Part 12 Journey's end. or just begun?
The abrupt movement of the gurney as it was pulled out of the ambulance woke Steve again. The combination of drugs and pain, of reality and dreams melding into one as his mind once more tried to make some sort of sense of what was happening. Trying to stabilise itself in some form of reality that could be understood. Steve blinked and looked at the young paramedic who smiled down at him. It was to be the last smile that he saw for a while.
"Hey welcome back," Brian said, noticing once more that there was some form of clarity, of understanding in Steve's eyes. "Do you remember where you are?"
Steve nodded, at the moment everything was painfully clear.
"OK," Brian said softly. He had stopped the gurney so that he could talk to his patient. "We've arrived at the medical center and I'm going to transfer you up to the ward now." He explained, "How are you feeling?" He asked, waving away for the moment the orderlies who had come to help move him up to the ward.
It was a loaded question, one that Steve couldn't begin to answer emotionally. Even if he could find the words to express how he felt at that moment, in five minutes the answer would be entirely different, but Steve looked into the concerned eyes of this stranger and recognised the genuine compassion. It was a quality he had often seen in his father and his two closest friends, Amanda and Jesse. A concern for their fellow human beings which could only come through empathy, that he saw it here, now, from this stranger, gave Steve a deep sense of comfort, penetrating through some of the barriers he was building. He did his best to answer. "I.. it still hurts to breath," he said quietly, despite the painkillers the pain from his ribs still radiated out each time his chest moved..
Brian was unaware how significant it was that he had got Steve to talk, to prevent him withdrawing completely, and pull him one step back from the total collapse that he was perched on the brink of . "I'll let them know up on the ward," he said, the tone still one of concern. There was nothing else he could give him, he dare not give him any more morphine, not for a while at least. "They'll be able to give you something when you get up there," he said. There was a pause whilst the young man searched desperately for something else to say, some way to give the man in front of him some sort of comfort, some strength to face the next few hours as his incarceration began. "Listen," he finally said, holding Steve's gaze, "Whatever happens, whatever people say, just remember that you know the truth."
Steve stared at him for a moment, then nodded slightly again. "Thanks," he said, recognising the comment for what it was, an attempt to help. His mind filed away this brief encounter, a positive experience to begin to balance some of the many negative ones.
One of the orderlies coughed, he was getting impatient, he needed to get this prisoner moved, then he was scheduled to take someone to the OR and then another patient to X-ray. He didn't have time to wait for chit chat.
Brian took the clipboard off him and signed the transfer papers as the other orderly moved round to the end of the gurney ready to begin pushing it. The guard who had traveled silently with the prisoner from Community General moved up behind him.
The orderly waited impatiently as Brian wrote a note about Steve's continuing pain on his chart and then, almost snatching it from him, moved to the other end of the gurney and began to push it away
Brian stood and watched as the gurney carrying his patient rolled away. There was something about the man that gave him an almost instinctive understanding of him. In him he saw so many parts of himself. In the short time that he had been with him, had seen what the events of the past few days had done to him, he had developed a sympathy, an empathy. This was not a reckless, uncaring police officer, more interested in furthering his career than public safety, as the press had made out. This was a man deeply traumatised by what had happened, blaming himself for an incident which, in reality, he had probably had little control over. A man just doing his job. Never again would Brian take what the media said about people at face value, making judgments based on a skewed view of the facts. Seeing this man had made this particular story personal, had humanised the figure that the press had demonised and had forever changed his perceptions of the media and what they said.
As he watched the gurney pushed too fast and roughly over a drain, instead of being lifted, and Steve wince at the resulting pain, he decided that he couldn't let this rough treatment continue. He hurried to catch up. "Hey take it easy, will ya," he addressed the orderly who had taken the papers.
Both orderlies and the guard turned to look at him. "What's it to you?" The first orderly asked.
"He's got some bad injuries," Brian said trying to contain his temper, "any bumps will aggravate them."
"Geez, he's just a prisoner," the orderly replied, annoyed at yet another delay. What was this jumped up cab driver's problem? "A murderer at that." he added, remembering that he had seen this guy in the press in connection with some shooting or other in Malibu.
At this point Brian lost his temper with the man. Was this how he treated all of the patients brought in to the jail ward, as somehow undeserving of basic human kindness, of relief from their pain? "No," he said through gritted teeth, "he's a cop and at worst he's here because he made the wrong judgment call, but at the moment he's innocent until proven guilty or have you forgotten our constitution?'
"But.." the surprised orderly attempted to interrupt.
Brian was having none of it. "And even if he was guilty, that's no reason to treat him any differently from any other patient, from any other person needing help." He barged the man out of the way, taking his place at the end of the gurney. "I'll take him up to the ward. At least then I know that he'll make it in one piece."
"But that's not your.." the orderly attempted once again.
"What," Brian interrupted sharply. "Not my job?" He paused for the briefest of moments but it was still somehow clear that the question was rhetorical. "Well I'm making it my job. If you've got any arguments take it up with your supervisor and I'll explain to him and anyone else who'll listen why I did it." Brian did not waste any more energy on the man, he wasn't worth it, instead he pushed the gurney away, taking care to avoid any bumps and taking it at a much more sedate speed.
Steve watched the exchange impassively, unsure as to why this man was helping him but grateful for it. Somehow the kindness of this stranger once more penetrated through his barriers, and in this small act pulled him another step back from the brink. He relaxed back on the pillows and allowed his thoughts to drift.
Mark looked at Jesse and the others, not answering his question straight away. He looked up at the sky. The sun was just beginning to touch the horizon. "It's going to get dark soon," he said, "let's take our discussions back to the hospital and , if you don't mind Amanda, honey, do you think you could start running those tests on the blood samples?"
"Sure," Amanda replied, "no problem," She looked at her watch, there hadn't been much chance of seeing her sons again tonight anyway. She had asked her mother to look after them for the next couple of days, knowing that both Mark and Steve needed her on this.
