Chapter 15
Jesse was at the high school bright and early, seated in front of a young woman apparently a few years older than Lisa Milton.
"Lisa called me last night to tell me that you'd be coming by this morning," Rachel Cameron said. "She told me about your friend, and the story he told about a boy whose brother had recently died of an overdose."
"That's right," Jesse confirmed. "We're trying to find him so we can prove that Mark didn't take those drugs voluntarily, and isn't responsible for shooting Steve."
"If the boy didn't give his real name, what makes you think the rest of his story was true?" asked Rachel.
Jesse considered that carefully, hoping that this woman wasn't going to be another skeptic unwilling to believe that any of the kids in her school could be involved in this.
"Mark said the boy was really broken up about his brother's death," Jesse replied.
"He could just have been putting on an act to get your friend's sympathy," suggested the counselor.
"Maybe. But Mark isn't easy to deceive; he's got a lot of experience with people and knowing when they're hiding things or lying. And at least it gives us a starting point to try to narrow down the search some."
"Of course, you realize that we really aren't supposed to give out confidential information on our students and their families," the guidance counselor continued.
"Look," said Jesse, fighting off the frustration that was starting to well up in him, "I'm not out to bother any innocent kids. I don't want to accuse anybody of anything or make trouble for any of the families. I'll keep anything you can tell me perfectly confidential. But a very good friend of mine is in jail for something that he would never have done – something that's hurting him far worse than the jail sentence itself – because some kid broke into a cabin, tried to steal a gun, and slipped drugs into his drink. And there are two very good people whose lives are going to be ruined by this if we don't find this kid and get him to tell us what really happened."
"Two people?" queried Rachel.
"Two. If Mark is convicted of this, it's going to tear Steve apart as well as Mark; in fact, it already is. I'm already having trouble keeping him in the hospital long enough to recuperate; he wants to be out trying to clear his dad himself."
Rachel Cameron gazed thoughtfully at him for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. Lisa seems to have formed a very good opinion of you, and is inclined to believe that we should provide any information we can." She grinned suddenly, making her look younger and much friendlier. "And I've usually found that Lisa's a very good judge of character. Although not exactly a 'by the book' type of person."
"She and Mark should get along great," said Jesse, smiling back.
"Okay, so let's see what we've got." Rachel turned to her computer screen and starting pulling up student records. "There've been a couple of students who have had recent deaths or illnesses in the family. Let's see who lives in or near Clear Valley."
They spent the next few minutes with Rachel pulling up the files of any of the kids she personally knew had had some type of recent family tragedy. When she was done, she handed Jesse a list of about 5 boys, with their ages and addresses.
"I hope this helps," she said as Jesse took the list.
"Me too," he replied. "I really appreciate your help. And I promise I'll be as discreet as possible and try not to upset anybody who's not involved." He then took his leave and headed out to drive up to the regional prison to see Mark.
Jesse arrived at the prison during the mid-morning visitation hours, and was again taken to an interview room to see Mark. As he walked through the gray, depressing corridor, he found himself hoping that the relief of knowing that Steve was going to be okay would have helped restore some of Mark's normally indomitable spirit. He had been extremely worried by the state in which he had found the older doctor when he had come to see him the previous day, much more so than he had wanted to let on to Steve. While he knew that Mark would probably still be deeply distressed by the events of the week, he really hoped that he would have recovered some of his natural equilibrium.
As he entered the interview room, he felt those hopes start to fade as he saw the figure sitting listlessly at the table. Then Mark looked up at him, and he saw a flash of life spark in the eyes that searched his face, even as the figure tensed.
"Jesse? How's Steve? Is he alright?" Mark asked hoarsely.
"He's doing great, Mark," Jesse hastened to assure him. "They've moved him out of the ICU and taken him off the monitors. He's going to be absolutely fine." He saw the tension dissipate, his friend's body sagging slightly, as Mark's anxiety was allayed. He sat down next to him, scanning his face, his dismay returning as he noted the increasingly gray and drawn look, the dull pain that still filled Mark's eyes. As he searched for something further to offer in the way of comfort, those eyes lifted again to his.
"Have you talked to him yet?" Mark asked. He struggled with conflicting emotions as he awaited the response – needing to know what Steve had said about the shooting, dreading to hear of his reaction to his father's betrayal.
Thinking that his friend looked like he was waiting for a knife to be plunged into his heart, Jesse wished desperately that he didn't have to tell Mark about Steve's inability to remember the events surrounding the shooting. He tried to think of a gentle way to break the news.
