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Blair read over the flyer for the third time while he made his way across the campus at Reiner University. He thought maybe by reading it multiple times he could garner some new information from the very brief description on the advertisement, but no such luck. All it said was Doctor Albert Peterson was looking for a healthy individual for a series of (undisclosed) endurance tests. While this kind of thing usually didn't interest Blair, there were three things that drew him to it. One, obviously was the money involved. The good doctor was offering up a fairly nice reward for a successful candidate and Blair really needed the money at present.
While working with Jim Ellison and the police proved useful to his dissertation, it had resulted in some hefty repair bills. In the last week alone his car had been broken into, his glasses smashed and his laptop stolen. While the police department had rein-burst him a little, it didn't cover all his bills. He'd hoped to find an Anthropological study he could get involved in to earn some extra money, but the only one still available was strictly volunteer.
The second reason he was drawn to the study was sheer curiosity over the mystery of the flyer. Apparently the advertisement had been seen on the student bulletin board for only a day before it was taken down. Naturally, it was assumed a successful candidate had been found, but then it reappeared in the faculty lounge a week later. It was gone by the following day, but then reposted a week later. Whatever this study involved, Doctor Peterson was either hesitant or struggling to find the right candidate. There had been much speculation among the other faculty members regarding the strangeness of the ad. There was some suggestion in the small print of the flyer that the details of the tests had to remain secret for the effectiveness of the tests. Blair just hoped none of it involved enduring pain. He'd had enough of that since working with Jim.
Though that came to the third reason he was tempted by the study. While for the most part he proved himself both resourceful and resilient when helping Jim out on his cases, in the last year alone he'd suffered an overdose, been shot in the leg, fractured a rib and knocked in the head numerous times. It was amazing his forehead wasn't as scarred as a professional wrestlers. He'd certainly had to do a lot of enduring, but it would be handy if he knew his limits. Then he'd have something to work on, so he could more effective help Jim and not be such a damsel in distress.
Blair found himself stopping half away across the quad. While all three of his reasons were sound, he still wasn't sure if he really wanted to take part in such a secretive study. If there's one thing he'd learnt from working with Jim was nothing was quite what it seemed.
“Hey Blair.” The anthropologist looked up from the flyer at the young man now standing in front of him. He was about Blair's age with long straight hair tied back in a pony tail and a soul patch.
“Oh, hey Roger, how's it going, man?”
“It's going great.” The guy was practically bouncing on his heels. “Guess whose accompanying Professor Sheridan on his dig in Alaska next week?”
“Well, I was hoping it would be me, but now I know who pipped me at the post. Congrats, Man.”
“Thank you, I have been looking forward to a trip like this forever. The chance to study a newly excavated Thule settlement is just a dream come true.”
“Yeah, I gotta say I'm pretty jealous. I got lucky to see a couple of their burial mounds when I was last up there, but that won't compare to what you'll get to see.”
“I'll be sure to let you know how it all goes. Have you found any studies to get involved in?”
“Maybe. I was considering this one.” He handed Roger the flyer.
“Oh I remember seeing this up on the notice board. I considered it myself, but I got a real fear of needles. I'm surprised you're interested, doesn't seem like your kind of thing.”
“Well, I like to break out of my comfort zone now and again. Plus the moneys pretty good.”
“You should get those police guys you hang around with to pay you.”
“I've certainly hinted a couple of times.” Blair took back the flyer. “Do you know anything about this Doctor Peterson?”
“A took an anatomy class for a semester which he taught. He seemed quite passionate about his work, but would disappear straight after class. I managed to catch him a couple of times and he always seemed friendly, but not one for small talk. Very to the point.”
“Not a bad quality to have.”
“I've heard he's quite reclusive. Spends most of his time in his lab when he's not teaching.”
“Must really love his work.” Blair fiddled with the edges of the flyer. “I guess it doesn't hurt to inquire.”
“Just don't wear any white robes or drink any suspicious cool-aid.”
They both shared a laugh at that thought.
“I'll be careful.” Blair assured his friend.
“Anyway, I better be getting on.” Roger said, offering his hand to Blair. “Gotta get me a nice warm hat and some thermals.”
“Here's a tip; ear flaps. Trust me, your ears will thank you.”
The two shook hands before parting ways.
Blair carried on his way, still intrigued enough to go along with the study. Or at least see what it was all about. He could still back out if he didn't feel comfortable.
*
Doctor Peterson's lab was tucked away in one of the buildings so far from the main quad that it was hard to say it was technically on campus. Even when Blair found the building he still had to maneuver down a rabbit warren of corridors and stairs to find the correct room. He actually walked past it without realising, as the door only displayed it's number, not the name of the doctor. There wasn't even a handwritten note, like on Blair's office door.
Before knocking, Blair listened for any indications that the doctor was in. It was after 11 in the morning so it was possible Dr. Peterson was teaching. Blair was lucky to have the rest of the day free...save for the pile of papers he had until the morning to grade.
Hearing no sounds from within, Blair knocked firmly on the door. There was no immediate response so Blair knocked again a little harder.
“Dr. Peterson?” He called.