"I'm going to stay here," Nathan said, "I'll get the forensics team down to check on the footprints on the bank and I'll also get a check on any vehicles on the edge of PCH on that night. See what we can come up with."
"All right, we'll see you at the hospital. I have some things of my own to check on," Mark said thoughtfully and he headed back to the car.
Jesse and Amanda followed, wrongly interpreting their mentor's silence as a sign that he was once more worrying about his son. Whilst Mark was definitely still worried about Steve, his mind was occupied elsewhere. He was considering the implications of his conversation with Dr. Evans and allowing his active intellect to make connections with everything else he knew about the case. Amanda sat herself in the back of Jesse's convertible, whilst Mark climbed into the front and they set off back to the familiar territory of Community General. None of them looked back as they once again left the white building behind them.
Brian took the gurney all the way to the entrance to the jail ward but he did not have the clearance to enter so, reluctantly, he handed control back to the orderly who deliberately pushed it into the door to make a point, Steve couldn't help the slight gasp that escaped as the jolt jarred all of his injuries.
Brian watched helplessly shaking his head at the man's attitude. Once Steve had disappeared through the doors there was nothing more he could do, besides, his colleague whom he'd left waiting down with the ambulance, would be impatient to get home. This was the last call of the day. Brian turned and walked towards the elevators still shaking his head at the injustices of the world.
Steve lay back on the pillows and watched as the paperwork about him was exchanged and more added as he was processed into the system. He'd filled in similar paperwork a thousand times himself. He spoke quietly only once to confirm his name, the way he was being treated he was surprised that they asked him and didn't just check the tag on his wrist. The rest of the time they spoke about him as though he wasn't there.
"Take him to room 212," the guard said to the orderly. "This one's a cop so we're keeping him away from the rest of the prisoners."
The orderly nodded
"I'll let the doctors know that he's here." He read the notes. "And you'd better put the restraints on him, seems he's a little unstable at the moment. Officer Johnson 'll go down with you."
The orderly grinned, wishing that the soppy paramedic could be there to see what he was going to do.
There were many reasons why people ended up working where they worked. In the prison wing of the hospital, the staff were roughly divided half and half between those who worked there because they thought they could make a difference, out of a sense of some sort of civic duty, and those who worked there because they couldn't get a job anywhere else in the hospital system, because the patients would not put up with how they treated them. Since most of the prisoners behaved in a hostile way, even towards those who were trying to help, staff turnover could be high, so any staff who could stand the working conditions were gratefully accepted.
The porter fell into the second category, he enjoyed the abuse because it gave him the opportunity to give back what he got. In particular he enjoyed putting the restraints on prisoners, it gave him a sense of power to make others so helpless, and invariably working here he got asked to put them on someone at least once per day and, to a man who felt he had little control in the rest of his life it was, tragically, one of his few sources of satisfaction. He had always been a bully even at school, where he had never achieved much, taking instead some warped sense of self worth from intimidating those younger or weaker than himself.
Now as he wheeled Steve to his room and noticed how out of it the man was, he decided that he could have a little fun. The fact that the paramedic had annoyed and humiliated him in front of his colleague, meant that Steve was an even more satisfying target than usual. Arriving at the room, he turned to the guard "It's OK we can take it from here," he said, "I don't think he'll give us any trouble."
The guard looked from the porter to Steve and back again, he figured the guy was right Steve looked totally passive and too weak to do anything, so he shrugged and left.
The porter grinned as the guard left knowing that he might have commented but his fellow porter wouldn't take any notice if he hurt Steve, indifference was the only attitude he had ever shown.
Steve gasped and held his good arm across his chest as though that would somehow protect him from the pain as he was dumped onto the new mattress. He squeezed his eyes shut as he rode out the waves of pain, then felt his arm grabbed roughly and pulled down to his side as the padded restraint was buckled too tightly around it. Then his ankles received the same treatment.
If the porter had expected some sort of reaction he was disappointed. Steve was long past reacting to how he was being treated. "I'm sorry about this," the porter said coldly, his tone betraying the insincerity of his words, "but it has to be done, we wouldn't want you to hurt yourself," he added coinciding the words with moving Steve's injured arm and pulling it into the restraint. At last a reaction as Steve's face contorted into agony at the movement.
As the mists of pain cleared he stared into the eyes of the man he knew had just deliberately caused it. There was still a strong part of his mind telling him that he was getting what he deserved, that any mistreatment was justified because he merited such punishment. That was the part of his mind that was in control.
More than twenty years of learning how to read people, however, allowed him at some level, to see the porter for what he really was, a small minded bully who enjoyed the suffering of others because it made him feel superior. In the corner of Steve's mind where this thought registered, it triggered a sense of injustice, although it caused him physical pain, mentally he took one more step back from the brink..
He continued to stare at the man who had just hurt him for no reason, his expression betraying not his physical but his mental suffering.
The porter cursed silently, disconcerted by the stare from such haunted eyes and the lack of any other reaction, he completed the transfer of tubes and notes, then hurriedly left the room to move on to his next task.
The doctor and nurse arrived almost immediately. He checked Steve over quickly, it was nearly the end of his shift and he had a hot date to get ready for, so he did not notice the too tight restraints and barely read the paramedics recommendation for stronger pain relief. Had he read Jesse's notes he might have gone for a sedative rather than painkillers and restraints, but he did not take that time, instead he checked Steve's vitals, made out a standard prescription to be filled every four hours, ensured that the chest drain and IV line were properly in place and left as hurriedly as he had arrived.
