Chapter 8

Jesse turned his gaze to the monitors above his friend's bed for what had to be the hundredth time; and for the hundredth time, there was no sign of improvement to encourage him. If the new antibiotics were going to work, it had to be soon. He sighed, trying to stay optimistic. Steve had survived so much, he simply couldn't believe that it could end this way. He would pull through. He had to. The alternative was unthinkable.

"Come on, Steve," he urged again. "You have to keep fighting. Your dad needs you." He had chatted till he was almost hoarse, first encouraging, then cajoling, then recounting a variety of their more amusing adventures, hoping the sound of his voice would make a connection and help give Steve the strength to hold on. The consistent lack of reaction left him discouraged, but as a doctor he knew that unconscious patients can sometimes hear what is said to them even if they can't respond, and he was determined to keep trying.

This had to be the longest two days Jesse could ever remember; most of that time spent by the bedside of his best friend, the older brother he had never had. As he sat there looking at him, Jesse thought of all the ways he had benefited from Steve's presence in his life and the immense hole that would be left if he died. Before he had met the Sloans, he had flitted from place to place, always eager and enthusiastic for new experiences and new people, but never settling long enough to develop strong relationships. His medical education had provided the only stability in his life. Now, between Mark, Steve and Amanda, he had his own family, and he had learnt the value of such a support system.

Jesse stretched, trying to work out the kinks that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his back. Maybe the chairs in Community General were as uncomfortable as these, but he'd never sat in one for so long. Occasionally he'd spelled Mark in one of his all-too-frequent vigils at Steve's bedside, but Mark had always borne the brunt of those sessions. He wished the older doctor could be here now for more reasons than one. As worried as he was about Steve, at least his problems fell within the purview of medicine – Jesse's own area of expertise, where he felt competent to handle most situations. He was more concerned right now about Mark, partly because he had no idea how to help him. Mark had closed himself off in a morass of guilt and despair. With no other mental outlet, sitting in a cell not knowing from moment to moment if his much-loved son was alive must be a fair definition of hell, and Jesse was at a loss to know what to do for him. After he had left the jail yesterday, Jesse had called Mark's lawyer in an effort to get him into town for the arraignment the next day. Don Freeman had agreed to drive up at once, and, happy to be relieved of responsibility on the legal issues, Jesse had gone to the cabin to fetch Mark some clean clothes.

He had not wanted to take a lot of time, but he badly wanted to see if he could find something to help Mark, and was unable to resist the urge to look around. He looked out on the back patio, but there was not much out there – just an empty bowl and a glass, lying on the ground under a picnic table. He suspected that the wild animals had finished off most of the food, and the police had taken what was left to check on Mark's claim of drugs.

The path up the hill was clearly marked, and it was obvious that it had seen a fair amount of foot traffic in the last couple of days. Jesse climbed fast, the brisk movement after his recent inactivity and frustrations proving briefly beneficial to his mood. The clearing was marked off with police tape, and he stared into the peaceful glade, unable to associate Mark's horrific tale of bloodshed and confusion with the tranquil beauty of the clearing. By edging around the police tape, he could see over the cliff, the broken vegetation testimony to Mark's fall to the lake. "That's one mystery solved," he muttered to himself; then, even more depressed than before, he left the area.

He dropped the clothes off at the sheriff's office, but didn't go in to see Mark again. He had nothing positive to offer him by way of comfort, and he knew that staying with Steve was the most constructive thing he could do for now to help both his friends.

As he was Steve's doctor, the hospital had been flexible about waiving visiting hours, and Jesse had stayed at Steve's side all that night. Apart from going to Mark's arraignment the next morning, he had scarcely moved out of the room.

Needing some activity now, he got up and walked to the window, gazing out at the mountains; but despite the beautiful view, he saw nothing as his mind focused internally, dwelling on the arraignment that morning. It had been uncomfortably close to a blood sport, he decided in retrospect, as the scene replayed itself in his mind.

Despite the differences in the size of the courtroom and the legal personnel, there had been enough resemblance to the last time Mark was on trial to send shivers of trepidation down Jesse's spine. He knew that this was only an arraignment to establish a plea and decide the issue of bail, but the travesty of justice committed years ago had echoed in his memory, leaving him suddenly pessimistic about the outcome of this process.

He knew this must be even more agonizing for Mark than that previous ordeal. Although he had had no chance to talk to him before the proceedings, he saw the desperate question in his friend's eyes as he entered the room, and was forced to shake his head to indicate that Steve's condition remained unchanged. Mark's shoulders slumped, and he sat heavily in his chair, head bowed, until the arrival of the judge. Jesse was relieved beyond measure that Mark had Don Freeman there to handle the procedures because he knew how desperately Mark wanted to get out of jail to see Steve.

The judge ordered Mark to stand while the charges against him were read. As the stark words "for the attempted murder of Steven Sloan" reverberated round the cold room, Mark swayed slightly and put his hands on the table in front of him to steady himself. Jesse was grateful he couldn't see Mark's expression at that moment. The formal public accusation of this crime for which Mark already excoriated himself must be exacerbating his private agony.

"How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?" The relentless process continued with no consideration for the pain of the accused. The judge stared at Mark, waiting, not too patiently, for a response that Mark seemed unable to give. He remained standing, leaning against the table, but stared at the judge helplessly, and Jesse suddenly understood his dilemma. Mark considered himself guilty, whatever the extenuating circumstances, but to admit that might sabotage his last chances of getting to Steve's side. Jesse ached in sympathy as he realized that Mark simply couldn't bring himself to speak. He glared at the judge, hoping he would relent, but there was no sign of compassion on that stony face.

