THE GHOSTS OF
CHRISTMAS PAST
The mall buzzed with activity. Families, laden with that special something for someone to open on Christmas Day, moved from store to store to the echo of piped seasonal tunes; Santa's roamed the pedestrian area spreading good cheer. Steve Sloan and Elaine Mitchell too, were on a mission to find Mark the perfect gift. "That's it," exclaimed Steve pointing to a beautiful silver frame through the glass window of a well known jewellery store.
Inside, a couple were trying on engagement rings. Elaine looked at Steve and smiled. She remembered when he had brought her to the same store and they had tried on just about every ring in the place. Subconsciously, she felt for the banded solitaire with her thumb and finger.
An immaculately dressed man walked up to the two of them and asked if they required any assistance. "I'd like to have a look at the large silver frame that you have in the window," said Steve. The manager disappeared momentarily and returned with the frame. It was perfect. "Do you do engraving?" asked Steve as he paid. "Certainly, sir," replied the manager. "Great," smiled Steve and he wrote down the details. Elaine, in the meantime, had wandered to the other side of the store and was looking at some necklaces when two masked men, armed with semi-automatic handguns, stormed through the door and demanded the contents of the cabinets and tills.
Steve drew his weapon and declared he was a police officer. One of the armed intruders cursed out loud. "Put the guns down," instructed the detective as he moved to position himself better. Their plans scuppered, the two armed men looked to each other not knowing what to do next. Before anything could be negotiated one of the men fired. Three shots rang out, the third coming from Steve's gun. His target fell to the floor and lay motionless, blood seeping through his grey jacket. The second armed man raised his hands in surrender and dropped his gun. Security guards rushed into the store and handcuffed the failed jewel thief. Steve identified himself as Lieutenant Steve Sloan of homicide and showed the officers his badge.
Turning away from the scene, the colour drained from his face. Elaine lay on the floor, a pool of thick red liquid oozing from her side. "Call 911" yelled Steve as he rushed to his fiancée's side.
The emergency doors at Community General Hospital swung open as two paramedics pushed the latest casualty into the ER. Dr Jesse Travis, flanked by two nurses, intercepted the incoming gurney. "A GSW to the lower right abdomen," began one of the EMT's as the latest patient's condition was described in detail. "Elaine!" Jesse remarked as he recognised the woman before him. Hastily, Jesse barked his instructions to the well trained nurses before he moved her through to the OR.
Steve paced the corridor waiting for news. His father came up behind him. "Steve, I just heard. How's Elaine?" "Jess is operating on her now," Steve's eyes showed the seriousness of her injury. Mark placed a comforting hand upon Steve's shoulder and together father and son awaited news.
The minute hand seemed to move slower than usual as it ticked around the clock. Steve's eyes never ventured far from the OR doors, waiting expectantly for his best friend to bring news on his future wife's condition.
Two and a quarter hours pass by before Jesse pushed through the doors. Steve rushed to intercept his friend. "How is she?" he asked impatiently. Jesse moved Steve to a chair in the doctor's lounge and sat next to him. "Steve, we have removed the bullet, but it was lodged against her spine. We won't know the full extent of the damage until she regains consciousness." "Are you saying she could be paralysed?" asked Steve reluctantly. "Possibly," replied the young doctor. "I'm sorry." "Can I see her?" "Sure," smiled Jesse. "She's heavily sedated so she won't be conscious for a few hours yet." The young ER doctor led Steve and Mark to the room where Elaine lay surrounded by monitors, drips and other medical machinery. Now Steve had an inkling as to how his father felt the many times it had been him lying in the hospital bed. Both Mark and Jesse left the couple alone. Steve reached across the bed and kissed Elaine on the forehead and gripped her hand in his. "I love you, I love you," he repeated in a soft whisper. He pulled up and easy chair, settled down listening to the steady rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and waited for Elaine to regain consciousness.
Mark Sloan entered Elaine's room the next morning to find Steve dozing in the chair. "Steve?" asked his father as he gently placed a hand on his son's arm. Steve woke with a start. "Elaine?" responded the still half awake detective. As if running a completely separate conversation, Mark continued, "Have you been here all night? Why don't you go home and get some sleep? I'll stay here." "No," replied Steve flatly. "I want to be here when Elaine wakes up." Mark knew Steve had a stubborn streak and that any amount of pressuring on his part would not change his son's mind. Compromise was the only solution. "Well, how about I stay here whilst you go freshen up and get something to eat?" Steve looked into his dad's persuasive eyes. It had been nearly 24 hours since he had last eaten and the thought of a shower did sound enticing. Reluctantly, he agreed.
Steve pulled his blue Ford into the drive of the Beach House he shared with his father. Tossing his keys in the air and catching them as he climbed the front steps something caught his eye. The front door stood ajar. Steve drew his 9mm Beretta and cautiously entered the property. Steve's senses heightened as he listened intently and scanned his surroundings looking for movement of any kind. Books lay strewn half open, papers and files spread like confetti on the floor, drawers were staggered in various open positions. The entire scene left Steve completely disheartened. Satisfied the intruder had left, Steve rang the hospital to inform his father of the devastation at home.
It took about three and a half hours for Mark, Steve, Jesse and Amanda Bentley to return the Beach House to some degree of normality. "I don't understand," mused Mark. "Whoever did this doesn't appear to have taken anything. The TV, stereo and even laptop are still here; the silverware just knocked to the floor and my watch was still sat on the mantle where I left it last night." "Maybe it was kids," offered Jess. "Mmm," sighed Mark, still unconvinced. "Hang on," declared Steve. "Where did this come from?" he asked holding a model Santa in his hand. "It was hanging in the dining room with a string noose around its' neck." Each of them looked as puzzled as the next. "It's obviously a message from our 'visitor' but I have no idea what its' significance could be," said Mark. "I'll take it to the station and have forensics check it out. I'll also check the NCIC database to see if they have anything on 'Santa hangings'." Steve called as he popped the red suited figure into a clear plastic bag, grabbed his keys and headed out the door.
There was not much traffic on the Pacific Coast Highway and Steve's mind was on other things. Who had broken into their house? What did the hanging Santa represent? . And Elaine. She had not been far from his thoughts all day. Steve touched the brakes - nothing. Again Steve depressed the brake pedal - still nothing. His car began to pick up speed, Steve fought to control the vehicle as he weaved in and out of the light traffic along PCH. He pumped the foot pedal furiously, and tried to change gears to a lower ratio, all to no avail. The detective finally lost control. The blue Ford left the highway, careered down the embankment and landed on its roof, the rear wheels still turning in mid-air.
