Chapter 2

"They never did find our anymore about what started the fire upstate, did they?" Saint John asked, continuing to scrub the dirty sides of the Jet Ranger.

"I don't think so," his brother answered from the other side of the aircraft. "It sure made a mess though – ash everywhere."

"Yeah, but it was nice to do something to help, even if it was just moving people and supplies."

"We have plenty to no around here now though. Three days away from the business will do that, and we have a film shoot coming up."

"I know, it's just hard getting back into the routine of things again."

"Dom's gonna keep us up here all night if we don't start though. He wants his pride and joy shining for tomorrow and we've wasted the entire afternoon already."

"I guess you're right," Saint John agreed.

Silence.

"String?"

"I have to get the phone."

"What happened to getting this done so... String!" His brother continued walking toward the phone in the office.

Shaking his head, he went back to work, expecting to be rejoined in a few minutes.

"Santini Air," he answered into the receiver as he gathered a pencil and piece of paper from the desk.

"This is Grace from Montclair Hospital in San Bernardino. Is there a Mr. Stringfellow Hawke there?"

"You're speaking with him," he answered with a growing uneasy feeling.

"You were listed as the emergency contact for a patient we have here. I was wondering if it would be possible for you to come by and answer a few questions."

"Who is the patient?" He couldn't think of anyone he might be listed as an emergency contact for that far away, but obviously there had to be somebody.

"That's one of the questions we hope you could answer. The patient is currently unconscious and has been for several days, we just haven't been able to reach you until now."

"I've been out of town. Have you contacted anyone else that might be a relative or friend?"

"You were the only one we could find contact information for in her personal effects."

"Okay, I'll – I'll see if I can make it over there. I'm about an hour and a half away though."

"Thank you so much."

"You're going to finally get back to work now?" Saint John teased as String reentered the room.

" I was thinking about taking a road trip instead."

"Seriously. You were right, we have a lot of work to do."

"Yeah."

"Who was that anyway – another job?"

"Something like that."

"Care to elaborate?"

"I don't think it's really going to be anything. I'll just take a long lunch to check it out."

"How long?"

"Probably three or four hours."

"String! We close in three or four hours."

"You won't miss me too much."

"Yeah," his brother agreed sarcastically, "I just have to do both our jobs."

"Now you know how I've felt for the last fifteen years."

"Very funny. Does this mean I at least get your portion of the pay too? Unlike you, Mr. Stradivarius and priceless art collection, some of us need money."

"You can have whatever you need, and you know it. I'll finish the job tonight after I get back," he replied, grabbing the keys and heading out to the parking lot.

"Do I at least get to know where you're going?"

"To see Grace," he called back over his shoulder before disappearing.

Grace, Saint John though, great. Who the heck was Grace?

\A/

The hour and a half trip to the hospital seemed to take an eternity, each mile dragging on for ages. It was probably just some mix up anyway, but he couldn't help but wonder if there was more to it than that. It seemed like too much of a coincidence to get his name and number right by accident, but he really couldn't think of anyone he might be listed as an emergency contact for.

Dom and Saint John here both fine and back at the hangar. Unless... It could be Caitlin, he thought, unconsciously pressing harder on the gas pedal. No, that didn't make any sense. It could be some kind of trap, the idea occurred to him and he eased off the accelerator again. That was probably just being paranoid. It was a simple misunderstanding he would get cleared up as soon as he went inside.

Pulling into a parking space in the strangely empty parking garage, he put the vehicle into park and headed inside with the intention of doing just that.

Inside, he was greeted bu white walls and an odd shade of blue-gray tile, otherwise the hospital seemed about as empty as the garage. With this lack of people, he was beginning to think the nurse must've just have been bored and chosen him as part of some game, figuring he was unlikely to come anyway.

Continuing down the hall marked as leading to the intensive care unit, he found that his first ideas were incorrect, indeed it was quite the opposite.

Nurses and orderlies bustled between rooms – some with food trays, others with IV bags and bandages, and still others rolled wheelchairs down the busy corridors. Despite the calm outside, the little hospital was overrun with patients, making finding someone to guide him in the right direction much more difficult that usual. At last he was directed to the young brunette filling out some kind of paperwork at the nurses station.

"I'm Stringfellow Hawke," he introduced himself, "some one called me earlier today-"

"Grace," the brunette said knowingly.

"Yes, could you tell me where she is or someone else who-"

"I'm Grace," she finished the form and dropped the pen on the counter. "If you'll walk with me I'll explain what I know."