“Yes, come in.” Came a muffled reply.
Blair opened the door to find a very cluttered room. It put his own office to shame, with books and papers sprawled over several desks and a work bench covered with various medical equipment and jars filled with pickled specimens. Some were animals...some where very much not. One wall was covered with the typical academic certificates, but the rest were covered with various anatomical drawings and pictures of the human body.
Dr. Peterson was sat at his work bench, reading a file, but looked up from it when Blair entered the room. He was in his mid fifties with short brown hair streaked with grey, a mole above his lip and glasses that perched on the edge of his nose
“Hi, I'm Blair Sandburg, I've come about your endurance study.” He held the flyer up for emphasis.
“Are you a student?” Dr. Peterson asked bluntly. “Because I'm afraid I've had to refrain from...”
“Oh no, I'm a grad student.” Blair explained “I teach Anthropology.”
“Anthropology, really? And you're interested in my...study.” Peterson looked doubtful.
“Curious more than anything. I took part in a couple of endurance tests back in my senior year. One was a sleep study. It involved staying awake as long as possible without the aid of stimulants. I lasted just shy of 72 hours. I got a lot work done during that time, but most of it was incomprehensible by the end.”
“My study is nothing like that.” Peterson put down his file and picked up another one. “I'm afraid I can't say much about it apart from it is rather...intense and I need someone who fits the criteria. That's one of the reasons I've struggled to find a test subject.”
“What's the criteria?” Blair asked.
“Take a seat and we'll go through it.”
Blair struggled to find a seat that didn't have books doubling as seat cushions, but Peterson seemingly noticed the mess and pulled a stool out from under the work bench. Blair took a seat on the stool and resisted the urge to fiddle with his fingers. A nervous action he really needed to get rid of.
“First off, some basic information” Peterson took a file and a pen from the top draw of his desk. “Age?”
“27”
“Marital status?”
“Not married and no kids either. I did just get out of a relationship. Apparently I remaindered her too much of her brother.”
Dr. Peterson made no comment.
“Height?”
“Uh, about 5'8...ish”
“Weight?”
“Good question, uh...around 160.”
“How would you describe your current state of health?”
“Uh...pretty good. I've not had any illnesses lately and I try to eat well.”
“Do you drink or smoke?”
“I like a drink, sure, but a big no to the smoking.”
“Have you taken any drugs, illegal or prescribed in the last month.”
.
“No, I try to stay away from all that stuff, man. You know, Willow bark extract can be just as effective at curing a headache as aspirin.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow. “I have heard that.” He made some notes. “So you've never done drugs?”
Blair wanted to roll his eyes, why did everyone think he was a pot head?
“While on expeditions to South American, I may have taken part in some rituals that involved ingesting Peyote, but not recently. Oh and I accidentality ingested a fair amount of that drug Golden, but that was like, 6 months ago. I've had no lasting side effects.”
Peterson once again raised an eyebrow, but said nothing and jotted down some more notes.
“Can you read through this list and let me know if you or anyone in your family have ever suffered from the ailments listed.”
Blair took the paper and squinted at the list. He needed to get a spare pair of glasses.
“Just the usual childhood stuff and, oh yeah, me and anxiety are old friends. As far as I know my mother's never suffered from any of these, though I can't really get hold of her to ask. No clue about my father, I never met him.”
Peterson took back the list and made some more notes. He stopped abruptly and looked at Blair, seemingly scanning every inch of his body. It made the young anthropologist a bit nervous, like he was being sized up to be sold at auction. The doctor looked away, took his glasses off and chewed one end while he thought. He put his glasses back on and studied the paper again. Blair found himself starting to squirm on his seat.
“You do seem a good candidate.” Peterson admitted finally. “I have to be certain that you're interested. It's quite an important study for me.”
“I'm still interested, though it you don't mind me asking, how long it's likely to take. I got some papers to grad by tomorrow morning.”
“It's hard to say exactly how long, but I can guarantee it won't take longer than an hour”
“Oh, perfect.” Blair checked his watch. Just in time for lunch.
“We can start right now if you're free?”
“Sure.”
Peterson sighed and stood up. “If you'll follow me to my lab.”
Blair followed the doctor out of the office and down the corridor to the room next door. He found himself questioning the Peterson's attitude. He didn't seem pleased that he'd found a test subject, more resigned and a little nervous. Maybe he didn't have faith in his experiment or maybe it was something boring that he was being expected to do, not out of passion but necessity.
His anxiety started to show itself a little more when he stepped into the room. It looked like a typical doctor's exam room, except the window was blacked out and there was a metal screen in front of the exam bed, which was surrounded by monitoring machines. It both looked and felt clinically cold. It made Blair shiver. He was starting to question how badly he needed his car fixed.
“If you could just sit on the exam bed for me, I need to do a brief physical exam if that's okay. Nothing too invasive. If you could take your jacket and shirt off, please, though you can keep any under garments on.”
Blair swallowed hard as he made his way over to the bed. He kept reminding himself that he'd had physical exams before, they were nothing to fear. He took his jacket and shirt off, followed by a long sleeved top, but kept his t-shirt on.