The Beach house almost looked like nothing had happened that day when the phone rang. Mark answered but his face drained of colour as the content of the one-sided conversation sank in. Absentmindedly, Mark replaced the receiver and looked at his friends, who by now had noticed the senior physician's distress. "It's Steve," began Mark in a little more than a whisper. " He's been in an accident." Jesse and Amanda moved quickly to catch their friend as he almost collapsed after uttering those few words.
The ER was a hive of activity when the trio of doctors arrived. Steve was currently being assessed and treated by Dr Shane Williams. Mark, flanked by Jesse and Amanda, looked through the examination room window at his son's prone figure. Suddenly, alarm bells began to ring. Both doctors and nurses worked feverishly, yet to Mark it all seemed in slow motion as the heart monitor bleeped erratically before emitting a continuous monotone. Dr Williams ordered the defibrillator be charged to 200 joules. Steve's body jerked upward as the charge shot through his well-muscled figure. "300 Joules," barked the doctor in charge. Again Steve convulsed away from the supporting examination bed. "No pulse," reported one of the nurses as she began chest compressions whilst waiting for the defibrillator paddles to recharge, this time to 350 joules. "Clear," instructed Dr Williams. Everyone stood back from the lifeless body they were working upon as the charge shot though their patient. Success! A flicker registered upon the heart monitor.
Mark released the breath he had subconsciously been holding in and Amanda wiped away a stray tear that had allowed itself to course down her cheek. Jesse leaned against the wall and rested his head back in silent prayer to whomever had saved his best friend's life.
Dr Williams, satisfied his patient was stable, exited the exam room to join the three expectant onlookers. "Mark," he began as he ushered them to the Doctor's Lounge. "Steve has three broken ribs, pneumo-thorax on the right side and severe concussion. He was lucky to survive at all." Shane said as he placed a reassuring hand on his colleague's arm. Jesse's pager sounded, he excused himself and headed off down the corridor alone. "I want to see him," demanded Mark, who over the past couple of hours had seemed to age considerably.
Steve lay propped up in bed, his bare chest only covered by a layer of tape around his ribs. Mark held his son's hand in his own, reminiscing over the many times he had stood in the same place because some criminal had taken it upon themselves to take on the LAPD and his son had been in the thick of it. Even through all the heartache, Mark knew his son wouldn't be happier doing anything else.
Steve's mind ached yet he somehow felt safe and warm. A voice spoke softly to him. "It's OK my darling." Steve could see the familiar face of woman stroking his hair from his forehead. Even with his eyes shut the brightness aggravated the pounding in his head. "Steve," continued the voice. "Do not fear the flames. Do not fear the flames. Do not f e a r t h e f l a m e s." it repeated as it faded away. Confused, Steve began to call out "I - I don't understand." "Whoa there," comforted Mark resting a hand gently on his delirious son's shoulder. Steve opened his eyes "Where did she go?" he demanded. "Who?" asked his father looking around the room in case he had missed someone standing behind him. "MUM!" exclaimed Steve. Mark stood dumbfounded, momentarily shocked by his son's ramblings. "Steve.Steve, you're in hospital. There was an accident but you're going to be fine." Steve looked disbelievingly at his father until he felt the pain in his ribs and coughed. "Dad?" "Yes son," Mark looked pleased his son had registered what he had said. Steve's next thought was for Elaine. Jesse entered just in time to hear him ask. "She's awake. Do you want to see her?" "Yeah, please Jess." "I'll just get you a wheelchair," said the young doctor and left the room. Mark followed.
Outside, away from Steve, Mark asked how Elaine was doing. "Mark, she has no sensation in the lower half of her body." Jess looked to the floor. "It could just be the swelling, but only time will tell. I don't know how to tell Steve. Elaine appears to have taken the news well - considering. Would you tell him?" Mark nodded. His son had been through a lot the past few days, he wasn't sure how this latest development would affect him.
The journey from Steve's room to Elaine's was painfully quiet. "Dad, what's going on?" asked the wheelchair bound detective. Mark stopped pushing his son in the middle of the corridor and wheeled him into an empty side room.
"She's paralysed?" Steve asked both fear and rage mounting within him. He wheeled himself to the nearest thing he could take out his frustration on. The vase of carnations hit the wall with such force it shattered into 'umpteen' pieces. "Feel better now?" asked his father with a smirk. The seriousness returned to his voice, "Son, you need to be strong for her, she needs you." Steve nodded, resigned to the fact he loved Elaine and would be there for her - whatever.
Elaine's first reaction when she saw Steve was "Oh my God! Steve are you OK?" "Yeah, I'm fine," he smiled. "It's you I've been worried about." He held her hand and asked, "How are you doing sweetheart?" "I'll be fine in a few days." Mark left the pair of them to talk, glancing over his shoulder briefly, just to smile at the insurmountable love they shared - just as he had had with his own wife, Katherine.
When Steve returned to his own room there was something waiting for him - another Santa, this time it was skewered to his pillow by a long stainless steel spike. "Whomever is doing this is taunting you Steve," remarked his father as he held the plastic figurine, now contained within a transparent evidence bag. "Either that or someone didn't get what they put on their Christmas list and has taken it personally," joked Jesse. Mark and Steve both offered him a sideways glance. "Hey guys," greeted Amanda as she entered the room. "Nice decoration, but shouldn't you hang it up with string instead of a 6" nail?!" "Ha, ha. No, it's another of those Santa's like the one at the beach house." "That's why I'm here," grinned the pathologist waving a manila file in her hand. "A friend of mine in forensics got back to me with the results. It appears there was a partial print on the base of the figure, which has been provisionally matched to a Kyle Vanders." "Vanders?" queried Mark looking at Steve to elaborate further. "I busted him a couple of years back, when I first joined homicide." "That's right," continued Amanda. "He was jailed for murdering a dozen Father Christmas', but, according to my source, he was released four months ago on appeal after the judge ruled evidence was deemed inadmissible due to tampering." "Well there's no doubt, he's after you," rued Mark looking at his son in the wheelchair.
Two days later, Steve was able to leave hospital. Jesse drove him to the beach house where he was met by his father and Amanda. It had been arranged that the afternoon would be spent decorating the house with fairy lights and tinsel. A big Scots pine stood proud but bare next to the balcony windows. Mark welcomed his son home wearing a red pointed hat draped to one side, weighted by a white pompom and trimmed with matching white fur. Steve smiled. His father had a knack of lightening many of his 'black' moods. The jovial physician encouraged the new arrivals to join in the festive merriment. Steve helped Amanda decorate the tree whilst Mark hung some decorations around the entrance and Jesse hung lights around the bargeboard outside on the balcony.
