Part 15 Fear and Flashbacks
Mark watched Jesse sleeping for a few moments and checked the monitoring machines once more before he looked across at Amanda. There was still a lot that he needed to tell her that Jesse wasn't up to hearing yet. She too seemed to want to speak to him as she indicated that they should move outside where they would not disturb the sleeping patient.
Once outside the door they turned to face each other. Amanda noted how pale Mark looked, she had known him too long to have been fooled by the false reassurances he had given Jesse. He was far more worried about Steve than he was letting on and there was something else wrong too. She considered what she had to tell him and decided that everything could wait until they both had a strong cup of coffee. "Come on to the doctor's lounge," She said firmly
Mark did not object. He followed Amanda to the room at the end of the corridor waiting until they were both seated before opening his mouth to speak but uncharacteristically he found himself at a loss for words. The memories of his shattered home filling his consciousness. It took him a moment to realise that Amanda was speaking to him.
"Mark what is it?" She asked a concerned edge to her voice. "What did you find at the beach house?"
Mark looked up at his friend, grateful that she was there to share the burden with. Amanda, like Jesse couldn't have been closer if they had been related by blood. She was a source of strength for him, as he knew, at times, he was for her. He sighed heavily and began to describe what he had found at his home. As the description continued it seemed to her that he slumped further into the chair, his weariness increasing as though the weight of the world were on his shoulders.
Amanda listened quietly, shocked and appalled by what she was hearing. They all treated Mark's home as a safe haven, whatever worries they had, there was always a friendly welcome there. It was a place to relax and contemplate the world, and more than one of the many crimes they had solved had been solved there, sitting around the table in the back room or out on the deck looking at the ocean. That it could be in the state that Mark described, it seemed unthinkable.
As the description went on, she reached over and gripped his hand, the physical reassurance worth more than anything she could say.
It was only when he paused momentarily from his description that she finally took the opportunity to speak. "Oh Mark, your beautiful home," she said sadly.
He looked up at her. He had been staring at the table up to that point, his mind lost in the images of his description. He could see the tears glistening in her eyes. He smiled at her but the smile lacked warmth. "It's OK," he said, "They're only possessions, The place can be cleaned up, broken things replaced." His expression took on a new concern. "It's Steve I'm worried about." He pulled his hand out of her grip, subconsciously removing the comfort and reassurance that he could not reconcile with the fear he felt for his son's well being. He sat back heavily in the chair. "I was trying to reassure Jesse when I said I thought Steve would be all right but, from the amount of blood I found in the car and in the house, I'm very much afraid that the bullet wound he's carrying is serious, he really needs treatment and soon."
"But I still don't understand." Amanda picked her coffee cup up, gripping it with both hands but making no attempt to drink. "He was here in the hospital. If he was hurt why would he walk away like that?" She voiced the question that was on both their minds.
"I don't know," Mark replied, feeling the familiar stab of guilt. Why had he not realised that Steve needed help when he had seen him earlier? "But it must have to do with this Emma Fielding." He continued leaning back further, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he attempted to concentrate. "I just wish that I could remember where I had heard the name before."
Amanda hesitated, after what Mark had just told her she did not really want to add to his list of worries, but she knew that given time he would make the connection himself anyway. She had to tell him. "I know why the name seems familiar," she said quietly.
Mark opened his eyes and looked at her but did not say anything. He just waited for her to carry on.
"The body I autopsied this morning," she continued. Her voice had a gentle edge to it that it always had when she was delivering bad news, as though the softness of her tone could somehow deflect some of the content of her words. "His name was Richard Fielding. Mrs. Emma Fielding was his wife and she is..."
"The only suspect so far in his murder." Mark finished the sentence for her, sitting up as his eyes widened. The world weariness that had seemed to age him only moments earlier was suddenly gone as he considered the consequences of this latest revelation and mentally chastised himself for not making the connection. "I can't believe that I didn't put this together earlier." He said his tone one of self recrimination. "The coincidence of the NSA being at the murder scene and then at my house should have alerted me."
It was Amanda's turn to interrupt. "Mark, I think you could be forgiven for that. You have had a lot on your mind, with Jesse and Steve to worry about and then what happened to your home."
Mark sighed, his mind still trying to make sense of the increasing amount of information. "You're right," he admitted "but none of this explains why Steve is helping this woman, even less so, if she did indeed murder her husband."
"Do you think she could be making Steve help her?" Amanda asked, searching for possible explanations.
The thought had crossed Mark's mind too. "Possibly here at the hospital." He replied, remembering how close the woman had been standing to Steve. She could conceivably have been carrying some sort of weapon. "but from Jesse's description not when she was at his apartment. He said Steve seemed more infatuated with her." He paused as he considered other possibilities. "If only we knew where he knew her from it might at least give us a place to start."
"Yes I'd like to know that too Dr. Sloan" Amanda and Mark turned to look at the speaker and both recognised NSA agent Stephanie Harris.
They had been so engrossed in their conversation that they had not heard her enter the room and neither of them knew how long she had been standing there. She walked over to the table and pulled out a seat. "Do you mind if I join you?" She asked rhetorically and sat down.
"Agent Harris." Mark said. "I wish I could say it was nice to see you again but somehow I don't think this is going to be a pleasant visit."
Agent Harris smiled insincerely. "I just have one or two more questions for you."
At that point Detective Nathan Turner made a considerably more noticeable entrance. He had followed Stephanie from the beach house and had managed to keep up with her until they had finally got separated in traffic. By the time he arrived at the hospital she was nowhere in sight so he had made his way as quickly as possible to ICU where he knew he would find Mark, cursing all the way that she had not waited for him. He had hoped that he could deflect some of her brash attitude from the old doctor, he knew that Mark had a lot to deal with, hence he virtually ran into the room, stopping abruptly as all eyes turned to look at him.
Stephanie was the first to recover as she pointedly ignored him and turned her attention back to Mark. "As I was saying Dr. Sloan. I have one or two more questions for you."
Mark turned back to face her as Nathan straightened his jacket and tried to regain his dignity. Amanda kept her gaze on him as he moved over to the table and sat facing her.
"As I said earlier," Mark replied. "I will help you all I can but I'm afraid that as you just heard, I know very little about what is going on."
Stephanie regarded him coolly. "I won't lie to you Doctor Sloan," she began, "I've been doing some checking up on both you and your son." She watched for a reaction to this piece of information but he kept his expression neutral returning her frosty gaze.
He had not been sure of his opinion of her when he met her earlier. He knew that the shock of finding his home in such a state had undoubtedly affected his judgment, but now he was sure. He did not like her.