“Hope you're not planning to using a rectal thermometer” Blair joked as he perched on the edge of the bed.
Peterson's lip curled a little in amusement. “You'll be pleased to know I'm not.” He went over to a cabinet of drawers and took out a few items, placing them on top. He held up a digital thermometer. “This just goes in your ear.”
Relieved, Blair allowed the doctor to stick the thermometer in his ear. Satisfied with the result, Peterson wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Blair's left bicep and clipped a pulse ox monitor on the end of his finger. After setting up a couple of the machines around the exam bed, Peterson held up two leads with sticky pads on the ends.
“I just need to pop these on your chest.” He said and waited until Blair had nodded his head before proceeding.
With all the machines properly attached, Peterson started to write down some readings in a file, noting Blair's, blood pressure, heart rate, oxygen saturation and temperature.
“All looking good, I hope?” Blair asked, a little unnerved by how the doctor went about his work so silently.
“You seem to be in good health, though your heart rate is elevated. A little nervous?”
“Just my old friend Mr Anxiety paying a visit.”
“Well, try to relax.” He gave a small, reassuring smile “I just need to set up a few things and then we'll begin.”
Peterson quickly ducked behind the metal curtain.
While Blair waited for the doctor to return, he closed his eyes and he tried taking some deep, calming breathes, while repeating a mantra. “I am calm, I am relaxed. I am calm, I am re...”
A gun was fired.
The noise jolted Blair out of his trance at the same time as something impacted his stomach, knocking him back. He didn't register what it was at first, the shock of the gun firing hadn't receded yet, but he quickly became aware of Peterson appearing by his side and pushing him down onto the exam bed. It was this movement that finally made him aware of the pain that he should have felt when the bullet first hit. He'd been shot. That's all he could think as the doctor shined a light in his eyes, took his pulse and made notes in a file.
Blair put a hand over the wound and felt the blood slowly spurting out, coating his fingers. He held his hand up to his face, needing visual confirmation. The sight of it nearly made him gag. He looked over at Peterson.
“You shot me.” Blair gasped.
“Yes I did.” Peterson said matter of factly as his fingers probed the edges of the wound.
“Why?”
“You volunteered.” Peterson stated as he took Blair's blood pressure and wrote down the result.
“Not for this.” Blair tried to slide off the exam bed, but Peterson took hold of his arm and tried to wrap a strap around his wrist. Blair raised his free hand and with a good burst of adrenaline punched the doctor in the face. He was knocked against the wall, still on his feet, but clearly dazed.
Blair ripped off all the monitoring equipment and swung his legs off the bed, but the moment they touched the floor, they buckled. He had to lean against the bed to stay upright. The movement jostled his wound, but the adrenaline was keeping the worst of the pain at bay. Sill, he couldn't help letting out a few obscenities.
He couldn't waste any time, he had to get away before the doctor came to his senses. Using the bed for support he managed to get his knees to lock and from there he pushed himself over to the wall. He stumbled, but stayed standing. He had to stop to take a few deep breathes before he could move again. Keeping one hand on the wall for support and the other protectively covering his wound, he inched his way towards the door.
Blair could hear the doctor moving around, but he didn't let it worry him, he just stayed completely focused on his task. The door was both so close and a million miles away. Each step was agony.
Instead of stopping him, Peterson was making noises behind him. Was he looking for another weapon, another gun perhaps? Was he going to shoot him in the back?
“Don't think about that,” Blair told himself. “Just get to the door.”
His progress was too slow. He was only half away across the room when the doctor appeared in front of him. He had a mark on his left cheek and a conflicted look on his face.
“I'm sorry.” The doctor said, raising his fist in the air. Blair braced himself for the punch, but was surprised when the fist was driven, rather softly, into his stomach. It was enough to make him gasp in pain, double over and collapse backwards. Instead of hitting the floor, Blair landed on the exam bed again, which had been lowered and positioned behind him.
Blair's entire focus was on trying to breath through the agonising pain in his gut that he didn't struggle much as Peterson strapped his arms to the bed and then raised it to the original height. Despite his restricted movements, Blair's hand kept trying to protectively cover his wound and was only barely aware that Peterson was taking his vitals. He didn't make any moves to steam the flow of blood or provide any form of first aid. He simply took notes.
Nearing hysterics, Blair tried to struggle against the restraints to no avail.
“HEEEELP!” He shouted, putting his pain and desperation into the cry. “SOMEONE HELP ME!”
“You're wasting your time there.” Peterson said, hardly taken back by the noise. “This room is sound proof.”
Frustrated, hurt and close to tears, Blair closed his eyes, hoping to get himself under control.
“Why are you doing this?”
Peterson didn't answer straight away, his attention was on his work.
“I'm doing a study on the effects of gunshot wounds on the human body.” He took a tape measure out of the cabinet drawer and took some measurements of the size of the gunshot wound, including it's exact placement on Blair's abdomen; 2 inches left of his belly button.
