. His breathing was shallow and rapid and a very fine sheen of perspiration wet his forehead. The kid was definitely nervous.
Bingo. Jim's smile turned almost predatory. Of course, there wasn't any footprint, but Thompson didn't know that.
"Uh, well I... I don't know. I mean, I only have one pair like that -- running shoes. I kind of need those."
"Are you wearing them now?" Jim glanced under the table, eyeing Thompson's sneakers and trying to estimate the size. The cadet's heart rate skyrocketed.
"Uh, well, yes... I mean, uh... yeah, yeah. These are the only pair I own. What, uh... What size did you say that footprint you found was?"
Jim sat back up and looked straight at Thompson. "I didn't say. Size nine." He'd estimated Thompson's shoe size. Now he'd find out if he'd guessed right.
The cadet's face flushed, his heartbeat nearly frantic.
Jim raised his eyebrows. Yep. Right on the mark.
"Uh... I, uh... yeah, I'm a size nine," Thompson stammered, "but so are a lot of guys."
"Of course." Jim shrugged nonchalantly. "You didn't attack Sandburg did you?"
"Of course not!"
"Then you have nothing to worry about. The sooner we can take your shoe print, the sooner we'll be able to eliminate you from our list entirely."
"You mean I'm a suspect?"
"Well, pretty much every cadet here is until we find out who actually did it. That's the way police investigations work. Haven't they taught you that in class yet?"
"Uh... Yeah, I guess so. So, you want my shoes? I mean, I need them to run the obstacle course. I can't just hand them over, you know."
"I have a small kit in my car. We could do this right now. It'll only take a few minutes."
"Uh... well, uh..."
"Is there a problem?"
Thompson's shoulders sagged. "I think I'd better talk to a lawyer first."
Jim straightened. "Why's that?"
"Am I under arrest?"
"No, you're not. You're free to leave whenever you want. Of course, I'll just have to phone in a warrant for your shoes. That'll take ten minutes."
Thompson buried his face in his hands. "Look, it wasn't my idea. Jackson thought it all up. All I did was help carry Sandburg to the pool. We were just messing with him, that's all. We didn't really hurt him. I mean, we weren't supposed to. Jackson got a little carried away, though. He was holding him down too long and I told him to let go. He wouldn't, and then I pushed him away and yanked Sandburg up. I mean, it was just a joke. You know, like a hazing thing. All cadets get targeted. Even me. One time somebody stole my clothes from the locker room, along with all the towels, and I had to run naked back to my dorm room. It's no big deal. It --"
Jim rose from his chair and placed his palms flat on the table. "You handcuffed him, put a hood over his head, and dumped him in the pool. You held him under. He --"
"I didn't hold him under! It was Jackson!"
"You were there. You helped. That makes you just as guilty." He leaned forward so that his face was inches from Thompson's. "He sucked in water. He nearly drowned. You think this joke of yours was funny? Have you ever died, Thompson? You get a kick out of making him relive that experience? Do you think it's funny now?"
"No! I didn't think it'd go that far!"
"Your joke almost killed him." Jim's voice was now ice. "How does attempted murder sound?"
"Oh God." Thompson's shoulders began shaking as he cried, his face hidden by his hands.
Jim walked outside, a slight grin on his face, though inside his emotions were mixed. A squad car had taken Thompson to booking. The interrogation had gone even better than he'd hoped, and he felt on top of the world. He'd tried to talk to Jackson afterward, but the cadet refused to speak with him, insisting he had nothing to say and had to get back to the obstacle course. Grudgingly, he had to admit the kid was slightly smarter than he looked.
Jim debated arresting Jackson right there, but he didn't want to move too quickly. If he arrested Jackson, then he'd be entitled to a lawyer before questioning, and once a lawyer got involved, there was virtually no chance of Jim gaining additional information from the arrogant cadet.
However, the administration had agreed to open its own official inquiry, and Jackson would soon find himself on the hot seat. Hopefully, either Jackson or Thompson would turn over on the third man and all three of Blair's attackers would find themselves behind bars.
A familiar voice reached Jim's ears, and he cocked his head to listen. "No, sir. I can finish my classes and..."
"That's an order! I'll clear it with the administration. Got it?"
"Fine, sir." Blair didn't sound right. His voice sounded strained and he was breathing much too fast.
Jim shook his head. Damnit, Chief, don't tell me you actually tried to do the obstacle course. When Blair had insisted on going back to class today, Jim had told him to take it easy. Obviously the young man's idea of taking it easy included jumping fences and climbing ropes.