The ladder upon which Jesse stood teetered as the young doctor stretched to hang the next section. "Oh, ohh," he wailed. The thud that followed attracted everyone's attention and they rushed on to the deck to see Jesse's sheepish face looking up at them from beneath the ladder and a tangle of wires and coloured bulbs. "Jesse, are you OK?" asked Mark concerned. "Yeah, I just twisted my wrist as I landed. It's not broken." Steve and Amanda tried to stifle a snigger. "Here, let me have a look," Mark said as the two Sloan men helped their friend to his feet. "I thought you were supposed to be hanging the lights up there," grinned Steve pointing skyward.
Banished to the sofa, a bandaged Jesse accompanied Steve with the supervision of the remainder of the seasonal adornment. It was late when Amanda and Jesse left that evening and both Mark and Steve were ready to retire to their respective beds.
The moonlight outlined a shadowy figure as it neared the beach house. An open Gerry can sloshed gasoline up the walls and over the wooden veranda. A pair of gloved hands struck a match and threw it into the highly flammable liquid, igniting the beachfront property with an almighty 'WOMPFF'! The ominous figure stepped back and admired his handiwork, as the torrent of flames illuminated the distinctive features of Kyle Vanders.
Steve coughed as the cloud of thick smoke began to envelope his room. Flashes from the flames could be seen through his bedroom window. He tried the phone, but the line was dead. "Damn," he cursed before another thought entered his head - Dad! Steve pulled on a pair of jogging trousers that lay draped over the end of his bed awaiting him to put them away in the wardrobe. As he opened the door to the upstairs apartment a cloud of smoke billowed in causing Steve to suffer another agonising coughing fit. His chest burned and his freshly broken ribs ached with the involuntary spasms, but he had to find his father. Smouldering woodwork began falling around the brave detective, a wall of fire licked at the passage between himself and Mark. A voice suddenly sounded in his head - he had heard it once before. "Do not fear the flames." Through the heat, a chill descended, shielding Steve and allowed him to enter Mark's room. The senior Sloan was semi-conscious, himself coughing back the heavy fumes that were building within the house. Steve lifted his father over his shoulder in a fireman's lift and gently, but securely manoeuvred them both out of the house and to safety. Within minutes a fire crew arrived and began to dowse the fire.
Paramedics on the scene tended the two victims allowing father and son to breath pure oxygen courtesy of a plastic mask on each of their faces, whilst one of the EMT's tended the minor burns Steve had suffered attempting his father's rescue.
The fire chief walked up to the two casualties. "One of my team found evidence that this was arson," announced Chief Brannaghan. "Arson?" queried Mark, still shocked by the whole thing. "Excuse me chief, but did you happen to find a small plastic Santa anywhere?" Brannaghan looked dumbfounded at the question. "Well, yes. But." Mark looked to Steve who returned the familiar look of recognition. "It was found near the point of ignition. But due to the ferocity of the flames, it had to have been put there after the fire had died down in that area." "Can we see it, please?" asked Steve clutching at his ribs as he exited the back of the ambulance. Brannaghan offered the small plastic Santa to the detective. It was the same as the other two, except this one was slightly charred around the edges.
A uniformed officer approached the group as Mark and Steve surveyed the smouldering shell of their property. He handed the detective a white envelope. "Excuse me Lieutenant, a man wanted me to give you this. He said it was urgent." Steve thanked the officer and set about opening the letter addressed to him. Inside a single sheet of paper read:
'Well Lieutenant, you don't make it easy for me to kill you. But perhaps losing things that matter to you is more fun!'
It was signed K.V. Steve looked around, trying to identify that single face in the ever- increasing crowd that had started to establish itself around their misfortune, but it was useless.
A wave of dizziness and nausea overtook Mark as the white haired doctor wavered grabbing at his son for support. A paramedic rushed to their assistance and helped move Mark onto a stretcher in the back of one of the ambulances. "Is he going to be OK?" asked Steve with concern. "We'll take him to Community General for a full check up," replied the paramedic, avoiding eye contact, as he placed an oxygen mask over the nose and mouth of his patient. The paramedic followed the detective out the rear of the ambulance and secured the back doors before he pulled away from the scene, lights flashing. "Hey," called an EMT nursing a gash to his right temple. "That's our rig. Stop!" Steve spun around at the cry - what did he just say? A terrifying revelation occurred to the detective as he remembered what the letter had said, 'perhaps losing things that matter to you is more fun'. Steve snatched a radio mike from the dashboard of a nearby black and white and sent out an urgent message. "All units be on the look out for a stolen ambulance. Last seen heading south along PCH. Vehicle contains one hostage. Approach with extreme caution and notify Lieutenant Sloan immediately with any sightings." Crackled the dispatch operator over the police frequency.
Steve returned to headquarters where he was able to shower and change into the spare clothes he kept in his locker. He was just tying his laces when a uniformed officer announced the ambulance had been found abandoned outside a warehouse on 25th Avenue. The detective clipped his shield to his belt and headed out the door.
Patrol cars and uniformed officers surrounded the warehouse and the armed response team had at least a dozen high velocity rifles trained on the building. "Who's in charge?" asked Steve as he showed his identification to one of the constables maintaining the perimeter. The officer pointed out a large man with his back to them. "I'm Lieutenant Steve Sloan," he began. As the officer in charge turned around Steve recognised him as Officer Raymond Banowski of the Bomb Squad. "Hi Ray, what are you doing here?" asked the detective. "Some C4 was stolen a couple of weeks back. We tracked it down to a local hood called Jimmy Peterson. He, in turn, sold it on to a Kyle Vanders." Steve's heart sank. The last time Banowski and him had worked together was when Elaine had been strapped to a bomb. He had had to defuse it with only verbal instructions from the bomb squad expert. Now, it looked like his father was the one in mortal danger. "So much for the season of peace and good will to all men!" remarked Ray to a distant detective. Steve drew his 9mm Beretta and proceeded to enter the building - alone. An earpiece and radio microphone kept him in touch with the officers outside.
It took a few moments for Steve's eyes to adjust to the dim interior after being out in the California morning sun. In a far corner a movement caught his eye. It was his father, bound and gagged. A paper notice was pinned to Mark's shirtfront. It read simply: 'HO! HO! HO!'
Hastily, the detective reached Mark's side, releasing him from the bindings that held him. "Steve," exclaimed Mark as the gag was removed. "We've got to get out of here NOW! There's a bomb!" Mark pointed to the device with a digital readout that was counting backwards. It only had 42 seconds remaining. "Banowski, there's a bomb.Get your men back!" Steve and Mark ran for all their worth. For an 'old' man, Mark remained astonishingly fit and was able to keep with his son. The pair of them exited the building and continued to put as much distance between themselves and the explosives as possible.
