Chapter 22

It was a while longer before Mark, Steve, and Jesse were able to return to Clear Valley. They had called in the local authorities, grateful that Jake's apartment was out of Sheriff Consten's bailiwick, and had given their statements to the officers who arrived. With the help of Bobby's testimony, they were able to piece together a reasonably clear outline of what was behind all this. Bobby told them of the drug manufacturing ring that was engaged in producing a new 'designer' drug. His brother Jake had been one of their major couriers, and Tommy Caymen and Nick Dempsey had been the first recruits from Clear Valley as the ring had started to expand their market in that direction. When Jake had shown signs of wanting out, however, the drug dealers had apparently decided that he represented too much of a potential risk, and had engaged Nick to rid them of the threat. Nick had apparently seen an opportunity to rid himself of a potential rival at the same time, by making Bobby think that Tommy had been responsible for Jake's death, thus, as Steve and Mark had postulated, setting it up so that he had a clear path to the open position with no risk to himself. Nick was hauled off to jail to wait for his indictment, and Bobby, with Mark and Steve's testimony on his behalf, would, in all probability, be released into his aunt and uncle's custody, with some type of court-ordered monitoring undoubtedly to be set up.

Finally, the three friends were free to leave. Mark and Jesse had overridden Steve's protests and insisted on taking him to the hospital to be thoroughly checked out, wanting to ensure that no damage had been done in his tussle with Nick. Once assured that nothing had been ruptured, however, the two doctors acceded to Steve's refusal to be readmitted; mostly, Jesse suspected, because Mark had as great a need at the moment to be near his son as Steve had to keep an eye on his father, and it was obvious to everybody that Mark wasn't really in any condition to do an all-night bedside-chair vigil, even if the hospital would have permitted it. So all three headed out to the motel where Jesse had been staying, and booked an additional room for the night.

Steve fell asleep as soon as he crawled into bed, his body pushed to the limits and beyond, succumbing to exhaustion now that the driving tension engendered by the need to help his father was relieved. Mark, however, lay awake for some while, despite his own fatigue, attempting to deal with the emotional aftermath of the recent events. So much had changed that day; his whole understanding of what had happened and his role in it had to be reevaluated. It was going to take some time to come to terms with everything and sort out his conflicting thoughts and emotions. But most importantly, he thought, his eyes drawn as if compelled to the next bed, this day had restored his son to him – physically and emotionally. As he lay watching Steve sleep, listening to his even breathing, Mark felt himself start to relax for the first time since he had woken at the edge of the lake, and he finally drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, Mark and Steve returned to the cabin to clear out their things so they could head home. Jesse had offered to do it for them, knowing that Mark wanted Steve to do as little as possible, and thinking that it might be easier on Mark not to return to the cabin just now. But Mark had resolutely refused the offer, and Steve, having his own suspicions as to his father's motivations, had backed him up. At their suggestion, therefore, Jesse dropped the Sloans off and went to meet Lisa for a farewell breakfast that Mark and Steve promised to join once they were done. In consideration of Steve's recent surgery, Jesse took his friend's truck and left them his car, enduring with good-humored equanimity his friend's strictures as to the dire consequences that would ensue if any damage were to occur to the truck. He even refrained from responding in kind, as he knew it was Mark who would be driving his car.

The Sloans worked together to quickly tidy the cabin and pack up their things, Steve promising faithfully to refrain from lifting the suitcases or any other even marginally heavy object. As Mark did a last survey of the kitchen and living areas, Steve went into the bedroom to do a final check that all was secure there, keeping an ear open as he worked. It wasn't long before he heard the sound he had been expecting: the creak of the screen door opening and closing. He waited another minute or two to give Mark time to get a good start, then followed him up the path to the opposite side of the lake.