"He said it's not your fault, Mark," Jesse told him. "He knows you would never deliberately hurt him."
Mark closed his eyes for a moment, trying to control his emotions. He found he had a hard time accepting the comfort this response offered. What else could Steve say? Would he admit to his friend how deeply it must have hurt to have been betrayed by the man he most trusted?
"Did he tell you exactly what happened?" Mark asked, probing further into the source of his pain.
Jesse bit his lip. There was no way around it now; he couldn't lie to Mark about this.
"He doesn't actually remember the details," he replied reluctantly. He saw the tension return to Mark's posture. "He seems to have some temporary memory loss surrounding the actual shooting." Seeing the expression of pain that crossed Mark's face, he hastened to add, "I'm sure it's just temporary. There's no sign of any physical problem, and you know it's not uncommon after an injury like this for it to take a few days for the memory of the incident to come back."
"Traumatic shock," confirmed Mark dully, his voice still hoarse. He looked up with a wry twist to his mouth, the pain in his eyes more apparent. "I imagine being shot by your father counts as a fairly traumatic event."
"Mark, you know the term applies to physical trauma, not necessarily emotional trauma," Jesse responded firmly. As Mark failed to respond, swallowing with apparent discomfort, it suddenly occurred to him that the hoarseness in his friend's voice had not cleared up after the initial anxious inquiry about Steve. He looked the older man over searchingly as he asked, "Mark, what's wrong with your voice?"
"I'm alright," Mark replied evasively, unconsciously withdrawing further back into his chair. Jesse noticed that he winced as he did so, his hand moving to his midsection.
"Mark, something's wrong – what is it? Are you sick?" Jesse asked worriedly, getting up to move closer to his friend. Mark tried to turn to avoid his approach, and as he did, Jesse caught sight of the discoloration on the front of his neck. He reached out and pulled the neck of the prison shirt away from Mark's throat, displaying a deep bruise.
"What happened?" he asked in alarm.
"It's all right, Jesse," Mark muttered, not meeting his eyes. "It's nothing to worry about. I'm fine."
"No, you're not," Jesse declared unequivocally, his hand suddenly reaching out to feel Mark's chest. He saw Mark flinch from the touch, and he recognized the feel of the bandaging around the ribs. "Come on, Mark, talk to me," he urged in deep concern. "What happened, and how badly are you hurt?"
"It wasn't that big a deal," Mark said, reluctantly surrendering to his friend's insistence. "I had a misunderstanding with another inmate. There was no major damage done."
Jesse surveyed him appraisingly, reflecting that the damage to the throat couldn't have been too bad or they wouldn't be having this conversation. As for the ribs… "Are they broken?" he asked, gently feeling along his friend's chest.
Mark shook his head. "Just one cracked rib."
"What else? Did they at least have a doctor look at you?"
"They brought me to the infirmary. There's nothing else, Jesse. I told you – I'm fine." His voice was flat and uninterested.
Jesse scrutinized his friend's face. Far from being reassured by the lack of concern, he was, in fact, deeply disturbed. Mark was obviously far from fine. Setting aside the physical damage, the tone of complete disinterest in his injuries was setting off a whole cacophony of alarm bells in Jesse's mind. This wasn't just a reluctance to worry a concerned friend; Mark genuinely didn't seem to care what had happened to him. And that, Jesse knew, was a very bad sign.
"We need to work on getting you out of here," he declared abruptly. He slid the yearbooks he had brought closer to Mark. "I brought some yearbooks from the local schools. I want you to take a look at the pictures and see if you can pick out 'Skylar'."
Mark gazed at the books unenthusiastically. "What makes you think he'll even be in there?" he asked. "We don't even know if he lives in Clear Valley."
Jesse's alarm was deepening. This was definitely not like Mark; he had to find something to snap him out of this uncharacteristic lethargy. Searching for something that might get through to him, Jesse remembered the spark that had temporarily animated his friend as he had asked about Steve. Well, obviously, Jesse thought. Steve is the one thing he still cares about; that's why he's so depressed in the first place. He decided to try to use that edge to get Mark back on track.
"Look, Mark," Jesse said firmly, "we need to start somewhere, and this is the best shot we've got. We need to get you out of here to see Steve, and to do that, we need to find this kid so he can corroborate your story." He saw Mark close his eyes momentarily, and tried again. "You do want to see Steve, don't you?" he asked steadily.
