"Simon."

I stopped in my tracks; turned towards the alley. "Who's there?" The voice was -- couldn't be --

"Hey, Simon." Sandburg -- *Sandburg* -- stepped out from behind a dumpster. I shook my head, trying to clear my eyes -- Sandburg had shadows like bricks sliding over his skin -- and then he smiled and held out his hand.

I yanked him closer and clapped his shoulder. "I thought you were dead!"

"Hell, no," he said. "Thought we established my unkillable status back when Alex tried to drown me."

"Very funny, Sandburg. Jim?"

"He's fine." Sandburg let go of my hand and stepped back into shadow again, still smiling. He looked up the side of the building, and the smile faded. "We've looked all over the city," he said. "There's so much damage. She hurts, Simon. She called us home."

I shook my head again; he was blurring at the edges, his voice going hollow. "Sandburg, what the hell are you--"

"Thank you for taking care of her," he said. "Be seeing you." He stepped backwards again, and I couldn't see him, so I moved into the alley--

--and there was no one there.

* * *

"Simon."

I set my beer down on the table and put my hand on my gun.

"Simon, man, it's me!" Sandburg was standing in my dining room, right across the table, his arms folded across his chest.

"Sandburg, dammit!"

"Sorry." He hitched a hip up on the table and looked me over.

"How did you get in here?" I'd nailed the windows shut after the quake; the back door was still boarded up.

He waved a dismissive hand. "Never mind that. I didn't get a chance to really *see* you last week in the alley. How's Daryl?"

I shook my head. "Driving me crazy."

"Girls? Boys? Drugs?"

"No, film school."

Sandburg threw his head back and laughed. "That's the Daryl I know and love." He stopped and looked thoughtful. "Knew and loved, more like."

"Sandburg, *are* you dead?"

"No," he answered. "I don't think so. Though you might be crazy, before you ask."

I picked up my beer and took a long drink. "Figures. I'd have to be crazy to hallucinate *you* instead of a lady with legs up to *here* and a fine, fine--"

"Speaking of fine asses, I have a message from Jim."

"More information than I needed, Sandburg--"

"Oh, come off it, Simon." He slid off the table and went to the window to look out at the street. "Jim says -- Jim says he loves you, and to trust him. And -- Simon -- not to get in his way. Our way."

"Sandburg, what the hell are you *talking* about?" My shoulderblades started to itch; whatever he was going to say, I was going to *hate* it.

He shrugged. "She's our city, Simon." He smiled, but the window warped the reflection like a funhouse mirror. "Come on. Play Commissioner Gordon to our Batman and Robin. It'll be great."

"Great." I glared at him, "Is this some kind of sentinel thing?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, it's some kind of sentinel thing." He put his hand on the window glass and closed his eyes. "Be seeing you, Simon."

And he walked right through the window, out onto my front lawn, and in an instant had vanished into the twilight.