Not Just Dead
"Ow," Jesse complained again for the fiftieth time that day, it seemed. He had found it increasingly uncomfortable to lay constantly on his front, but then remembered why he had to lay on his front when he tried to lay on his back. And that was as if hospital beds weren't uncomfortable enough already!
"Good afternoon," Mark chirped as he walked into Jesse's room. "How are you, Jesse?"
"Uncomfortable," Jesse grunted.
"Well, you're free to go home now," Mark told him. "My home," he added.
"Mark, you don't have to…" Jesse began, but he was cut off.
"Don't even go there," Mark said. "Someone obviously knows that you and Ally are out there, and it is not safe for you two."
"But…"
"I'd have thought that the remains of your car would have been a tell-tale sign that someone means business," Mark butted in.
"Oh yeah, how is my car?" Jesse asked sarcastically.
"Which piece of it?" Mark joked.
"That bad?" Jesse asked sorrowfully.
"That bad," Mark replied. "Luckily, I have a car, and I am going to take you home in it."
"When do I get to go back to work?" Jesse asked.
"Not for another week yet, at least," Mark told him firmly. "That back of yours is pretty burnt and blistered."
"You forgot to mention sore," Jesse added. "But if I can't go back to work, someone ought to be looking after my patients. I mean, Mr Durham is pretty bad after that heart attack, and Mrs Griggs…"
"Your patients are being take care off," Mark assured him as they left the hospital. "You're almost as bad at being a patient as I am!"
"No one could steal that reputation away from you, except maybe Steve," Jesse said. "Ow!"
"I wouldn't lean back if I were you," Mark said, seeing Jesse trying to sit in the passenger seat.
"Ha, ha," Jesse pretended to laugh as he lent heavily on the dashboard.
At the Beach House, Steve was looking after Ally until the other two came back. He had given the girl a snack to eat, and he was sitting around idly. Ally sat watching the ocean.
"Ally," Steve began, hoping to clear something up. "When the bomb went off a couple of days back, I noticed something."
"What was that?"
"You didn't seem afraid. You see," he continued. "I haven't met a lot of twelve-year-old kids that wouldn't have been afraid of a bomb like that. You took it really well."
"Let me ask you something, Lieutenant Sloan. How many twelve-year-old kids have you met that are remotely like me?"
"Well, not that many," Steve admitted.
"How are they remotely like me? I mean, for example, have they grown up with my kind of background?"
"They haven't."
"How are these few people like me then?"
"The only way that they are like you is that they've got guts. Other than that, you're one of a kind."
"Why do you think that is?"
"Like you said earlier, your background," Steve told her.
"Is that all?"
"A strong character."
"Getting closer. You give up. The correct answer is, I've been through enough before to know that being afraid does absolutely nothing except create a bit of adrenaline, and I've got enough of that as it is."
"What have you been through before?" Steve asked her.
"Loads of stuff," Ally said shortly.
"Like?" Steve persisted.
"Like, see all these scars on my leg?" Ally lifted up her pants leg to just above her knee. "And these ones all along my right shoulder?" Ally showed him.
Steve winced as Ally continued.
"You, being a cop, would know a gunshot scar when you see one."
Steve nodded. "Would they be on separate occasions?"
"You're a good cop," Ally noted. "The ones on my shoulders I got when I was seven. Some jerks thought it would be great to come looking for my Dad and scare the heck out of me in the process. I mean, I was only seven at the time," she added. "That was in our old apartment. We moved six miles east, and for a year, they didn't find us."
"Carry on," Steve said.
"Is that an order?" Ally asked.
"No, more like a request," Steve told her.
At that moment, Mark and Jesse came into the house. Perfect timing, Ally thought to herself.
"Hi," Jesse said, greeting Ally first. "Have you been behaving for Steve?"
"Well, all is well apart from that little crater in the kitchen floor," Ally said, trying to be serious. When Jesse glanced over to the kitchen, Ally laughed and said, "just kidding, Jesse! The house is still in one piece."
"It had better be." As Mark ushered Ally into the kitchen to help with lunch, Jesse turned to Steve.
"Has she been okay? Has she said anything that might help?"
"She's been great, and she was talking about two shootings she was involved in. That's why she wasn't scared of the bomb, because she's used to all that danger and has learnt not to be scared," Steve added. "Although, she must have been scared, because I've been in so many dangerous situations that I've lost count, and I still get scared from time to time. I think maybe she was exaggerating about that part."
Jesse nodded. He was about to say something, but the phone rang. "I'll get it," Steve called. "Make yourself comfortable," Steve said, heading toward the study.
"Sure," Jesse muttered. "Make myself comfortable? I've forgotten what comfortable feels like." He lay on the couch, on his front, and slowly drifted into a light sleep.
In the kitchen, Ally was preparing a salad whilst Mark tended to the spaghetti and Bolognese sauce.
"It was lucky that you saw the wiring under Jesse's car when you did," Mark told her. "Heck knows what would have happened if you hadn't reacted that quickly."
"I don't want to think about it," Ally told him. "No doubt it would have been messy."
Mark nodded, grinning slightly at the use of the word 'messy.' Ally continued, "I was lucky. I'm not the one with red strips going down my back."
"That's true," Mark said.
At that moment, Steve came rushing in. "Dad!"
"Steve? Where's the fire?"
"Listen, Dad," Steve urged. "Frankie Pasco has found dead!"
Ally became a paler shade in her face. "He's dead?"
"Not just dead," Steve continued. "He was murdered."
Two jaws dropped to the floor, and Jesse cried out in pain as he rolled off the couch in disbelief.