Her words did little to make him change his mind. "Given the closeness of your relationship does it not strike you as strange that Steve never mentioned Mrs. Fielding to you?"
Mark continued to match her cool expression. "I told you earlier, I know most of my son's friends but not all of them. I don't interfere in my son's personal life."
"Still you would have expected him to mention a woman that he was prepared to risk his career to protect wouldn't you?" She asked bluntly
Mark did not respond. It was a question he had been asking himself and he was no nearer to the answer.
"It's just that I find it difficult to believe that you did not know of his association with Mrs. Fielding." She paused briefly. "Unless of course he was deliberately concealing it from you."
Stephanie's comment was designed to provoke a reaction and it did. "I don't like your implication." Mark said, trying hard to maintain his cool.
"And what implication would that be?" Stephanie asked feigning innocence.
"The implication that my son is involved in some wrongdoing." Mark's continuing attempt at keeping his expression neutral was beginning to fail as anger began to show. It was bad enough having to deal with Steve's disappearance. To have his integrity questioned at the same time was too much for Mark's already unbalanced emotions. "However Steve knows this woman he would not be a party to breaking the law." He paused remembering Amanda's last suggestion. "Unless he was being coerced in some way."
Mark had absolute faith in his son. Whatever he had managed to involve himself in Mark was sure that Steve's motives were pure.
Stephanie laced her fingers together and sat back. "You have a touching faith in your son." She said. "but I don't think you realise just how much money is at stake here." She repeated the comment she had made earlier to Nathan. "Everyone has a price."
Mark's eyes narrowed. "Not my son," he said quietly, the muscles in his face tensed as he continued to keep a check on his anger. She was provoking him and he wasn't quite sure why. What did she expect him to do? Agree with her that his own son was involved in murder for money?
Nathan had had enough. "Now hold on a minute," He said, grabbing her arm so that she would be forced to turn to look at him. "We've already been through this at the beach house .I told you that Lieutenant Sloan isn't like that." Unlike Mark he made no attempt to avoid showing his emotions. "If, as you say, you have checked on his background then you would know that." His resentment at her attitude was clear in his voice.
Stephanie maintained her ice cold exterior as she looked down to where he still gripped her arm. Self consciously he let go and she returned her gaze to his face. "I'm sorry detective if my attitude offends you and the good doctor here, but until I have a better explanation, I am going to assume that Lieutenant Sloan is involved in treason and murder and," She glanced over at Mark and then back to Nathan. "I am not going to take the word of a 'junior,'" she emphasized the word, "Detective in his division or the man's father, that he is just too good natured to get involved."
"But his record," Nathan protested.
"I've seen a lot of people corrupted for far less." She adjusted her position in her seat and waited a moment until she was sure she had the full attention of her audience. "Since you are so sure of his lack of complicity, then perhaps one of you would like to explain why he withdrew five thousand dollars from his personal account this morning." She paused to allow the information to sink in. "Because the only explanation that I can think of is that he is intending to use the money so that he and Mrs. Fielding can disappear." She watched the shocked expressions on all at the table. "Please, if you have a better explanation then do tell me."
Mark was once again having difficulty keeping up with his emotions. Two more shocks in less than five minutes were not helping. The first had been Stephanie's mention of the word treason. He had known that the case involved murder although that connection had not been made by him until recently, but now he knew that it also involved something far bigger. Again he mentally kicked himself for not realising this earlier. The NSA were set up to protect the nation's secrets. The fact that they were involved at all should have rung alarm bells for him.
The second shock was about the money. Stephanie was right, he had no other explanation as to why Steve would take so much from his account unless he intended to use it to avoid being found.
He stared at the perfectly groomed young woman sitting across from him. He desperately wanted to defend his son's actions but realised that he was unable to do so and that realisation hurt.
Nathan and Amanda were also lost for words. They looked at each other helplessly as they both tried to come up with a logical explanation for what was happening. Finally Amanda tried her earlier theory. At the moment it was the only one that seemed to make any sense since she, like Mark and Nathan, had rejected out of hand Stephanie's explanation. "As Mark said," she ventured. "Steve could be being coerced into this course of action in some way. Was Mrs. Fielding with him when he withdrew the money?" She asked. "She could have had some sort of weapon on him."
Stephanie was impressed by the loyalty Steve had from his friends and family. In spite of evidence to the contrary they all seemed unprepared to accept that he might be involved in a crime. "It's a possibility I suppose," she conceded, "I'll check it out." She paused looking once again around the group. "But I think the only way that we are going to be able to clear this up is by finding both Lieutenant Sloan and Mrs. Fielding."
Here at last was something that they all could agree upon. Finding Steve was certainly a priority as far as Mark and Amanda were concerned.
Steve opened his eyes and looked around. He realised that he must have drifted off but was unsure for how long. Judging by the lengthening shadows in the light from the windows it had been more than five minutes. Emma was nowhere to be seen. He contemplated getting up to look for her but then remembered his agonising trip to the couch and realised that he probably would not get far. He could call for her but even the effort of shouting risked agony from his abused ribs. It would also jar his shoulder and the pain from that source was almost at unbearable levels now. So he rested his head and tried to think.
He ran through the events of the last twenty four hours and fitted in the elements of the story that Emma had told him. No wonder she had been frightened and distraught. In fact, he was surprised that she had held it together as well as she had. Not only had she lost her husband of thirty years and been thrust into a dangerous situation, she was also obviously deathly afraid that she may have killed him herself and was blocking out the traumatic memories.
He considered the possibility, what if she had killed him and simply could not remember? If that were the case then Steve knew that technically he was helping a murder suspect flee from justice, but the whole situation was more complicated than that. Guilty or innocent she did not deserve to die at the end of an assassins bullet and, if he had left her to her fate, he was in no doubt that she would be dead by now. After what had happened to Jesse.
'Oh God Jesse!'
At that point Steve's train of thought did an abrupt switch as he remembered how he had left his friend. He realised with horror that he did not even know how Jesse was or if he had survived. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind. No, Jesse would be fine, he had to be.
Then he remembered how bad he had looked by the time they reached the ER. He hadn't even stayed long enough to check on his condition. A strong sense of guilt at not being there for his friend, enhanced by the knowledge that he was responsible for Jesse's involvement, briefly replaced all other emotion .
He looked around for his cell phone, maybe he could risk calling the hospital to find out how Jesse was. After all the new phone would not be traced to him for a while. He finally spotted it resting on the coffee table less than two feet from the couch. Emma had obviously brought it in with his badge and gun when she had emptied the car.