The nurse remained a little longer to administer the injection of painkiller. Steve felt it the instant it hit his system and gratefully allowed it, along with the sedatives that were still present from earlier in the day, to drag him once more into a drug induced sleep
Jesse and Mark sat in Amanda's lab and watched her work as she began preparing the samples she had taken for DNA analysis along with samples from all of the other victims and the two other patients who were still clinging on to life. There was some good news on that front, the young woman, Linda Wright, the one whom Mark had treated at the scene, had stabilised to the extent that Jesse expected to be able to transfer her from ICU to a standard room the following morning. Unfortunately it was not looking quite so hopeful for the other patient who remained critical.
"So," Jesse asked, unable to suppress his curiosity any longer "Are you going to explain now?"
Mark looked questioningly across at him.
"What made you think there was someone else in the clinic that night?" he elaborated.
"It was the only way to explain the lack of fingerprints on the weapon," Mark replied, "then when I saw in the reports that Steve had fired three shots, only two of which had hit Hughes, I wondered what had happened to the other bullet. There was no indication that it been found, that's why I wanted to go back to the clinic. It was possible that it was fired into the wall or the ceiling but it was also possible that it wasn't found because it wasn't there any longer."
"So that's why you looked for the blood stains?"
Mark nodded confirmation.
"Yes, but it still doesn't help Steve does it?" Amanda asked looking up from her work. "I mean it makes even less sense that Steve would go into a situation where there were two of them without backup."
"Unless he could only see one of them?" Jesse suggested.
Mark was thoughtful again, "It could be argued," he said quietly. "That that's even more reason why he shouldn't have tried to go in alone." He paused, he was painfully aware that whilst his discoveries would undoubtedly change everyone's perceptions of what had happened, he still did not have enough to help clear Steve, or explain his actions. "There's still more to this." he added.
There was quiet for a while whilst Amanda continued working and Mark debated whether to tell his friend's of his suspicions about Dr. Evans. He decided to wait until he'd had more time to consider it, his mind was still contemplating his intuition, deciding if he had any facts to back it up..
Jesse meanwhile was mentally kicking himself for not noticing what Mark had, it seemed so obvious now. Jesse had always admired Mark's deductive skills but more than that he'd always wanted to emulate them, fascinated by how the older doctor could pick up on seemingly insignificant points from a mass of information, or supply a rational explanation to the seemingly irrational and use it to go on and solve a case. He sighed, wondering if his own deductive skills would ever improve.
"Jess?" Mark asked noting the sigh.
Jesse pulled himself from his musings, "Sorry I was miles away."
Mark looked at his watch, "It's getting late," he noted, "maybe you should go home, get some rest."
Amanda pulled her gloves off. "Well I've done all that I can for this evening. We should get the results in the morning." She looked across at Mark "I guess we could all do with getting some rest."
Mark considered it and the thoughts from earlier returned. He didn't want to go back to the beach house, especially not alone. He knew that if he asked, both of his young companions would volunteer to go with him, but he just could not face the press, whom he knew would be camped on his doorstep. He didn't really want to stay in the hospital either, now that Steve was no longer there, but it seemed the better of the two alternatives. He forced a smile not wanting them to worry "You two go on .I'll. um.."
"Hey Mark, what is it?" Amanda asked, she had known him too long to be fooled easily.
"Nothing, I just thought I'd stay here again tonight."
"Hey," Jesse said, "If you don't want to be alone then I'll come out to the beach house with you." He paused, when he got no response he added, "that's if you'd like."
"It's not that Jess," Mark replied grateful for the offer. "It's the press, I've managed to avoid them so far today by using the service exits from the hospital, but at the house." He let the sentence trail. With only the entrance from PCH by car and from the beach on foot, it would be impossible to avoid prying eyes if they were waiting for you. "I just don't think I could face them right now."
Jesse nodded his understanding, Steve's arrest would have undoubtedly stirred up interest again. "Then come out to my place," Jesse suggested, "It's not quite up to your standards but you're more than welcome and there are no press there."
Mark was tempted but shook his head, "No Jess I couldn't possibly impose on you like that I.."
"Mark," Jesse stopped him his tone sharp, then it softened, "It wouldn't be an imposition, I'd love to have you there." It always amazed him how willing Mark was to help others and yet how reluctant he was to accept it himself.
"But.."
"Go on," Amanda encouraged. "Hanging around here is not going to help anyone."
Mark looked from one to the other and shrugged, "All right," he assented, "your place it is," he said looking at Jesse, "thank you."
Steve drifted in and out of consciousness, more aware at some times than others, until the medication finally wore off and he could no longer escape from his physical and mental discomfort into sleep. He was now truly alone. Unable to shift to a comfortable position he lay back and closed his eyes, for the briefest of moments he had peace, saw only darkness, but then, like someone flicking a switch on a projector, bright images suddenly assailed his senses. His eyes flew open as he attempted to shut them off, knowing that they led only to pain and death, but it was no use. His eyes refused to focus on the room around him. As the images played on, he began to fall apart once more. The wave of negative emotions that accompanied his memories; grief, despair, horror, guilt, all in overwhelming proportions, washed over him once more. He retreated to that safe place inside his head where they could not reach him, taking a mental step forward.
Jesse and Mark arrived in Jesse's apartment, having once again managed to avoid the media, slipping away from the hospital via a service entrance. Jesse had stopped to get take out and deposited the packages on the table, moving straight away to get some plates. Once they had eaten, that is, once Jesse had eaten and Mark had picked at his food, they discussed sleeping arrangements.
"I'll be fine on the couch," Mark said as he helped to clear up.
Jesse stopped from what he was doing and looked over at him. "You're kidding right." he said. "Aside from the fact that you're older than me and technically my boss, you're also my guest. If you seriously think that I'm going to sleep in the bed whilst you take the couch then."
"But Jess." Mark interrupted.
"No, you get the bed," Jesse insisted. "What would Steve think of me if he knew I had you staying here sleeping on the couch."