The counter ticked steadily down 5.4.3.2.1. The sidewalk shuddered with the force of the explosion, throwing both father and son to the floor from the impact. Now nothing more than a pile of rubble and dust existed where once had stood a considerable building. A lone Santa passed by the scene unnoticed, a subtle smile upon his face.
The doctor and detective were taken to CGH suffering from cuts and abrasions. They were met by a shocked and dismayed Jesse and Amanda. Once treated, Steve headed up to Elaine's room. Mark watched as his weary son pressed the elevator call button and waited. The phone rang in the examination room. Jesse answered, "Mark, it's for Steve," as the young intern offered the phone to his colleague and mentor. "This is Dr Mark Sloan," replied the head of internal medicine. "That's great. I'll let him know straight away." Mark hung up the receiver and smiled at his two curious looking friends. "They caught Vanders. He was pulled over by a CHP officer for a faulty tail light and the officer recognised the him from the description that had been given out earlier," Mark beamed.
Mark entered Elaine's room brandishing two cups of much needed caffeine. He held one out to his son, but whether it was sleep deprivation, anxiety or just sheer clumsiness the cup slipped sending a cascade of hot coffee onto the covers of Elaine's bed. Elaine shrieked and moved her legs away from the scalding liquid. Steve began mopping the area whilst apologising profusely. Mark just stood there and smiled. "Dad," his son scolded. "Don't just stand there." Then he noticed his father's face. Elaine, too, wore a similar expression. Steve looked at them both, curious as to the private joke the pair of them shared. Mark finally enlightened his son. "Elaine moved her legs!" The revelation hit Steve like a tank and he embraced his fiancée with renewed vigour. Tears welled in her eyes sending rivulets of joy coursing down her cheeks.
It was a couple of days later, the day before Christmas Eve, when Elaine Mitchell was discharged from hospital. Mark had invited her to stay with them in the new house he and his son were renting whilst the beach house was being rebuilt. "Do you mind if we make a stop on the way home?" Steve asked Elaine. She shook her head, "No." "I've got to collect Dad's present," Steve said cautiously. Elaine swallowed hard, but knew she had to confront her fears sooner or later. Now was a good a time as any she figured. "OK," she replied, a slight waiver in her voice. Steve parked the car and carefully helped Elaine to her feet. Supported by the crutches that bore most of her weight, she urged herself onward. The short journey to the jewellers seemed like a marathon. Outside the store, Elaine stopped partly to catch her breath, but mainly to compose herself before she took the final steps through the door that had begun her nightmare. Steve stopped and stood in front of her. He kissed the woman who had shown courage, stamina and determination to exorcise her psychological demons. She smiled at him acknowledging his support. Together, they entered the jewellers and were instantly greeted by the manager. "Mr Sloan, Miss Mitchell it is a great pleasure to see you again." The fake French accented manager continued his welcome directed at Elaine. "Madame, I hope your recovery is a full and speedy one." Elaine graciously accepted the manager's well intentioned wishes as Steve asked for the frame he had purchased. The inscription was perfect and the black and white photograph looked magnificent against the silver outer border. As they left the store Steve stopped, looked at Elaine and smiled. "I love you," he said. Placing a hand on each of her shoulders he pulled her close and kissed her.
Christmas Day turned out to be a somewhat unusual affair. Dinner was being held a BBQ Bobs. Mark strutted around the kitchen dressed in a white apron and red and white Santa's hat, basting the turkey, checking the vegetables and generally enjoyed exercising his culinary skills. Jesse and Amanda set the table with a large red cloth, wine glasses and places for themselves, Mark, Steve and Elaine. Festive music played on the jukebox and Mark could be heard singing along amid the orchestra of clangs and chinks from the plates, saucepans and dishes in the kitchen.
Steve helped Elaine to the table as his father brought out a golden turkey surrounded by roast potatoes and stuffing balls. "Jess, can you bring out the vegetables please?" asked Mark. "Sure," he replied enthusiastically and returned to the group with a mountain of carrots, brussel sprouts, cauliflower and leeks.
Throughout the entire meal the group laughed, joked and enjoyed one another's company. Afterwards, it was time to exchange presents. Amanda received two tickets to the ballet; Jess got a new wet suit, after his other one had been ripped on some rocks a couple of weeks back; Steve and Elaine were given a meal for two at Del Florio's restaurant. Mark, the most awkward to buy for, opened a bottle green shirt and matching tie from Amanda and 'Casablanca' on DVD from Jesse. Now it was Steve's turn. "Elaine, I love you with my whole heart and I want you to have this," he said offering her a small box with a gold bow on top. Carefully, she lifted the lid to reveal a gold heart shaped locket. "It's beautiful," she exclaimed. Steve lifted it from the box and fastened it around her neck. She touched it lovingly and rewarded him with a kiss. Jess stifled a giggle until Amanda jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. Mark smiled at their antics. Elaine passed Steve her present to him. It was a long white envelope, inside were front row tickets to a Lakers game. Steve hugged her close. "Thanks honey," he said with a smile a mile wide. Jesse looked at him expectantly. "WOW, front row seats, eh?" Steve cast him a wry stare. Jess looked disappointed. "It's OK - you can come too," grinned Steve. "Dad, this is for you," he continued handing his father a large narrow box tied with gold ribbon. Mark lifted the lid from the box. His face lit up at the beautiful gift that sat inside. The silver framed photograph of his wife, Katherine, instantly brought back a flood of memories. The inscription below read:
Love is ..those precious moments recaptured.
Mark's crystal blue eyes glistened with the moisture that welled within them. "Steve, do you mind if we go for a walk along the beach?" asked Elaine. Steve looked at their friends who all smiled their approval and Jesse tossed his best friend the keys to his car. "I'll get a lift back with Mark." "Thanks Jess," beamed Steve.
The velveteen ocean glimmered as the moon cast its eerie glow across the waves. With her crutches left behind in the car, Steve carried Elaine down to the water's edge. Gently, he put her down and together they stood just enjoying each other's company in silence. Steve clasped her around the waist and pulled her towards him. The moonlight offered a delicate softness to Elaine's features, the stars reflected like gems in her eyes. Steve leaned forward and kissed her tenderly upon her lips. Their arms entwined around each other as they swayed in time to the gentle rhythm of their own heartbeats. Elaine shivered, not through cold, for she could not feel the midnight chill tugging at her body, but this was something else, something special as they continued their moonlight dancing.