Mark lifted his head then, and Jesse winced internally at the combination of pain and hesitancy in his eyes. He held Mark's gaze, trying to project conviction and reassurance in his own.
"Mark, Steve needs to see you as badly as you need to see him," he said with quiet intensity. "He wanted me to tell you that it's alright; he doesn't blame you, Mark. His biggest concern right now is getting you out of here. The best thing we can do for both of you is to get this cleared up as soon as possible." He saw uncertainty flicker in his friend's eyes, and pushed a little harder. "Come on, Mark," he urged. "You've got to fight this – for Steve's sake if not for your own."
Mark closed his eyes and lowered his head to hide the moisture that was stinging them. He didn't want Steve to worry about him; he had caused his son enough pain already. And Jesse was right. No matter how betrayed Steve might feel, no matter how his feelings about his father might have changed, he would feel compelled to do everything he could to uncover the whole story and see Mark released. Mark remembered with painful clarity the time he had been framed and convicted of murder while his son lay in a coma, fighting for his life. Once he had awakened, Steve had pushed himself against medical advice, getting back on the streets before he was properly healed to search for evidence to prove his father innocent of the charges. Mark didn't want to be responsible for him doing that again. Especially since he was already responsible for almost killing him in the first place. He owed it to his son to do what he could to take the burden off Steve's shoulders. So he tried to pull himself together, taking a deep, ragged breath, and opening the first yearbook.
Jesse watched as Mark turned his attention to the yearbook, pleased to see a faint, but perceptible flicker of determination in those uncharacteristically dull blue eyes. He wasn't naive enough to think that he had magically solved the problem, but at least he had given his friend a temporary infusion of incentive to fight the incipient depression to which he was so obviously succumbing. Now, if they could just identify this kid, and if he could find the boy and convince him to corroborate Mark's story, perhaps they could get Mark out of here before any more permanent damage was done.
He pulled out the list that Rachel Cameron had given him of boys who had recently lost siblings, and he and Mark were just starting to check them out when he heard a rap at the door, and a guard entered to announce that it was time to leave.
"Just give me one more minute," Jesse uttered desperately, hating to leave before Mark had a chance to check out at least the more promising possibilities. He was afraid that, left on his own, Mark would sink back into his depression and fail to really try to identify 'Skylar'. The guard hesitated for a moment, and as Jesse looked pleadingly at him, he heard Mark call out, "Here! This is him!"
Jesse looked quickly down at the picture to which Mark was pointing. He saw a photo of a dark-haired sophomore with the name 'Robert Phillips' under the picture.
"Are you sure?" he asked Mark.
"I'm sure." The tone of Mark's voice was reassuringly certain, the feeling of having accomplished something positive temporarily breaking through the lethargy.
"Great," Jesse said, his spirits momentarily lifting. As the guard moved to usher him out, however, he looked back at his friend, hating to leave him, knowing that he would, in all probability, sink back into depression after he was gone. Already the brief flash of animation in Mark's face was fading, the blankness of a dull misery returning.
"I'll be back, Mark," he promised. "We'll find this kid, and we'll get him to tell the truth. Just hang in there." Then the guard had hustled him out the door and closed it behind him.
Before leaving the prison, Jesse stopped at the warden's office to get the details on what had happened to Mark. He was relieved to hear that the 'altercation' with another prisoner had been brief, that it was only a matter of a minute or two before a guard had arrived to break it up. They had examined Mark and found that his injuries were limited to the bruised throat and cracked rib. Bad enough, Jesse reflected grimly, hating to think of his friend being the target of such an attack. What Steve would do if he found out, he hated to think; much as he hated to keep anything from his friend, it would probably be better if he refrained from mentioning the incident.
As he walked out to his car to drive back to town, Jesse felt torn between hope at having identified the teen from the cabin and a deep dismay over Mark's state of mind. In all the years that he had known Mark, through all the disasters that had befallen him, he had never seen his friend like this. Mark – who never gave up, who had maintained his dignity and determination through four months on death row, who had refused to be beaten by the Sweeneys even though it cost him his reputation, his job, and his medical license – Mark was sinking into a depression that was obviously sapping his will and spirit. Jesse had come to think that the elder Sloan could survive anything; but the guilt and self-recrimination of having almost killed his son might well be the one thing that could break him. Jesse drove away from the prison with an urgent sense that if they didn't find this kid and persuade him to come forward with the truth very soon, it might well be too late to matter.
