Chapter 7

As Steve climbed into the ambulance, behind the EMTs, he saw his father look over at him. He thought he detected a lessening of the tension in Mark's face, although he didn't say anything. Steve felt his heart turn over at the thought of what his father must be going through. He tried to imagine what it must feel like to have woken one day, injured and confused, with no knowledge of who or what you were. And then to have been suddenly thrust into the hell he knew Sanders must have created for him, told that you were one person, shoved into a mental institution, kept drugged, abandoned, and friendless for a week, only to have another stranger appear out of nowhere and suddenly tell you that you were someone totally different, and whisk you away to another unknown place where God-knew-what awaited you this time. It was no wonder Mark had looked so confused and uncertain; it was amazing that he wasn't a complete wreck. For some reason, he seemed to have accepted Steve as someone to trust; Steve wanted to believe that was due to the strength of the bond between them – that, even though Mark didn't consciously recognize him, at some deeper level the emotional trust still held. Whatever the reason, however, if his presence could alleviate some of the stress of this nightmare, he was determined to be there every step of the way to lend his father whatever support he could. He moved as close to Mark as possible and tried to smile reassuringly at him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll be at Community General soon," he said. "I told Jesse we were coming, and he'll check you out."

"Jesse?" Mark queried.

"He's a doctor and a good friend," Steve told him. "He'll take good care of you." He thought he saw a faint look of concern in his father's face, and promised, "I'll be with you the whole time." He smiled slightly, adding as lightly as he could, "Hey, I've just spent the last week looking for you; I'm not letting you out of my sight!" Mark nodded silently, seeming reassured, and his eyelids started to droop, as the rhythmic motion of the ambulance combined with the effects of the sedative to lull him to sleep. Steve sat quietly beside him for the rest of the ride, watching his father, his hand lingering on Mark's shoulder. After the long days of fearing that he might never see his dad again, he found the contact comforting himself – he could only hope it was helping his father as well.

When they arrived at Community General, the jostling of moving the stretcher roused Mark. He looked around in confusion, as he felt himself being lifted. Dazed and disoriented from the drugged sleep, feeling the restraints securing him to the stretcher, anxiety stabbed through him. He tensed, looking around at the lights and people, trying to get his bearings. A man in a white doctor's coat appeared beside him, issuing orders to the people around him.

"Bring him into Treatment Room 1. Set up an IV with saline and electrolytes and draw some blood for a full work up and tox panel." He looked down at Mark, placing a hand on his arm. "Mark? You're in the ER; we're gonna take real good care of you." Failing to get any sign of recognition, Jesse exchanged glances with Steve and refrained from pressing further.

Steve followed the stretcher into the treatment room, again noticing that his father looked for him and seemed to find some reassurance in his continued presence. As Jesse and the orderlies lifted Mark onto the examination table, Steve took up a position far enough back to be out of the way, but where Mark could easily see him.

"Okay, Mark, we're just going to check you out now, okay?" Jesse said reassuringly. Receiving a nod, he started the physical exam, searching for signs of skull fracture, checking the reactivity of Mark's pupils, looking for indications of trauma to the head or brain, attempting to keep a flow of reassuring chatter going. It was a lot harder than it usually was. The few times he had had to treat Mark for injuries had always felt a bit strange, but dealing with a Mark who didn't even recognize him, who was obviously tense and uneasy with the whole situation, was threatening to rock him right off his balance. He tried pretending this was just any patient who was a bit nervous, and concentrated on the exam itself. That attitude lasted until they removed Mark's shirt and he got a good look at the bruises on his friend's torso and arms. The spectacularly colored bruising at the base of the rib cage drew his attention immediately.

"These bruises aren't more than a couple of days old," he observed in surprise, looking at his friend. Mark gazed back at him silently, and Jesse looked over at Steve.

"He's been in that 'institution' for the whole week," Steve confirmed grimly. He moved closer to his father. "Tell us what happened, Dad," he said gently.

Mark looked up at him for a moment and sighed. He had trusted this man so far, he might as well go all the way. "I had a little disagreement with an orderly," he said.

Jesse looked appalled. "You mean a member of the staff did this?!" he exclaimed. "I hope you reported him," he added grimly.