Jackson's voice: "You're gonna be some back-up for that Ellison guy. You'll probably end up getting him killed."
Jim clenched his jaw.
Sounds of a brief scuffle ensued, then a loud voice rang out and Jim winced. "Enough, Sandburg! Get your ass out of here. Now."
Jim spun around and headed back toward the main building, tracking Blair by the sound of his rapid breathing. He traced the source to the locker room and ducked inside, passing two half-naked cadets as he walked up behind his partner.
Blair was busy stuffing the contents of his locker into his backpack -- a binder, a sweatshirt, a book. Jim read the title, his brow furrowing. Magic, Religion, and Witchdoctors. Hardly cop stuff.
"You planning on putting a spell over a suspect to make him confess?"
Blair spun around, nearly dropping his pack. "Jim! Man, what are you... Oh, yeah. Let me guess, you're here to question some of the guys, right?"
"That's right." He lowered his voice and leaned forward. "And I've got some good news. Why don't you and I go grab lunch? I know you're free the rest of the day."
Blair closed his eyes and groaned. "Please don't tell me you heard."
"Well, I heard Loker tell you to leave. What happened?"
Blair slammed his locker door shut and cinched his backpack closed, then slung it over his shoulder. "Nothing. No big deal."
"Cut the crap, Chief." He walked alongside his partner toward the locker room's exit.
"I kind of almost passed out on the obstacle course."
Jim grunted. "No big deal -- right." He shook his head. "Do you need me to say it?"
"I know, I know. You told me so. Happy now?"
"No, I'd be happy if you'd listened to me. Why the hell do you do these things?"
They walked out the front doors. Blair veered to the left while Jim veered to the right. Both men stopped when they realized they were parting.
"Where are you parked?" Blair asked.
"Obviously not where you are." He walked closer to his friend, listening closely to Blair's breathing and heartbeat. Both sounded much better now, so Jim didn't think a trip back to the hospital was merited. All Sandburg needed was rest -- if he'd stay still long enough to get it. "Look, Chief, let's go get some lunch. How does Quizno's sound? We can meet there."
"Sounds fine with me."
"Are you okay to drive?"
"You get into an accident and I'll kill you myself."
"Hilarious, Jim, but don't give up your day job."
Blair ducked the attempted swipe at his head and grinned as he turned around and headed to his car. "You're moving slower these days, Detective! Getting old!"
"Smartass," Jim chuckled as he walked toward his truck.
Jackson was just on his way to Evidence class when the young department secretary stopped him in the hall.
"Excuse me, Mr. Jackson." He turned to look at her. She had large blue eyes, but kept her hair in a bun. Pity. She'd be pretty if she pulled her hair down and did something with her face.
"Yeah? What do you want?"
She smiled sweetly and handed him a note. "Decker wants you in his office now."
"Decker?" He stiffened. He knew of only one reason why the Academy overseer would want to see him in his office.
Damn Ellison. Thompson, fuck you, man. You should learn to keep your mouth shut! He thought he'd managed to dodge that Ellison jerk well enough, but he knew Thompson had been arrested for the attack on Sandburg. He also knew Thompson had fingered him, but so far nothing else had happened. Ellison hadn't arrested him, so he figured there wasn't any evidence whatsoever to pin on him. Hell, he knew there wasn't any evidence. He'd made sure of it. He wasn't stupid, after all.
The secretary nodded. "Yes. Right away." With another smile, she turned around and headed back down the hall.
Jackson didn't go straight to Decker's office. Instead, he stopped off at the library where he knew his roommate would be. He found him seated in the rear of the large room, studying his class notes.
"Davis, listen up," Jackson whispered as he took the vacant chair on the other side of the small, round table. "There's trouble."
"I know. Thompson got busted. Did he finger us?"
"Yeah, both of us." That was a lie -- sort of. Jackson only knew for sure that Thompson had fingered him because Ellison had told him as much. He had no idea if Thompson had also implicated Davis, but he intended to make sure Davis damn well believed he was on the hot seat. Because if I go down, you go down, partner. "We need to get our stories straight. You and I were in our dorm room together yesterday morning."
"I know man. We went over that before we even worked out the rest of the details of this stupid joke of yours."
"Watch it, Davis. Sandburg's a fraud and a cheat. We're doing society a favor by hassling him. Maybe he'll realize he doesn't have what it takes to be a cop and drop out. We certainly don't need guys like him watching our backs on the street."