So strong was the desire to get information about his friend that Steve moved too quickly as he tried to reach across for the phone. He twisted his shoulder as he raised himself off the pillow and the resulting wave of agony was too much. As the pain receptors in his brain overloaded and shut off to protect him, he passed out, dropping on to his side.
The conversation in the ICU lounge stuttered to another halt. Not that it had ever really got going properly. The two doctors had spent the last half hour answering Stephanie's questions and attempting to come up with ideas as to where Steve might have gone or what might have happened, but the truth was they did not know where to even start. If Steve had intentionally gone to ground then there were a million places he could hide. He was smart, he was experienced and he knew the city well. As for his motives, as well as they knew him they did not have a clue what was behind his actions.
The only thing that had been achieved by discussing the matter was the realisation by all in the room that they were getting nowhere.
Nathan had done his best to keep Agent Harris from getting too unpleasant, reminding her that Dr. Sloan and Amanda had done nothing wrong and were in fact trying to help. He had not appreciated being called a 'junior' detective, especially not by someone who was only a couple of years older than him and he made no attempt to disguise his intolerance of her attitude.
Eventually Stephanie's tone had softened becoming less antagonistic. She seemed to be asking for rather than demanding help not that it made any difference. They still had no answers for her.
Mark found it increasingly difficult to concentrate as the same thoughts repeated in his head over and over. Where was Steve? How badly was he hurt? Why had he left? The fear and frustration at not knowing the answers was taking it's toll.
Finally unable to take the frustrating lack of progress any more he got up. "I'm sorry. I don't think this is getting us anywhere." He said stretching his cramped muscles. "I'm going to check on Jesse," he added turning towards the door.
At that moment it opened and a smartly dressed auburn haired woman entered. Mark recognised her instantly. "Alison," he said doing his best to smile at her.
Emma had lost all track of time. She moved her hands away from her eyes wiping the remains of dried tears from her cheeks and looked around the kitchen. The knife still stood stuck in the floor a few feet away. She looked quickly away from it and up towards the windows. The light was fading. It would be dark soon. She pushed herself up from her sitting position, her muscles protesting at being asked to move after being so tightly curled.
She remembered sinking down and pulling her knees up against her chest. Unable to do anything but cry as the latest wave of emotion had claimed her. It had taken all of her will power to pull herself together again and she wasn't sure for how much longer she would be able to do so. Only the need to help Steve was keeping her going.
She side stepped around the knife, unwilling to look at it again in case it triggered another emotional reaction, and went to retrieve the water and towels. Then she made her way back in to the sitting room.
When she saw Steve she almost dropped what she was carrying in her rush to get to him. He had evidently tried to move and had fallen awkwardly so that his upper body was twisted his head hanging off the side of the couch. More worryingly he was so precariously balanced that even a slight shift would send him toppling completely to the floor.
Emma reached him and as gently as she could she half lifted, half pushed him back on to the pillows. Once he was in a more comfortable position she set about checking his condition. His skin was pallid and his breathing too rapid. She moved her hand to push his hair out of his eyes and was shocked at how warm he felt. He was beginning to develop a fever. She went to retrieve the thermometer from the medical supplies she had taken from Mark's bag and took his temperature. She frowned as she looked at the results and was about to return to the kitchen for iced water when Steve's nightmare began.
Emma recognised the signs instantly. She had sat with him through it so many times in the hospital after he had been brought in. She sat down now as she had then and gripped his hand. The only way she could provide comfort and help him through.
"Mark, I..." Alison hesitated unsure of what to do or say, or where to start. She looked across at the other people in the room who had turned to look at her. She only recognised one of them, Steve's friend Amanda. She looked back at Mark and continued, stumbling over her words. "I'm sorry to interrupt it's just I... it's Steve, I was told... that is I heard..."
"It's all right," Mark said putting on his best professional tone. He too looked back at the company. Not wishing to expose Alison to the less than tender mercies of agent Harris, he took her by the elbow and said gently. "Let's go somewhere where we can talk."
Mark steered her out of the doctor's lounge and into the relatives waiting room which was fortunately empty. He sat down next to her on one of the couches and looked into her eyes. "So tell me what you have heard," he said softly.
Alison gazed back. She had been worried enough by what she had heard at the DA's office to come here to find out for herself what was going on. Seeing the state that Mark was in, in contrast to the sprightly, smiling man she had left at the beach house only that morning, was filling her with an increasing sense of dread. The sparkle had gone from the old doctor's eyes to be replaced by fear and pain. His features were drawn and his skin pale. Even his movement seemed to have slowed.
She swallowed and cleared her throat before speaking. "I was told that Steve was involved in a shooting incident this morning and that he disappeared shortly afterwards without giving a statement." She took a deep breath. "There's a warrant out for his arrest as a material witness."
She paused "Mark is it true?" she asked as though she were desperately hoping that he would deny the whole thing.
"Yes, I'm afraid it is." He replied quietly.
"What happened?"
Mark considered his answer. He could not tell her nothing. She had grown very close to his son in the last few weeks, one of the pieces of information that he had gleaned from her that morning was that she believed that she was falling in love with Steve and she was hoping that he felt the same. Mark had not asked her directly, he had a strict rule not to pry into his son's personal life, only getting involved when he was asked, but this had been one of the things she had wanted to tell him, almost as if she had wanted to gauge his reaction, perhaps even get his approval. Knowing that made this much harder. It was clear that she was worried about him, but how much to tell?
Mark took in a deep breath, platitudes and reassurances would not work. Alison's position in the district attorney's office would ensure that she would continue to pick up pieces of information. He decided that she deserved to know everything that he could tell her. So he took both of her hands in his and started from the beginning.
It was an emotional release for him. This time when he began talking he found he could not stop. Not only did he tell her the facts, as he knew them, about what had happened over the last few hours, but he also described his feelings; his concern for Jesse and his deepening fears for Steve. When he had finished he felt that some of the emotional burden had lifted.
Alison had tears in her eyes. She had remained silent for the whole description simply gripping his hands more tightly as the old doctor shared his pain and frustration. Without speaking she stood and using the grip she had on his hands she pulled Mark to his feet. Once standing she let go and put her arms around his neck and buried her head into his shoulder. Mark held on to her taking comfort from the embrace. "Steve will be OK," she said seeking to reassure them both.
Steve was hot, too damned hot. He raised his arm and used his shirt sleeve to wipe the sweat from his eyes. His mouth and throat felt dry and he could taste the dirt and dust as it blew in his face. He stopped and reached for the canteen that hung from the belt on his waist, his eyes surveying the acrid landscape. He turned back to see the rest of his unit strung out in a line down the road.