As the silence grew, Freeman stood up. "My client pleads 'not guilty' your honor." With a gentle hand on Mark's shoulder, he pressed him down into his seat; then the lawyer continued. "My client, Mark Sloan, is a respected member of the Los Angeles community. He has served, with distinction, as a surgeon for nearly 40 years and is still employed as Chief of Internal Medicine at Community General Hospital there. He is financially stable. We ask that bail be set at a negligible amount since he is clearly no flight risk."

Freeman sat down, clearly satisfied with his brief presentation; but, looking at the prosecutor's determined face, Jesse didn't think it would be that easy. He was right.

The prosecutor, Ken Barrows, started on the attack immediately. "We ask that bail be denied in this case, your honor. Dr. Sloan has no residence in this community, no job or financial ties here. Moreover, Dr. Sloan has been tried and convicted of murder before."

Jesse was on his feet to protest, but Freeman beat him to it with a heated, "Objection, your honor! My client was later released, and all charges were dropped."

"Yes," sneered Barrows. "Dr. Sloan has proven very elusive. Nevertheless, when I talked to the Los Angeles Police Department, I was informed that similar charges have been pending before." He continued with a list of dubious actions on Mark's part that, taken in their entirety, seemed to brand him a shady character if not a hardened criminal.

Jesse listened to Barrows twist the truth with dismay. He wondered whom he had talked to in the LAPD – obviously someone who bore a grudge against either Steve or Mark, probably for their phenomenal arrest rate. Mark's unconventional approach and corresponding successes must really generate some rancor among a few of the more orthodox detectives. However, it also occurred to Jesse that it could just be the police department closing ranks against someone who had shot one of their own. Either way, it seemed like the seal on Mark's fate.

Freeman protested that there were no formal accusations or convictions in any of these cases, but Barrows succeeded in making this sound like a matter of a rich and influential man using his money and contacts to worm out of any legal trouble. Even Jesse felt that a stranger listening would believe that Mark's life was tarnished by a pattern of violence and evasion of legal consequences.

Barrows was saving his most powerful arguments for last. "Your honor, Lieutenant Steve Sloan's condition is extremely critical. It is quite likely that the charges against Dr. Sloan will be upgraded to murder." For the first time, Jesse saw Mark react, as if the words had been a physical blow. The unthinking cruelty behind that comment made Jesse long to hit the man.

"Your honor, Dr. Sloan has admitted shooting his son. This would seem to fall under the category of domestic violence, and to protect his son....."

"No!" Mark protested, his voice hoarse. "Please! I would never deliberately hurt my son. I just want to see him."

"Your honor." Barrows smiled triumphantly. "Dr. Sloan shot his son and is not even disputing that fact. He cannot be allowed to see him until after the trial. I wouldn't want any more accidents to befall Lt. Sloan or for his testimony to come under any 'undue influence.'"

Freeman shot up again, but the judge waved him down. "You have made your point, Mr. Barrows. Dr. Sloan has no roots in this community, there have been some suspicious activities in the past, and under the circumstances, I certainly can't justify granting Dr. Sloan access to his son. Bail is denied. Dr. Sloan, you will be remanded in custody in the regional jail in Sacramento. A trial date will be set for August 25th."

Jesse couldn't bring himself to look at Mark, but heard his whispered "No!" of agonized denial. This was a double blow to the only hopes he had of seeing Steve. Not only would he not be released on bail, but he would be taken further away from him, with the prospect of remaining incarcerated for four months before being presented with a chance of proving his innocence, or at least lack of culpability, in the shooting.

Mark was led away, moving like an automaton, looking neither to the left or right or even back at Jesse. He hardly seemed able to assimilate this latest blow, and Jesse wondered at what point the cumulative effects of the shocks he had suffered would catch up with him.

As he stood in the hospital room now with Steve, Jesse hoped that Mark could hold it together a little longer. He was convinced that the issue would be settled one way or another long before August. If Steve died, he really believed Mark wouldn't be long behind him. Mark was one of the most resilient people he knew, but everyone had an Achilles heel, and Mark's was Steve. However if Steve woke up, surely he would be able to clear up the charges and get his father released from jail.

Jesse groaned as another thought struck him. How would he ever explain to Steve that his father was in jail again? It was all too reminiscent of the last time Mark had been arrested. It had fallen to him to break the news to Steve, and it had been one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. Steve had been in no condition to hear the real reason for his father's absence, but giving him no explanation made him even more agitated. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Jesse had postponed the inevitable for as long as he could, but eventually had capitulated and, as gently as possible, explained the circumstances, downplaying Mark's predicament as much as possible. Steve had shown little overt reaction beyond closing his eyes and setting his jaw, but the monitors had betrayed his real distress, and Jesse had been on the verge of tranquilizing him to prevent a relapse.

Jesse had no wish to repeat any part of that experience, but he was aware that major parts of the situation were different here. Steve held the key to what had really happened on the hill, and Jesse was convinced that his explanation would exculpate Mark. He moved back to Steve's side and sat down in the chair again, searching for something to say that didn't sound like a platitude. Sometimes he got a superstitious feeling that Steve was just waiting for Mark to arrive before he woke up.

"Your dad would be here if he could; he really wants to be, you have to know that," he whispered fervently.

He unconsciously laid his hand on his friend's arm in his effort to reassure Steve that he had not been abandoned by his father. It took a minute to sink in, but he suddenly realized that he wasn't feeling the heat that had been rising continually from his friend. His temperature was falling. He called a nurse, and they drew some blood for tests. As he waited for the results, Jesse tried to contain his excitement, not wanting a celebration that might prove premature.

When the results came back, the blood work confirmed that Steve's body, with the help of the new drugs, was finally beating the infection. He still showed no signs of returning to consciousness, but, confident that the corner had been turned, Jesse slept deeply that night for the first time since Mark had called him, 48 hours ago.