The Sentinel and all related characters are the property of 
UPN, Paramount and Pet Fly Productions. No copyright 
infringement is intended. No profit is being made.

This story (such as it is...) is the property of the author.

I actually wrote this one more than a year ago, but I wrote it as 
a death story. I could never get up the nerve to post it, and 
when I found it on a disk a couple days ago, I decided to 
rewrite it.

________

Loud as a Whisper



How do you fix a hole as big as your soul? When one act rips 
and shreds your heart and soul and tears you into so many 
pieces that you marvel that you can still be alive, how do you 
go on?

When half of your soul is taken from you, how can you ever be 
whole again?

Jim Ellison didn't feel the rain beating against his face, didn't 
see the lightening that tore through the sky above him. He was 
deaf to the echoing repercussions of thunder tearing through 
the sky. All he could feel was the wrenching, jagged pain that 
tore through the space where his heart used to be.

It wasn't supposed to hurt this much. It was never supposed to 
hurt this much. He was supposed to be temporary, an 
annoyance to be tolerated long enough to learn about his 
senses, then over with. When did that change? How? Who the 
hell gave Blair the right to mean so much to him?

If he concentrated he could feel the dust still settling from the 
explosion, the remnant heat from the blast that had taken so 
much; but no amount of concentration would bring him that 
precious heartbeat, that comforting scent, that beloved voice. 
They were gone, lost to him, and all that was left in their place 
was a numb silence.

He felt something on his shoulder, a warmth, a weight. A pair 
of concerned dark eyes met his. "Jim?" Jim saw the mouth 
move right in front of him, but the words came to him from a 
distance; muffled, indistinct. It wasn't the voice he wanted to 
hear. He blocked it out.

There were lights somewhere, blue and red. He caught a high-
pitched sound from the same place as the lights, then both quit. 
They meant something, he knew, but he couldn't be brought to 
care. They weren't important. Nothing was anymore.

There were more words, more voices, another face before him. 
Nothing he knew or wanted.

The Sentinel stopped trying.

***

He had no idea how long he drifted in the darkness, 
surrounded on all sides by nothing but a silent void, devoid of 
all sensation whatsoever. It could have been seconds. It could 
have been years. He didn't know, and he didn't care.

The everything changed.

The darkness came alive, somehow becoming brighter, louder, 
without changing at all. Around him, it started to pulse with a 
life of its own. He could almost feel it against his skin.

The change caught his attention, pulling him away from the 
emptiness he'd wrapped himself in. As he concentrated on the 
pulsing, he became aware of more. Sound began to return to 
him, muffled voices, the sound of people hurrying back and 
forth, soft crying and murmured reassurances. Beyond that, a 
thumping sound that matched the pulsing of the darkness.

The Sentinel opened his eyes.

He could still see the remnants of the building before him, still 
feel the settling dust, and he knew that he hadn't been gone 
long. Around him, emergency workers treated the people 
who'd been unlucky enough to be walking by when the building 
went up. He heard familiar voices, and he even brought himself 
to recognize a few of them, though he still couldn't make 
himself care.

The pulsing was gone with the void, but the thumping 
remained, and The Sentinel latched onto it. Single-mindedly, he 
began to move forward, brushing by one person, moving 
around another. He heard one of the familiar voices call out, 
and thought he recognized his name, but ignored it and 
continued forward.

The destruction seemed worse as he moved closer, but he 
examined it closely, eyesight picking out every pocket and 
tunnel created by the falling debris. The thumping grew louder 
and louder as he neared the building, until it seemed to fill his 
entire body, blocking out everything else. Right now, it was the 
only thing in the world.

It was louder toward the rear of the destroyed building, and 
that’s where The Sentinel headed, picking his way around piles 
of debris.

Someone came to his side, but the scent and feel was a familiar 
one, a safe one, and The Sentinel knew he faced no threat from 
the newcomer. He continued searching through the 
destruction, effectively ignoring the man at his side.

There. The thumping was filling him, washing over and around 
him. Two more steps, and he dropped to his knees. One hand 
reached out, resting against a wooden plank, and he felt the 
reverberation of the thumping against the wood. Here.

HE gripped the plank and carefully lifted it, moving it to the 
side. Beneath there was only more rubble. He remained 
undeterred, removing every plank he came across, feeling the 
thumping grow with each new piece of wood removed.

New sensations were added now, as the barrier was slowly 
destroyed. A scent, of fruits and flowers, another of after shave 
and deodorant, and beneath that, another one, unique in this 
world. One that always made Jim think of grass and sunshine, 
and never failed to make him feel safe. He could sense the life 
in that, the joy. The Sentinel lost himself in the dual sensations, 
never once faltering as he removed the last of the debris.

Then the last plank was gone, and he leaned forward, one hand 
reaching out…

Jim felt the warmth of life in that touch and could have cried. 
“Simon, help me with him.”

Simon started a bit, probably not expecting to hear his name, 
since Jim had been rather silent up to that point, but moved 
forward nonetheless to help. He glanced down, and Jim heard 
the sigh that escaped him. “Oh, Blair…” 

Jim didn’t take the time to explain. Simon would know soon 
enough, and he wasn’t willing to leave Blair down there a 
second longer. With Simon’s help he carefully lifted Blair up, 
and set him down at his side. He pressed one hand to Blair’s 
forehead, checking his pulse and temperature, listening to his 
breathing. Carefully he ran his hands over Blair’s chest, arms 
and legs, carefully feeling for broken bones. He found cuts, 
scrapes and bruises, along with a bloody cut on the back of 
Blair’s head, but nothing that looked too serious. “He’s 
unconscious,” Jim murmured, “probably going to have one hell 
of a concussion. He’s going to be sore, too, but nothing’s 
broken. He’ll be fine once he wakes up. Should probably get 
him to an ambulance, anyway.”

Simon blinked at him, as the meaning behind Jim’s words sank 
in. “He’s alive? Jim?”

“Yeah,” Jim could feel the smile that was spreading across his 
face and did nothing to stop it. “He’s alive, Simon.”

“I’ll get the paramedics.” Simon all but leapt to his feet, then 
raced back across the rubble toward the ambulances.

Jim bent over Blair’s body, shielding him from he-didn’t-know-
what, but unwilling to leave Blair unprotected in any way.

Blair stirred, the stilled as the pains in his body reached his 
brain. Wearily, blue eyes opened and focused on the face above 
him. “Jim?”

The last of Jim’s fears vanished and he smiled softly. “It’s 
okay, Blair. Just rest, okay? I’ll get you out of here.”

Blair held his gaze for an instant, seeing the reassurance there. 
“Jim,” he murmured softly, his eyes drifting shut again. In 
seconds, he was asleep.

Jim carefully lifted Blair, resting his friend’s head on his lap, 
trying to keep Blair comfortable, as much as to reassure 
himself. “It’s all right, Blair. Just sleep.”

Around him, Jim could hear the shouts of police and 
paramedics, the sirens of ambulances, the sounds of the city 
going on as usual around them. His Guide was here again, safe 
in his arms, and the world had come back to life.

end