“As you can image it's a hard thing to study first hand because even if you can find a gunshot victim, it's not until a medical professional is called that their condition is assessed. And even then it's marred by all the treatments provided to keep the victim alive. But to capture and study those first raw moments, when that bullet first enters the body and starts to do it's damage.” He caressed the edges of the wound, the gentle touch causing Blair to bite his lip to stifle a cry of pain. “That's something I've found very hard to find material on. And as I said it's very hard to find people who are happy to volunteer.”
“Shame you couldn't...experiment on yourself.” Blair groaned, through gritted teeth.
“I did actually.” Peterson rolled up his sleeve to reveal an indented mark on his bicep. “I had an assistant of mine shoot me in the arm and then help me record the results. I had to pay her rather handsomely to do it and promise she wouldn't get into trouble for it.” He made some more notes after checking the heart monitor and blood pressure reading.
“Was that not enough?”
“The results were fascinating, but I'm afraid it only fuelled my desire to study a more critical case. I needed to find an area of the body where a bullet could do more damage, but also not result in instant death. The chest was too dangerous, the shoulder, a possibility, but I'll admit, it's always been the gut shot that's interested me the most. A long and painful way to die I've been told.”
Peterson looked Blair in the eyes for the first time since they met. “I'm am truly sorry for the pain, but to give you anything would compromise my results.” He touched the developing bruise on his cheek. “And they've already been compromised enough.”
Peterson took a Dictaphone out of one of his drawers and held it up to Blair.
“To help the integrity of my experiment I was hoping you'd been willing to share some of your thoughts on how it felt when the bullet first struck?”
Blair looked incredulously at the doctor.
“How it felt? It fucking hurt, you sadist!” Blair shouted.
Peterson sighed. “I had hoped you'd be a little more inclined to help. You're a scientist after all? Are you not curious what your body is going through.”
“Look, man, I've been shot before. It sucked then and it sucks now. That enough for you?”
“Where were you shot before and how does it compare.” Peterson moved the Dictaphone closer to Blair's mouth.
Blair closed his eyes and turned his head away from the device. “What does it matter? None of this really matters. You can't publish your findings. This is totally unethical and illegal.”
“Who said I was planning to publish it.” Peterson said hauntingly, turning the Dictaphone off. “I know I can't officially publish anything. This is my own personal study.”
Blair opened his eyes and stared in horror at the man above. He wasn't sure if the sudden chill that came upon him was from the revelation or blood loss. He could hear his heart rate increase and he had a struggle to calm down his breathing.
Peterson placed a hand on Blair's forehead and wiped a little of the sweat that was trickling from his hairline.
“Ah, looks like you're going into shock.”
*
As Jim made his away down the hall towards Blair's office he checked his watch to confirm the time. He remembered Blair saying his lecture finished at 11am and had nothing after that apart from papers to grade so should in theory be free. Jim was hoping to take his guide to a new deli for a spot of brunch. Blair had over slept that morning, which meant he'd only had time to grab an apple on his way out the door. For his part, Jim had been more than happy to duck out for lunch early, to give him a break from the reports he had to catch up on. It's all he had with no serious investigations on his plate.
Approaching the office, Jim was able to tell before he reached the door that Blair wasn't in. The only heartbeat Jim could hear belonged to a janitor at the end of the hall. Just to be sure Jim knocked on the door and then let himself in. His senses had been right, there was no sign of Blair. A stack of papers were spread out across his desk, but it didn't look like any of them had been graded. It was possible Blair had already gone for lunch or he could be in a faculty meeting. Or even just in the bathroom. Jim figured he could wait a while. He took a seat at Blair's desk and looked around for something interesting to read. He picked up a National Geographic magazine he found one the floor and flipped through a few pages, but found nothing interesting to read. He was slightly tempted to tidy up a little, but while the office wasn't as bad as when Jim first met Blair, it still needed too much time and man power to make a difference.
Resigned to waiting patiently, Jim crossed his arms, leaned back in Blair's chair and hope he didn't have long to wait.
*
Blair tried struggling against the restraints, foolishly thinking he'd suddenly have the strength to break free when in actuality he was growing weaker. He didn't need the monitor to tell him his heart was pounding faster. A bad sign, he knew. Shock had indeed set him. He felt cold, but he was sweating and he had to breath in quick, short pants.
He had to get away. If he couldn't break free physically, then he had to find away to reason with the deranged doctor.
“There has to be...another way to...collect your findings.” Blair panted.
“Trust me, I've looked into many different avenues.” Peterson took a couple of photos of the wound with a Polaroid camera. “I even searched the streets hoping to witness a shooting. Someone seems to get shot in Cascade every day, I thought I'd get lucky. Instead I got shot at myself. The only victim I found died not long after I arrived. It proved too dangerous so I knew I had to get a volunteer. I tried homeless people at first, but I was...a little off with my marksmanship with my first attempt.”
“You killed them?” Blair confirmed, horrified.
“I managed to hit the aorta. At least it was quick.” Peterson sounded a little remorseful, but didn't show it. “I tried again with another homeless man, but he was too sick. I needed a healthy specimen to get the optimal results”
“Then I need to tell you...I lied...I actually take drugs all the time. I'm a regular pothead, man.”
