206) From an early movie of Diagnosis Murder called "The House on Sycamore
Street" we learn that Steve cannot stand heights. What made him this way?
Disclaimer: I don't own anybody in this story.
Synopsis: Steve's first day on the job and he sees a little girl die.
"Patrol Car 15 to the Ramada Inn Hotel. Patrol Car 15 to the Ramada Inn Hotel. Hostage and possible suicide situation on roof." There was Steve siting in patrol car 15 his first day on the LAPD force. He was twenty-four years old at the time with the coffee in hand, blaring sirens, and blinking lights. This six foot two blonde haired man was going about eighty miles an hour just off route 30 in the downtown Los Angeles traffic, passing pulled off cars.
About three minutes Steve Sloan pulled into the entrance of the Ramada Inn Hotel. He parked in a handicap-parking place because it was the closest parking place. 'It's police business; I'm not breaking the law' After parking the car, he ran through the automatic opening doors, through the lobby, past the desk clerk who was giving him a dirty look, and he pressed the elevator up button. 'This is taking to long' He ran to the door marked "stairwell" and opened up the door. He bolted up the eight flights of stairs in his blue police officer uniform. The sweat dripping of his face and landing on the floor. His heart beat beating abruptly in his ears.
After about five minutes of running up the stairs and what seemed to be days for the young cop, he finally reached the top. There he saw a woman with a child in her arms. His face drained of his usual tan color to a ghostly white. He grimaced with horror to see the woman dangling her assumed daughter who couldn't be any older five. The little girl had blonde hair and big blue eyes that pleaded for life. She looked like her mother but had a different personality. She didn't have the heartless recklessness of her mother.
He finally woke up from the horrific nightmare. Steve huffed and puffed while sweat drowned his pillow and sheets. He gasped for air. After a minute or so he finally caught his breath. "Please just leave me alone. I can't relive it over and over," He pleaded with himself. He looked at his bedside alarm clock. It read "3:27." He didn't start till 8:00 A.M. He slid out of his soaked bed. He decided he was too terrified to try to sleep again and relive the fear so he went to his kitchen for a drink of milk. Of course he didn't feel the need for a glass. He sat down at his oak kitchen table thinking what to do. 'Should I go for a drive, take a shower, or watch TV?' He came up with a quick mental list: take a shower, watch a little television, then go for a quick jog, eat breakfast with dad, and then go to work.
He walked to the shower as slow as a snail. He started warming his water and took off his clothes and started taking his shower. After about fifteen minutes he was dressed in tight blue jeans and a Hawaiian shirt and on his couch watching reruns of the Dick Van Dyke show. 'How can people say my dad has a slight resemblance of Dick Van Dyke. That's preposterous.' He was trying to block the appalling illusion that happened earlier.
At 6:30 the sun started to break through the darkness and the Dick Van Dyke Show Marathon had finished. He changed his mental list. He would cook breakfast or at least try to cook for his dad. So he went to the refrigerator and pulled out some eggs and orange juice, he went to the pantry and pulled out a skillet and glasses, and the started his gas stove. At 7:00 the Sloan family were wide-awake. Steve had set the table for two, filled the glasses up, and put scrambled eggs and toast on each plate.
"Steve, are you okay? You look like you haven't slept in years," Mark commented. He was always worried about his oldest child and his only blood related son. His tone was surprisingly in a father tone instead of a life-saving doctor.
"Yeah dad I just had a nightmare." He grimaced at the word nightmare. Nightmare was putting it lightly. Mark, with his fatherly intuition, knew what the nightmare was about. His son only had one nightmare and that was that of the little girl and her mother that injured him mentally. They ate the rest of their breakfast in eerie silence. About fifteen minutes later Steve left for the precinct and Mark left for the hospital.
Disclaimer: I don't own anybody in this story.
Synopsis: Steve's first day on the job and he sees a little girl die.
"Patrol Car 15 to the Ramada Inn Hotel. Patrol Car 15 to the Ramada Inn Hotel. Hostage and possible suicide situation on roof." There was Steve siting in patrol car 15 his first day on the LAPD force. He was twenty-four years old at the time with the coffee in hand, blaring sirens, and blinking lights. This six foot two blonde haired man was going about eighty miles an hour just off route 30 in the downtown Los Angeles traffic, passing pulled off cars.
About three minutes Steve Sloan pulled into the entrance of the Ramada Inn Hotel. He parked in a handicap-parking place because it was the closest parking place. 'It's police business; I'm not breaking the law' After parking the car, he ran through the automatic opening doors, through the lobby, past the desk clerk who was giving him a dirty look, and he pressed the elevator up button. 'This is taking to long' He ran to the door marked "stairwell" and opened up the door. He bolted up the eight flights of stairs in his blue police officer uniform. The sweat dripping of his face and landing on the floor. His heart beat beating abruptly in his ears.
After about five minutes of running up the stairs and what seemed to be days for the young cop, he finally reached the top. There he saw a woman with a child in her arms. His face drained of his usual tan color to a ghostly white. He grimaced with horror to see the woman dangling her assumed daughter who couldn't be any older five. The little girl had blonde hair and big blue eyes that pleaded for life. She looked like her mother but had a different personality. She didn't have the heartless recklessness of her mother.
He finally woke up from the horrific nightmare. Steve huffed and puffed while sweat drowned his pillow and sheets. He gasped for air. After a minute or so he finally caught his breath. "Please just leave me alone. I can't relive it over and over," He pleaded with himself. He looked at his bedside alarm clock. It read "3:27." He didn't start till 8:00 A.M. He slid out of his soaked bed. He decided he was too terrified to try to sleep again and relive the fear so he went to his kitchen for a drink of milk. Of course he didn't feel the need for a glass. He sat down at his oak kitchen table thinking what to do. 'Should I go for a drive, take a shower, or watch TV?' He came up with a quick mental list: take a shower, watch a little television, then go for a quick jog, eat breakfast with dad, and then go to work.
He walked to the shower as slow as a snail. He started warming his water and took off his clothes and started taking his shower. After about fifteen minutes he was dressed in tight blue jeans and a Hawaiian shirt and on his couch watching reruns of the Dick Van Dyke show. 'How can people say my dad has a slight resemblance of Dick Van Dyke. That's preposterous.' He was trying to block the appalling illusion that happened earlier.
At 6:30 the sun started to break through the darkness and the Dick Van Dyke Show Marathon had finished. He changed his mental list. He would cook breakfast or at least try to cook for his dad. So he went to the refrigerator and pulled out some eggs and orange juice, he went to the pantry and pulled out a skillet and glasses, and the started his gas stove. At 7:00 the Sloan family were wide-awake. Steve had set the table for two, filled the glasses up, and put scrambled eggs and toast on each plate.
"Steve, are you okay? You look like you haven't slept in years," Mark commented. He was always worried about his oldest child and his only blood related son. His tone was surprisingly in a father tone instead of a life-saving doctor.
"Yeah dad I just had a nightmare." He grimaced at the word nightmare. Nightmare was putting it lightly. Mark, with his fatherly intuition, knew what the nightmare was about. His son only had one nightmare and that was that of the little girl and her mother that injured him mentally. They ate the rest of their breakfast in eerie silence. About fifteen minutes later Steve left for the precinct and Mark left for the hospital.