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Please note:  The copyright on The Sentinel and all it's characters is owned by Pet Fly Productions and Paramount.

Ordinary Days:
The Chronicles of a Sentinel and His Guide
Entry #2


This is another little entry under my Ordinary Days theme. It is written from Jim's POV again (I promise the next one is from Blair, Wolfshy). I want to thank Stargazer and Iris for their help and encouraging words, Gray for giving my stories a lovely home, and Angie for being mom to us all at CT.

The standard disclaimer applies here. Jim and Blair *still* aren't mine nor are they likely to be in the future . The guys belong to Pet Fly and Paramount, but TPTB keep them up on that top shelf and never use them anymore........they shouldn't be shocked that we fans sneak over and borrow them occasionally. At least we play with them carefully (most of the time) and put them back when we are through.

I glared at the door as it slammed shut. My irritation was a tangible energy in the room so I knew why he had exited abruptly. But I really did *not* know why I had come unglued at that moment, other than as a result of the weariness which had come over me after the Brandt case. It had settled about me and slowly turned into something else.

Topping the whole thing off, I had done something incredibly stupid. I had stopped by the store, grabbed a six-pack, gone home to an empty loft and proceeded to down most of the damn things before eating. What a completely brainless act, something I hadn't done in years. If he had been here, as he was supposed to be (I can hold onto negative thoughts with incredible force, or so he tells me), I would never have succumbed to this ridiculous behavior. But "ifs" don't mean a damned thing, do they?

Anyway, he eventually came home and I started chewing his ass. First it was about the dishes left from breakfast (of course they were from when he had made *me* breakfast to cheer me up). Then it was the clutter in the living room (yeah, I know he had been in the middle of some research project when he had thrown everything aside to help me wrap up the case) and finally, the last straw, I started griping about his "things." I listed them all: the herbs, the health food, the candles, the artifacts, the music....on and on and on. I kept going like some kind of heartless incinerator, blazing out of control. He just stood there at first, taking it. As the list grew longer his eyes began to narrow. Then a look of hurt begin to surface in them, but instead of stopping me, his pain just added fuel to my destructive fire.

Finally, something snapped within him, so abruptly that it was like the releasing of an electrical charge....popping in the air where positive energy meets negative. He gave me a look of pure disappointment and sorrow and quietly said, "Jim, I just wish you would shut the hell up." He turned on his heel, grabbed the Volvo's keys out of the basket, flung open the door, stepped into the hallway, gave me a look of disapproval before slamming the door, and left me there with my teeth clenched and a dawning feeling of what I had just done. He was gone.

So now I am sitting in the loft alone. The energy that was once here is gone and a strange feeling descends over me. I remember this was what it felt like before that quirky little anthropologist entered my life. A lack of purpose, a feeling of despair, confusion, and, yes I will admit it, even fear were all familiar to me. Those are the emotions that revisit me now. I am probably still under the influence, if you know what I mean, but I suddenly feel very much trapped in time B.S. ......Before Sandburg.

I reach out with my hearing to see if I can discern any sound of him or even the Volvo, but no such luck. I realize that this could be the beginning of the end, and my depression deepens.

The hours stretch on. I have cleaned the loft, sorted through a mountain of mail, returned phone calls, watched television, anything and everything to keep busy, all the while hoping to hear from him. It is very late now and time to give up and go to bed. Thankfully it is Saturday so I will have time to recuperate....and wait here for his return.

I wake up at dawn and search the loft with my hearing ...listening for sounds that would let me know that he had returned (although I know I would have awakened if he had). I am greeted with unnatural silence, almost eerie in its intensity. The depression settles around me once again.

I decide to get some things done on my shortened "to-do" list. I wash the truck, clean the fridge, dust the furniture, working to keep busy while I wait and listen. The silence becomes almost unbearable.

It is evening again......still no word from Sandburg. I think about calling that beautiful new neighbor who could be interesting to date, but I can't get motivated beyond the thought. I purposely pick a place to get supper that takes me past the university. I stop within viewing distance of Hargrove Hall and scan for the Volvo. It isn't there. I reach out with my hearing....again I am met with silence. As I pull back the other incidental noises become apparent to me again, but they only seem to mock me by reminding me how alone I am now.

Once home I sit on the couch flipping channels on the television. I am now becoming concerned and consider calling Simon. Then I remember that he is out of town on a camp-out with Daryl. The feeling of loneliness extends to my center and threatens to overwhelm me......what a stupid piece of shit I am. I look around the loft and take some comfort in the things that remind me of Blair. I walk over and touch one of his most precious artifacts, marveling at the intricacies. I turn and pick up one of the candles and then realize what I have done. God, how could I have been such an idiot? By going on that semi-drunken tirade, I had negated my friend and guide's importance. I had listed everything that this gentle man is and denounced it all. No wonder he hadn't returned. I am such an unfeeling, egotistical moron...I do not deserve him.

I gather up some of the candles, place them strategically on the coffee table, and light them. I select one of his "earth music" CDs from the stack and put it in the player. With strains of haunting ancient melodies surrounding me, I settle on the floor. Going into the meditative pose that he taught me, I bring everything inward. I have an intense need to get things balanced. I must forget enhanced senses for a while and get back to that sense of something else. I need to remember that core of a bond as ancient as the music....so ingrained in me that I often take it for granted. I have to reach him by reaching myself.

I feel the layers of my entrapment fall away. All the mundane issues of everyday life are abandoned. One by one, my senses turn inward, leaving me focused on myself.... allowing excruciating self-examination. I sit like that for hours, contemplating my insignificance in a much more significant whole. I have to tell you it is a thoroughly humbling experience.

The next thing I really am aware of (from the outside anyway) is a whisper. My name being repeated, quietly but with insistence. I bring myself back slowly and deliberately, open my eyes and see his face hovering before mine, concern in his deep blue eyes. Without thinking, I bring up my hand and touch his cheek. "I'm so sorry, buddy," I say dolefully. "Can you find it within yourself to forgive me?"

He looks at me in total seriousness and replies softly, "Nothing to forgive, man. Just forgive yourself....'kay?" I meet his eyes and really *see* him for the first time in a while. I see that timeless wisdom and the kind and knowing soul that is my dearest friend and guide.

I wonder 'What are you thinking, Chief? What can you possibly be thinking about me?' He continues to gaze into my eyes and replies to my unspoken question, "I knew you were in there all along, Sentinel," and smiles.

I put my hand on the back of his neck, rub it gently, then pull him close until his forehead touches mine. "Just don't ever forget to come back and get me, okay Chief?"

His gentle smile broadens and he whispers, "Never."


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Monday May 10 2010
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