It was his turn on point, part of him, the adventurous part, loved it being at the front, the first to spot anything, the man everyone relied on for warnings of danger. Another part of him, the cautious part, would just have soon been in the middle with someone else spotting the potential dangers. He signaled them all to take a water stop and watched as most of them gratefully reached for their own canteens. The heat could sap your strength quickly if you allowed yourself to dehydrate.
One man, however, did not stop. Mike Dugan kept walking until he was level with Steve. He and Steve had become good friends over the past few weeks. Sharing duties as well as off time, had made them close. He grinned at his friend as he approached. "What's the matter Sloan?" He teased, "Too hot for ya?"
"No, I just don't fancy getting chewed out by the sergeant for rolling up with a dehydrated platoon is all." He replied not rising to the bait.
"You know your trouble Sloan?" Mike continued.
"No," Steve replied taking a swig from his canteen.
"No stamina," his friend said continuing past him and up the dirt road. He turned and continued to face Steve as he walked backwards away from him, opening his mouth to say something.
Steve froze in horror when he heard the click, recognised it from his training for what it was and in that instant his whole world slowed down and changed forever as the last of his innocence was lost.
He watched transfixed, unable to turn, unable to react as the anti personnel mine his friend had just stepped on blew him apart.
He saw the expression of terror on Mike's face as he too was hit by the realisation of what was about to happen and then saw that expression change to agony as the force of the explosion hit him and then, in the next instant, there was no one to see.
Steve heard a scream and realised that it had come from him. He was calling out Mike's name, reaching out to a friend that wasn't there any more. He became aware of other people around him telling him to lie down, shouting something about needing to stop the bleeding, but he didn't want to lie down, he wanted to help his friend. He needed to help his friend. The shock had robbed him of all reason, his mind refusing to accept that Mike was beyond help. He fought against the hands that tried to hold him down. Calling to Mike, telling him to hold on, that he was coming.
Emma watched the expressions on Steve's face. She watched him smile and knew that it was the beginning, as he relived the trauma that had almost cost him his life and his sanity at the tender age of nineteen.
It always started calmly, with a smile.
She could tell the point at which the explosion happened, the look of abject terror on Steve's face was chilling. The desperation in his voice as he called out the name of a friend who would never hear it, made her stomach twist in knots. Then he relived the fight with his other friends as they had tried to hold him down to stop the bleeding in his neck and shoulder from the shrapnel that had buried itself there. Steve was too overcome by shock to even realise that he had been hurt. He continued to fight and writhe around all the time calling to his friend.
Emma held on to his shoulders, repeating his name over and over, telling him to wake up, telling him he was safe. Steve was sweating profusely, his hair plastered to his head as he fought against invisible hands that held him down.
Steve's eyes opened and he saw Emma looking down at him, but the delirium that gripped him did not allow him to see her as she was now instead he saw the twenty year old nurse Johnson compassionately looking back at him. "My friend Mike," he said his voice edged with pain, "I need to help him." His eyes were pleading with her. "I have to help him."
Emma repeated the words that she had always used but hadn't spoken for thirty years. "Shh Steve, it's all right. Mike's being taken care of ." She stroked his forehead pushing his sweat soaked hair back. "You rest now, everything will be all right."
Steve looked at her and blinked, he was finding it harder to focus through the pain and the fog that was descending on his senses. He listened to the soothing tone, finally relaxing back on the pillow and closing his eyes.
Emma watched him relax, relieved that it was all over. She had sat with him through this nightmare at least a dozen times in the first few days after he had been brought in to the hospital, as he relived the events responsible for his injury. After that the nightmares had become less frequent but their intensity was always the same.
He had never actually told her everything that had happened but she was his principal care nurse and had read the incident report. She had put that together with what his friends had told her and what little Steve would open up with, to build a picture of the trauma that he lived through in his nightmare. She knew that he blamed himself for his friend's death.
She sat back in the chair and began to reminisce once more about her first meetings with Steve Sloan.
She was working at a military hospital in Japan at a time when they sent soldiers from Vietnam who were too sick or injured to be treated in a war zone, over to mainland Japan, if they were expected to recover enough to return to active duty. More serious cases were transported directly back home.
It was a strange place for an upper class English girl to end up but she had trained as a nurse to help people, so when her father had been posted to the embassy in Tokyo she had requested that he take her with him so that she could do some real good.
She had been there almost twelve months and was beginning to resent the pointless waste of it all. So many young men, scarred and maimed, physically and emotionally. She was ready to hand in her notice when Steve Sloan had arrived.
For much of those first few days he had been delirious and running a high fever and so she had been assigned to stay with him and take care of him. There was discussion, if he didn't improve, of shipping him home but after three days his fever had broken.
She smiled as she remembered that third day when he opened his crystal clear blue eyes and gazed up in to hers. She almost laughed out loud as she remembered the deeply corny line that he had used.
"So it's true," he said staring up at her solemnly.
"What's true?" she had asked.
"When you go to heaven the angels are truly beautiful."
But she had been young then and such lines hadn't been repeated a thousand times on bad TV shows and made for TV movies, so she had actually been flattered by the compliment.
She looked across at Steve now. The sweat still matted his hair and his breathing was unsettled. She took hold of his hand and wondered how many times in the last thirty years that he had relived that nightmare. She hoped it wasn't many.
She knew without a doubt that it had been seeing her that had brought it back to haunt him tonight. Yet another of the pains she had inflicted on him in the last twenty four hours. If only she could rewind the clock and erase the telephone call that had brought him to her side.
She stood up. She needed to get some ice to try to bring his fever down.
Mark was still holding Alison in a comforting embrace when they heard a polite cough behind them. Alison pulled away and wiped the tears from her eyes. They turned to see Dr. Bill Taylor standing in the doorway to the room. Mark introduced them. "Dr. Taylor, this is Steve's girlfriend Alison Porter." He made the appropriate gestures. "Alison this is a colleague of mine Dr. Taylor."
They smiled at each other and shook hands, "I er.. heard about Steve, terrible business." He said. The hospital grapevine had been working overtime ever since Jesse had been brought in. "I'm sure that he'll be all right though," he offered not really knowing what else to say in the circumstances.
Mark recognised his discomfort. "Did you need to see me about something Bill?" he asked.
"Yes," Dr. Taylor replied but it was clear that he was no more comfortable with the new topic of conversation than he had been with the last. "I know that you have a lot of things on your mind at the moment but I really need to talk to you."
Mark recognised the serious tone, whatever was coming was not good.
"It's about Dr. Travis."
Author's note: I've tried to do some research on the time when Steve Sloan is supposed to have been in Vietnam and have tried to keep any facts as accurate as possible. If there is anything that doesn't tie up then I hope you will pass it off as dramatic license thanks.