THE END
29th August, 2002.
The mall buzzed with activity. Families, laden with that special something for someone to open on Christmas Day, moved from store to store to the echo of piped seasonal tunes; Santa's roamed the pedestrian area spreading good cheer. Steve Sloan and Elaine Mitchell too, were on a mission to find Mark the perfect gift. "That's it," exclaimed Steve pointing to a beautiful silver frame through the glass window of a well known jewellery store.
Inside, a couple were trying on engagement rings. Elaine looked at Steve and smiled. She remembered when he had brought her to the same store and they had tried on just about every ring in the place. Subconsciously, she felt for the banded solitaire with her thumb and finger.
An immaculately dressed man walked up to the two of them and asked if they required any assistance. "I'd like to have a look at the large silver frame that you have in the window," said Steve. The manager disappeared momentarily and returned with the frame. It was perfect. "Do you do engraving?" asked Steve as he paid. "Certainly, sir," replied the manager. "Great," smiled Steve and he wrote down the details. Elaine, in the meantime, had wandered to the other side of the store and was looking at some necklaces when two masked men, armed with semi-automatic handguns, stormed through the door and demanded the contents of the cabinets and tills.
Steve drew his weapon and declared he was a police officer. One of the armed intruders cursed out loud. "Put the guns down," instructed the detective as he moved to position himself better. Their plans scuppered, the two armed men looked to each other not knowing what to do next. Before anything could be negotiated one of the men fired. Three shots rang out, the third coming from Steve's gun. His target fell to the floor and lay motionless, blood seeping through his grey jacket. The second armed man raised his hands in surrender and dropped his gun. Security guards rushed into the store and handcuffed the failed jewel thief. Steve identified himself as Lieutenant Steve Sloan of homicide and showed the officers his badge.
Turning away from the scene, the colour drained from his face. Elaine lay on the floor, a pool of thick red liquid oozing from her side. "Call 911" yelled Steve as he rushed to his fiancée's side.
The emergency doors at Community General Hospital swung open as two paramedics pushed the latest casualty into the ER. Dr Jesse Travis, flanked by two nurses, intercepted the incoming gurney. "A GSW to the lower right abdomen," began one of the EMT's as the latest patient's condition was described in detail. "Elaine!" Jesse remarked as he recognised the woman before him. Hastily, Jesse barked his instructions to the well trained nurses before he moved her through to the OR.
Steve paced the corridor waiting for news. His father came up behind him. "Steve, I just heard. How's Elaine?" "Jess is operating on her now," Steve's eyes showed the seriousness of her injury. Mark placed a comforting hand upon Steve's shoulder and together father and son awaited news.
The minute hand seemed to move slower than usual as it ticked around the clock. Steve's eyes never ventured far from the OR doors, waiting expectantly for his best friend to bring news on his future wife's condition.
Two and a quarter hours pass by before Jesse pushed through the doors. Steve rushed to intercept his friend. "How is she?" he asked impatiently. Jesse moved Steve to a chair in the doctor's lounge and sat next to him. "Steve, we have removed the bullet, but it was lodged against her spine. We won't know the full extent of the damage until she regains consciousness." "Are you saying she could be paralysed?" asked Steve reluctantly. "Possibly," replied the young doctor. "I'm sorry." "Can I see her?" "Sure," smiled Jesse. "She's heavily sedated so she won't be conscious for a few hours yet." The young ER doctor led Steve and Mark to the room where Elaine lay surrounded by monitors, drips and other medical machinery. Now Steve had an inkling as to how his father felt the many times it had been him lying in the hospital bed. Both Mark and Jesse left the couple alone. Steve reached across the bed and kissed Elaine on the forehead and gripped her hand in his. "I love you, I love you," he repeated in a soft whisper. He pulled up and easy chair, settled down listening to the steady rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and waited for Elaine to regain consciousness.
Mark Sloan entered Elaine's room the next morning to find Steve dozing in the chair. "Steve?" asked his father as he gently placed a hand on his son's arm. Steve woke with a start. "Elaine?" responded the still half awake detective. As if running a completely separate conversation, Mark continued, "Have you been here all night? Why don't you go home and get some sleep? I'll stay here." "No," replied Steve flatly. "I want to be here when Elaine wakes up." Mark knew Steve had a stubborn streak and that any amount of pressuring on his part would not change his son's mind. Compromise was the only solution. "Well, how about I stay here whilst you go freshen up and get something to eat?" Steve looked into his dad's persuasive eyes. It had been nearly 24 hours since he had last eaten and the thought of a shower did sound enticing. Reluctantly, he agreed.
Steve pulled his blue Ford into the drive of the Beach House he shared with his father. Tossing his keys in the air and catching them as he climbed the front steps something caught his eye. The front door stood ajar. Steve drew his 9mm Beretta and cautiously entered the property. Steve's senses heightened as he listened intently and scanned his surroundings looking for movement of any kind. Books lay strewn half open, papers and files spread like confetti on the floor, drawers were staggered in various open positions. The entire scene left Steve completely disheartened. Satisfied the intruder had left, Steve rang the hospital to inform his father of the devastation at home.
It took about three and a half hours for Mark, Steve, Jesse and Amanda Bentley to return the Beach House to some degree of normality. "I don't understand," mused Mark. "Whoever did this doesn't appear to have taken anything. The TV, stereo and even laptop are still here; the silverware just knocked to the floor and my watch was still sat on the mantle where I left it last night." "Maybe it was kids," offered Jess. "Mmm," sighed Mark, still unconvinced. "Hang on," declared Steve. "Where did this come from?" he asked holding a model Santa in his hand. "It was hanging in the dining room with a string noose around its' neck." Each of them looked as puzzled as the next. "It's obviously a message from our 'visitor' but I have no idea what its' significance could be," said Mark. "I'll take it to the station and have forensics check it out. I'll also check the NCIC database to see if they have anything on 'Santa hangings'." Steve called as he popped the red suited figure into a clear plastic bag, grabbed his keys and headed out the door.
There was not much traffic on the Pacific Coast Highway and Steve's mind was on other things. Who had broken into their house? What did the hanging Santa represent? . And Elaine. She had not been far from his thoughts all day. Steve touched the brakes - nothing. Again Steve depressed the brake pedal - still nothing. His car began to pick up speed, Steve fought to control the vehicle as he weaved in and out of the light traffic along PCH. He pumped the foot pedal furiously, and tried to change gears to a lower ratio, all to no avail. The detective finally lost control. The blue Ford left the highway, careered down the embankment and landed on its roof, the rear wheels still turning in mid-air.