"Ow," Jesse complained again for the fiftieth time that day, it seemed. He had found it increasingly uncomfortable to lay constantly on his front, but then remembered why he had to lay on his front when he tried to lay on his back. And that was as if hospital beds weren't uncomfortable enough already!
"Good afternoon," Mark chirped as he walked into Jesse's room. "How are you, Jesse?"
"Uncomfortable," Jesse grunted.
"Well, you're free to go home now," Mark told him. "My home," he added.
"Mark, you don't have to…" Jesse began, but he was cut off.
"Don't even go there," Mark said. "Someone obviously knows that you and Ally are out there, and it is not safe for you two."
"But…"
"I'd have thought that the remains of your car would have been a tell-tale sign that someone means business," Mark butted in.
"Oh yeah, how is my car?" Jesse asked sarcastically.
"Which piece of it?" Mark joked.
"That bad?" Jesse asked sorrowfully.
"That bad," Mark replied. "Luckily, I have a car, and I am going to take you home in it."
"When do I get to go back to work?" Jesse asked.
"Not for another week yet, at least," Mark told him firmly. "That back of yours is pretty burnt and blistered."
"You forgot to mention sore," Jesse added. "But if I can't go back to work, someone ought to be looking after my patients. I mean, Mr Durham is pretty bad after that heart attack, and Mrs Griggs…"
"Your patients are being take care off," Mark assured him as they left the hospital. "You're almost as bad at being a patient as I am!"
"No one could steal that reputation away from you, except maybe Steve," Jesse said. "Ow!"
"I wouldn't lean back if I were you," Mark said, seeing Jesse trying to sit in the passenger seat.
"Ha, ha," Jesse pretended to laugh as he lent heavily on the dashboard.
At the Beach House, Steve was looking after Ally until the other two came back. He had given the girl a snack to eat, and he was sitting around idly. Ally sat watching the ocean.
"Ally," Steve began, hoping to clear something up. "When the bomb went off a couple of days back, I noticed something."
"What was that?"
"You didn't seem afraid. You see," he continued. "I haven't met a lot of twelve-year-old kids that wouldn't have been afraid of a bomb like that. You took it really well."
"Let me ask you something, Lieutenant Sloan. How many twelve-year-old kids have you met that are remotely like me?"
"Well, not that many," Steve admitted.
"How are they remotely like me? I mean, for example, have they grown up with my kind of background?"
"They haven't."
"How are these few people like me then?"
"The only way that they are like you is that they've got guts. Other than that, you're one of a kind."
"Why do you think that is?"
"Like you said earlier, your background," Steve told her.
"Is that all?"
"A strong character."
"Getting closer. You give up. The correct answer is, I've been through enough before to know that being afraid does absolutely nothing except create a bit of adrenaline, and I've got enough of that as it is."
"What have you been through before?" Steve asked her.
"Loads of stuff," Ally said shortly.
"Like?" Steve persisted.
"Like, see all these scars on my leg?" Ally lifted up her pants leg to just above her knee. "And these ones all along my right shoulder?" Ally showed him.
Steve winced as Ally continued.
"You, being a cop, would know a gunshot scar when you see one."
Steve nodded. "Would they be on separate occasions?"
"You're a good cop," Ally noted. "The ones on my shoulders I got when I was seven. Some jerks thought it would be great to come looking for my Dad and scare the heck out of me in the process. I mean, I was only seven at the time," she added. "That was in our old apartment. We moved six miles east, and for a year, they didn't find us."
"Carry on," Steve said.
"Is that an order?" Ally asked.
"No, more like a request," Steve told her.
At that moment, Mark and Jesse came into the house. Perfect timing, Ally thought to herself.
"Hi," Jesse said, greeting Ally first. "Have you been behaving for Steve?"
"Well, all is well apart from that little crater in the kitchen floor," Ally said, trying to be serious. When Jesse glanced over to the kitchen, Ally laughed and said, "just kidding, Jesse! The house is still in one piece."
"It had better be." As Mark ushered Ally into the kitchen to help with lunch, Jesse turned to Steve.
"Has she been okay? Has she said anything that might help?"
"She's been great, and she was talking about two shootings she was involved in. That's why she wasn't scared of the bomb, because she's used to all that danger and has learnt not to be scared," Steve added. "Although, she must have been scared, because I've been in so many dangerous situations that I've lost count, and I still get scared from time to time. I think maybe she was exaggerating about that part."
Jesse nodded. He was about to say something, but the phone rang. "I'll get it," Steve called. "Make yourself comfortable," Steve said, heading toward the study.
"Sure," Jesse muttered. "Make myself comfortable? I've forgotten what comfortable feels like." He lay on the couch, on his front, and slowly drifted into a light sleep.
In the kitchen, Ally was preparing a salad whilst Mark tended to the spaghetti and Bolognese sauce.
"It was lucky that you saw the wiring under Jesse's car when you did," Mark told her. "Heck knows what would have happened if you hadn't reacted that quickly."
"I don't want to think about it," Ally told him. "No doubt it would have been messy."
Mark nodded, grinning slightly at the use of the word 'messy.' Ally continued, "I was lucky. I'm not the one with red strips going down my back."
"That's true," Mark said.
At that moment, Steve came rushing in. "Dad!"
"Steve? Where's the fire?"
"Listen, Dad," Steve urged. "Frankie Pasco has found dead!"
Ally became a paler shade in her face. "He's dead?"
"Not just dead," Steve continued. "He was murdered."
Two jaws dropped to the floor, and Jesse cried out in pain as he rolled off the couch in disbelief.