"That's what the disagreement was about," Mark responded dryly.

"He could have broken a rib! Or caused internal bleeding!" Jesse raged, not catching, for a moment, the significance of what Mark had just said.

Mark shook his head slightly. "Nothing that serious. Anything that would require a trip to the infirmary would attract too much attention."

This time, the implication of Mark's reply was too obvious to miss. Horrified, Jesse looked over at Steve, who looked like he was going to be sick. Jesse didn't blame him – he was feeling nauseated himself. They all knew, and deplored the fact, that cases of abuse did occur in these institutions, but to have it happen to someone you knew and admired and cared about was indescribably painful as well as revolting.

"I have a feeling the Exeter Institute is going to be receiving a whole lot of attention from the Board of Health very shortly," Jesse said. He clung grimly to as much of his professional detachment as he could, as he gently checked Mark for further injuries. Turning him over, he saw the unmistakable signs of overly tightened restraints on the back of Mark's arms and legs. He frowned. Usually such marks, if they occurred at all – and they shouldn't, if the restraints were used properly – would be found on the front of the limbs, since patients were usually restrained while lying on their backs. And they should never be this bad. With a feeling that he really didn't want to hear the answer, he asked Mark about those bruises as well.

"I didn't want the injection in the back," Mark replied wearily.

"What injection did they give you in the back?" Jesse questioned, looking closely for signs of needle punctures.

"They said it was for pain, but I didn't need it for pain. But they didn't like arguments."

Jesse was afraid to even look at Steve this time. He went on to check Mark's reflexes, had him move his legs and arms, and noted that although he had a significant lessening of feeling and reflexes in his legs, he was able to move them. He suspected that those shots in the back had had less to do with pain management and more to do with immobilizing Mark. Finally, he was finished with the exam. He looked down at his friend, who was lying with eyes closed, exhausted by the probing and the remaining effects of the sedative.

"Okay," Jesse said, looking over at the nurse who had been assisting him. "I want him sent up for X-rays of the chest and back, and both a head and body MRI. And have Admitting get a room ready for him." As he stepped over to the corner of the room to remove his gloves, Steve joined him.

"How bad is it?" Steve asked quietly.

Jesse looked at him soberly. "It's hard to say. As far as the bruises go, there doesn't seem to be any internal damage, but we'll get the X-rays and MRI to be sure." He met his friend's eyes grimly. "I'm sure Mark's right – those injuries were nicely calculated to inflict pain without causing any significant damage."

"I'd like to go over there and inflict some 'significant damage' myself," Steve responded through gritted teeth. "And when I get through with the bastard who did that to him, he's going to be in serious need of medical attention himself."

"Just make sure he doesn't get sent here," Jesse responded with mordant humor. "I'm not sure I could hold to my Hippocratic Oath if he showed up in the ER."

They exchanged glances of complete understanding, and Steve blew out a deep breath.

"What about the amnesia?" he asked, getting back to the immediate concern of his father's condition.

"It's too soon to tell," Jesse replied. "Obviously there was some significant initial head trauma. His reflexes and responses are slow, but that could be from the drugs they've been pumping into him. We'll have to wait for the results of the MRI to show us if there's any sign of damage. But he seems cogent enough, under the circumstances – that's a good sign. It may be that his condition will improve once the effects of all the drugs wear off. The toxicology panel may give us a clue on what to expect there." Looking at the anxiety and strain in his friend's face, Jesse wished he could have given a more positive response.

The orderlies arrived to wheel Mark up to the radiology department, and Steve moved to go with them. Jesse put a hand on his arm.

"Steve, you know you can't go into the X-ray or MRI rooms with him," he said.

"I can at least stay with him until the last moment, and be waiting for him outside the door," Steve replied. As the orderlies lifted Mark back onto a gurney, Steve saw his father open his eyes and look around with a noticeable return of anxiety. "Jesse, I'm not leaving him alone like this. In fact, I want you to get a cot set up in his room for me for tonight."

Jesse saw the determination in his friend's face, and nodded. He didn't much like the thought of leaving Mark alone like this either. And how much more alone can you be, he thought, when not only don't you know anyone around you, you don't even know yourself? "I'll take care of it," he said, as Steve trotted over to catch up with the gurney.