The Beach house almost looked like nothing had happened that day when the phone rang. Mark answered but his face drained of colour as the content of the one-sided conversation sank in. Absentmindedly, Mark replaced the receiver and looked at his friends, who by now had noticed the senior physician's distress. "It's Steve," began Mark in a little more than a whisper. " He's been in an accident." Jesse and Amanda moved quickly to catch their friend as he almost collapsed after uttering those few words.
The ER was a hive of activity when the trio of doctors arrived. Steve was currently being assessed and treated by Dr Shane Williams. Mark, flanked by Jesse and Amanda, looked through the examination room window at his son's prone figure. Suddenly, alarm bells began to ring. Both doctors and nurses worked feverishly, yet to Mark it all seemed in slow motion as the heart monitor bleeped erratically before emitting a continuous monotone. Dr Williams ordered the defibrillator be charged to 200 joules. Steve's body jerked upward as the charge shot through his well-muscled figure. "300 Joules," barked the doctor in charge. Again Steve convulsed away from the supporting examination bed. "No pulse," reported one of the nurses as she began chest compressions whilst waiting for the defibrillator paddles to recharge, this time to 350 joules. "Clear," instructed Dr Williams. Everyone stood back from the lifeless body they were working upon as the charge shot though their patient. Success! A flicker registered upon the heart monitor.
Mark released the breath he had subconsciously been holding in and Amanda wiped away a stray tear that had allowed itself to course down her cheek. Jesse leaned against the wall and rested his head back in silent prayer to whomever had saved his best friend's life.
Dr Williams, satisfied his patient was stable, exited the exam room to join the three expectant onlookers. "Mark," he began as he ushered them to the Doctor's Lounge. "Steve has three broken ribs, pneumo-thorax on the right side and severe concussion. He was lucky to survive at all." Shane said as he placed a reassuring hand on his colleague's arm. Jesse's pager sounded, he excused himself and headed off down the corridor alone. "I want to see him," demanded Mark, who over the past couple of hours had seemed to age considerably.
Steve lay propped up in bed, his bare chest only covered by a layer of tape around his ribs. Mark held his son's hand in his own, reminiscing over the many times he had stood in the same place because some criminal had taken it upon themselves to take on the LAPD and his son had been in the thick of it. Even through all the heartache, Mark knew his son wouldn't be happier doing anything else.
Steve's mind ached yet he somehow felt safe and warm. A voice spoke softly to him. "It's OK my darling." Steve could see the familiar face of woman stroking his hair from his forehead. Even with his eyes shut the brightness aggravated the pounding in his head. "Steve," continued the voice. "Do not fear the flames. Do not fear the flames. Do not f e a r t h e f l a m e s." it repeated as it faded away. Confused, Steve began to call out "I - I don't understand." "Whoa there," comforted Mark resting a hand gently on his delirious son's shoulder. Steve opened his eyes "Where did she go?" he demanded. "Who?" asked his father looking around the room in case he had missed someone standing behind him. "MUM!" exclaimed Steve. Mark stood dumbfounded, momentarily shocked by his son's ramblings. "Steve.Steve, you're in hospital. There was an accident but you're going to be fine." Steve looked disbelievingly at his father until he felt the pain in his ribs and coughed. "Dad?" "Yes son," Mark looked pleased his son had registered what he had said. Steve's next thought was for Elaine. Jesse entered just in time to hear him ask. "She's awake. Do you want to see her?" "Yeah, please Jess." "I'll just get you a wheelchair," said the young doctor and left the room. Mark followed.
Outside, away from Steve, Mark asked how Elaine was doing. "Mark, she has no sensation in the lower half of her body." Jess looked to the floor. "It could just be the swelling, but only time will tell. I don't know how to tell Steve. Elaine appears to have taken the news well - considering. Would you tell him?" Mark nodded. His son had been through a lot the past few days, he wasn't sure how this latest development would affect him.
The journey from Steve's room to Elaine's was painfully quiet. "Dad, what's going on?" asked the wheelchair bound detective. Mark stopped pushing his son in the middle of the corridor and wheeled him into an empty side room.
"She's paralysed?" Steve asked both fear and rage mounting within him. He wheeled himself to the nearest thing he could take out his frustration on. The vase of carnations hit the wall with such force it shattered into 'umpteen' pieces. "Feel better now?" asked his father with a smirk. The seriousness returned to his voice, "Son, you need to be strong for her, she needs you." Steve nodded, resigned to the fact he loved Elaine and would be there for her - whatever.
Elaine's first reaction when she saw Steve was "Oh my God! Steve are you OK?" "Yeah, I'm fine," he smiled. "It's you I've been worried about." He held her hand and asked, "How are you doing sweetheart?" "I'll be fine in a few days." Mark left the pair of them to talk, glancing over his shoulder briefly, just to smile at the insurmountable love they shared - just as he had had with his own wife, Katherine.
When Steve returned to his own room there was something waiting for him - another Santa, this time it was skewered to his pillow by a long stainless steel spike. "Whomever is doing this is taunting you Steve," remarked his father as he held the plastic figurine, now contained within a transparent evidence bag. "Either that or someone didn't get what they put on their Christmas list and has taken it personally," joked Jesse. Mark and Steve both offered him a sideways glance. "Hey guys," greeted Amanda as she entered the room. "Nice decoration, but shouldn't you hang it up with string instead of a 6" nail?!" "Ha, ha. No, it's another of those Santa's like the one at the beach house." "That's why I'm here," grinned the pathologist waving a manila file in her hand. "A friend of mine in forensics got back to me with the results. It appears there was a partial print on the base of the figure, which has been provisionally matched to a Kyle Vanders." "Vanders?" queried Mark looking at Steve to elaborate further. "I busted him a couple of years back, when I first joined homicide." "That's right," continued Amanda. "He was jailed for murdering a dozen Father Christmas', but, according to my source, he was released four months ago on appeal after the judge ruled evidence was deemed inadmissible due to tampering." "Well there's no doubt, he's after you," rued Mark looking at his son in the wheelchair.
Two days later, Steve was able to leave hospital. Jesse drove him to the beach house where he was met by his father and Amanda. It had been arranged that the afternoon would be spent decorating the house with fairy lights and tinsel. A big Scots pine stood proud but bare next to the balcony windows. Mark welcomed his son home wearing a red pointed hat draped to one side, weighted by a white pompom and trimmed with matching white fur. Steve smiled. His father had a knack of lightening many of his 'black' moods. The jovial physician encouraged the new arrivals to join in the festive merriment. Steve helped Amanda decorate the tree whilst Mark hung some decorations around the entrance and Jesse hung lights around the bargeboard outside on the balcony.