Mark watched Jesse sleeping for a few moments and checked the monitoring machines once more before he looked across at Amanda. There was still a lot that he needed to tell her that Jesse wasn't up to hearing yet. She too seemed to want to speak to him as she indicated that they should move outside where they would not disturb the sleeping patient.
Once outside the door they turned to face each other. Amanda noted how pale Mark looked, she had known him too long to have been fooled by the false reassurances he had given Jesse. He was far more worried about Steve than he was letting on and there was something else wrong too. She considered what she had to tell him and decided that everything could wait until they both had a strong cup of coffee. "Come on to the doctor's lounge," She said firmly
Mark did not object. He followed Amanda to the room at the end of the corridor waiting until they were both seated before opening his mouth to speak but uncharacteristically he found himself at a loss for words. The memories of his shattered home filling his consciousness. It took him a moment to realise that Amanda was speaking to him.
"Mark what is it?" She asked a concerned edge to her voice. "What did you find at the beach house?"
Mark looked up at his friend, grateful that she was there to share the burden with. Amanda, like Jesse couldn't have been closer if they had been related by blood. She was a source of strength for him, as he knew, at times, he was for her. He sighed heavily and began to describe what he had found at his home. As the description continued it seemed to her that he slumped further into the chair, his weariness increasing as though the weight of the world were on his shoulders.
Amanda listened quietly, shocked and appalled by what she was hearing. They all treated Mark's home as a safe haven, whatever worries they had, there was always a friendly welcome there. It was a place to relax and contemplate the world, and more than one of the many crimes they had solved had been solved there, sitting around the table in the back room or out on the deck looking at the ocean. That it could be in the state that Mark described, it seemed unthinkable.
As the description went on, she reached over and gripped his hand, the physical reassurance worth more than anything she could say.
It was only when he paused momentarily from his description that she finally took the opportunity to speak. "Oh Mark, your beautiful home," she said sadly.
He looked up at her. He had been staring at the table up to that point, his mind lost in the images of his description. He could see the tears glistening in her eyes. He smiled at her but the smile lacked warmth. "It's OK," he said, "They're only possessions, The place can be cleaned up, broken things replaced." His expression took on a new concern. "It's Steve I'm worried about." He pulled his hand out of her grip, subconsciously removing the comfort and reassurance that he could not reconcile with the fear he felt for his son's well being. He sat back heavily in the chair. "I was trying to reassure Jesse when I said I thought Steve would be all right but, from the amount of blood I found in the car and in the house, I'm very much afraid that the bullet wound he's carrying is serious, he really needs treatment and soon."
"But I still don't understand." Amanda picked her coffee cup up, gripping it with both hands but making no attempt to drink. "He was here in the hospital. If he was hurt why would he walk away like that?" She voiced the question that was on both their minds.
"I don't know," Mark replied, feeling the familiar stab of guilt. Why had he not realised that Steve needed help when he had seen him earlier? "But it must have to do with this Emma Fielding." He continued leaning back further, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he attempted to concentrate. "I just wish that I could remember where I had heard the name before."
Amanda hesitated, after what Mark had just told her she did not really want to add to his list of worries, but she knew that given time he would make the connection himself anyway. She had to tell him. "I know why the name seems familiar," she said quietly.
Mark opened his eyes and looked at her but did not say anything. He just waited for her to carry on.
"The body I autopsied this morning," she continued. Her voice had a gentle edge to it that it always had when she was delivering bad news, as though the softness of her tone could somehow deflect some of the content of her words. "His name was Richard Fielding. Mrs. Emma Fielding was his wife and she is..."
"The only suspect so far in his murder." Mark finished the sentence for her, sitting up as his eyes widened. The world weariness that had seemed to age him only moments earlier was suddenly gone as he considered the consequences of this latest revelation and mentally chastised himself for not making the connection. "I can't believe that I didn't put this together earlier." He said his tone one of self recrimination. "The coincidence of the NSA being at the murder scene and then at my house should have alerted me."
It was Amanda's turn to interrupt. "Mark, I think you could be forgiven for that. You have had a lot on your mind, with Jesse and Steve to worry about and then what happened to your home."
Mark sighed, his mind still trying to make sense of the increasing amount of information. "You're right," he admitted "but none of this explains why Steve is helping this woman, even less so, if she did indeed murder her husband."
"Do you think she could be making Steve help her?" Amanda asked, searching for possible explanations.
The thought had crossed Mark's mind too. "Possibly here at the hospital." He replied, remembering how close the woman had been standing to Steve. She could conceivably have been carrying some sort of weapon. "but from Jesse's description not when she was at his apartment. He said Steve seemed more infatuated with her." He paused as he considered other possibilities. "If only we knew where he knew her from it might at least give us a place to start."
"Yes I'd like to know that too Dr. Sloan" Amanda and Mark turned to look at the speaker and both recognised NSA agent Stephanie Harris.
They had been so engrossed in their conversation that they had not heard her enter the room and neither of them knew how long she had been standing there. She walked over to the table and pulled out a seat. "Do you mind if I join you?" She asked rhetorically and sat down.
"Agent Harris." Mark said. "I wish I could say it was nice to see you again but somehow I don't think this is going to be a pleasant visit."
Agent Harris smiled insincerely. "I just have one or two more questions for you."
At that point Detective Nathan Turner made a considerably more noticeable entrance. He had followed Stephanie from the beach house and had managed to keep up with her until they had finally got separated in traffic. By the time he arrived at the hospital she was nowhere in sight so he had made his way as quickly as possible to ICU where he knew he would find Mark, cursing all the way that she had not waited for him. He had hoped that he could deflect some of her brash attitude from the old doctor, he knew that Mark had a lot to deal with, hence he virtually ran into the room, stopping abruptly as all eyes turned to look at him.
Stephanie was the first to recover as she pointedly ignored him and turned her attention back to Mark. "As I was saying Dr. Sloan. I have one or two more questions for you."
Mark turned back to face her as Nathan straightened his jacket and tried to regain his dignity. Amanda kept her gaze on him as he moved over to the table and sat facing her.
"As I said earlier," Mark replied. "I will help you all I can but I'm afraid that as you just heard, I know very little about what is going on."
Stephanie regarded him coolly. "I won't lie to you Doctor Sloan," she began, "I've been doing some checking up on both you and your son." She watched for a reaction to this piece of information but he kept his expression neutral returning her frosty gaze.
He had not been sure of his opinion of her when he met her earlier. He knew that the shock of finding his home in such a state had undoubtedly affected his judgment, but now he was sure. He did not like her.