The mention of his son stopped Mark's protests dead as it occurred to Mark that he had no idea what Steve would think of anything at the moment, not with the state he was in the last time he saw him, and since then things had got worse and. The spiral of negative thoughts assaulted his brain like a whirlwind and his expression darkened as he tried once more to bring the emotions that went with them under control.
Jesse noted the change of expression and instantly regretted his words, realising that they had triggered more troubling thoughts about Steve. "Mark.. I'm sorry." He said unsure of what else to say.
Mark snapped himself back, suddenly aware of how fragile his hold on his emotions had become. "It's all right Jess." He looked down at his young friend. "OK I'll take the bed." He acquiesced. "These old bones will be very grateful," he added smiling again, but his eyes still betrayed his sadness.
"Sit down I'll make us some coffee and then change the sheets." Jesse said, trying to change the subject.
"A compromise, I'll make the coffee, you change the sheets." Mark replied.
Jesse nodded, handing over the coffee pot and leaving Mark to get on with it.
"I'm telling you Mark Sloan could be a big problem," Michael Evans spoke into the payphone receiver, this was one call that he was not going to risk making on any line that could be traced to him.
"What makes you think so?" The voice at the other end asked.
"I followed the tip you gave to me and went back to the clinic. He was there with Detective Turner, that young doctor friend of his, Travis, and the medical examiner. They were searching the place again."
"What could they find that the police haven't looked at already?"
"Oh trust me plenty, they've got a forensic team back there now checking the escape route down on to PCH."
"I see," the voice said ponderously, "Too bad, soon they will know that there was someone else there, but they still have nothing."
Evans wiped his brow, realising that he was sweating more than he should have been. "It gets worse." He licked his lips then swallowed. "Dr. Sloan spent about twenty minutes talking to me, questioning me." He paused not really wanting to admit the next part. "I'm.. I'm sure that he suspects me but I don't know why."
The chill in the other voice was detectable down the line. "You didn't tell him anything, give him any reason to suspect?"
His reply was almost too quick. "No, nothing, no reason." He took a breath to calm himself, "but you've read the reports on this guy. He doesn't stop until someone's locked up and with his son involved.."
"I'll take care of it." The voice stated.
Evans was momentarily taken aback by the coarse statement. "Like you took care of the last problem?" He asked. "Only that hasn't gone too well has it or hadn't you noticed? When I got into this.."
"I said," the voice on the line interrupted sharply. "That I'll take care of it. I've taken steps to control our other problem and I'll deal with this." There was a longer pause. "Don't call me again unless the situation changes. I will contact you."
"OK but.." Evans began but the line was already dead. He hung up the receiver and leant back heavily against the booth.
Jesse let the warm water of the shower wash over him, savouring the feeling as the hot spray eased the kinks out of his tired muscles. By the time he had changed the sheets and rejoined Mark, his old friend seemed to have been in slightly better spirits, but Jesse knew that Steve was never far from his thoughts. Jesse had done his best to keep his mind occupied on other matters whilst they had sipped their coffee. He had then left him watching a quiz show, setting him the challenge to answer all of the questions before the contestants. A task that Mark, since he had a vast general knowledge, found remarkably easy.
Jesse spent longer than usual in the shower, attempting to scrub the ills of the world from his body and wash them away in the stream of water. Today had been tough, tomorrow would be tougher and he was exhausted. Still he was feeling a little better when he climbed out and toweled himself dry.
He walked back into the living room and stopped in his tracks as he saw what was on the screen. Gone was the obsequious host and inane contestants to be replaced by images of Steve. Jesse watched transfixed, realising that, as he had done the night before, Mark had been drawn to turn one of the news channels on. A morbid curiosity driving actions which were destined only to increase the pain.
The program was working through an in depth 'profile' of Lieutenant Steven Sloan, his life and career encapsulated into ten minutes of screen time, narrated in a strange 'news speak' tone used only on this and reality TV programs.
Dragging his eyes from the screen Jesse walked round to where he could get a better look at Mark who sat silently, the only indication of a reaction, the white knuckle grip on the TV remote. Jesse walked over to the set and turned it off, knowing that watching the accusations leveled against Steve again would not do his friend and mentor any good.
Mark did not move, did not even seem to notice as the screen went black. Jesse walked over to him and gently prised the remote from his hand. He then crouched in front of his friend trying to decide what to do. Mark looked into his eyes. "It was just like an obituary Jess," he said quietly. "Like they're saying his life is over."
"Hey," Jesse replied, suddenly finding a wisdom beyond his years. "We both know that's not true, that what they say doesn't matter unless we start believing it. We're the ones that know him. Remember, we're the ones that are going to prove his innocence."
Mark looked for and found the sincerity and conviction in his young friend's words and once more drew strength from them. He nodded slightly
"Now come on," Jesse said, forcing a grin, "I'm tired and you're on my bed."
Steve had finally managed to drift off to sleep again, but even in that there was no peace, as he relived his own shooting again, the crushing impact on his chest seemed to snatch his breath away, gasping desperately for air, he began to fight for breath, the panic thrusting him back to consciousness. Confused and disoriented he tried to move his arms and found that they were tightly bound. The rapid jerky breaths caused stabs of pain across his chest and arm that rose in intensity with each movement. He tried to call for help but his lack of breath made it come out as a pitiful gasp, any further attempts discouraged by the increase in pain that the effort cost. Unable to do anything to help himself, or to get anyone to help him, he collapsed back on to the bed and tried to ride out the waves of agony.
The nurse found him twenty minutes later, conscious and writhing around as the pain refused to abate. She instantly called a doctor and did her best to make him comfortable whilst she waited. Appalled at how tightly the restraints had been fastened, she ignored procedure and released them. It was a mistake, as Steve continued to move blood began to circulate once more to his extremities, the sudden reawakening of thousands of nerve endings adding to the pain but, worse than that, the increased blood flow pulled blood away from more vital areas and Steve's blood pressure dropped through the floor.