The ladder upon which Jesse stood teetered as the young doctor stretched to hang the next section. "Oh, ohh," he wailed. The thud that followed attracted everyone's attention and they rushed on to the deck to see Jesse's sheepish face looking up at them from beneath the ladder and a tangle of wires and coloured bulbs. "Jesse, are you OK?" asked Mark concerned. "Yeah, I just twisted my wrist as I landed. It's not broken." Steve and Amanda tried to stifle a snigger. "Here, let me have a look," Mark said as the two Sloan men helped their friend to his feet. "I thought you were supposed to be hanging the lights up there," grinned Steve pointing skyward.
Banished to the sofa, a bandaged Jesse accompanied Steve with the supervision of the remainder of the seasonal adornment. It was late when Amanda and Jesse left that evening and both Mark and Steve were ready to retire to their respective beds.
The moonlight outlined a shadowy figure as it neared the beach house. An open Gerry can sloshed gasoline up the walls and over the wooden veranda. A pair of gloved hands struck a match and threw it into the highly flammable liquid, igniting the beachfront property with an almighty 'WOMPFF'! The ominous figure stepped back and admired his handiwork, as the torrent of flames illuminated the distinctive features of Kyle Vanders.
Steve coughed as the cloud of thick smoke began to envelope his room. Flashes from the flames could be seen through his bedroom window. He tried the phone, but the line was dead. "Damn," he cursed before another thought entered his head - Dad! Steve pulled on a pair of jogging trousers that lay draped over the end of his bed awaiting him to put them away in the wardrobe. As he opened the door to the upstairs apartment a cloud of smoke billowed in causing Steve to suffer another agonising coughing fit. His chest burned and his freshly broken ribs ached with the involuntary spasms, but he had to find his father. Smouldering woodwork began falling around the brave detective, a wall of fire licked at the passage between himself and Mark. A voice suddenly sounded in his head - he had heard it once before. "Do not fear the flames." Through the heat, a chill descended, shielding Steve and allowed him to enter Mark's room. The senior Sloan was semi-conscious, himself coughing back the heavy fumes that were building within the house. Steve lifted his father over his shoulder in a fireman's lift and gently, but securely manoeuvred them both out of the house and to safety. Within minutes a fire crew arrived and began to dowse the fire.
Paramedics on the scene tended the two victims allowing father and son to breath pure oxygen courtesy of a plastic mask on each of their faces, whilst one of the EMT's tended the minor burns Steve had suffered attempting his father's rescue.
The fire chief walked up to the two casualties. "One of my team found evidence that this was arson," announced Chief Brannaghan. "Arson?" queried Mark, still shocked by the whole thing. "Excuse me chief, but did you happen to find a small plastic Santa anywhere?" Brannaghan looked dumbfounded at the question. "Well, yes. But." Mark looked to Steve who returned the familiar look of recognition. "It was found near the point of ignition. But due to the ferocity of the flames, it had to have been put there after the fire had died down in that area." "Can we see it, please?" asked Steve clutching at his ribs as he exited the back of the ambulance. Brannaghan offered the small plastic Santa to the detective. It was the same as the other two, except this one was slightly charred around the edges.
A uniformed officer approached the group as Mark and Steve surveyed the smouldering shell of their property. He handed the detective a white envelope. "Excuse me Lieutenant, a man wanted me to give you this. He said it was urgent." Steve thanked the officer and set about opening the letter addressed to him. Inside a single sheet of paper read:
'Well Lieutenant, you don't make it easy for me to kill you. But perhaps losing things that matter to you is more fun!'
It was signed K.V. Steve looked around, trying to identify that single face in the ever- increasing crowd that had started to establish itself around their misfortune, but it was useless.
A wave of dizziness and nausea overtook Mark as the white haired doctor wavered grabbing at his son for support. A paramedic rushed to their assistance and helped move Mark onto a stretcher in the back of one of the ambulances. "Is he going to be OK?" asked Steve with concern. "We'll take him to Community General for a full check up," replied the paramedic, avoiding eye contact, as he placed an oxygen mask over the nose and mouth of his patient. The paramedic followed the detective out the rear of the ambulance and secured the back doors before he pulled away from the scene, lights flashing. "Hey," called an EMT nursing a gash to his right temple. "That's our rig. Stop!" Steve spun around at the cry - what did he just say? A terrifying revelation occurred to the detective as he remembered what the letter had said, 'perhaps losing things that matter to you is more fun'. Steve snatched a radio mike from the dashboard of a nearby black and white and sent out an urgent message. "All units be on the look out for a stolen ambulance. Last seen heading south along PCH. Vehicle contains one hostage. Approach with extreme caution and notify Lieutenant Sloan immediately with any sightings." Crackled the dispatch operator over the police frequency.
Steve returned to headquarters where he was able to shower and change into the spare clothes he kept in his locker. He was just tying his laces when a uniformed officer announced the ambulance had been found abandoned outside a warehouse on 25th Avenue. The detective clipped his shield to his belt and headed out the door.
Patrol cars and uniformed officers surrounded the warehouse and the armed response team had at least a dozen high velocity rifles trained on the building. "Who's in charge?" asked Steve as he showed his identification to one of the constables maintaining the perimeter. The officer pointed out a large man with his back to them. "I'm Lieutenant Steve Sloan," he began. As the officer in charge turned around Steve recognised him as Officer Raymond Banowski of the Bomb Squad. "Hi Ray, what are you doing here?" asked the detective. "Some C4 was stolen a couple of weeks back. We tracked it down to a local hood called Jimmy Peterson. He, in turn, sold it on to a Kyle Vanders." Steve's heart sank. The last time Banowski and him had worked together was when Elaine had been strapped to a bomb. He had had to defuse it with only verbal instructions from the bomb squad expert. Now, it looked like his father was the one in mortal danger. "So much for the season of peace and good will to all men!" remarked Ray to a distant detective. Steve drew his 9mm Beretta and proceeded to enter the building - alone. An earpiece and radio microphone kept him in touch with the officers outside.
It took a few moments for Steve's eyes to adjust to the dim interior after being out in the California morning sun. In a far corner a movement caught his eye. It was his father, bound and gagged. A paper notice was pinned to Mark's shirtfront. It read simply: 'HO! HO! HO!'
Hastily, the detective reached Mark's side, releasing him from the bindings that held him. "Steve," exclaimed Mark as the gag was removed. "We've got to get out of here NOW! There's a bomb!" Mark pointed to the device with a digital readout that was counting backwards. It only had 42 seconds remaining. "Banowski, there's a bomb.Get your men back!" Steve and Mark ran for all their worth. For an 'old' man, Mark remained astonishingly fit and was able to keep with his son. The pair of them exited the building and continued to put as much distance between themselves and the explosives as possible.