Peterson smiled a little. “If you'd told me that at the start I would have believed you.” The smile dropped while he busied himself taking Blair's pulse and blood pressure again.
“I wanted to avoid involving anyone at the university. I knew I could get some of the students to volunteer, but after speaking to only a few of them I changed my mind. They all had families, some rather influential. So I moved on to the staff. You were actually the fourth faculty member who answered the ad. The first two were married with children. I was tempted by Professor Copeland. Divorced twice before forty with no children. Then I found out he cares for his sick mother.”
Peterson looked Blair in the eyes for only the second time. “I'm not a monster, Blair. You're young and I regret that but at least you won't leave behind a widow or a fatherless child.”
“Just a single mother.” Blair's voice was getting weaker, but he had to grasp at this one strand of hope. “You really want to take away her only son?”
A brief flash of pain showed on Peterson's face, but he swallowed and looked back at his machines. He took some more readings, burying himself back in his work.
“Okay, how about this...” Blair panted, his breathing quickening. “My room-mate is a cop, one of the best in the city. He'll hunt your ass down and throw you in prison. That's if you're lucky.”
The threat didn't seem to phase Peterson as much as Blair hoped. He looked a little surprised, but quickly schooled his features.
“Even if that were true, my study will have been complete.”
Blair let out a loud, frustrated groan and beat his head a couple of times against the thin pillow It used up more of his dwindling energy, but he secretly hoped it would mess up the doctor's readings.
That suddenly gave him an idea. Peterson was expecting him to just lie there and be a good little lab rat. His research relied on everything happening naturally, with no unknown variables throwing things off. Well, Blair was going to create some with what energy he had left.
He started by holding his breath. It wasn't easy. His body was being starved of oxygen with every drop of blood he lost, but he fought against his bodies natural reflexes.
“What are you doing?” Peterson sounding more confused than annoyed.
Blair waited until he could see spot before taking a breath, which quickly turned into desperate gasps for air.
“I'm being...an...uncooperative...test subject.” Blair said between breaths.
Next he tried to lift his unrestrained legs up off the bed, hoping to draw them up to his stomach, but the effort was too great and he barely got them an inch in the air. He was losing too much ground and his latest stunt hadn't helped.
Instead he tried holding his breath again, but his lungs protested and he was back to taking short, quick breaths to hastily replenish his oxygen supply. Stubbornly he kept trying, but each time he was only able to hold in air for a couple of seconds.
“You're wasting your breath...literally.” Peterson actually sniggered a little at his own joke. “Your efforts are barely affecting my results. You're just making things harder for yourself.”
Defeated, Blair turned his head away so the doctor couldn't see how close he was to tears.
“You really are a sadist.” Blair sobbed.
“I take no pleasure in seeing you suffer.” Peterson snapped, “This is purely scientific”
“If that's how you justify it...but you've already admitted that this is for you own private study.” Blair took a couple of panting breaths before continuing. “Hiding behind science is just a defence...you tell yourself that so you don't have to admit...that you garner some pleasure from it.”
Peterson raised his hand to slap Blair across the face, but paused just inches from Blair's cheek. He took a moment to compose himself and then lowered his arm.
“I thought you taught anthropology, not psychology.”
“I'm still right.” Blair's voice was quieter, the last speech had sapped more of his precious strength.
“Whether you are or not is irrelevant.” Peterson turned back to the machines. “I have to finish my work.”
*
It didn't take long for Jim to get bored of waiting. It was becoming clear that Blair hadn't just popped to the bathroom, which meant he was likely to be a while. If he was in a faculty meeting he could be a couple of hours. If he was with a girl...he could be longer.
Jim had a choice of either going for lunch on his own or continuing to wait. Neither option felt appealing to do alone, so he came up with a third option. He'd call Simon.
He took out his cell phone and dialed his bosses' office.
“Banks.” The Captain barked.
“Hey Simon, it's Jim.”
“Jim, why aren't you at your desk filling out those reports. Most of them are due by the end of the day.”
“I'm on top of them, sir, believe me. I just popped out to take Sandburg to lunch, but he's not in his office. He said he'd be free after 11.”
“Probably got caught after class by a student or talking someone's ear off.”
Jim chuckled. “Yeah, well, I can't wait around all day for him. I was wondering if you were free for lunch.”
“I wish I was, but I have back to back meetings from 12. I might be lucky to get out in time for a late supper.”
“That's too bad.” Jim sat back in Blair's chair. “I guess I could go alone.”
“Sorry, but at least you can go to Wonderburger guilt free.”
“I was actually going to try a new deli place.” Jim sighed. “I guess I can wait a little longer.”
“Why don't you just go find the kid, he can't be too hard to spot.”
“It's a big campus, Simon.”
“You're a Sentinel, aren't you? Go sniff him out.”
“I'm not a bloodhound.”
“Aren't you? Go sick em, boy” Simon chuckled and hung up.
Jim rolled his eyes as he snapped the phone's mouth piece shut.
“I wouldn't need to use my Sentinel senses if the kid would get himself a cell phone.” He muttered., but that thinking wasn't going to help him. He'd used his senses before to track people down. In theory Blair should be the easiest person for Jim to find, they spent so much time together.