The abrupt movement of the gurney as it was pulled out of the ambulance woke Steve again. The combination of drugs and pain, of reality and dreams melding into one as his mind once more tried to make some sort of sense of what was happening. Trying to stabilise itself in some form of reality that could be understood. Steve blinked and looked at the young paramedic who smiled down at him. It was to be the last smile that he saw for a while.
"Hey welcome back," Brian said, noticing once more that there was some form of clarity, of understanding in Steve's eyes. "Do you remember where you are?"
Steve nodded, at the moment everything was painfully clear.
"OK," Brian said softly. He had stopped the gurney so that he could talk to his patient. "We've arrived at the medical center and I'm going to transfer you up to the ward now." He explained, "How are you feeling?" He asked, waving away for the moment the orderlies who had come to help move him up to the ward.
It was a loaded question, one that Steve couldn't begin to answer emotionally. Even if he could find the words to express how he felt at that moment, in five minutes the answer would be entirely different, but Steve looked into the concerned eyes of this stranger and recognised the genuine compassion. It was a quality he had often seen in his father and his two closest friends, Amanda and Jesse. A concern for their fellow human beings which could only come through empathy, that he saw it here, now, from this stranger, gave Steve a deep sense of comfort, penetrating through some of the barriers he was building. He did his best to answer. "I.. it still hurts to breath," he said quietly, despite the painkillers the pain from his ribs still radiated out each time his chest moved..
Brian was unaware how significant it was that he had got Steve to talk, to prevent him withdrawing completely, and pull him one step back from the total collapse that he was perched on the brink of . "I'll let them know up on the ward," he said, the tone still one of concern. There was nothing else he could give him, he dare not give him any more morphine, not for a while at least. "They'll be able to give you something when you get up there," he said. There was a pause whilst the young man searched desperately for something else to say, some way to give the man in front of him some sort of comfort, some strength to face the next few hours as his incarceration began. "Listen," he finally said, holding Steve's gaze, "Whatever happens, whatever people say, just remember that you know the truth."
Steve stared at him for a moment, then nodded slightly again. "Thanks," he said, recognising the comment for what it was, an attempt to help. His mind filed away this brief encounter, a positive experience to begin to balance some of the many negative ones.
One of the orderlies coughed, he was getting impatient, he needed to get this prisoner moved, then he was scheduled to take someone to the OR and then another patient to X-ray. He didn't have time to wait for chit chat.
Brian took the clipboard off him and signed the transfer papers as the other orderly moved round to the end of the gurney ready to begin pushing it. The guard who had traveled silently with the prisoner from Community General moved up behind him.
The orderly waited impatiently as Brian wrote a note about Steve's continuing pain on his chart and then, almost snatching it from him, moved to the other end of the gurney and began to push it away
Brian stood and watched as the gurney carrying his patient rolled away. There was something about the man that gave him an almost instinctive understanding of him. In him he saw so many parts of himself. In the short time that he had been with him, had seen what the events of the past few days had done to him, he had developed a sympathy, an empathy. This was not a reckless, uncaring police officer, more interested in furthering his career than public safety, as the press had made out. This was a man deeply traumatised by what had happened, blaming himself for an incident which, in reality, he had probably had little control over. A man just doing his job. Never again would Brian take what the media said about people at face value, making judgments based on a skewed view of the facts. Seeing this man had made this particular story personal, had humanised the figure that the press had demonised and had forever changed his perceptions of the media and what they said.
As he watched the gurney pushed too fast and roughly over a drain, instead of being lifted, and Steve wince at the resulting pain, he decided that he couldn't let this rough treatment continue. He hurried to catch up. "Hey take it easy, will ya," he addressed the orderly who had taken the papers.
Both orderlies and the guard turned to look at him. "What's it to you?" The first orderly asked.
"He's got some bad injuries," Brian said trying to contain his temper, "any bumps will aggravate them."
"Geez, he's just a prisoner," the orderly replied, annoyed at yet another delay. What was this jumped up cab driver's problem? "A murderer at that." he added, remembering that he had seen this guy in the press in connection with some shooting or other in Malibu.
At this point Brian lost his temper with the man. Was this how he treated all of the patients brought in to the jail ward, as somehow undeserving of basic human kindness, of relief from their pain? "No," he said through gritted teeth, "he's a cop and at worst he's here because he made the wrong judgment call, but at the moment he's innocent until proven guilty or have you forgotten our constitution?'
"But.." the surprised orderly attempted to interrupt.
Brian was having none of it. "And even if he was guilty, that's no reason to treat him any differently from any other patient, from any other person needing help." He barged the man out of the way, taking his place at the end of the gurney. "I'll take him up to the ward. At least then I know that he'll make it in one piece."
"But that's not your.." the orderly attempted once again.
"What," Brian interrupted sharply. "Not my job?" He paused for the briefest of moments but it was still somehow clear that the question was rhetorical. "Well I'm making it my job. If you've got any arguments take it up with your supervisor and I'll explain to him and anyone else who'll listen why I did it." Brian did not waste any more energy on the man, he wasn't worth it, instead he pushed the gurney away, taking care to avoid any bumps and taking it at a much more sedate speed.
Steve watched the exchange impassively, unsure as to why this man was helping him but grateful for it. Somehow the kindness of this stranger once more penetrated through his barriers, and in this small act pulled him another step back from the brink. He relaxed back on the pillows and allowed his thoughts to drift.
Mark looked at Jesse and the others, not answering his question straight away. He looked up at the sky. The sun was just beginning to touch the horizon. "It's going to get dark soon," he said, "let's take our discussions back to the hospital and , if you don't mind Amanda, honey, do you think you could start running those tests on the blood samples?"
"Sure," Amanda replied, "no problem," She looked at her watch, there hadn't been much chance of seeing her sons again tonight anyway. She had asked her mother to look after them for the next couple of days, knowing that both Mark and Steve needed her on this.