The counter ticked steadily down 5.4.3.2.1. The sidewalk shuddered with the force of the explosion, throwing both father and son to the floor from the impact. Now nothing more than a pile of rubble and dust existed where once had stood a considerable building. A lone Santa passed by the scene unnoticed, a subtle smile upon his face.
The doctor and detective were taken to CGH suffering from cuts and abrasions. They were met by a shocked and dismayed Jesse and Amanda. Once treated, Steve headed up to Elaine's room. Mark watched as his weary son pressed the elevator call button and waited. The phone rang in the examination room. Jesse answered, "Mark, it's for Steve," as the young intern offered the phone to his colleague and mentor. "This is Dr Mark Sloan," replied the head of internal medicine. "That's great. I'll let him know straight away." Mark hung up the receiver and smiled at his two curious looking friends. "They caught Vanders. He was pulled over by a CHP officer for a faulty tail light and the officer recognised the him from the description that had been given out earlier," Mark beamed.
Mark entered Elaine's room brandishing two cups of much needed caffeine. He held one out to his son, but whether it was sleep deprivation, anxiety or just sheer clumsiness the cup slipped sending a cascade of hot coffee onto the covers of Elaine's bed. Elaine shrieked and moved her legs away from the scalding liquid. Steve began mopping the area whilst apologising profusely. Mark just stood there and smiled. "Dad," his son scolded. "Don't just stand there." Then he noticed his father's face. Elaine, too, wore a similar expression. Steve looked at them both, curious as to the private joke the pair of them shared. Mark finally enlightened his son. "Elaine moved her legs!" The revelation hit Steve like a tank and he embraced his fiancée with renewed vigour. Tears welled in her eyes sending rivulets of joy coursing down her cheeks.
It was a couple of days later, the day before Christmas Eve, when Elaine Mitchell was discharged from hospital. Mark had invited her to stay with them in the new house he and his son were renting whilst the beach house was being rebuilt. "Do you mind if we make a stop on the way home?" Steve asked Elaine. She shook her head, "No." "I've got to collect Dad's present," Steve said cautiously. Elaine swallowed hard, but knew she had to confront her fears sooner or later. Now was a good a time as any she figured. "OK," she replied, a slight waiver in her voice. Steve parked the car and carefully helped Elaine to her feet. Supported by the crutches that bore most of her weight, she urged herself onward. The short journey to the jewellers seemed like a marathon. Outside the store, Elaine stopped partly to catch her breath, but mainly to compose herself before she took the final steps through the door that had begun her nightmare. Steve stopped and stood in front of her. He kissed the woman who had shown courage, stamina and determination to exorcise her psychological demons. She smiled at him acknowledging his support. Together, they entered the jewellers and were instantly greeted by the manager. "Mr Sloan, Miss Mitchell it is a great pleasure to see you again." The fake French accented manager continued his welcome directed at Elaine. "Madame, I hope your recovery is a full and speedy one." Elaine graciously accepted the manager's well intentioned wishes as Steve asked for the frame he had purchased. The inscription was perfect and the black and white photograph looked magnificent against the silver outer border. As they left the store Steve stopped, looked at Elaine and smiled. "I love you," he said. Placing a hand on each of her shoulders he pulled her close and kissed her.
Christmas Day turned out to be a somewhat unusual affair. Dinner was being held a BBQ Bobs. Mark strutted around the kitchen dressed in a white apron and red and white Santa's hat, basting the turkey, checking the vegetables and generally enjoyed exercising his culinary skills. Jesse and Amanda set the table with a large red cloth, wine glasses and places for themselves, Mark, Steve and Elaine. Festive music played on the jukebox and Mark could be heard singing along amid the orchestra of clangs and chinks from the plates, saucepans and dishes in the kitchen.
Steve helped Elaine to the table as his father brought out a golden turkey surrounded by roast potatoes and stuffing balls. "Jess, can you bring out the vegetables please?" asked Mark. "Sure," he replied enthusiastically and returned to the group with a mountain of carrots, brussel sprouts, cauliflower and leeks.
Throughout the entire meal the group laughed, joked and enjoyed one another's company. Afterwards, it was time to exchange presents. Amanda received two tickets to the ballet; Jess got a new wet suit, after his other one had been ripped on some rocks a couple of weeks back; Steve and Elaine were given a meal for two at Del Florio's restaurant. Mark, the most awkward to buy for, opened a bottle green shirt and matching tie from Amanda and 'Casablanca' on DVD from Jesse. Now it was Steve's turn. "Elaine, I love you with my whole heart and I want you to have this," he said offering her a small box with a gold bow on top. Carefully, she lifted the lid to reveal a gold heart shaped locket. "It's beautiful," she exclaimed. Steve lifted it from the box and fastened it around her neck. She touched it lovingly and rewarded him with a kiss. Jess stifled a giggle until Amanda jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. Mark smiled at their antics. Elaine passed Steve her present to him. It was a long white envelope, inside were front row tickets to a Lakers game. Steve hugged her close. "Thanks honey," he said with a smile a mile wide. Jesse looked at him expectantly. "WOW, front row seats, eh?" Steve cast him a wry stare. Jess looked disappointed. "It's OK - you can come too," grinned Steve. "Dad, this is for you," he continued handing his father a large narrow box tied with gold ribbon. Mark lifted the lid from the box. His face lit up at the beautiful gift that sat inside. The silver framed photograph of his wife, Katherine, instantly brought back a flood of memories. The inscription below read:
Love is ..those precious moments recaptured.
Mark's crystal blue eyes glistened with the moisture that welled within them. "Steve, do you mind if we go for a walk along the beach?" asked Elaine. Steve looked at their friends who all smiled their approval and Jesse tossed his best friend the keys to his car. "I'll get a lift back with Mark." "Thanks Jess," beamed Steve.
The velveteen ocean glimmered as the moon cast its eerie glow across the waves. With her crutches left behind in the car, Steve carried Elaine down to the water's edge. Gently, he put her down and together they stood just enjoying each other's company in silence. Steve clasped her around the waist and pulled her towards him. The moonlight offered a delicate softness to Elaine's features, the stars reflected like gems in her eyes. Steve leaned forward and kissed her tenderly upon her lips. Their arms entwined around each other as they swayed in time to the gentle rhythm of their own heartbeats. Elaine shivered, not through cold, for she could not feel the midnight chill tugging at her body, but this was something else, something special as they continued their moonlight dancing.
THE END
29th August, 2002.