"Yeah, well, now look at all the trouble that's going down. Was it worth it?"
"They can't do anything to us if you and I stick to our story. Those phone calls went through -- I checked. I also uninstalled the program, so there won't be any evidence that those calls were made via the computer."
Jackson had a 200 MHz computer in his dorm room with a phone program on it. He'd scheduled a call over the dorm phone line to be sent to Stacy's voice mail at 6:00 a.m. The phone program was set to send a pre-recorded message from Davis saying how much he loved and missed his girl and how he had a romantic night planned for this Saturday. Next, Jackson had programmed a call at 6:30 a.m. to his brother's home. He knew he'd catch the answering machine because his brother worked the graveyard shift and didn't get home until 7:30 a.m. Then, after they'd dealt with Sandburg, they'd shown up for breakfast at the cafeteria. So they had an unbroken string of alibi's. It really was a beautiful plan.
"Yeah, yeah, okay.."
"So just stick with the story." He kept his voice very low. "No matter what they say, you don't deviate from our story, got it?"
"Yeah, I got it."
"Good." He rose from the table. "Now, I've got to go see Decker. Keep cool, man. If they start asking me about it, I'm using you and that phone call as my alibi, just like we planned."
"Yeah, yeah, I got it already!"
Blair shuffled into his room and headed straight for his bed, slipping his shoes off a moment before he dropped onto the mattress. He didn't bother undressing. Damn, he was tired. His chest hurt, and his arms and legs felt like Jell-O. This is what I get for not listening to Jim -- and I swear I must be really out of it if I'm admitting I should've listened to Jim.
He closed his eyes and managed to crawl under the covers. His jeans felt uncomfortable, restricting his movements, so he forced himself to stay awake a few minutes longer while he squirmed out of his pants and tossed them onto the floor. Then he gave willingly in to sleep.
Jim cocked his head, listening to Blair's soft snores. It was only 1:30 in the afternoon. He and Blair had just gotten back from lunch, and he could tell his partner was losing steam during their conversation. Several times, Blair's eyelids had drooped and he'd muttered vague "Uh-huh's" at rather inappropriate places. Figuring Sandburg was in no condition to drive, he'd steered Blair to the truck and driven him home. The kid hadn't even realized he wasn't going to his own car. Hell, he'd been practically sleep-walking. The Volvo remained parked on the street, and Jim would just drive Blair to his car tomorrow morning before heading to work.
The phone rang, and he snatched it up quickly, not wanting the noise to wake Sandburg. "Ellison."
"Detective, this is Jake Decker at the Academy. I'm calling to tell you I just spoke with Jackson. He gave Davis, his roommate, as an alibi. I called Davis into my office and he confirmed Jackson's story."
"With all due respect, sir, Davis could be the third man."
"I know that, Ellison, but both men claim to have been together in their dorm room. In fact, they said they made phone calls. I'm having those records checked, but if they're confirmed, the case will be dropped."
"What about Thompson, sir? He fingered Jackson."
"Jackson says he and Thompson got in a quarrel over some money. Jackson loaned him $275 and Thompson has yet to pay it back."
"That's not enough of a reason for Thompson to falsely accuse Jackson. He'd name the real culprits."
"Not necessarily. We all know what can happen to snitches. If the alibi checks out, we're dropping the investigation. We've got no hard evidence, Detective."
Damnit! "I guess that's that, then."
"Yes, it is."
"Let me know what the phone check turns up, will you?" And I'm going to do a bit of checking into that myself.
"Sure thing. Give my regards to Mr. Sandburg. Will he be in class tomorrow?"
"Probably. He's hard to keep down."
"So I've heard. Goodbye, Ellison."
"Goodbye." And thanks for nothing.
Damn, this Jackson guy was thorough, but it wasn't over -- even if the phone calls did give him an alibi. His type could never keep out of trouble and, eventually, he'd make a mistake. And I'll be watching when he does.
"And if you pull over a car filled with a bunch of teenagers and want to search their vehicle for drugs, what do you first do? Sandburg?"
Blair straightened when he heard his name. He'd missed that second day of class when Loker had sent him home, and now here he was back at the Academy less than twenty-four hours later -- only this time he'd stay away from the obstacle course for a few days. "Why would I want to search their car for drugs? Just because they're a bunch of rowdy teenagers?"
"Good question. Do you need probable cause to ask?"
"No. They can consent."
"Right. So let's just say you have a 'hunch.'"
"Well, assuming I had some kind of a hunch, I'd ask them if I could search their vehicle."