"I'm going to stay here," Nathan said, "I'll get the forensics team down to check on the footprints on the bank and I'll also get a check on any vehicles on the edge of PCH on that night. See what we can come up with."
"All right, we'll see you at the hospital. I have some things of my own to check on," Mark said thoughtfully and he headed back to the car.
Jesse and Amanda followed, wrongly interpreting their mentor's silence as a sign that he was once more worrying about his son. Whilst Mark was definitely still worried about Steve, his mind was occupied elsewhere. He was considering the implications of his conversation with Dr. Evans and allowing his active intellect to make connections with everything else he knew about the case. Amanda sat herself in the back of Jesse's convertible, whilst Mark climbed into the front and they set off back to the familiar territory of Community General. None of them looked back as they once again left the white building behind them.
Brian took the gurney all the way to the entrance to the jail ward but he did not have the clearance to enter so, reluctantly, he handed control back to the orderly who deliberately pushed it into the door to make a point, Steve couldn't help the slight gasp that escaped as the jolt jarred all of his injuries.
Brian watched helplessly shaking his head at the man's attitude. Once Steve had disappeared through the doors there was nothing more he could do, besides, his colleague whom he'd left waiting down with the ambulance, would be impatient to get home. This was the last call of the day. Brian turned and walked towards the elevators still shaking his head at the injustices of the world.
Steve lay back on the pillows and watched as the paperwork about him was exchanged and more added as he was processed into the system. He'd filled in similar paperwork a thousand times himself. He spoke quietly only once to confirm his name, the way he was being treated he was surprised that they asked him and didn't just check the tag on his wrist. The rest of the time they spoke about him as though he wasn't there.
"Take him to room 212," the guard said to the orderly. "This one's a cop so we're keeping him away from the rest of the prisoners."
The orderly nodded
"I'll let the doctors know that he's here." He read the notes. "And you'd better put the restraints on him, seems he's a little unstable at the moment. Officer Johnson 'll go down with you."
The orderly grinned, wishing that the soppy paramedic could be there to see what he was going to do.
There were many reasons why people ended up working where they worked. In the prison wing of the hospital, the staff were roughly divided half and half between those who worked there because they thought they could make a difference, out of a sense of some sort of civic duty, and those who worked there because they couldn't get a job anywhere else in the hospital system, because the patients would not put up with how they treated them. Since most of the prisoners behaved in a hostile way, even towards those who were trying to help, staff turnover could be high, so any staff who could stand the working conditions were gratefully accepted.
The porter fell into the second category, he enjoyed the abuse because it gave him the opportunity to give back what he got. In particular he enjoyed putting the restraints on prisoners, it gave him a sense of power to make others so helpless, and invariably working here he got asked to put them on someone at least once per day and, to a man who felt he had little control in the rest of his life it was, tragically, one of his few sources of satisfaction. He had always been a bully even at school, where he had never achieved much, taking instead some warped sense of self worth from intimidating those younger or weaker than himself.
Now as he wheeled Steve to his room and noticed how out of it the man was, he decided that he could have a little fun. The fact that the paramedic had annoyed and humiliated him in front of his colleague, meant that Steve was an even more satisfying target than usual. Arriving at the room, he turned to the guard "It's OK we can take it from here," he said, "I don't think he'll give us any trouble."
The guard looked from the porter to Steve and back again, he figured the guy was right Steve looked totally passive and too weak to do anything, so he shrugged and left.
The porter grinned as the guard left knowing that he might have commented but his fellow porter wouldn't take any notice if he hurt Steve, indifference was the only attitude he had ever shown.
Steve gasped and held his good arm across his chest as though that would somehow protect him from the pain as he was dumped onto the new mattress. He squeezed his eyes shut as he rode out the waves of pain, then felt his arm grabbed roughly and pulled down to his side as the padded restraint was buckled too tightly around it. Then his ankles received the same treatment.
If the porter had expected some sort of reaction he was disappointed. Steve was long past reacting to how he was being treated. "I'm sorry about this," the porter said coldly, his tone betraying the insincerity of his words, "but it has to be done, we wouldn't want you to hurt yourself," he added coinciding the words with moving Steve's injured arm and pulling it into the restraint. At last a reaction as Steve's face contorted into agony at the movement.
As the mists of pain cleared he stared into the eyes of the man he knew had just deliberately caused it. There was still a strong part of his mind telling him that he was getting what he deserved, that any mistreatment was justified because he merited such punishment. That was the part of his mind that was in control.
More than twenty years of learning how to read people, however, allowed him at some level, to see the porter for what he really was, a small minded bully who enjoyed the suffering of others because it made him feel superior. In the corner of Steve's mind where this thought registered, it triggered a sense of injustice, although it caused him physical pain, mentally he took one more step back from the brink..
He continued to stare at the man who had just hurt him for no reason, his expression betraying not his physical but his mental suffering.
The porter cursed silently, disconcerted by the stare from such haunted eyes and the lack of any other reaction, he completed the transfer of tubes and notes, then hurriedly left the room to move on to his next task.
The doctor and nurse arrived almost immediately. He checked Steve over quickly, it was nearly the end of his shift and he had a hot date to get ready for, so he did not notice the too tight restraints and barely read the paramedics recommendation for stronger pain relief. Had he read Jesse's notes he might have gone for a sedative rather than painkillers and restraints, but he did not take that time, instead he checked Steve's vitals, made out a standard prescription to be filled every four hours, ensured that the chest drain and IV line were properly in place and left as hurriedly as he had arrived.
