Chapter 6
Steve was back at the police station going through the day's crime reports. He had taken to reviewing all the reports, especially those that had any relevance to the area around where Mark's car had been found. He might not have paid particular attention to the item about a reporter killed in a car crash, if the account hadn't mentioned that she was on her way back to her office after visiting the Exeter Institute. By now, Steve knew every business, building, and address within a one-mile radius of where they had found his father's car, and he knew that the Exeter Institute was barely half a mile from that spot. He decided to pay a visit to the Institute himself.
Steve arrived at the Exeter Institute to find a couple of uniformed officers already there, taking routine statements from people who had spoken to Janice Randolph during her visit the previous day. He got the name of the staff member who had been showing the reporter around the clinic, and went to talk to her himself. He asked her about what Janice had seen, the questions she asked, the things she was interested in; there didn't seem to be anything particularly significant that the employee could remember.
"Was there any particular patient or staff member that she seemed interested in?" asked Steve.
The attendant considered. "Well, she did ask to speak to one of the patients, but he wasn't feeling well, so she wasn't able to."
"Which patient was that?" Steve queried, wondering just how futile this line of questioning would turn out to be.
"Martin Donner," was the reply.
"Was there anything special about Mr. Donner that she wanted to know?"
"Not really," said the attendant. "She just asked how long he had been here and what was wrong with him – things like that."
"And how long has he been here?" Steve asked.
"He's one of our newer patients," the attendant responded. "He's only been here about a week."
Steve's interest perked up at this information. Anything that happened a week ago in this area required looking into.
"Tell me about this Martin Donner," he said. "Who brought him in? And when exactly did he arrive?"
The attendant considered. "I think it was last Thursday night," she said. "I'm not really sure who brought him in; I know he was here already when I got in Friday morning."
Steve felt his heart rate quicken. It was Thursday night that his father had disappeared. Obviously this could just be a coincidence, but at this point, he wasn't going to take anything for granted.
"I'd like to see Mr. Donner myself," he stated. "Where is he now?"
"I'm not sure," was the answer. The attendant called over to a nearby nurse. "Kathy, do you know where Martin Donner is now?"
"I think Dr. Collins brought him into the infirmary," replied the nurse.
"I guess he's still not feeling well," the attendant said to Steve. "Perhaps you can see him another time."
"I think I'll just talk to Dr. Collins about that," said Steve. "Where's the infirmary?"
As Steve turned to head in the direction the attendant pointed, a man in a white lab coat came out of the room she had indicated. "There's Dr. Collins now," the attendant said.
Hearing his name, Collins looked over towards the attendant. He had sedated Mark and brought him into the infirmary as soon as the police had arrived on the premises, and was feeling fairly confident that he could keep him out of sight by claiming serious illness if necessary. On recognizing Steve, however, he knew the game was over. Steve would undoubtedly recognize him, and he would certainly insist on seeing 'Martin Donner'. Making a split-second decision, Collins turned and ran for the exit.
Seeing the doctor suddenly break into a run, Steve immediately took off after him. He caught up to him just before Collins made it to the door, bringing him down in a flying tackle. He got to his feet, pulling Collins with him, as the other officers came running to help. Yanking Collins around, Steve stared at him. "Dennis Sanders!" he exclaimed in surprise, as he recognized him. His face darkened as he realized who this doctor was and realized as well that he had a very strong motive for hating Mark.
"Where is he, Sanders?" Steve demanded.
"I've got nothing to say to you, Sloan," Sanders/Collins replied defiantly.
Steve glanced over to the closed door from which the doctor had appeared, noticing that it was marked 'Infirmary'. "If you've done anything to my father…" Steve threatened. He didn't waste time completing the sentence. Thrusting Sanders at one of the other officers, he turned and ran into the Infirmary, the nurse and the attendant following after him.
Searching quickly through the examining areas, Steve saw a white-haired figure slumped limply in a wheelchair, head drooped forward onto his chest. Heart pounding, he dropped to a crouch in front of the chair, looking up into the man's face.
"Dad." His throat so tight he could barely speak, Steve gazed up at his father, a sea of conflicting emotions swirling through him. The intense relief of finding his father alive warred with an almost equal degree of shock at the sight of the ill-kempt figure before him. Mark looked like a neglected old man – clad in ill-fitting, cheap institution clothes, his hair limp, his cheeks hollow, purple shadows under the glazed eyes that lifted to meet Steve's. Oh my God, Steve thought, what have they done to you? As he stared into his father's face, Mark looked back at him in confusion.
"Do I know you?" he asked hesitantly.
Already reeling from the shock of Mark's appearance, the question hit Steve with the force of a kick to the stomach as he realized that this was not a failed attempt at lightness but a genuine query, heartbreaking in its uncertainty.
"Dad, it's me – Steve." He stared at his father, desperately searching for a spark of recognition in those vaguely focussed eyes. But there was none.
"Steve." Mark repeated the name blankly; it obviously held no meaning for him.
The anguished shock that gripped Steve was swept away in the wave of white-hot fury that flooded him as he saw Sanders standing handcuffed at the entrance to the Infirmary, flanked by the two uniformed officers. It took the combined efforts of both officers to intercept his lunge at the doctor. "What did you do to him?" Steve demanded, rage throbbing in his voice. "What did you give him?"
"I told you, Sloan," sneered Collins; "I'm not saying anything until I talk with my lawyer."
With an effort that almost choked him, Steve managed to control his overwhelming urge to throttle the doctor. "Get him out of here," he ordered the officers, shaking off their grip. His face still full of anger, he turned abruptly back to his father – to be brought up short as he saw Mark flinch as if anticipating a blow. That faint flicker of fear in his father's eyes was a knife in his heart; the anger drained from his face, leaving him pale, as he sank again into a crouch beside the wheelchair. He had to swallow hard before he could speak.