First, Jim tried extending his hearing, thinking he could latch on to Blair's voice. Wherever he was, there was a good chance he was talking to someone. At first there was an onslaught of noise; people talking, chairs moving, cars going by. He tried filtering out all the sounds that weren't voices and managed to pick up various conversation. Teachers lecturing, or gossiping, students talking about a variety of things, from study subjects to plans for Saturday night. There was too much of it to single out just one voice. It was also possible that Blair wasn't talking to anyone. Slim though that was.
Abandoning his hearing, Jim thought about using his sight, but that only helped if he also had x-ray vision. The only useful sense left was smell. Blair's scent was all over his office. He was lucky that Blair liked to using all manor of strange, unique smelling cleaning products on his body. The strongest scent currently was his herbal shampoo, not a surprise since he had to use so much of it.
Leaving the office, Jim followed the scent down the corridor and out of the building. He was instantly assaulted by other scents; grass, flowers, a variety of deodorants and some unappealing body odours. He had to work hard to filter the unwanted smells out so he could latch on to just Blair's scent. Once he did, the trail led him away from the anthropology building and across the main quad. Jim continued on his way, hoping not to catch Blair in a compromising position.
*
“Do you have a family?” Blair asked, his voice only a whisper to conserve energy.
Peterson was a little taken back by the question. “Why do you want to know?”
“Seems only fair that I know...since you know about mine.”
“No wife, no kids, both parents are dead and my older brother lives in Florida alone.”
“Sounds like you would have made a good candidate for your own study.”
“Actually I wouldn't have.” Peterson paused a moment while he took Blair's blood pressure for, what felt like the 100th time. “Last year I had treatment for cancer. It was a very aggressive treatment, which meant I had little energy to do much work. However, so far, it has worked and I'm in remission. But it was this incident that gave me the resolve to finally get started on this project. I may be fine now, but there's no telling what the future holds.”
Blair actually snorted a laugh at the Doctor's confession. “You've been granted a reprieve on death...and you use it to take a life. That's pretty backwards if you ask me, man.”
Peterson didn't respond.
“You've been given extra time.” Blair continued his voice still a whisper “Not everyone gets that. You've made you work your life...but there's so much more to life than work.” He had to stop to take a few quick breaths. It was really getting hard to keep talking, but he had to try and get through to the doctor. “See the world, fall in love...and live.”
“Would it surprise you to know I've done all those things when I was younger” Peterson admitted. “But it's all frivolous. My work is the only thing that gives me any satisfaction.”
“But what good will it do?” Blair's voice was rising in frustration. “You're findings will just be locked away with you...no one will read them, no one will benefit from them...so what's the point. What am I dying for?”
Peterson was quiet for a moment. His attention appeared to be on the heart monitor, but his eyes were a little glazed. Maybe Blair was finally getting through to him.
“There are so many things we are unable to study because it's unethical or illegal. Ignore those things and there are so many things we can learn. You may think my study won't benefit anyone, but it may one day. Someone who is able to look past my methods will look at it and use it for some good or maybe to further their own studies, who knows. But my work will live on one way, even when I'm gone.”
“I don't suppose you care...that I have my own work...my own studies that will go unfinished.”
“I've never seen the point in anthropology personally. No offence.” Peterson tried to shine the torch in Blair's eyes again, but he kept them, tightly shut. “You can give up now. There's nothing you can say that will change my mind.”
“So you want me to...lie back and die like a...good lab rat.”
There was no reply. There was no more the doctor could or was willing to say. Blair was running out of breath and time and the doctor had made his convictions quite clear.
*
Sometimes Jim forgot how big the university campus was. Blair's sent had led him through the library, around the psychology build, past the faculty lounge and along side the sport grounds. It was here that Jim was bombarded by a variety of scents that overwhelmed Blair's: the chlorine in the pool, the sweat of the football players on the field, the grass, the flowers. Blair's scent was unique, but it couldn't hold it's own against such an attack. Jim had to dial back his sense of smell to nearly nothing or he'd get a headache.
Sighing, Jim wondered if he should just give up. For he knew he was chasing Blair all round campus. He could be on his way back to his office already.
“Are you lost, Jim?” The female voice came up behind him, nearly making him jump. Jim turned around to find Suzanne Tamaki, chief of campus security heading towards him.
“Oh, hey Suzanne.” The two shook hands. “Yeah, I'm looking for Blair, but I seem to have lost my barrings”
“It happened to me the first week I was here.” She smiled. “Have you checked his office?”
“Yeah, I just came from there.”
“And you're just wondering around hoping you'll bump into him? You could be here for hours.”
“Well, I came to take him out to lunch, so I don't have all day. I was just about to quit and just go to lunch alone...unless you're free?”
“Afraid not, got a lot on at the moment. There's a thief on campus and I've spent the last two days trying to track them down.”
“Need any help?”
“Not really your area, but thanks.” A thought occurred to Suzanne. “I think I remember seeing Blair earlier. Ever since the incident with the spiders I usually take the time to say hi to Blair when I see him, but he was talking to another teach assistant.”