"Suppose they say, 'No.'"
"I'd ask them 'Why not?'"
"They say 'Because I don't want you to. This is my car and you can't just search it.'"
"I'd let them be on their way. I can't legally search their car."
"Suppose they really are drug dealers. You just let them get away."
Blair straightened in his seat. "We have a Fourth Amendment. As a cop, I'm sworn to uphold the law, and the Constitution is the Supreme Law of the Land, right?"
"So you don't care that you missed out on a bust? That more drugs get out on the street? That kids die as a result?"
"You think I should hassle them? Make them think they don't have a choice and worry about suppression later?"
"Do you know how many 'questionable' seizures get admitted? The majority of them. That's how we make busts."
"So you're saying the Constitution gets in the way and we should ignore it whenever we can get away with doing so?"
"The Constitution is a piece of paper that was written by old white men over two hundred years ago."
Blair shook his head. "No, the Constitution is a piece of paper that was written by the People after they learned hard lessons living under a dictatorship. Without the Constitution, we're not the United States. We're just a mass of borders."
"Sandburg, you keep this idealism on the field and you'll make a lousy cop."
"Maybe I'll make the best kind of cop -- one who obeys the law and respects the rights of citizens."
The instructor didn't have a reply for that argument.
"Jackson, go!" the sergeant bellowed, a stopwatch in each hand.
Ten days later, Blair found himself back on the obstacle course with the rest of the class. He'd returned to his regular routine, including the physical stuff, a week ago, but this time running the course would be different. This was the first 'test' run. The cadets each had three chances to officially pass the obstacle course, but they had to wait three weeks in between tests. If they passed the first time, they'd be done on the course. If they failed, they'd have to continue with the class until they either passed or their remaining two chances expired.
Blair was well aware of the disdainful glances Jackson had been throwing at him from his place in line up ahead. Just ignore him. Blair closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. Don't let him get to you. You're doing this all for Jim. You're going to be his back-up. His life depends on you. Don't screw up. He remembered how well he'd run the 'real obstacle' course when he and Jim had been after Dallas. Hearing those gunshots had been all the motivation he'd needed to scale that eight-foot wall.
The sergeant's voice boomed sporadically in the background as he told cadets to start and called out the times of those who'd finished. "Time, Jackson! 10 minutes, 58 seconds."
So I'll just pretend I'm back there and Jim's life depends on me. While I'm at it, I'll imagine those two psychos who almost killed me during the Quinn thing are on my tail. That ought to do wonders for my time. Hell, I must have broken all kinds of records during that run.
He kept his eyes closed, visualizing himself going over each obstacle. He'd been through too much already to fail this. He already knew he could scale the wall, the difference was adrenaline. He'd had a ton of it in his system when he'd been after Dallas. He just had to get control now. Force himself into that state of mind. He was a shaman, after all. He'd taken that trip. He'd been initiated. Shamans learned to use their minds to control their bodies.
Easy. Piece of cake.
Oh God! I'm up next. He took another deep breath. Okay, do this for Jim. Show that asshole Jackson that Ellison's gonna have the best damn partner he could possibly get.
Minutes passed and, finally, he heard his name. "Sandburg, go!"
He opened his eyes and took off like a rocket.
He dove through the window. Then hopped onto the beams. Next came the chain link fence, which he scaled easily. Then the rope. He climbed it, his palms burning. He dropped down, landing hard, but didn't hesitate as he ran toward the wall. It loomed over him -- eight feet tall. He jumped, grabbing the top with his fingers, and propelled himself over like a pro.
All right! I made it!
The hardest part was over. He flew through the monkey bars better than Larry, the Barbary Ape, could have done. The four flights of stairs waited up ahead and Blair ran up them, then back down, never slowing his pace. Hell, he'd run the three flights in the loft hundreds of times. He was definitely in shape for this. His lungs, however, were beginning to protest and the muscles in his legs began to burn. Breathe. Keep going. This is for Jim. For Jim. C'mon, Sandburg! Do it! Keep it up!
The 'unconscious person' was next. Blair grabbed the 150-pound dummy and dragged it fifty feet, imagining it was Jim and he had to get the Sentinel out of the way of an oncoming train. Hell, with the cases they worked, that wasn't such an outrageous scenario.
Once the dummy was out of 'danger,' Blair headed for the track. The last obstacle was the mile course. This is where he'd really have to let his adrenaline pump. He closed his eyes briefly, just long enough to get his frame of mind set. It wasn't hard to do. He still had nightmares about that day -- Jim was tracking Simon and Quinn, and he was left looking down the barrel of the survivalist's gun, expecting the bullet, waiting for death. He'd almost pissed his pants.