He hiked slowly up the path, using his cane more to ensure that he didn't give his dad something to worry about than because he felt he needed it. He had guessed that Mark would revisit the site of the accident; it was his father's nature to face things head on, and just as Steve had felt compelled to go to the site to try to reconstruct the events of that fateful day, so too, he figured, would his father. Steve wasn't sure just what Mark would remember when he got to the clearing, but he wanted to be sure that he was there to provide emotional support if it was needed, and to try to head off any return to a guilt-ridden depression.

He reached the clearing to see Mark standing at the spot where Steve had been found by the EMTs – the fragment of crime scene tape still fluttering from the tree and the depression and trampling of the leaves and moss around it still marking the site. The traces of blood had finally disappeared, but there were enough signs to point out the spot where Steve had fallen to someone as observant and well-versed in reading them as his father. Steve stood quietly at the edge of the clearing, watching. He could tell his father was aware of his presence, but Mark remained silent, surveying the surrounding area.

Mark stared for a moment at the long scrapes Steve had made in the soft earth when he had tried to drag himself off to look for his father. He followed them backward to the spot where they had initially fallen, cast a quick glance back up at his son, and then stared silently at the ground, seeing again the vision of Steve lying bloody and unmoving at his feet. He cast around for signs of his own passage, and eventually spotted the damaged brush that marked the place where he had staggered over the edge of the drop-off. It couldn't be said that he remembered everything that happened, but the few vivid images that returned fit in well enough with the tale Steve had told. He returned to the site of the shooting, and then, finally, he faced his son.

"I think I had some sort of fuzzy idea of going for help," he said, knowing that Steve had been following his thoughts closely enough to understand him.

"That's where you wandered off to," observed Steve.

Mark nodded. He gazed out again in the direction of where he had fallen down the steep slope. "I wish I'd stayed and tried to do something more useful," he said.

"Dad, you were so drugged out, you didn't even realize that was a gun you were playing with," Steve responded. "You can't blame yourself for this; you've got to believe that."

"I know," Mark acknowledged. "At least, rationally I know that." He smiled wryly. "I'm just still having a bit of trouble believing it emotionally."

The hint of self-deprecating humor reassured Steve somewhat. "Just remember that it's the truth," he said firmly.

Mark nodded slightly, casting a last glance around the clearing. Then he turned to look directly at his son. "You know," he said, the quietness of his tone only serving to emphasize the depth of emotion behind his words, "the last thing in this world I ever want to do is hurt you."

"I know that, Dad," Steve replied, equally quietly. "It's not something it ever occurred to me to doubt." Watching his father's face, he was relieved to see acceptance in Mark's eyes. He hesitated for a moment, knowing that rarely did they talk openly about their emotions, relying instead on the strength of the bond that existed between them to know that even those things left verbally unexpressed were understood. But this time, he thought, he needed to push it a little further.

"You really do understand that none of this was your fault, don't you, Dad?" he asked. Mark gazed back at him, somewhat surprised by the insistence in his son's voice. He nodded again, his expression inquiring.

"Then there's something else you need to understand," Steve continued seriously. "You need to know that nothing that's happened – nothing that might have happened, nothing that ever could happen – will ever change the way I feel about you." He held his father's gaze, projecting in his own all the conviction and love he felt. "I love you, Dad."

Mark stared at his son, seeing an open love and sincerity that did more to exorcise the niggling little doubts and tendrils of guilt than any amount of rational discussion ever could. He swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. "I love you too, son," he uttered gruffly, deeply grateful that he had not, after all, forfeited forever the opportunity to express that love to the person who was the center point of his life.

A slight smile lightened the blue intensity of Steve's eyes. "I know," he said with deep affection. "I've always known." There was a moment of silence, in which Mark let out a breath that seemed to release the last vestiges of tension. Steve's smile deepened. He draped his arm around his father's shoulders and turned him toward the path away from the clearing.

"Come on, Dad; let's go home."

THE END

Many thanks to all of you who have taken the time to write reviews and emails to encourage us! We've had a great time with this story, and if you've enjoyed reading it even half as much as we've enjoyed writing it, then we have been very successful in our first (but hopefully not last) joint effort!

Nonny and Mouse