The nurse remained a little longer to administer the injection of painkiller. Steve felt it the instant it hit his system and gratefully allowed it, along with the sedatives that were still present from earlier in the day, to drag him once more into a drug induced sleep
Jesse and Mark sat in Amanda's lab and watched her work as she began preparing the samples she had taken for DNA analysis along with samples from all of the other victims and the two other patients who were still clinging on to life. There was some good news on that front, the young woman, Linda Wright, the one whom Mark had treated at the scene, had stabilised to the extent that Jesse expected to be able to transfer her from ICU to a standard room the following morning. Unfortunately it was not looking quite so hopeful for the other patient who remained critical.
"So," Jesse asked, unable to suppress his curiosity any longer "Are you going to explain now?"
Mark looked questioningly across at him.
"What made you think there was someone else in the clinic that night?" he elaborated.
"It was the only way to explain the lack of fingerprints on the weapon," Mark replied, "then when I saw in the reports that Steve had fired three shots, only two of which had hit Hughes, I wondered what had happened to the other bullet. There was no indication that it been found, that's why I wanted to go back to the clinic. It was possible that it was fired into the wall or the ceiling but it was also possible that it wasn't found because it wasn't there any longer."
"So that's why you looked for the blood stains?"
Mark nodded confirmation.
"Yes, but it still doesn't help Steve does it?" Amanda asked looking up from her work. "I mean it makes even less sense that Steve would go into a situation where there were two of them without backup."
"Unless he could only see one of them?" Jesse suggested.
Mark was thoughtful again, "It could be argued," he said quietly. "That that's even more reason why he shouldn't have tried to go in alone." He paused, he was painfully aware that whilst his discoveries would undoubtedly change everyone's perceptions of what had happened, he still did not have enough to help clear Steve, or explain his actions. "There's still more to this." he added.
There was quiet for a while whilst Amanda continued working and Mark debated whether to tell his friend's of his suspicions about Dr. Evans. He decided to wait until he'd had more time to consider it, his mind was still contemplating his intuition, deciding if he had any facts to back it up..
Jesse meanwhile was mentally kicking himself for not noticing what Mark had, it seemed so obvious now. Jesse had always admired Mark's deductive skills but more than that he'd always wanted to emulate them, fascinated by how the older doctor could pick up on seemingly insignificant points from a mass of information, or supply a rational explanation to the seemingly irrational and use it to go on and solve a case. He sighed, wondering if his own deductive skills would ever improve.
"Jess?" Mark asked noting the sigh.
Jesse pulled himself from his musings, "Sorry I was miles away."
Mark looked at his watch, "It's getting late," he noted, "maybe you should go home, get some rest."
Amanda pulled her gloves off. "Well I've done all that I can for this evening. We should get the results in the morning." She looked across at Mark "I guess we could all do with getting some rest."
Mark considered it and the thoughts from earlier returned. He didn't want to go back to the beach house, especially not alone. He knew that if he asked, both of his young companions would volunteer to go with him, but he just could not face the press, whom he knew would be camped on his doorstep. He didn't really want to stay in the hospital either, now that Steve was no longer there, but it seemed the better of the two alternatives. He forced a smile not wanting them to worry "You two go on .I'll. um.."
"Hey Mark, what is it?" Amanda asked, she had known him too long to be fooled easily.
"Nothing, I just thought I'd stay here again tonight."
"Hey," Jesse said, "If you don't want to be alone then I'll come out to the beach house with you." He paused, when he got no response he added, "that's if you'd like."
"It's not that Jess," Mark replied grateful for the offer. "It's the press, I've managed to avoid them so far today by using the service exits from the hospital, but at the house." He let the sentence trail. With only the entrance from PCH by car and from the beach on foot, it would be impossible to avoid prying eyes if they were waiting for you. "I just don't think I could face them right now."
Jesse nodded his understanding, Steve's arrest would have undoubtedly stirred up interest again. "Then come out to my place," Jesse suggested, "It's not quite up to your standards but you're more than welcome and there are no press there."
Mark was tempted but shook his head, "No Jess I couldn't possibly impose on you like that I.."
"Mark," Jesse stopped him his tone sharp, then it softened, "It wouldn't be an imposition, I'd love to have you there." It always amazed him how willing Mark was to help others and yet how reluctant he was to accept it himself.
"But.."
"Go on," Amanda encouraged. "Hanging around here is not going to help anyone."
Mark looked from one to the other and shrugged, "All right," he assented, "your place it is," he said looking at Jesse, "thank you."
Steve drifted in and out of consciousness, more aware at some times than others, until the medication finally wore off and he could no longer escape from his physical and mental discomfort into sleep. He was now truly alone. Unable to shift to a comfortable position he lay back and closed his eyes, for the briefest of moments he had peace, saw only darkness, but then, like someone flicking a switch on a projector, bright images suddenly assailed his senses. His eyes flew open as he attempted to shut them off, knowing that they led only to pain and death, but it was no use. His eyes refused to focus on the room around him. As the images played on, he began to fall apart once more. The wave of negative emotions that accompanied his memories; grief, despair, horror, guilt, all in overwhelming proportions, washed over him once more. He retreated to that safe place inside his head where they could not reach him, taking a mental step forward.
Jesse and Mark arrived in Jesse's apartment, having once again managed to avoid the media, slipping away from the hospital via a service entrance. Jesse had stopped to get take out and deposited the packages on the table, moving straight away to get some plates. Once they had eaten, that is, once Jesse had eaten and Mark had picked at his food, they discussed sleeping arrangements.
"I'll be fine on the couch," Mark said as he helped to clear up.
Jesse stopped from what he was doing and looked over at him. "You're kidding right." he said. "Aside from the fact that you're older than me and technically my boss, you're also my guest. If you seriously think that I'm going to sleep in the bed whilst you take the couch then."
"But Jess." Mark interrupted.
"No, you get the bed," Jesse insisted. "What would Steve think of me if he knew I had you staying here sleeping on the couch."