Her words did little to make him change his mind. "Given the closeness of your relationship does it not strike you as strange that Steve never mentioned Mrs. Fielding to you?"
Mark continued to match her cool expression. "I told you earlier, I know most of my son's friends but not all of them. I don't interfere in my son's personal life."
"Still you would have expected him to mention a woman that he was prepared to risk his career to protect wouldn't you?" She asked bluntly
Mark did not respond. It was a question he had been asking himself and he was no nearer to the answer.
"It's just that I find it difficult to believe that you did not know of his association with Mrs. Fielding." She paused briefly. "Unless of course he was deliberately concealing it from you."
Stephanie's comment was designed to provoke a reaction and it did. "I don't like your implication." Mark said, trying hard to maintain his cool.
"And what implication would that be?" Stephanie asked feigning innocence.
"The implication that my son is involved in some wrongdoing." Mark's continuing attempt at keeping his expression neutral was beginning to fail as anger began to show. It was bad enough having to deal with Steve's disappearance. To have his integrity questioned at the same time was too much for Mark's already unbalanced emotions. "However Steve knows this woman he would not be a party to breaking the law." He paused remembering Amanda's last suggestion. "Unless he was being coerced in some way."
Mark had absolute faith in his son. Whatever he had managed to involve himself in Mark was sure that Steve's motives were pure.
Stephanie laced her fingers together and sat back. "You have a touching faith in your son." She said. "but I don't think you realise just how much money is at stake here." She repeated the comment she had made earlier to Nathan. "Everyone has a price."
Mark's eyes narrowed. "Not my son," he said quietly, the muscles in his face tensed as he continued to keep a check on his anger. She was provoking him and he wasn't quite sure why. What did she expect him to do? Agree with her that his own son was involved in murder for money?
Nathan had had enough. "Now hold on a minute," He said, grabbing her arm so that she would be forced to turn to look at him. "We've already been through this at the beach house .I told you that Lieutenant Sloan isn't like that." Unlike Mark he made no attempt to avoid showing his emotions. "If, as you say, you have checked on his background then you would know that." His resentment at her attitude was clear in his voice.
Stephanie maintained her ice cold exterior as she looked down to where he still gripped her arm. Self consciously he let go and she returned her gaze to his face. "I'm sorry detective if my attitude offends you and the good doctor here, but until I have a better explanation, I am going to assume that Lieutenant Sloan is involved in treason and murder and," She glanced over at Mark and then back to Nathan. "I am not going to take the word of a 'junior,'" she emphasized the word, "Detective in his division or the man's father, that he is just too good natured to get involved."
"But his record," Nathan protested.
"I've seen a lot of people corrupted for far less." She adjusted her position in her seat and waited a moment until she was sure she had the full attention of her audience. "Since you are so sure of his lack of complicity, then perhaps one of you would like to explain why he withdrew five thousand dollars from his personal account this morning." She paused to allow the information to sink in. "Because the only explanation that I can think of is that he is intending to use the money so that he and Mrs. Fielding can disappear." She watched the shocked expressions on all at the table. "Please, if you have a better explanation then do tell me."
Mark was once again having difficulty keeping up with his emotions. Two more shocks in less than five minutes were not helping. The first had been Stephanie's mention of the word treason. He had known that the case involved murder although that connection had not been made by him until recently, but now he knew that it also involved something far bigger. Again he mentally kicked himself for not realising this earlier. The NSA were set up to protect the nation's secrets. The fact that they were involved at all should have rung alarm bells for him.
The second shock was about the money. Stephanie was right, he had no other explanation as to why Steve would take so much from his account unless he intended to use it to avoid being found.
He stared at the perfectly groomed young woman sitting across from him. He desperately wanted to defend his son's actions but realised that he was unable to do so and that realisation hurt.
Nathan and Amanda were also lost for words. They looked at each other helplessly as they both tried to come up with a logical explanation for what was happening. Finally Amanda tried her earlier theory. At the moment it was the only one that seemed to make any sense since she, like Mark and Nathan, had rejected out of hand Stephanie's explanation. "As Mark said," she ventured. "Steve could be being coerced into this course of action in some way. Was Mrs. Fielding with him when he withdrew the money?" She asked. "She could have had some sort of weapon on him."
Stephanie was impressed by the loyalty Steve had from his friends and family. In spite of evidence to the contrary they all seemed unprepared to accept that he might be involved in a crime. "It's a possibility I suppose," she conceded, "I'll check it out." She paused looking once again around the group. "But I think the only way that we are going to be able to clear this up is by finding both Lieutenant Sloan and Mrs. Fielding."
Here at last was something that they all could agree upon. Finding Steve was certainly a priority as far as Mark and Amanda were concerned.
Steve opened his eyes and looked around. He realised that he must have drifted off but was unsure for how long. Judging by the lengthening shadows in the light from the windows it had been more than five minutes. Emma was nowhere to be seen. He contemplated getting up to look for her but then remembered his agonising trip to the couch and realised that he probably would not get far. He could call for her but even the effort of shouting risked agony from his abused ribs. It would also jar his shoulder and the pain from that source was almost at unbearable levels now. So he rested his head and tried to think.
He ran through the events of the last twenty four hours and fitted in the elements of the story that Emma had told him. No wonder she had been frightened and distraught. In fact, he was surprised that she had held it together as well as she had. Not only had she lost her husband of thirty years and been thrust into a dangerous situation, she was also obviously deathly afraid that she may have killed him herself and was blocking out the traumatic memories.
He considered the possibility, what if she had killed him and simply could not remember? If that were the case then Steve knew that technically he was helping a murder suspect flee from justice, but the whole situation was more complicated than that. Guilty or innocent she did not deserve to die at the end of an assassins bullet and, if he had left her to her fate, he was in no doubt that she would be dead by now. After what had happened to Jesse.
'Oh God Jesse!'
At that point Steve's train of thought did an abrupt switch as he remembered how he had left his friend. He realised with horror that he did not even know how Jesse was or if he had survived. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind. No, Jesse would be fine, he had to be.
Then he remembered how bad he had looked by the time they reached the ER. He hadn't even stayed long enough to check on his condition. A strong sense of guilt at not being there for his friend, enhanced by the knowledge that he was responsible for Jesse's involvement, briefly replaced all other emotion .
He looked around for his cell phone, maybe he could risk calling the hospital to find out how Jesse was. After all the new phone would not be traced to him for a while. He finally spotted it resting on the coffee table less than two feet from the couch. Emma had obviously brought it in with his badge and gun when she had emptied the car.
So strong was the desire to get information about his friend that Steve moved too quickly as he tried to reach across for the phone. He twisted his shoulder as he raised himself off the pillow and the resulting wave of agony was too much. As the pain receptors in his brain overloaded and shut off to protect him, he passed out, dropping on to his side.