“Do you remember where?” Jim asked.
“Uh, yeah, just over there, around the quad.”
Jim moved in the direction Suzanne had pointed. He extended his sense of smell again, slowly, trying to get a fix on Blair's scent. It took some time; Suzanne's perfume was very distracting, but as he neared the exact spot Blair had stopped to speak to Roger, he found it.
“Thanks Suzanne, I think I know where Blair went.”
“Glad I could help. We should have lunch some time.”
“You bet.” They shared a quick flirty smile before Suzanne carried on with her work.
Jim watched her go, but quickly turned his attention back to Blair's scent. He decided he was going to follow the scent up the next building. If Blair wasn't in it, he was going to lunch along. He'd already wasted enough time as it is, time he could be chowing down on some deli. Even the thought was making his tummy rumble. He quickened his pace as he got back on the trail.
*
He couldn't fall asleep. He had to remain conscious. But he was fast running out of energy and at least sleep would give him a respite from the pain. He had no strength left to struggle against the restraints and there was no reasoning with the doctor. There was no one to rescue him. No one knew where he was. Jim was at the station doing paper work. That thought would have brought Blair to tears if his mind could stay focused on anything longer than a few seconds.
Through sheer stubbornness he managed to keep his eyes open and hoped that maybe if he looked pathetic enough the doctor would have a change of heart and let him go. He knew it wasn't going to work. Peterson refused to look him in the eye. All his attention was on the monitors and the wound that continued to pump Blair's life out of him.
Peterson took a syringe with a thin tube on the end out from one of the drawers and placed the tip of the tube just inside the wound.
“What are you...doing?” Blair asked. It was a struggle to talk, but it helped to keep him conscious.
“Just need to take a small, untainted sample.” The doctor drew enough blood to fill the syringe. “I don't suppose you know your blood type.”
“Type up yours.”
Unperturbed Peterson injected the blood into a glass bottle and quickly corked it
“You know, judging by your vital signs,” Peterson said in a conversational tone, “I believe you've lost at least 30 percent of your blood volume.”
“Well...I'd like it...back...please”
“It shouldn't be too much longer now.” Peterson said, with a hint of regret in his voice. “For what it's worth, I will be forever grateful for your contribution to my work.”
Blair's foggy mind was too slow to think of a witty or scathing comeback. All he could do was turn his head away and grasp at one desperate long shot. Quietly, under his breath he kept repeating Jim's name, hoping some how Jim would be able to pick it up wherever he was. He knew Jim's hearing was good, but he doubted he'd pick it up from this distance without trying. Also, they'd never tested Jim's senses in a sound proof room before, but it was the only hope Blair had left, no matter how slim the chances of it working.
*
“Medical Research Department” Jim read the sign above the entrance, wondering what business his guide had in there. It put credence to his theory that Blair was with a girl. Probably some cute little Med student working on their PhD in sexual health. Jim briefly thought about leaving, having no desire to interrupt Blair's courtship, but as he stood staring at the building he thought he heard someone say his name. It was just the barest whisper, but it was undoubtedly his name. He extended his hearing and was able to catch his name again, but it was only fractionally loader. However, it was clear to Jim that it was Blair's voice. It was possible Blair was just talking about him to his lover interest, but if that was true, why did it sound so faint and only just his name.
Now on alert, Jim entered the building and was instantly accosted by a number of medical scents; formaldehyde, ammonia, various acids and so many things he couldn't name. He filtered through them to find Blair's scent again. The building had a small lobby with three corridors running off from it and Jim caught Blair's scent down the one of this left. He followed it down another corridor, up a flight of stairs and past a couple of labs. He was unfortunate enough to pass one just as class was coming out, which made Jim nearly retch at the sudden onslaught of new fragrances, not all of them pleasant. He dialled his sense of smell back a little, but extended his hearing again, hoping to catch his name. He caught it just as he was regaining control of his sense of smell. It was coming from a room at the end of the corridor.
As he approached, he allowed his sense of smell to confirm with his hearing that he was heading for the right room, and while he continued to smell Blair's shampoo, he also picked up a nauseating hit of blood. A lot of it. Unholstering his gun, Jim hurried down the corridor to the room all his senses were telling him Blair was in. The smell of blood was stronger, but he could still only barely hear his name.
He paused outside the door. First he tried looking for a keyhole, but there wasn't one. Next he tried listening for any other sounds inside the room. He couldn't hear Blair's voice any more, but he could just about make out the beatings of two hearts; one was much faster than the other. There was also a machine that was making a rhythmic beating, almost in time with the heart beat.
Baffled, Jim very slowly tried to open the door, but it was locked. Alarmed, Jim took a step back, and putting all his strength behind it, kicked the door open.
“Cascade police...” He couldn't finish. The massive amounts of blood caught his attention first and then the source; Blair lying strapped to a bed, looking so pale it would have been easy to assume he was dead if it wasn't for the rapid rising and falling of his chest. His eyes were ever so slightly open, but not registering Jim's arrival. There was a man standing beside Blair holding a clipboard, which he dropped upon seeing the detective's gun pointed at him.