"It's okay, Dad," his said, his voice very gentle, if a trifle shaky. "Nobody's going to hurt you… I promise."
Mark gazed at the face before him, trying to fight the drug-induced haze that was clouding his mind. He didn't know who this man was, but he recognized the look of caring, the gentle tone of the voice. He relaxed a bit, realizing that whoever this 'Steve' was, he apparently meant him no harm. He decided to risk a question.
"Why do you call me 'Dad'?" he asked.
Steve felt his heart twist painfully. Of all the possible nightmare scenarios he had envisioned for when he found his father, this one had never occurred to him. Struggling to control his whirling emotions, he tried to keep his voice calm.
"Do you know who you are?" he asked his father.
"Martin Donner," Mark responded; but there was a note of uncertainty in the reply.
"Did Sanders tell you that?" asked Steve.
"Sanders?"
Seeing the look of confusion on Mark's face, Steve remembered that Sanders had been going by a different name here. Quickly casting his mind back, he came up with the name the attendant had given him.
"Collins," he corrected himself. "Did Dr. Collins tell you that was your name?" Mark nodded, and Steve drew a deep breath. "He lied, Dad," he said, as gently as he could. "Your name is Mark Sloan, and you're my father. I've been looking for you for the past week."
Mark gazed back at him in confusion. "I don't understand," he said.
Steve closed his eyes for a moment, wondering how to explain the situation to his father in his current state. In addition to everything else, Mark was obviously drugged and in need of medical treatment. Right now, Steve just wanted to get him out of here and over to Community General where he would be properly cared for.
"It's a confusing situation, Dad," he said quietly. "And I promise we'll sort it all out together. But the important thing now is to get you to the hospital and see that you're taken care of." The lost and uncertain look on his father's face almost broke his heart. He stood up, turning to the attendant who was watching him somewhat uncertainly herself. "Get an ambulance out here," he told her; "I want him taken to Community General Hospital."
The attendant hesitated. "But, Lieutenant, we're not supposed to transfer a patient without doctor's orders."
Steve felt a sharp flare of anger shoot through him, but he tried to control it, not wanting to alarm his father again. "Your 'Dr. Collins' is a de-licensed ex-con," he said, keeping his voice level but firm. "He's now facing charges for abduction, possible assault, and fraud – just to start with. This man does not belong here and I'm getting him out now. You can either call for that ambulance and start cooperating, or I'll have you arrested for obstruction."
The nurse, who had been standing in the doorway, nodded to the attendant. "Go on, Sally," she said. "Call for the ambulance, and then call Dr. Mosley and see if he can come in and cover here until we get everything straightened out." As Sally went off, the nurse turned back to Steve.
"I'm Kathy Genero," she said. "I don't really understand what's going on here, but I'm sure you can understand that we need to be sure we're doing what's in the best interest of our patients."
"Trust me, it's in my father's best interest to get him out of here as soon as possible," Steve responded dryly.
Kathy looked at him curiously. "Is Martin really your father?" she asked.
"His name's Mark Sloan," Steve replied. "And yes, he's my father." He looked over at Mark and saw that he was watching them, still with that expression of uncertainty. He placed a reassuring hand on Mark's shoulder. "It's going to be all right, Dad," he said. He looked back at the nurse, without breaking the physical contact with his father. "Look, I'd appreciate anything you can tell me about what's happened to him here. Do you know how he lost his memory or what drugs he's been given?"
"He came in some time last Thursday night. He'd been injured – in a fight, I think they said; he had a severe concussion, some lacerations, and was apparently suffering from total amnesia when he arrived."
"Why didn't you report him when we came around asking about anyone who might have sought medical treatment that night?" Steve asked, struggling to keep the anger out of his voice.
"They only asked for any unidentified admissions," Kathy replied. "By the time the police came around, Dr. Collins had already identified him as Martin Donner; probably nobody even considered him when they were asked."
Steve reflected bitterly on the cleverness of this. Once the staff had accepted their new patient as having a particular identity, they probably wouldn't have questioned it even if they'd seen Mark's picture in the newspaper. Kathy went off to get 'Martin Donner's' file and records, while Steve waited with Mark for the ambulance to arrive. He looked down at his father, noticing the fading bruises on the side of his face, and suddenly wondered just what Sanders had done with his father over the course of the past week. His stomach twisted as he thought of his father, confused and vulnerable, in Sanders' power all that time.
His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the ambulance crew. He felt the shoulder under his hand tense suddenly, and looked down to see that Mark was watching the EMTs with apprehension. He gently patted his father's shoulder.
"It's okay, Dad," he assured him. "We're just going to get you out of here; we're going to take you to Community General Hospital – they'll get you all fixed up."
Mark viewed the approach of the EMTs with trepidation. The sight of medical personnel wheeling a stretcher with clearly visible restraining straps was certainly calculated to instill a sense of anxiety in him. He wished his mind were clear enough to think properly. There had been little in the past week to lead him to trust anyone. And the fact that the drugs he had been given over the past few days had been specifically chosen for their anxiety-producing effects didn't help any; although that, of course, he didn't know. He looked back up at the man beside him, seeing the concern and reassurance in his face. He seemed to be sincere in his concern for Mark's well-being; hopefully, wherever this Steve was planning on taking him would be better than where he was.
Steve watched as the EMTs transferred Mark to the stretcher. It occurred to him that it would be wise to alert Jesse to the situation before they got there. It was bound to be a shock to him as well; and the less commotion and confusion there was, Steve reflected, the better it would be for his father. He pulled out his cell phone and placed the call to the hospital, breaking the news to Jesse as quickly and concisely as he could. He then hurried to catch up with the ambulance crew.