The conversation in the ICU lounge stuttered to another halt. Not that it had ever really got going properly. The two doctors had spent the last half hour answering Stephanie's questions and attempting to come up with ideas as to where Steve might have gone or what might have happened, but the truth was they did not know where to even start. If Steve had intentionally gone to ground then there were a million places he could hide. He was smart, he was experienced and he knew the city well. As for his motives, as well as they knew him they did not have a clue what was behind his actions.
The only thing that had been achieved by discussing the matter was the realisation by all in the room that they were getting nowhere.
Nathan had done his best to keep Agent Harris from getting too unpleasant, reminding her that Dr. Sloan and Amanda had done nothing wrong and were in fact trying to help. He had not appreciated being called a 'junior' detective, especially not by someone who was only a couple of years older than him and he made no attempt to disguise his intolerance of her attitude.
Eventually Stephanie's tone had softened becoming less antagonistic. She seemed to be asking for rather than demanding help not that it made any difference. They still had no answers for her.
Mark found it increasingly difficult to concentrate as the same thoughts repeated in his head over and over. Where was Steve? How badly was he hurt? Why had he left? The fear and frustration at not knowing the answers was taking it's toll.
Finally unable to take the frustrating lack of progress any more he got up. "I'm sorry. I don't think this is getting us anywhere." He said stretching his cramped muscles. "I'm going to check on Jesse," he added turning towards the door.
At that moment it opened and a smartly dressed auburn haired woman entered. Mark recognised her instantly. "Alison," he said doing his best to smile at her.
Emma had lost all track of time. She moved her hands away from her eyes wiping the remains of dried tears from her cheeks and looked around the kitchen. The knife still stood stuck in the floor a few feet away. She looked quickly away from it and up towards the windows. The light was fading. It would be dark soon. She pushed herself up from her sitting position, her muscles protesting at being asked to move after being so tightly curled.
She remembered sinking down and pulling her knees up against her chest. Unable to do anything but cry as the latest wave of emotion had claimed her. It had taken all of her will power to pull herself together again and she wasn't sure for how much longer she would be able to do so. Only the need to help Steve was keeping her going.
She side stepped around the knife, unwilling to look at it again in case it triggered another emotional reaction, and went to retrieve the water and towels. Then she made her way back in to the sitting room.
When she saw Steve she almost dropped what she was carrying in her rush to get to him. He had evidently tried to move and had fallen awkwardly so that his upper body was twisted his head hanging off the side of the couch. More worryingly he was so precariously balanced that even a slight shift would send him toppling completely to the floor.
Emma reached him and as gently as she could she half lifted, half pushed him back on to the pillows. Once he was in a more comfortable position she set about checking his condition. His skin was pallid and his breathing too rapid. She moved her hand to push his hair out of his eyes and was shocked at how warm he felt. He was beginning to develop a fever. She went to retrieve the thermometer from the medical supplies she had taken from Mark's bag and took his temperature. She frowned as she looked at the results and was about to return to the kitchen for iced water when Steve's nightmare began.
Emma recognised the signs instantly. She had sat with him through it so many times in the hospital after he had been brought in. She sat down now as she had then and gripped his hand. The only way she could provide comfort and help him through.
"Mark, I..." Alison hesitated unsure of what to do or say, or where to start. She looked across at the other people in the room who had turned to look at her. She only recognised one of them, Steve's friend Amanda. She looked back at Mark and continued, stumbling over her words. "I'm sorry to interrupt it's just I... it's Steve, I was told... that is I heard..."
"It's all right," Mark said putting on his best professional tone. He too looked back at the company. Not wishing to expose Alison to the less than tender mercies of agent Harris, he took her by the elbow and said gently. "Let's go somewhere where we can talk."
Mark steered her out of the doctor's lounge and into the relatives waiting room which was fortunately empty. He sat down next to her on one of the couches and looked into her eyes. "So tell me what you have heard," he said softly.
Alison gazed back. She had been worried enough by what she had heard at the DA's office to come here to find out for herself what was going on. Seeing the state that Mark was in, in contrast to the sprightly, smiling man she had left at the beach house only that morning, was filling her with an increasing sense of dread. The sparkle had gone from the old doctor's eyes to be replaced by fear and pain. His features were drawn and his skin pale. Even his movement seemed to have slowed.
She swallowed and cleared her throat before speaking. "I was told that Steve was involved in a shooting incident this morning and that he disappeared shortly afterwards without giving a statement." She took a deep breath. "There's a warrant out for his arrest as a material witness."
She paused "Mark is it true?" she asked as though she were desperately hoping that he would deny the whole thing.
"Yes, I'm afraid it is." He replied quietly.
"What happened?"
Mark considered his answer. He could not tell her nothing. She had grown very close to his son in the last few weeks, one of the pieces of information that he had gleaned from her that morning was that she believed that she was falling in love with Steve and she was hoping that he felt the same. Mark had not asked her directly, he had a strict rule not to pry into his son's personal life, only getting involved when he was asked, but this had been one of the things she had wanted to tell him, almost as if she had wanted to gauge his reaction, perhaps even get his approval. Knowing that made this much harder. It was clear that she was worried about him, but how much to tell?
Mark took in a deep breath, platitudes and reassurances would not work. Alison's position in the district attorney's office would ensure that she would continue to pick up pieces of information. He decided that she deserved to know everything that he could tell her. So he took both of her hands in his and started from the beginning.
It was an emotional release for him. This time when he began talking he found he could not stop. Not only did he tell her the facts, as he knew them, about what had happened over the last few hours, but he also described his feelings; his concern for Jesse and his deepening fears for Steve. When he had finished he felt that some of the emotional burden had lifted.
Alison had tears in her eyes. She had remained silent for the whole description simply gripping his hands more tightly as the old doctor shared his pain and frustration. Without speaking she stood and using the grip she had on his hands she pulled Mark to his feet. Once standing she let go and put her arms around his neck and buried her head into his shoulder. Mark held on to her taking comfort from the embrace. "Steve will be OK," she said seeking to reassure them both.
Steve was hot, too damned hot. He raised his arm and used his shirt sleeve to wipe the sweat from his eyes. His mouth and throat felt dry and he could taste the dirt and dust as it blew in his face. He stopped and reached for the canteen that hung from the belt on his waist, his eyes surveying the acrid landscape. He turned back to see the rest of his unit strung out in a line down the road.