The mention of his son stopped Mark's protests dead as it occurred to Mark that he had no idea what Steve would think of anything at the moment, not with the state he was in the last time he saw him, and since then things had got worse and. The spiral of negative thoughts assaulted his brain like a whirlwind and his expression darkened as he tried once more to bring the emotions that went with them under control.
Jesse noted the change of expression and instantly regretted his words, realising that they had triggered more troubling thoughts about Steve. "Mark.. I'm sorry." He said unsure of what else to say.
Mark snapped himself back, suddenly aware of how fragile his hold on his emotions had become. "It's all right Jess." He looked down at his young friend. "OK I'll take the bed." He acquiesced. "These old bones will be very grateful," he added smiling again, but his eyes still betrayed his sadness.
"Sit down I'll make us some coffee and then change the sheets." Jesse said, trying to change the subject.
"A compromise, I'll make the coffee, you change the sheets." Mark replied.
Jesse nodded, handing over the coffee pot and leaving Mark to get on with it.
"I'm telling you Mark Sloan could be a big problem," Michael Evans spoke into the payphone receiver, this was one call that he was not going to risk making on any line that could be traced to him.
"What makes you think so?" The voice at the other end asked.
"I followed the tip you gave to me and went back to the clinic. He was there with Detective Turner, that young doctor friend of his, Travis, and the medical examiner. They were searching the place again."
"What could they find that the police haven't looked at already?"
"Oh trust me plenty, they've got a forensic team back there now checking the escape route down on to PCH."
"I see," the voice said ponderously, "Too bad, soon they will know that there was someone else there, but they still have nothing."
Evans wiped his brow, realising that he was sweating more than he should have been. "It gets worse." He licked his lips then swallowed. "Dr. Sloan spent about twenty minutes talking to me, questioning me." He paused not really wanting to admit the next part. "I'm.. I'm sure that he suspects me but I don't know why."
The chill in the other voice was detectable down the line. "You didn't tell him anything, give him any reason to suspect?"
His reply was almost too quick. "No, nothing, no reason." He took a breath to calm himself, "but you've read the reports on this guy. He doesn't stop until someone's locked up and with his son involved.."
"I'll take care of it." The voice stated.
Evans was momentarily taken aback by the coarse statement. "Like you took care of the last problem?" He asked. "Only that hasn't gone too well has it or hadn't you noticed? When I got into this.."
"I said," the voice on the line interrupted sharply. "That I'll take care of it. I've taken steps to control our other problem and I'll deal with this." There was a longer pause. "Don't call me again unless the situation changes. I will contact you."
"OK but.." Evans began but the line was already dead. He hung up the receiver and leant back heavily against the booth.
Jesse let the warm water of the shower wash over him, savouring the feeling as the hot spray eased the kinks out of his tired muscles. By the time he had changed the sheets and rejoined Mark, his old friend seemed to have been in slightly better spirits, but Jesse knew that Steve was never far from his thoughts. Jesse had done his best to keep his mind occupied on other matters whilst they had sipped their coffee. He had then left him watching a quiz show, setting him the challenge to answer all of the questions before the contestants. A task that Mark, since he had a vast general knowledge, found remarkably easy.
Jesse spent longer than usual in the shower, attempting to scrub the ills of the world from his body and wash them away in the stream of water. Today had been tough, tomorrow would be tougher and he was exhausted. Still he was feeling a little better when he climbed out and toweled himself dry.
He walked back into the living room and stopped in his tracks as he saw what was on the screen. Gone was the obsequious host and inane contestants to be replaced by images of Steve. Jesse watched transfixed, realising that, as he had done the night before, Mark had been drawn to turn one of the news channels on. A morbid curiosity driving actions which were destined only to increase the pain.
The program was working through an in depth 'profile' of Lieutenant Steven Sloan, his life and career encapsulated into ten minutes of screen time, narrated in a strange 'news speak' tone used only on this and reality TV programs.
Dragging his eyes from the screen Jesse walked round to where he could get a better look at Mark who sat silently, the only indication of a reaction, the white knuckle grip on the TV remote. Jesse walked over to the set and turned it off, knowing that watching the accusations leveled against Steve again would not do his friend and mentor any good.
Mark did not move, did not even seem to notice as the screen went black. Jesse walked over to him and gently prised the remote from his hand. He then crouched in front of his friend trying to decide what to do. Mark looked into his eyes. "It was just like an obituary Jess," he said quietly. "Like they're saying his life is over."
"Hey," Jesse replied, suddenly finding a wisdom beyond his years. "We both know that's not true, that what they say doesn't matter unless we start believing it. We're the ones that know him. Remember, we're the ones that are going to prove his innocence."
Mark looked for and found the sincerity and conviction in his young friend's words and once more drew strength from them. He nodded slightly
"Now come on," Jesse said, forcing a grin, "I'm tired and you're on my bed."
Steve had finally managed to drift off to sleep again, but even in that there was no peace, as he relived his own shooting again, the crushing impact on his chest seemed to snatch his breath away, gasping desperately for air, he began to fight for breath, the panic thrusting him back to consciousness. Confused and disoriented he tried to move his arms and found that they were tightly bound. The rapid jerky breaths caused stabs of pain across his chest and arm that rose in intensity with each movement. He tried to call for help but his lack of breath made it come out as a pitiful gasp, any further attempts discouraged by the increase in pain that the effort cost. Unable to do anything to help himself, or to get anyone to help him, he collapsed back on to the bed and tried to ride out the waves of agony.
The nurse found him twenty minutes later, conscious and writhing around as the pain refused to abate. She instantly called a doctor and did her best to make him comfortable whilst she waited. Appalled at how tightly the restraints had been fastened, she ignored procedure and released them. It was a mistake, as Steve continued to move blood began to circulate once more to his extremities, the sudden reawakening of thousands of nerve endings adding to the pain but, worse than that, the increased blood flow pulled blood away from more vital areas and Steve's blood pressure dropped through the floor.