He was back there in the woods, running for his life.
"Time! Hot damn! I don't fucking believe it Sandburg!"
Man, talk about a vote of confidence. The sergeant didn't even think I'd finish. Blair collapsed onto the track, limp as a ragdoll, his chest tight and his lungs screaming.
"10 minutes, 3 seconds! You broke Ellison's record!"
What? Blair lifted his head to see half his classmates cheering. Jackson, however, looked like he wanted to punch someone. Probably me. He dropped his head back to the ground and smiled. Wow. The record. Jim, man, have I got news for you.
At 5:30 p.m., Blair bounced into the bullpen and headed straight for Jim's desk, depositing his backpack on the floor and taking up the spare chair.
The detective raised his eyebrows. "What's up, Sandburg? Why are you grinning like the... Wait! You passed your test!"
"Yep man, flying colors, first try!"
Jim was out of his seat and pumping Blair's hand as he slapped him repeatedly on the back. "Way to go! Hey guys, listen up! My partner here just passed the obstacle course!"
Brown, Rafe, Megan, and Joel all broke into whistles and cheers.
"Way to go, Sandy."
Simon's door opened and he stepped out of his office. "Did I hear that right?"
"Yes, sir." Blair nodded, almost blushing.
"So what was your time?" Jim leaned against his desk, grinning like a fool.
Blair shrugged one shoulder. "Well, the important thing is that I passed."
Jim's smile faded just a bit. "Hey, don't worry if you didn't do as well as you wanted. You're still recovering. Like you said, the important thing is that you passed."
"Oh, I did better than I expected."
"Really?" Megan piped up. "What was your time?"
"Come on, Hairboy. Spill it."
A slow grin broke out on Blair's face and he tried to sound nonchalant as he made the announcement. "10 minutes, 3 seconds."
A sudden quiet followed his words. Brown looked at Rafe. Rafe looked at Megan. Megan looked at Joel. Joel looked at Simon.
And Simon looked at Jim. "Uh, wasn't your time -- the record --"
"10 minutes, 5 seconds," Jim answered flatly.
Blair swallowed, rising from his chair as his partner turned to look at him. Okay, maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. Slowly, Jim moved away from the desk and sauntered towards him.
Blair took a few steps back. "Uh, hey, Jim, man. You know, it doesn't mean anything. I only got through it because I was thinking of you." He smiled and playfully punched Jim's shoulder, trying desperately to lighten the mood.
"You little punk," Ellison growled, his face hard, but he held the look for only a few seconds. Then his eyes twinkled and he broke into a huge smile and tackled Blair, pulling him into a firm bear hug. "My partner broke the record. Come on, guys, this calls for a celebration."
Blair cried out in surprise as the detectives descended upon him. He was lifted up and carried by several pairs of hands toward the hallway. "Hey guys! Put me down! This is kidnapping."
"The operative word being kid!" Simon yelled, evoking a roar of laughter.
"Don't worry, Sandburg," Jim ruffled Blair's hair. "We're going to fill you with beer and food and embarrass the hell out of you tonight."
"It'll be a blast!" Brown chuckled.
"Oh man!" Blair tried to sound indignant, but he couldn't suppress the surprised grin that broke out on his face as his friends carried him toward the elevators.
He suddenly didn't care that Jackson had gotten away with the 'prank.' I beat him where it counts -- on the field.
~ Finis ~
E-mail the author of this story, DawnC, at DawnC@bigfoot.com Read Dawn's other fan fiction for The Sentinel at Blair Angst Fiction Page The artwork in Act I, The Newspaper Article, was created by DawnC Please visit our Virtual Season 5 Staff Page to learn more about the hard-working behind-the-scenes crew responsible for bringing you this episode E-mail Faux Paws Productions at firstname.lastname@example.org In TWO WEEKS on THE SENTINEL: Rock and a Hard Place (11/3/99, FPP-505) by Eddie(Story concept by Eddie and Renae)
With the Academy behind them, Blair and Jim head to Yosemite National Park to spend some down time with Naomi. But dark shadows fall over the trip almost from the beginning as Blair finds himself assaulted by strange nightmares. And it only gets worse when Naomi and her friend Emily Mesgar, a reclusive-for-good-reason scientist, are kidnapped.
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This page last updated 2/2/01.