It was his turn on point, part of him, the adventurous part, loved it being at the front, the first to spot anything, the man everyone relied on for warnings of danger. Another part of him, the cautious part, would just have soon been in the middle with someone else spotting the potential dangers. He signaled them all to take a water stop and watched as most of them gratefully reached for their own canteens. The heat could sap your strength quickly if you allowed yourself to dehydrate.
One man, however, did not stop. Mike Dugan kept walking until he was level with Steve. He and Steve had become good friends over the past few weeks. Sharing duties as well as off time, had made them close. He grinned at his friend as he approached. "What's the matter Sloan?" He teased, "Too hot for ya?"
"No, I just don't fancy getting chewed out by the sergeant for rolling up with a dehydrated platoon is all." He replied not rising to the bait.
"You know your trouble Sloan?" Mike continued.
"No," Steve replied taking a swig from his canteen.
"No stamina," his friend said continuing past him and up the dirt road. He turned and continued to face Steve as he walked backwards away from him, opening his mouth to say something.
Steve froze in horror when he heard the click, recognised it from his training for what it was and in that instant his whole world slowed down and changed forever as the last of his innocence was lost.
He watched transfixed, unable to turn, unable to react as the anti personnel mine his friend had just stepped on blew him apart.
He saw the expression of terror on Mike's face as he too was hit by the realisation of what was about to happen and then saw that expression change to agony as the force of the explosion hit him and then, in the next instant, there was no one to see.
Steve heard a scream and realised that it had come from him. He was calling out Mike's name, reaching out to a friend that wasn't there any more. He became aware of other people around him telling him to lie down, shouting something about needing to stop the bleeding, but he didn't want to lie down, he wanted to help his friend. He needed to help his friend. The shock had robbed him of all reason, his mind refusing to accept that Mike was beyond help. He fought against the hands that tried to hold him down. Calling to Mike, telling him to hold on, that he was coming.
Emma watched the expressions on Steve's face. She watched him smile and knew that it was the beginning, as he relived the trauma that had almost cost him his life and his sanity at the tender age of nineteen.
It always started calmly, with a smile.
She could tell the point at which the explosion happened, the look of abject terror on Steve's face was chilling. The desperation in his voice as he called out the name of a friend who would never hear it, made her stomach twist in knots. Then he relived the fight with his other friends as they had tried to hold him down to stop the bleeding in his neck and shoulder from the shrapnel that had buried itself there. Steve was too overcome by shock to even realise that he had been hurt. He continued to fight and writhe around all the time calling to his friend.
Emma held on to his shoulders, repeating his name over and over, telling him to wake up, telling him he was safe. Steve was sweating profusely, his hair plastered to his head as he fought against invisible hands that held him down.
Steve's eyes opened and he saw Emma looking down at him, but the delirium that gripped him did not allow him to see her as she was now instead he saw the twenty year old nurse Johnson compassionately looking back at him. "My friend Mike," he said his voice edged with pain, "I need to help him." His eyes were pleading with her. "I have to help him."
Emma repeated the words that she had always used but hadn't spoken for thirty years. "Shh Steve, it's all right. Mike's being taken care of ." She stroked his forehead pushing his sweat soaked hair back. "You rest now, everything will be all right."
Steve looked at her and blinked, he was finding it harder to focus through the pain and the fog that was descending on his senses. He listened to the soothing tone, finally relaxing back on the pillow and closing his eyes.
Emma watched him relax, relieved that it was all over. She had sat with him through this nightmare at least a dozen times in the first few days after he had been brought in to the hospital, as he relived the events responsible for his injury. After that the nightmares had become less frequent but their intensity was always the same.
He had never actually told her everything that had happened but she was his principal care nurse and had read the incident report. She had put that together with what his friends had told her and what little Steve would open up with, to build a picture of the trauma that he lived through in his nightmare. She knew that he blamed himself for his friend's death.
She sat back in the chair and began to reminisce once more about her first meetings with Steve Sloan.
She was working at a military hospital in Japan at a time when they sent soldiers from Vietnam who were too sick or injured to be treated in a war zone, over to mainland Japan, if they were expected to recover enough to return to active duty. More serious cases were transported directly back home.
It was a strange place for an upper class English girl to end up but she had trained as a nurse to help people, so when her father had been posted to the embassy in Tokyo she had requested that he take her with him so that she could do some real good.
She had been there almost twelve months and was beginning to resent the pointless waste of it all. So many young men, scarred and maimed, physically and emotionally. She was ready to hand in her notice when Steve Sloan had arrived.
For much of those first few days he had been delirious and running a high fever and so she had been assigned to stay with him and take care of him. There was discussion, if he didn't improve, of shipping him home but after three days his fever had broken.
She smiled as she remembered that third day when he opened his crystal clear blue eyes and gazed up in to hers. She almost laughed out loud as she remembered the deeply corny line that he had used.
"So it's true," he said staring up at her solemnly.
"What's true?" she had asked.
"When you go to heaven the angels are truly beautiful."
But she had been young then and such lines hadn't been repeated a thousand times on bad TV shows and made for TV movies, so she had actually been flattered by the compliment.
She looked across at Steve now. The sweat still matted his hair and his breathing was unsettled. She took hold of his hand and wondered how many times in the last thirty years that he had relived that nightmare. She hoped it wasn't many.
She knew without a doubt that it had been seeing her that had brought it back to haunt him tonight. Yet another of the pains she had inflicted on him in the last twenty four hours. If only she could rewind the clock and erase the telephone call that had brought him to her side.
She stood up. She needed to get some ice to try to bring his fever down.
Mark was still holding Alison in a comforting embrace when they heard a polite cough behind them. Alison pulled away and wiped the tears from her eyes. They turned to see Dr. Bill Taylor standing in the doorway to the room. Mark introduced them. "Dr. Taylor, this is Steve's girlfriend Alison Porter." He made the appropriate gestures. "Alison this is a colleague of mine Dr. Taylor."
They smiled at each other and shook hands, "I er.. heard about Steve, terrible business." He said. The hospital grapevine had been working overtime ever since Jesse had been brought in. "I'm sure that he'll be all right though," he offered not really knowing what else to say in the circumstances.
Mark recognised his discomfort. "Did you need to see me about something Bill?" he asked.
"Yes," Dr. Taylor replied but it was clear that he was no more comfortable with the new topic of conversation than he had been with the last. "I know that you have a lot of things on your mind at the moment but I really need to talk to you."
Mark recognised the serious tone, whatever was coming was not good.
"It's about Dr. Travis."
Author's note: I've tried to do some research on the time when Steve Sloan is supposed to have been in Vietnam and have tried to keep any facts as accurate as possible. If there is anything that doesn't tie up then I hope you will pass it off as dramatic license thanks.