“What the Hell is going on here?” Jim asked, moving further into the room, his gun never leaving the doctor.
“No, please, I'm so close to finishing my work.” Peterson begged.
“I don't care, back away from him.” Jim growled
The doctor didn't move away from Blair, his eyes kept darting between Jim and the machines.
“I've waited too long to fail now.”
“I said, back away.” Jim instructed in a louder voice. “Up against the wall.”
Peterson moved back a little, but kept his eyes on the monitoring machines.
Jim moved next to Blair. He couldn't believe Blair was still alive with the amount of blood he'd lost. Hoping to stop him losing any more, Jim reached down to where Blair's shirt was lying on the floor, picked it up and pressed it against the wound.
“Hang on, Chief”
With his attention now on Blair, Jim didn't notice Peterson slowly reach into his pocket and pull out a small gun. He hid it behind his back where he cocked it, but while he thought the detective wouldn't hear that little action, The Sentinel certainly did. He turned his attention back to the doctor just as he raised the gun. Jim got his shot off first, hitting Peterson in the arm which forced him to drop the weapon.
Not taking any chances, Jim got his handcuffs out and roughly pulled Peterson's arms behind his back, caring not for the bleeding wound. Once cuffed, Jim left the doctor on the floor and went back to Blair. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed 911.
“This is Detective Ellison, I need an ambulance and crime unit down at The Medical Research Department at Reinier University” While he talked he continued to apply pressure to Blair's wound with his free hand. “Second floor, Room 801. And hurry. I have a gunshot victim who's lost a lot of blood.” He hung up the phone, put it away and cupped Blair's face.
“It's okay now, Chief, help is on the way, just hang in there.” If Blair heard him he gave no indication. His eyes were now closed, but he made the occasional groan when Jim pressed down too hard on the wound.
All Jim could do now was pray her hadn't been too late.
*
It was so tempting not to wake up. Did he really need to? Blair was pretty sure the last time he'd been conscious he'd been told to sleep, so that's what he should do, right? What did he need to be awake for anyway? Did he have a class? Did Jim need his help on a case? Good questions, he had no answer for. All he knew was he was tired and his bed felt so warm. Though, it didn't quite feel like his bed. And as he become a little more aware, he was pretty sure he wasn't in his room at the loft. There was an annoying beeping sound by his ear, something sharp in the back of his left hand and something hard up his nostrils. There was also a nagging pain in his abdomen. It was the type of dull pain that made Blair think some heavy duty painkillers were being used to keep it no more than a nuisance. For now.
All of this confusing sensory input made Blair curious enough to allow his eyes to open a fraction. He didn't need the blurry world to come into focus for him to realise quite quickly that he was in a hospital. The reason for him being there still alluded him. Probably something to do with the pain in his gut that flared up a little when he shifted positions.
“Are you awake, Chief?”
Looking over at the other side of the bed, Blair found Jim sitting in the visitor's chair.
“Barely.” Blair whispered
“Well, that's an improvement on yesterday.”
“What happened yesterday?” Blair asked, confused.
“That was the first time you were awake, but you were pretty out of it. Do you remember what happened?”
Blair forced himself back into the waking world full so he could hopefully retrieve the memory. He focused on the pain in his gut, hoping that would help. What kind of wound did it feel like...
When the memory hit him, Blair groaned. It was a gun shot wound. Doctor Peterson and his lab, it all came back to him.
“I got shot.” Blair moaned. “Again.”
“Yeah and this one was a lot worse.” Jim said, “You lost so much blood you were in a coma for two days, but you came out of it yesterday and the Doctor was just here and he thinks you'll make a full recovery, given some time.”
“That's reassuring.” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. Reading his thoughts, Jim poured a glass of water, raised the head of the bed a little and helped Blair drink a few sips. Blair sighed as he sunk back against the pillows.
“You know, I was prepared to get shot in your world, man, but not mine.”
“Then in future, stick to your own area of study.” Jim pulled a flyer out from his pocket and held it up to Blair's face. Blair didn't need his glasses to know what was written on it.
“Oh yeah, right, totally.”
“Of all the studies you could have got yourself involved in, what made you chose this one?” Jim looked over the flyer as if he could work it out himself if he looked hard enough.
Blair stayed quiet for a moment. He could go over his three reasons if he could remember what they were. While he was fully conscious now, his mind was still pretty fuzzy. He didn't have the energy to explain it all so he went for the easiest explanation.
“Curiosity.” Blair said with a small shrug.
“Remember what that did to the cat” Jim folded up the flyer and put it in the bin.
Blair yawned, his energy fast depleting.
“Get some rest,” Jim said, giving his hand a squeeze. “You'll be out of here quicker.”
Blair closed his eyes and gave a mumbled response. Before he could drift off something occurred to him.
“Hey, Jim,” Blair said, his eyes still closed. “Do you think Doctor Peterson will still write up his results.”
“He's got plenty of time to work on them in prison. Why?”
“I'd like to read his findings.”
“Why the hell would you want to read that?” Jim said, appalled.
“It's not everyday someone writes a paper about me.”